Darkness closing in brings the artillery duel to an end, and the troops lie down for the night.
Not all, however.
Under cover of the night the sappers and miners and gunners are hard at work completing the preparations for batteries Nos. 3 and 4. Our fellows work like true Britons, for their hearts are in their labour. Encouraged by Captain Taylor, who superintends the work, and by their other officers, all of whom lend a hand like the meanest private, they toil on with steadfast, energetic purpose, and daylight finds them prepared.
Word has mysteriously reached the Ridge that to-morrow’s sun will see a bombardment the like of which has never before been known in the East, and our friends are stirring soon after sunrise, waiting in exultant anticipation.
“Is it true, sir,” asks Ted, “that all four batteries will be playing on the town this morning?”
“I’m hoping so, but I can’t say how far they got last night.”
At length the longed-for moment arrives. At eight o’clock on the morning of the 12th nine 24-pounders of No. 2 Battery open fire simultaneously on the Kashmir Bastion. Ringing cheers of triumph greet this, the greatest salvo of the whole war, for, as the smoke clears away and the deafening thunder and reverberating echoes die down, our friends and their fellow-spectators see that this very first discharge is bringing down huge masses of masonry.
A moment of profound silence follows: then a mighty cry of exultation bursts forth.
“Ah! Well done! Well aimed, Campbell!” scream the enthusiastic onlookers.
But the insurgent guns hotly and strenuously reply, and Campbell’s battery seem likely to suffer severely, for the rebel fire is not only hot, but is also exceedingly well directed.