"So do I. If it does, it can't be helped. That gun must be silenced, or it will be all up with us within the next few days."
At sunset—the time of the Mohammedans' evening prayer—the firing ceased. The damage done was tremendous. Sixteen hours' incessant cannonading had made a breach thirty feet in width in the walls. Yet Reeves felt certain that the Arabs would not attempt an assault during the hours of darkness.
The Englishman had taken leave of his friends, and was about to join his comrades on their desperate errand, when one of the knights, Sir Oliver Fayne, stood in his path.
"I have a request to make, sir," he said. "Five hundred well-armed and mounted men are drawn up without. May we not bear you company and throw ourselves upon the infidels? In the mêlée that accursed gun might be carried off into the city."
Reeves did not reply. Here was a new plan, which promised well.
"What if five hundred men are slain, so the city be saved?" continued Sir Oliver anxiously. "The honour of the State and the welfare of our Creed demand the sacrifice. Deny me not, sir!"
"All right," replied Reeves. "But you've upset all my plans. I must make sure that everyone knows exactly what to do."
"Your plans need not be altered over-much," said the knight. "We shall ride on ahead and charge into the Moslem camp. You will then be free to harness horses to the gun and bring it back."
Hastily conferring with Garth, Reeves soon amended his original plan, and a team of eight powerful horses was requisitioned to accompany the original members of the desperate undertaking.
Shortly after midnight the drawbridge on the western side of the city was slowly and cautiously lowered, the chains having been wrapped in oiled rags to prevent them creaking. Across this Sir Oliver Fayne's five hundred horsemen passed, then at a walking pace made towards the distant camp, where the gleam of innumerable lights showed that many of the Arabs were feasting in their tents.