On Saturday morning, July 23, while Corporal Bromley leaned stolidly on his flagstaff, and Philip walked about impatiently, Lieutenant Coleman jumped up and read from the paper he held in his hand: "Hood attacked again yesterday. Repulsed with a loss of seven thousand killed and wounded." With no thought of the horrible meaning of these formidable figures to the widows and orphans of the men who had fallen in this gallant charge, Philip and Bromley cheered and cheered again, while the lieutenant sat down to decipher the next message. When he had mastered it the paper fell from his hands. He was speechless for the moment. "What is it?" said Philip, turning pale with the certainty of bad news. "General McPherson is killed," said Lieutenant Coleman. Now, so strangely are the passions of men wrought up in the time of war that these three hot-headed young partizans were quick to shed tears over the death of one man, though the destruction of a great host of their enemies had filled their hearts only with a fierce delight. During the Sunday which followed there was a feeling of gloomy foreboding on the mountain, and under it a fierce desire to hear what should come next. On Monday morning, July 25, the sun rose in a cloudless sky, bathing the trees and all the distant peaks with cheerful light, while at the altitude of the station his almost vertical rays were comfortable to feel in the cool breeze which blew across the plateau. Lieutenant Coleman glanced frequently at the face of his watch, and the instant the hands stood at nine Philip began waving the flag. There was no response from the other mountain for so long a time that Corporal Bromley came to his relief, and the red flag with a white center continued to beat the air with a rushing and fluttering sound which was painful in the silence and suspense of waiting. When at last the little flag appeared on the object-glass of the telescope, it spelled but seven words and then disappeared. Philip uttered an exclamation of surprise at the brevity of the message, while Bromley wiped the perspiration from his forehead and waited where he stood. In another minute Lieutenant Coleman had translated the seven words, but even in that brief time Corporal Bromley, whose eyes were fixed on his face, detected the deathly pallor which spread over his features. The young officer looked with a hopeless stare at his corporal, and without uttering a word extended his hand with the scrap of paper on which he had written the seven words of the message. Bromley took it, while Philip ran eagerly forward and looked tremblingly over his comrade's shoulder. The seven words of the message read: "_General Sherman was killed yesterday before Atlanta._" CHAPTER VII IN WHICH THE THREE SOLDIERS MAKE A REMARKABLE RESOLUTION