It was strange to hear the crackling kind of noise that they made, for both sides were using the rifle.
An officer stood among the French skirmishers--a tall, lean man with a mantle over his shoulders--and as our fellows came forward he ran out midway between the two parties and stood as a fencer would, with his sword up and his head back.

I can see him now, with his lowered eyelids and the kind of sneer that he had upon his face.

On this the subaltern of the Rifles, who was a fine well-grown lad, ran forward and drove full tilt at him with one of the queer crooked swords that the rifle-men carry.

They came together like two rams--for each ran for the other-- and down they tumbled at the shock, but the Frenchman was below.
Our man broke his sword short off, and took the other's blade through his left arm; but he was the stronger man, and he managed to let the life out of his enemy with the jagged stump of his blade.

I thought that the French skirmishers would have shot him down, but not a trigger was drawn, and he got back to his company with one sword through his arm and half of another in his hand..