The first day of the siege, a young but distinguished brigadier in the French army rode to the quarters of General Raimbaut, who commanded his division, and was his personal friend, and respectfully but firmly entreated the general to represent to the commander-in-chief the propriety of assaulting that new bastion before it should become dangerous. “My brigade shall carry it in fifteen minutes, general,” said he.
“What! cross all that open under fire? One-half your brigade would never reach the bastion.”
“But the other half would take it.”
“That is not so certain.”
General Raimbaut refused to forward the young colonel’s proposal to headquarters. “I will not subject you to TWO refusals in one matter,” said he, kindly.
The young colonel lingered. He said, respectfully, “One question, general, when that bastion cuts its teeth will it be any easier to take than now?”
“Certainly; it will always be easier to take it from the sap than to cross the open under fire to it, and take it. Come, colonel, to your trenches; and if your friend should cut its teeth, you shall have a battery in your attack that will set its teeth on edge. Ha! ha!”
The young colonel did not echo his chief’s humor; he saluted gravely, and returned to the trenches.
The next morning three fresh tiers of embrasures grinned one above another at the besiegers. The besieged had been up all night, and not idle. In half these apertures black muzzles showed themselves.
The bastion had cut its front teeth.