A Soldier Of The Empire | Page 6

they were barely protected; shot
and shell ploughed the ground around them as if it had been a fallow
field; men spoke to their comrades, and before receiving a reply were
shot dead at their sides. The wounded were more ghastly than the dead;
their faces growing suddenly deadly white from the shock as they were
struck.
The gunners lay in piles around their guns, and still the survivors
worked furiously in the dense heat and smoke, the sweat pouring down
their blackened faces. The fire was terrific.
Suddenly an officer galloped up, and spoke to the lieutenant of the
nearest battery.
"Where is the colonel?"
"Killed."
"Where is your captain?"
"Dead, there under the gun."
"Are you in command?"
"I suppose so."

"Well, hold this hill."
"How long?"
"Forever." And he galloped off.
His voice was heard clear and ringing in a sudden lull, and the old
Sergeant, clutching his musket, shouted:
"We will, forever."
There was a momentary lull.
Suddenly the cry was:
"Here they are."
In an instant a dark line of men appeared coming up the slope. The
guns were trained down on them, but shot over their heads; they were
double shotted and trained lower, and belched forth canister. They fell
in swathes, yet still they came on at a run, hurrahing, until they were
almost up among the guns, and the gunners were leaving their pieces.
The old Sergeant's voice speaking to his men was as steady as if on
parade, and kept them down, and when the command was given to fire
kneeling, they rose as one man, and poured a volley into the Germans'
faces which sent them reeling back down the hill, leaving a broken line
of dead and struggling men on the deadly crest. Just then a brigade
officer came along. They heard him say, "That repulse may stop them."
Then he gave some order in an undertone to the lieutenant in command
of the batteries, and passed on. A moment later the fire from the
Prussian batteries was heavier than before; the guns were being
knocked to pieces. A piece of shell struck the Sergeant on the cheek,
tearing away the flesh badly. He tore the sleeve from his shirt and tied
it around his head with perfect unconcern. The fire of the Germans was
still growing heavier; the smoke was too dense to see a great deal, but
they were concentrating or were coming closer. The lieutenant came
back for a moment and spoke to the captain of the company, who,
looking along the line, called the Sergeant, and ordered him to go back

down the hill to where the road turned behind it, and tell General ------
to send them a support instantly, as the batteries were knocked to
pieces, and they could not hold the hill much longer. The
announcement was astonishing to the old soldier; it had never occurred
to him that as long as a man remained they could not hold the hill, and
he was half-way down the slope before he took it in. He had brought
his gun with him, and he clutched it convulsively as if he could
withstand alone the whole Prussian army. "He might have taken a
younger man to do his trotting," he muttered to himself as he stalked
along, not knowing that his wound had occasioned his selection.
"Pierre--" but, no, Pierre must stay where he would have the
opportunity to distinguish himself.
It was no holiday promenade that the old soldier was taking; for his
path lay right across the track swept by the German batteries, and the
whole distance was strewn with dead, killed as they had advanced in
the morning. But the old Sergeant got safely across. He found the
General with one or two members of his staff sitting on horseback in
the road near the park gate, receiving and answering dispatches. He
delivered his message.
"Go back and tell him he must hold it," was the reply. "Upon it depends
the fate of the day; perhaps of France. Or wait, you are wounded; I will
send some one else; you go to the rear." And he gave the order to one
of his staff, who saluted and dashed off on his horse. "Hold it for
France," he called after him.
The words were heard perfectly clear even above the din of battle
which was steadily increasing all along the line, and they stirred the old
soldier like a trumpet. No rear for him! He turned and pushed back up
the hill at a run. The road had somewhat changed since he left, but he
marked it not; shot and shell were ploughing across his path more
thickly, but he did not heed them; in his ears rang the words--"For
France." They came like an