“I don’t know, unless you’ve been walking in your sleep and opened the windows.”
Bang!
The sentry at the gate had fired his carbine.
Bang! and then bang! The alarm was taken up by the sentries on the roof, and the two officers seized their weapons and, clad only, as they were, in their silken pyjamas, ran down into the yard. The guard had turned out, and all was hurry and excitement, for that soul-stirring cry which sends a thrill through the stoutest when raised in the dead of night brought Dick’s heart to his mouth.
For the cry was, “Fire, fire!” and Wyatt exclaimed hoarsely, “Quick, my lads—quick! the magazine!”
Chapter XXVIII.
The Work of the Enemy.
A rush was made for the ground-floor of the palace opposite to the stables, where some kind of firework was hissing and spitting fiercely, and as the men ran there was a blinding flash by the door of the place used as an ammunition-store, just as if some powder had been thrown there and the sparks had set it alight.
“Forward, my lads, before it gets worse,” shouted Wyatt.—“Darrell, lad, you must risk it,” he cried; “we can’t leave them to perish. Up with you, and bring out Hulton and the doctor.”
A strange feeling of dread ran through the young officer, for the instinct was strong upon him to run for his life and escape by the gate before the native fuse, which had been placed at the bottom of the magazine door, should do its deadly work of causing an explosion and bringing that side of the old building tottering down.