One came, but, singularly enough, I shrank from it as from the black plague; for, through the embrasure in the heavy wall a shining object was thrust forth which I had no difficulty in recognizing as the muzzle of the cannon.
It bore directly on me, as I could readily see.
My ideas of valor and glory did not necessitate my remaining there to accept the compliments of the brass gun—indeed, I never made a more rapid change of base in my life than when I discovered what I was up against, at the same time whooping out a warning for the men who were supposed to be following pell-mell at my very heels.
That was as close to eternity as I have ever come thus far on my journey through life—even when struggling in the mad surf after the wreck of the yacht I hardly think I made a more narrow escape, for the windage of the passing ball knocked me flat upon my back.
I was not hurt, at least seriously, and, having the same old fierce desire to overwhelm these gunners and take the fort by storm, I struggled to my feet, expended what little breath I had remaining in a shout of defiance, and once more took up my charge.
Impulse, not reason, carried me on—I could not have told why I did this thing had the question been fired at me—perhaps some power beyond my control. Destiny, if you please, was in charge of my affairs.
Again the rattle of guns burst out—flashes came from various parts of the building, and the bullets tore all around me, but I was unharmed; I, who seemed to bear a charmed life, ran on, still shouting defiance, until at length, I arrived in front of the heavy door of the citadel.
Then, having covered the ground, I turned to give my valiant band orders to attack, only to find that not a moving figure was to be seen upon the whole broad plaza.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE LAST STRAW.