uld do no more. The
regiment began to give back.

It was Marteau who sprang to the front, he and young Pierre, who had
attached himself to the officer in a sort of unofficial way. It was
Marteau who seized the Eagle; it was he who rallied the line. The new
men formed up like veterans, the old men settled in their places, cool
and ready. They returned the Austrian fire, they checked the Austrian
advance, they stood ready while the troops behind them ran for their
lives. Napoleon, whose eye nothing escaped, saw it all. He even
recognized Marteau carrying the Eagle.

The Fifth-of-the-Line made good that defense until the time came for
the retreat. Then it retired slowly, fighting every step of the way
down the low hill to the bridge. The men dropped by scores. The
Austrians, seeing victory in reach, pressed closer. A charge at the
last minute by the cuirassiers of the Emperor Francis' guard almost
completed the annihilation of the first battalion of the regiment. The
survivors sought to form a square, under a withering gun fire, to meet
the uplifted sabers of the heavy cavalry. There were not enough of
them left. They were ridden down. Two hundred and fifty of the four
hundred who went into that fight lay dead on that field. Of the
survivors scarce a handful got across the river. Some of the unhurt
men, disdaining quarter and unable to fly, fought until they fell. The
wounded, of whom there were many, were all captured out of hand.

Marteau, with the Eagle, had stood nearest the enemy. They had swarmed
about him at last. He found himself alone, save for the boy, Pierre.
He could see the red-faced, excited, shouting, yelling,
passion-animated Austrian soldiers crowding upon him. His sword was
broken, his pistols empty and gone. He was defenseless. Retreat was
cut off. The Eagle staff had been shot away. The flag torn to pieces.
Hands were stretched out to seize it. He could not escape with it, yet
it must not fall to the enemy. It was the tradition of the service
that the Eagles were to be preserved at all hazards--not the flag, that
was a mere perishable adjunct to the Eagle, but the Eagle itself. The
river ran but a few feet away. Thrusting aside the nearest Austrian
with the stump of his blade, Marteau cleared a path for a second, and
into the swift deep waters he hurled the sacred emblem.

He, at least, he thought swiftly, had a right to dispose of it thus,
for out of the waters of the El