The bomb fell beyond us, and, striking the pavement, burst. The fragments went crashing through the side of an adjoining house; and the wail that came back told how well the iron messengers had done their work. This was the second shell that had been projected from the American mortars. The first had been equally destructive; and hence the extreme terror of both citizen and soldier. Every missile seemed charged with death.
Our guard now returned and dragged us onward, treating us with increased brutality. They were enraged at the exultation visible in our manner; and one, more ferocious than the rest, drove his bayonet into the fleshy part of my comrade’s thigh. After several like acts of inhumanity, we were thrown into our prison and locked up as before.
Since our capture we had tasted neither food nor drink, and hunger and thirst added to the misery of our situation.
The insult had maddened Raoul, and the pain of his wound now rendered him furious. He had not hands to touch it or dress it. Frenzied by anger and pain to a strength almost superhuman, he twisted off his iron manacles, as if they had been straws. This done, the chain that bound us together was soon broken, and our ankle “jewellery” followed.
“Let us live our last hours, Captain, as we have our lives, free and unfettered!”
I could not help admiring the spirit of my brave comrade.
We placed ourselves close to the door and listened.
We could hear the heavy cannonade all around, and now and then the distant shots from the American batteries. We would wait for the bursting of the bombs, and, as the hoarse thunder of crumbling walls reached our ears, Raoul would spring up, shouting his wild, half-French, half-Indian cries.
A thought occurred to me.
“We have arms, Raoul.” I held up the fragments of the heavy chain that had yoked us. “Could you reach the trap on a run, without the danger of mistaking your way?”