A brisk fire of rifles was now going on. The day had fairly broken; and the franc tireurs, sheltered behind the parapet of the bridge, on the bank of the river, were exchanging a lively fire with the enemy. Three-quarters of an hour had passed since the first shot was fired.
Suddenly a distant boom was heard, followed in a few seconds by a slight whizzing noise, which grew rapidly into a loud scream and, in another moment, there was an explosion close to the bridge. The men all left off their work, for an instant.
"And what may that be, Mister Percy? A more unpleasant sound I niver heard, since I was a baby."
"I quite agree with you, Tim, as to its unpleasantness. It is a shell. The artillery are coming up from Luneville. The fire of the sentries would take the alarm, in a couple of minutes; give them another fifteen to get ready, and half an hour to get within range.
"Here comes another."
"Are you ready, Ribouville?" the commandant shouted. "They have cavalry, as well as artillery. We must be off, or we shall get caught in a trap."
"I am ready," was the answer.
"Barclay, strike a match, and put it to the end of your fuse, till it begins to fizz.
"Have you lit it?"
"Yes, sir," Ralph said, a moment later.