at the prospect. The near approach of death inspired them with solemn emotions. The goal was death, they knew it; but death on the battle-field was preferable to death at the hands of the executioner. To their honor, be it said, they uttered no idle complaints, but each man grasped his weapon with the energy of despair.
The issue of this unequal warfare is well known. History tells us that it was a cruel traffic in human blood.
Sunset came. The western sky above the hill was broken into rifts. Crimson lights ran up into the sky, pierced the walls of purple cloud, and cast a blood-red glow upon the clouds overhead. Amid the glow of the sunset fires another lurid light mingled. It was the flames of the country-house where the commander of the rebel forces had made his headquarters. Rather than be taken alive, Thoulouse and a few survivors had entered the house and fired it.
"Better perish in the flames than under the axe," said the blood-stained commander as he stood for a moment by the window and surveyed the scene. Columns of flame and smoke hid his face from view. Only his half-charred body fell into the hands of the government.
The night winds whispered an awful secret. "Alva is coming! Alva is coming!" they said.
