A man just in front put out his foot playfully to stop it and it
broke his leg.
The shriek of shell and the whistle of lead increased in terrifying roar
each moment and Ned felt a queer sensation in his chest--a sort of
shortness of breath. In a moment he was going to bolt for the rear! He
felt it in his bones and saw no way to stop it. He lifted his eyes
piteously toward the Colonel who sat erect in his saddle stroking the
neck of a restless horse with his left hand.
The veteran saw the boy's terror under his trial of fire and his heart
went out to him in a wave of fatherly sympathy.
He rode quickly up to Ned:
"Won't you hold my horse's bridle a minute, young man, while I use my
glasses?" he asked coolly.
Ned's trembling hand caught the reins as a drowning man a straw. The act
steadied his shaking nerves. As the Colonel slowly lowered his glasses
Ned cried through chattering teeth:
"D-d-d-on't y-you think--I-I-I--am d-d-doing p-pretty well, C-colonel,
f-f-f-for my f-f-ffirst battle?"
The Colonel nodded encouragingly:
"Very well, my boy. It's a nasty situation. You'll make a good
soldier."
And then the order to charge!
Across the level field torn by shot and shell, the regiment swept in
grey waves. The gaps filled up silently. They started up the hill and
met the sleet of hissing death.
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