There was very little firing after the first sputter; but there was the crash of butt against barrel, the short cries of stricken men, and the roaring of the officers.

And then, suddenly, they began to give ground--slowly, sullenly, step by step, but still to give ground.
Ah! it was worth all that we had gone through, the thrill of that moment, when we felt that they were going to break.

There was one Frenchman before me, a sharp-faced, dark-eyed man, who was loading and firing as quietly as if he were at practice, dwelling upon his aim, and looking round first to try and pick off an officer.

I remember that it struck me that to kill so cool a man as that would be a good service, and I rushed at him and drove my bayonet into him.

He turned as I struck him and fired full into my face, and the bullet left a weal across my cheek which will mark me to my dying day.