“Certainly not, while Caliphronas is general of the enemy,” replied Maurice, laughing; “but he has some courage, I see, for he leads the stormers.”
“I’ll soon frighten him back, sir,” said Dick, who hated Caliphronas for his treachery on the night of the wreck; “will I fire?”
“Wait a minute, till they are more conglomerate. Now!”
The gun roared, and a shower of grape-shot splashed over the advancing body, which did considerable damage in their ranks, that is, if such disorderly huddling could be dignified by such a name. They still continued to come on, however, on noting which, Justinian, who, in default of Gurt, had charge of the other gun, sent another shower of grape among them.
They wavered for a moment, but, as their leader still urged them to come on, Maurice snatched a rifle from the man nearest him, and aimed deliberately at Caliphronas, not with the intention of killing him, but merely forcing him to retire wounded. The ball struck Caliphronas on the elbow of his sword-arm, and with a yell of pain he dropped his weapon and ran away, followed as a matter of course, by his soldiers.
“At this rate, Maurice, we can hold the island for a year,” said the Demarch, with a jeering laugh; “it’s child’s play compared with yesterday.”
“If we can get them on that mine, and explode it in good time, the siege will be over,” replied his nephew decisively.
“I am averse to useless massacre.”
“So am I, but if we don’t put the fear of God into their souls, they will wear us out by these puny attacks. One bold stroke, and they will fly.”
“Well, do what you will. I have every confidence in your generalship.”