ey rode onward. Like men goaded to
despair, they pressed on, and actually reached the archway beyond,
which, defended by a strong gate, closed up the way. Whole files now
fell at every discharge; but others took their places, to fall as
rapidly beneath the murderous musketry.

"A petard to the gate!" is now the cry,--"a petard, and the bridge is
won!"

Quick as lightning, four sappers of the Guard rush across the road and
gain the bridge. They carry some thing between them, but soon are lost
in the dense masses of the horse. The enemy's fire redoubles; the bridge
crashes beneath the cannonade, when a loud shout is raised,--

"Let the cavalry fall back!"

A cheer of triumph breaks from the town as they behold the retiring
squadrons; they know not that the petard is now attached to the gate,
and that the horsemen are merely withdrawn for the explosion.

The bridge is cleared, and every eye is turned to watch the discharge
which shall break the strong door, and leave the passage open. But
unhappily the fuze has missed, and the great engine lies inert and
inactive. What is to be done? The cavalry cannot venture to approach the
spot, which at any moment may explode with ruin on every side; and thus
the bridge is rendered impregnable by our own fault.

"Fatality upon fatality!" is the exclamation of Napoleon, as he heard
the tidings. "This to the man who puts a match to the fuze!" said he, as
he detaches the great cross of the Legion from his breast, and holds it
aloft.

With one spring I jump from my saddle, and dash at the burning match a
gunner is holding near me. A rush is made by several others; but I am
fleetest of foot, and before they reach the road I am on the bridge. The
enemy has not seen me, and I am half-way across before a shot is aimed
at me. Even then a surprise seems to arrest their fire, for it is a
single ball whizzes past. I see the train; I kneel down; the fuze is
faint, and I stoop to blow it; and then my action is perceived, and
a shattering volley sweeps the bridge. The high projecting parapet
protects me, and I am unhurt. But the fuze will not take: horrible
moment of agonizing suspense,--the powder is clotted with blood,
and will not ignite! I remember that my pistols are in my belt, and
detaching one, I draw the charge, and scatter the fresh powder along the
line. My shelter still saves me, though the balls are crashing like hail
around me. It takes, it takes! the powder spits and flashes, a