Rank and file--double-quick time--a capital pace for opening the chest. Tom took it easy, trotting on at a steady pace, and assailing me with a running fire of questions; while the row that had already commenced above prevented my returning categorical replies. "Is your father at sea now?"--Bang! from one of the big guns in the French batteries right over our heads. "Got any brandy?"--A shout from a thousand throats, in the rush and shock of a charge with bayonets. "Had breakfast this morning?"--Pop! pop! pop! a running fire of musketry. Pop! pop! pop! "Got any cigars?"--Bang! bang! the big guns at it again. "When did you hear from your mother?" A new sound, less loud and sudden, but, from its peculiarity, distinct amidst the din; a spiteful, whirling, whizzing noise, ten thousand skyrockets combined in one; not, though, like the skyrocket, first loud, then less audible--quite the contrary. Commencing with a faint and distant hiss, it grew louder and louder, came singing on, nearer and nearer, till a shell dropped a few yards in front of our column! The hiss was now an angry roar, like the blowing off of steam. There lay the bottled demon, full in our path, threatening instant destruction, and daring us to advance. Our column halted. "Hurra! my lads," cried Cousin Tom, waving his sword. "Come along, old Five-and-threepennies. Push by it at once, before it _spreads_." The game old Five-and-threepennies gave a shout--rushed forward--got by in time; each yelping and capering as he passed the fizzing foe. Bang went the shell. For a few seconds I was stone deaf. Never felt such an odd sensation. Not the deafness, but the return of hearing. First, perfect silence in the midst of the turmoil--then the crack! crack! bang! bang! as if you had suddenly flung open a door. Not a man of us was hurt. "Got an English paper?" said Tom. "I've got some intelligence for you, old chap, not in this morning's _Times_. Just look up there, in front."