St. John shaved
his face clean and put himself into a new uniform. The old nth Maine was
no longer a regiment, but a name of sufficient glory. On three occasions
it had been shot to pieces, and after the third the remaining tens were
absorbed by other regiments. Hannibal's father had obtained for him
a lieutenancy in the United States artillery, Beau Larch was second
lieutenant in another Maine regiment, and John, the old and honored
colonel of the nth, was now, like Aladdin, serving on a staff.

The battle began with a movement against Johnson on the Confederate
left, and one against Longstreet on their right.

That against Longstreet became known in history as Farnsworth's charge,
and Aladdin saw it from the signal-station on Little Round Top.

It was a series of blue lines, whose relations to one another could not
be justly estimated, because of the wooded nature of the ground, which
ran out into open places before fences and woods that spat red fire, and
became thinner and of less extension, as if they had been made of
wax and were melting under the blaze of the July sun. In that charge
Farnsworth fell and achieved glory.

Aladdin held a field-glass to his eyes with trembling hands, and watched
the cruel mowing of the blue flowers. Sometimes he recognized a man that
he knew, and saw him die for his country. Three times he saw John St.
John in the forefront of the battle. The first time he was riding a
glorious black horse, of spirit and proportions to correspond with those
of the hero himself. The second time he was on foot, running forward
with a-halt in his stride, hatless, and carrying a great battle-flag.
Upon the top of it gleamed a gold eagle, that nodded toward the enemy.
A dozen blue-coated soldiers, straggling like the finishers in a
long-distance race, followed him with bayonets fixed. The little loose
knot of men ran across a field toward a stone wall that bounded it upon
the other side. Then white smoke burst from the wall, and they were
cut down to the last man. The smoke cleared, and Aladdin saw John lying
above the great flag which he had carried. A figure in gray leaped the
stone wall and ran out to him, stooped, and seizing the staff of the
flag in both hands, braced his hands and endeavored to draw it from
beneath the great body of the hero. But it would not come, and as he
bent closer to obtain a better hold, the back of a great clenched hand
struck him across the jaw, and he fell like a log.