"Charge!" shouted Blucher to his troops. "General Bulow has attacked
the Halle gate; we must hasten to his assistance, for the French are
stubborn."
At this moment another volley of grape-shot was discharged from the
pieces which the French had placed inside the city, and hurled death
and destruction into the ranks of the assailants.
"We must reenforce Bulow," cried Blucher! "General Sacken must
advance his troops! We must hurl light infantry against the gate!
Charge! Forward!" And, brandishing his sword, Blucher galloped to
the side of General Sacken, who was moving with the Russians toward
the point of attack.
"Forward!" thundered Blucher to the troops. The Russians did not
understand him, but they saw his countenance radiant with impatience
and warlike ardor, his flashing eyes, and uplifted hand pointing the
sword at the gate, and they understood his meaning.
"Perod!" shouted the Russians, exultingly. "Forward! Perod!"
The grape-shot of the enemy, and the rattling fire of the French
skirmishers behind the walls, drowned their shouts. But when the
artillery ceased and the smoke disappeared, they saw again the face
of the old general with his young eyes, and the long white mustache,
He halted on his horse in the midst of the shower of bullets fired
by the skirmishers, and uttered again and again his favorite
command.
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