The flags were changed, and off went Long Tom again at an elevation. Ten seconds had scarcely elapsed when a tremendous explosion took place on the French right. Long Tom was throwing red-hot shot; one had fallen on a powder wagon, and blown it to pieces, and killed two poor fellows and a horse, and turned an artillery man at some distance into a seeming nigger, but did him no great harm; only took him three days to get the powder out of his clothes with pipe clay, and off his face with raw potato-peel. When the tumbril exploded, the Prussians could be heard to cheer, and they turned to and fired every iron spout they owned. Long Tom worked all day. They got into a corner where the guns of the battery could not hit them or him, and there was his long muzzle looking towards the sky, and sending half a hundredweight of iron up into the clouds, and plunging down a mile off into the French lines. And, at every shot, the man on horseback made signals to let the gunners know where the shot fell. At last, about four in the afternoon, they threw a forty-eight-pound shot slap into the commander-in-chief’s tent, a mile and a half behind trenches. Down comes a glittering aide-de-camp as hard as he can gallop. “Colonel Dujardin, what are you about, sir? YOUR BASTION has thrown a round shot into the commander-in-chief’s tent.” The colonel did not appear so staggered as the aide-de-camp expected. “Ah, indeed!” said he quietly. “I observed they were trying distances.” “Must not happen again, colonel. You must drive them from the gun.” “How?” “Why, where is the difficulty?” “If you will do me the honor to step into the battery, I will show you,” said the colonel. “If you please,” said the aide-de-camp stiffly. Colonel Dujardin took him to the parapet, and began, in a calm, painstaking way, to show him how and why none of his guns could be brought to bear upon Long Tom. In the middle of the explanation a melodious sound was heard in the air above them, like a swarm of Brobdingnag bees. “What is that?” inquired the aide-de-camp. “What? I see nothing.” “That humming noise.” “Oh, that? Prussian bullets. Ah, by-the-by, it is a compliment to your uniform, monsieur; they take you for some one of importance. Well, as I was observing”-- “Your explanation is sufficient, colonel; let us get out of this. Ha, ha! you are a cool hand, colonel, I must say. But your battery is a warm place enough: I shall report it so at headquarters.” The grim colonel relaxed. “Captain,” said he politely, “you shall not have ridden to my post in vain. Will you lend me your horse for ten minutes?” “Certainly; and I will inspect your trenches meantime.” “Do so; oblige me by avoiding that angle; it is exposed, and the enemy have got the range to an inch.”