"It is a point-blank distance, and I have a new gun, with which a man
ought to be able to hit his own ball at three hundred yards."
The commander hesitated.
"I cannot have the men exposed."
"I engage not to lose a man--except him who fires the gun. HE must take
his chance."
"Well, colonel, it must be done by volunteers. The men must not be
ORDERED out on such a service as that."
Colonel Dujardin bowed, and retired.
"Volunteers to go out of the trenches!" cried Sergeant La Croix, in
a stentorian voice, standing erect as a poker, and swelling with
importance.
There were fifty offers in less than as many seconds.
"Only twelve allowed to go," said the sergeant; "and I am one," added
he, adroitly inserting himself.
A gun was taken down, placed on a carriage, and posted near Death's
Alley, but out of the line of fire.
The colonel himself superintended the loading of this gun; and to the
surprise of the men had the shot weighed first, and then weighed out the
powder himself.
He then waited quietly a long time till the bastion pitched one of its
periodical shots into Death's Alley, but no sooner had the shot struck,
and sent the sand flying past the two lanes of curious noses, than
Colonel Dujardin jumped upon the gun and waved his cocked hat.
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