ed the blood of the other, but bold, calm,
and defiant; an insult to be wiped out and honor to be sustained. They
turned, facing the rear, hands down, with pistols in the right.
The seconds call out in calm, deliberate tones: "Gentlemen, are
you ready?" Then, "Ready, aim, fire!" "One, two, three, stop." The
shooting must take place between the words "fire" and "stop," or
during the count of one, two, three. If the principal fires before or
after this command it is murder, and he is at once shot down by the
second of his opponent. Or if in any case the principals fail to
respond at the hour set, the second promptly takes his place. But no
danger of such possibilities where two such men as Major Seibles and
Captain Bland are interested. There was a matter at issue dearer than
country, wife or child. It was honor, and a true South Carolinian of
the old stock would make any sacrifice, give or take life, to uphold
his name unsullied or the honor of his family untarnished. As the word
fire was given the opponents wheeled and two pistol shots rang out
on the stillness of the morning. Captain Bland stands still erect,
commanding and motionless as a statue. Major Seibles remains steady
for a moment, then sways a little to the left, staggers and falls
into the arms of his second and surgeon. A hasty examination is made.
"Blood," calls out the second of Major Seibles. A nod of satisfaction
is given and acknowledged by both seconds. Captain Bland retires on
the arm of his friend, while the Major, now bleeding profusely from
a wound in the chest, is lifted in the ambulance and carried to
his tent. It was many months before Major Seibles was sufficiently
recovered from his wound to return to duty. The matter was kept quiet
and no action taken. Major Seibles died the following year, while the
gallant Bland was killed at Chickamauga while leading as Colonel the
Seventh Regiment in battle.

While at Flint Hill, another stirring scene took place of quite a
different nature. In front of the Third Regiment was a beautiful
stretch of road, and this was selected as a course for a race to be
run between the horse of Captain Mitchell of the Louisiana Tigers and
that of the Colonel of a Virginia regiment of cavalry. The troops now
so long inactive, nothing to break the monotony between drills, guard
duty, and picketing, waited with no little anxiety the coming of the
day that was to test the metal of the little grey from the Pelican
State and