Quick as lightning, four sappers of the Guard rush across the road and gain the bridge. They carry some thing between them, but soon are lost in the dense masses of the horse. The enemy's fire redoubles; the bridge crashes beneath the cannonade, when a loud shout is raised,—
“Let the cavalry fall back!”
A cheer of triumph breaks from the town as they behold the retiring squadrons; they know not that the petard is now attached to the gate, and that the horsemen are merely withdrawn for the explosion.
The bridge is cleared, and every eye is turned to watch the discharge which shall break the strong door, and leave the passage open. But unhappily the fuze has missed, and the great engine lies inert and inactive. What is to be done? The cavalry cannot venture to approach the spot, which at any moment may explode with ruin on every side; and thus the bridge is rendered impregnable by our own fault.
“Fatality upon fatality!” is the exclamation of Napoleon, as he heard the tidings. “This to the man who puts a match to the fuze!” said he, as he detaches the great cross of the Legion from his breast, and holds it aloft.
With one spring I jump from my saddle, and dash at the burning match a gunner is holding near me. A rush is made by several others; but I am fleetest of foot, and before they reach the road I am on the bridge. The enemy has not seen me, and I am half-way across before a shot is aimed at me. Even then a surprise seems to arrest their fire, for it is a single ball whizzes past. I see the train; I kneel down; the fuze is faint, and I stoop to blow it; and then my action is perceived, and a shattering volley sweeps the bridge. The high projecting parapet protects me, and I am unhurt. But the fuze will not take: horrible moment of agonizing suspense,—the powder is clotted with blood, and will not ignite! I remember that my pistols are in my belt, and detaching one, I draw the charge, and scatter the fresh powder along the line. My shelter still saves me, though the balls are crashing like hail around me. It takes, it takes! the powder spits and flashes, and a loud cry from my comrades bursts out, “Come back! come back!”
Forgetting everything in the intense anxiety of the moment, I spring to my legs; but scarce is my head above the parapet when a bullet strikes me in the chest. I fall covered with blood.
“Save him! save him!” is the cry of a thousand voices; and a rush is made upon the bridge. The musketry opens on these brave fellows, and they fall back wounded and discouraged.
