Just as the sun cast his bright beams across the darkling forest a buzz of awakening life began to arise from the city.
A spy had informed the naval commander where the king's forces, to the number of five thousand at least, were concentrated.
He now pointed out the very spot, a kind of fort and eminence in the centre of the town, and not far from the awful blood-stained palace.
"Now, gunner," cried Captain Flint cheerily, "give us the best shot ever you fired in your life."
"I'll do my level best," was the reply.
There was no quaver in the man's voice, no quiver in his hand.
The gun rang out in the morning air, echoed and re-echoed from forest and brae, and the shell was planted right in the centre of that heathen fort, bursting, and evidently doing tremendous damage. The battle had begun.
CHAPTER XII.
CAPTURE OF THE CITY OF BENIN.
There is nothing that African savages dread more than shells and war-rockets, and Arabs themselves are equally demoralized by these dread missiles.