At any rate, I am very sure I entertained no selfish motives, beyond the natural longing of a soldier enlisted for the war, who is desirous of seeing victory perch upon his standard.
And yet, although ignorant of the fact at the time, I was making history.
Of that, more anon.
Having raised the fighting spirits of my compatriots to the desired pitch, it would not do for me to let them cool down again—I must strike while the iron was hot.
There were at least twenty of them, all told.
Whether every man would follow me across the open remained to be seen.
So we clustered near the corner, only waiting for the heavy discharge that was to serve as the signal for our rush.
I cast one last glance over the scene, so that I might never forget it—the swarthy faces, the glittering eyes, the determination to be discovered on every set countenance—all these things were a part of that weird picture on which the flickering lights of the plaza fell.
Then came a thunderous roar, a crash of falling masonry, and a house toppled over just where we gathered for the tiger spring, as though the gunners had suspected the danger that lurked around our corner.
I remember shouting at the top of my voice, of whirling around the corner, and seeing the whole crowd follow me.