“Brave boy,” he said, gently, and he laid his hand upon Phil’s arm; “but this is no place for you.”
At that moment the roar of battle outside seemed to roll towards the place where the wounded man lay, increasing to a wild burst of cheers.
A flash of excitement darted from the officer’s eyes, and he tried to rise upon one arm.
“What’s that?” he cried.
“They run! They run!” came in answer from many throats.
“Who run?” panted the wounded man.
“The French, sir,” shouted an officer, hoarsely, as he dashed up to the wounded one’s side.
“I thank God, and die contented,” history says the General sighed.
It was then that Phil, who had stood unnoticed by the bearer of the victorious news, now kneeling by his great leader’s side, pressed forward to touch his arm, making him start round and cry in his astonishment: