The light infantry, men from the Welsh Fusileers and the King’s Own forged steadily ahead--but not easily. The day was growing hotter. What with ammunition, food, blankets, and firelocks, they were weighted down a hundred pounds to a man. Gerry felt the sweat burst out on his face. He wished he had a drink. He wished he could run his finger under the stiff leather stock that gripped his throat. He wished he could rip off his beaver hat. Clouds of black smoke with white under-edges were billowing up to the west of Breed’s Hill. Looked like Charlestown Village was afire. Well, Admiral Graves had wanted to burn it long ago. He waded through the thick grass, almost to his knees, then out on a muddy strip of beach littered with driftwood and small dead creatures of the sea. Here they halted briefly to re-form. Grouped now in columns of fours, the Welsh Fusileers in the lead, the light infantry advanced along the narrow strip of shore. They drew close to the rough fieldstone wall. That it had been hastily thrown up, Gerry could see now. Undoubtably there would be Yankees behind it. He half lifted his bayonet. They drew nearer and nearer. They were ready to deploy and charge, when the blast came. The low stone wall seemed to leap forth at them in a searing torrent of fire. Like corn before the scythe, the men on both sides of him went down. More from shock than anything else. Gerry fell on his knees, but he lifted his gun and fired once from there. Where the bullet went, he never knew. Crouched in the foul-smelling mud, he tried to load again. Wounded men lay all around him. His own company seemed to be cut to pieces, but the King’s Own tried to form a charge and went streaming through. Again the tide of flame leaped forward. The scarlet line, broken in many places, reeled back. Again the officers rallied what was left of them, and again the charge came on. The whole world seemed to be dissolved in blood and fire, the cries of the wounded, the shouts of the officers, and the steady roar of the guns upon the hill. He tried to pull himself upright, but just then he felt a terrible blow against his head. His ears rang. Stars and circles swam before his eyes, orange, green, and rainbow-hued. He seemed to be no longer a living thing, only one huge dull pain sinking into darkness. He did not know how long it was before the darkness streamed past him and away, and he saw the stone wall abristle with smoking gun barrels. He lifted his head from the mud and gazed in the other direction. To his horror he saw the scarlet backs of his comrades fleeing helter-skelter toward the barges by the shore. He lay all alone, in the midst of the dying and the dead. One man was calling for a drink of water, and another man gasped out a prayer. Shattered muskets, ripped knapsacks, and the discarded wigs of the officers littered the beach about him.