SAVING THE GUN.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2293, 5 January 1900, Page 6

SAVING THE GUN.

An incident of the Franco-German war is graphically described by an artilleryman named Jean Antointf Tellier, whose battery took part in the defence of Paris. When the victorious Germans approached an attempt was made to prevent them crossing the Seme. It failed, however, but the artilleryman succeeded in getting his gun baok to Paris, all his compaanions having been killed. Describing the disaster, he writes With the rumble of doom itself, a huge Prussian battery, by the trees, launched its shot and shell among us. Almost before we knew whence comes the storm, aho witier is dismounted, a team butchered, one of our lientenants and ten men stretched lifeless and horrible upon the ground. We try to work our pieces faster, but in vain ; another gun is silenced, three more servants down; we must fall back. With difficulty I bring my limber up to the gun ; it is hooked on, and I am about to stretch my horses to the gallop, when crack goes the wheel, struck by a spent shot, and the piece lurches forward on the rutted ground. Captain Millet springs from the,hone on which he has just vaulted, and helps the -gunners to take our spare wheel from the cassion in our rear, trundle it and mount it on the broken piece. Wnat a labour ! with rifle bullet and shell whi* zing past our ears, or ploughing the sod beneath us, our cattle frantic almost beyond management ! The other guns were pushed on ahead, and we were left alone while our wheel is hammered on to the axle and the linchpin driven home. At last " Forward " comes the word, as our captain falls —O irony of respects not even the brave —struek nPpfife hind. But the enemy areupondfcAndwe dare not stop to pick nim up. At the grand gallop we plunge from the field on to the high road, and tear down it far in the rear of the three other guns of our battery which have escaped from the field. Down at Bagneux we come on our friends the Zouaves, in scandalous deroute, drunk with absinthe and fear. " Drive over them!" shoots my brigadier, with a curse. 1 hear a shriek, then feel the crunch of limbs beneath my horses' hoofs. One of the Zouaves fires after us, and the driver behind me falls from his saddle under the scurrying wheels. On we go at the gallop. Suddenly a Bhout of terror in front makes me look up; a posse of the enemy's hussars have ridden through our lines, and are sabring the fugitives in the road before us. The brigadier sees them, and clutches the bridle of the riderless horse behind him. " Gallop for everything!" he shouts. Our whips sweep through the air, and yet an increase of pace is flogged out of our team. The hussars see us coming, and gallop to meet us, waving their swords. "Halt! Halt.! Halt!" I bend my head, raising my whip as a guard, I shut my eyes. I hear the hoofs click, the chains crash, the wheels thump, as we dash down upon them. The clash of steel, the thud of an opposing body, the snap of a revolver, a shout of agony; gun and limber leap in the air, but we do not stop. Faster and faster we fly; for now we have reached the descending gradient where the road sweeps down to the Porte de Montrouge I breathe again, I open my eyes, I look around; lam alone, galloping six wild horses and a blood-splashed gun at headlong speed to Paris,

Terror leaves me, and I sing some noisy boulevard song, keeping time with my cracking whip. Then suddenly the grey fortifications stretch out before me, and I hear a fat national guard roaring; " Lache! Lache! Lache!" But 1 have saved my gun.