There was
a sharp rattle and in a moment the thick black line was tipped with
glittering steel.
A roar and a rush, and the Prussian line three deep came furiously like
a huge steel-pointed wave, at the French lines. A tremendous wave of
fire rushed out to meet that wave of steel: a crash of two hundred
muskets, and all was still. Then you could see through the black
steel-tipped line in a hundred frightful gaps, and the ground sparkled
with bayonets and the air rang with the cries of the wounded.
A tremendous cheer from the brigade, and the colonel charged at the head
of his column, out by Death's Alley.
The broken wall was melting away into the night. The colonel wheeled
his men to the right: one company, led by the impetuous young Captain
Jullien, followed the flying enemy.
The other attack had been only too successful. They shot the sentries,
and bayoneted many of the soldiers in their tents: others escaped by
running to the rear, and some into the next parallel.
Several, half dressed, snatched up their muskets, killed one Prussian,
and fell riddled like sieves.
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