The sortie had been discovered, and the besiegers in the trenches, not knowing the cause of the alarm, had expected a sudden attack, and in a panic had opened fire on all sides.
For over a quarter of an hour the fusillade continued, till we could hear the trumpets sounding and the voices of the rebel officers calling to their men to desist then all became quiet.
Although the postern was ready to be opened at the first signs of their return, none of our gallant friends reappeared, so with sorrowful hearts we realised that seven good men were lost to our little garrison.
Even had Firestone succeeded in spiking the guns, our position was indeed desperate. Scarce a mere handful of worn men remained to hold the shattered walls; and, at any moment, the rebels were likely to throw all their foot into the breach to attempt to carry the castle by escalade.
Would we see the setting of the morrow's sun? None could say.
"Poor old Firestone," said Granville. "I fear we shall never see him again. He ought never to have gone."
"His leg was against him; he never had a fair chance," I replied.
"Then why did we allow him to go?"
"Ah, why?" I echoed bitterly.
Brave in conflict, crafty and wary in danger, and possessed of iron nerve, Firestone was undoubtedly a severe loss to us. Strangely enough, when he proposed to lead the forlorn hope, none of us gave a thought to his one physical defect. On horseback he was the equal of any man, but when on foot the circumstances were totally different, and we blamed ourselves for letting him go.