The Austrian fires his revolver at Biraghi; and wounds him in
the arm. Nothing daunted, Biraghi assails him and makes him turn tail;
then, following in pursuit, unsaddles him, but has his own horse shot
down under him. Biraghi disentangles himself, kills his antagonist, and
jumps upon the latter's horse. This, however, is thrown down also in a
moment by a cannon ball, so that the gallant captain has to go back on
foot, bleeding, and almost unable to walk. Talking of heroism, of
inimitable endurance, and strength of soul, what do you think of a man
who has his arm entirely carried away by a grenade, and yet keeps on his
horse, firm as a rock, and still directs his battery until
hemorrhage--and hemorrhage alone--strikes him down at last, dead! Such
was the case with a Neapolitan--Major Abate, of the artillery--and his
name is worth the glory of a whole army, of a whole war; and may only
find a fit companion in that of an officer of the eighteenth battalion of
bersaglieri, who, dashing at an Austrian flag-bearer, wrenches the
standard out of his hands with his left one, has it clean cut away by an
Austrian officer standing near, and immediately grapples it with his
right, until his own soldiers carry him away with his trophy! Does not
this sound like Greek history repeated--does it not look as if the brave
men of old had been born again, and the old facts renewed to tell of
Italian heroism? Another bersagliere--a Tuscan, by name Orlandi Matteo,
belonging to that heroic fifth battalion which fought against entire
brigades, regiments, and battalions, losing 11 out of its 16 officers,
and about 300 out of its 600 men--Orlandi, was wounded already, when,
perceiving an Austrian flag, he makes a great effort, dashes at the
officer, kills him, takes the flag, and, almost dying, gives it over to
his lieutenant.
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