Before sunset a tolerable breach was effected in that part of the bastions next the town; and by way of filling up the interval of time till dusk, our battery played on the keep with such success that a great part of the wall repaired by the French fell down, and thus weakened the fort considerably. But the marchese kept his soldiers steadily at work the whole day, although exposed to our fire; and, with billets and facines, endeavoured, in the usual manner, to repair the breaches: they, however, were reported fully practicable by the officer in charge of the battery, and at eleven o'clock that night an assault was ordered to take place.
CHAPTER XI.
THE FORLORN-HOPE.
At sunset the following notice was circulated:—
"Brigade Orders.—Officers desirous of leading the forlorn-hope are requested to send in their names, without delay, to Brigade-Major Gascoigne."
After turning over this invitation in my mind for some time, and weighing the chances of promotion against those of escape, I resolved not to send in my card to Gascoigne; notwithstanding that longing for fame and distinction—a secret craving to be the first man among the multitude, which, in fact, is the true sentiment that makes us buckle on the sword at first: but to lead a forlorn-hope is to throw away one's life.
Just when the troops were getting silently under arms in a sheltered place, near an old, gloomy, and empty convent, I went to the rallying post. The spirited Cavaliere di Castelermo earnestly requested the general to allow him the honour of heading the dangerous enterprise; but his services, his high courage and birth, and his commander's cross, availed him nothing in the present instance. Sir John politely thanked him; and hinted, as delicately as he could, that a British officer alone could lead where British soldiers were to follow.
"Signor Count," replied the Italian bitterly, "there was a time when the cross of St. John was valued more highly—when its wearers followed none; but alone led the way. It has pleased Fate to try us sorely, like the Templars of other days: we have been deprived of our ships, our castles, and our possessions, of all but our name and glory; yet I trust there is a time to come when once more the banner of Malta will be what it was—what it has been ever since the accursed Mussulmans captured Rhodez: the shield of the Christian mariner, and the terror of the African barbarian!"
The restoration of his order to all its chivalric glory and military power, was one of Castelermo's darling themes; and one about which he bored me for many a long hour. Poor Marco! he was doomed never to behold the realization of those gay visions of his bold and heroic fancy.
"Yet, signor," he continued, "if I cannot lead in the assault, I will endeavour to be the second man within the breach."