"No, I will lead the assault; and tomorrow, if I survive, shall expose this cowardly Sicilian forger, who is a disgrace to the uniform he wears;" said I, exasperated to find myself compelled, in honour, to undertake this most perilous and deadly duty, where the chances of escape with life were as one to a hundred, without the glorious credit of being a willing volunteer.
"Fall in—the stormers," cried Gascoigne.
"Gentlemen—to your posts," cried Sir John; and I was left almost alone. The time of attack was so close at hand, that luckily I had little time for reflection: yet, for a few minutes, I became grave and melancholy enough. Life, death, home, Bianca, wounds and agony, all floated in confusion before me: but these misgivings were stifled, and a chivalric recklessness—a desperate hope—a glow of courage that would make one face the devil, took possession of my breast, when the stormers, two hundred in number, selected from volunteers of the 20th, threw off their knapsacks, blankets, and canteens, and were handed over to me by their adjutant. For my heavy cocked-hat, with its long staff plumes, I substituted a light foraging cap; for my tasselled hessians, a pair of large jack-boots. I buckled my waist-belt tighter, examined the blade and hilt of my sword, threw away my cigar, and gave the word—
"Attention! Mr. Morley you will inspect the rear-rank."
The pouches were opened, the flints and ammunition examined by the light of the diamond-like stars; the orders to fix bayonets, and load with ball-cartridge, followed. The ramrods went home on the charges with a sullen, muffled sound; the muskets rattled, and then the ranks became motionless and still. The bell of some distant campanile tolled the eleventh hour, and as the sound floated away, I could hear my own heart beating, through all its thickening pulses.
My subaltern, poor lad, looked very pale: I could perceive it by the starlight.
"Morley!" I whispered, in a tart tone of surprise.
"I am thinking of my mother—she is far away, at home;" he faltered, and colouring deeply, added, "I cannot help these thoughts."
"Few of us will hear twelve strike," thought I, whilst closing the ranks, and lowering the point of my sabre to the general, to intimate that we were ready.
"Success to you, Dundas," said he. "Move on by sections: you know the breach—at the top, the main street. The fellows begin to scent our purpose already. You will be ably supported: Oswald, with the 58th; Ross, with the 20th; de Watteville's corps is the reserve. Forward!"