der
through the old colonel's heart, which no violent outcry could have
done.

The vibration of the commander's voice was still in the air when a
horseman dashed down to the head of the brigade, a man with a face of
terrible power and purpose. It was Colonel Devereux. He faced the
brigade like a man cast in iron, so still he sat for half a minute. He
was an electric centre, reaching the eyes and nerves of every man in the
brigade.

"Present--arms!" and the brigade sprang into motion beneath his
thrilling voice.

"Men!" he said slowly, but with a force that sent his voice to both
flanks of the brigade, "the command of this camp has this day been given
to me by the only power on earth able to give it--the President of the
British Republic."

"And I, sir--what am I?" indignantly demanded Colonel Arundel, but in a
voice too low to reach the soldiers' ears. Insulted as he was he would
have no altercation in front of the troops.

"You, sir!" answered Colonel Devereux, and his voice rang like a
trumpet, "you are a traitor to the people!"

While this scene was in action, an insignificant movement took place on
the inner flank of one regiment in the brigade. A sergeant and six men
were detached, and the squad marched at a quick step along the rear till
they came to the centre, when they wheeled to the front, passed through
the formation, and halted directly in front of Colonel Arundel. The
grounding of their arms completed the terrible charge of the new
commander.

"Soldiers," cried Colonel Devereux, turning to the brigade, "behold the
death of a traitor!"

The sergeant gave the word to his men in a low voice, and seven rifles
were levelled at Colonel Arundel, who sat still in his saddle, hat in
hand, as he had saluted the King's flag. One swift turn of his head now
and he saw the great emblazoned banner in the air; the next moment his
breast was torn to pieces, and the old man fell forward as his horse
swerved, and then the body tumbled from the saddle and lay in front of
the brigade.

"Colonel Gardener, take command here," said Devereux to an officer in
the horror-struck staff; "and you, gentlemen," designating three or four
of the staff by a motion of his hand, "follow me." He wheeled his horse
and rode straight for the mess-tent, where the royal banner was flying.

A young artillery officer, with one Gatling gun and a dozen troopers,
were galloping toward the place from another direction. They reached the
tent