"What is going on in the front?" McKay asked.
"The enemy are advancing up the ravine. We have been driven out of the cemetery, and I doubt whether we shall hold our ground."
"They are coming on in thousands!" cried a new arrival. "This place is not safe. Let us fall back to the Karabel barrack."
"You had better come too," said one soldier thoughtfully to McKay, as he gathered up the long skirts of his grey great-coat to allow of more expeditious retreat.
"All right," said McKay, "I will follow."
And taking advantage of the confusion, during which the sentries on the casemate had withdrawn, he left his prison-chamber and got out into the main road.
The fusilade was now close at hand; bullets whistled continually around and pinged with a dull thud as they flattened against the rocky ground.
The assailants were making good progress. McKay, as he crouched below a wall on the side of the road, could hear the glad shouts of his comrades as, with short determined rushes, they charged forward from point to point.
His situation was one of imminent peril truly, for he was between two fires. But what did he care? Only a few minutes more, if he could but lie close, and he would be once more surrounded by his own men.
While he waited the dawn broke, and he could watch for himself the progress the assailants made. They were now climbing along the slopes of the ravine on both sides of the harbour, occupying house after house, and maintaining a hot fire on the retreating foe. It was exciting, maddening; in his eagerness McKay was tempted to emerge from his shelter and wave encouragement to his comrades.