The shot had burst through his canvas, struck a table on which was a large inkstand, and had squirted the whole contents over the despatches he was writing for Paris.
Now this old gentleman prided himself upon the neatness of his despatches: a blot on his paper darkened his soul.
Colonel Dujardin expressed his profound regret. The commander, however, continued to remonstrate. “I have a great deal of writing to do,” said he, “as you must be aware; and, when I am writing, I expect to be quiet.”
Colonel Dujardin assented respectfully to the justice of this. He then explained at full length why he could not bring a gun in the battery to silence “Long Tom,” and quietly asked to be permitted to run a gun out of the trenches, and take a shot at the offender.
“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.