There could be no question but that one or more of the plunging bullets had reached their intended mark, for the creeping soldier had rolled over as if in agony.
“He’s done for, poor chap, just as I expected!” cried the sympathizing Josh, while even Hanky Panky once more dared to lift his head and look; but almost immediately afterwards Josh changed his tune from despair to one of new hope–“no, he was only badly injured that time, and not killed, you see, because now he’s going on again. Oh! I take off my hat to that gallant man! There never lived a braver chap, never; and now I do hope he’ll get close enough up to fire that bomb he’s carrying along with him on to that battery.”
Perhaps the marksmen who were amusing themselves in trying to pick another foeman off did not realize what the French soldier really meant to do. Had they grasped the full situation a volley would surely have finished his career, and left his self-appointed mission unfulfilled.
Josh kept tabs of his movements. He even knew when again the crawling figure gave signs of having been struck once more by some of that leaden hail. This he could tell from the way in which the heroic fellow writhed as in pain.
“But, Rod, they just can’t keel him over, don’t you see!” cried the admiring Josh, clapping his hands in his excitement; “twice now they’ve hit him, but he won’t give up the game. Why, he has to drag that left leg after him all the while, showing where he’s been hit. Oh! what wouldn’t I give for a chance to help him out; but it’s no use; he’s just got to do it by himself!”
The seconds went on. Perhaps other eyes were following the slow and painful progress of that lone French hero as he crawled along foot by foot, suffering dreadfully no doubt with every movement, yet never for a minute dismayed. Perhaps the eyes of the French commander-in-chief may have been glued on him through his powerful glasses; and realizing what the success of the daring soldier’s mission might mean for a second assault on the defenders of the ford, his heart would begin to pick up renewed hope the closer the private crept to the battery.
There could be no question as to the unflinching spirit that dwelt in the breast of that particular soldier. Rod remembered many things he had read in ancient history, but somehow they all paled into insignificance when with his own eyes he saw this wonderful exhibition of valor unparalleled. The heroic defense of the Pass of Thermopylæ; the swimming of the Hellespont by Leander, yes, and other instances made famous in the annals of history had once struck the boy as wonders in their way, but somehow seeing things was a great deal more impressive than reading about similar happenings.
By now the French adventurer had managed to get close up to the place where the terrible offending battery was hidden. Doubtless he could see much better than the boys at a distance, and knew where it would be possible to throw his bomb so as to accomplish the maximum of damage.
“He’s nearly there, Rod, and oh! I’m scared almost out of my seven senses for fear they’ll get him before he can give that thing a whirl over. There, see, he’s trying to get up on his knees now, though it’s a hard thing for him to do, because he’s so weak from loss of blood, I reckon. Bully boy! now you’re going to take a fling, and here’s wishing you the greatest of luck!”
The brave soldier had indeed managed to raise himself part way and with all his reserve strength hurl the bomb he carried over to where the battery lay concealed.