Encouraged by this, our artillerymen plied the cannon with might and main, working in their shirt-sleeves (it was a broiling morning); but after an hour’s firing, the carronades became heated, and began to "kick" and recoil so much, that they were compelled to cease operations for a time, and permit them to cool: a process which the French usually facilitate by introducing sponges steeped in vinegar, when it can be had; which is not often, on service. The gallant garrison strove hard to interrupt these successful operations; but as we were rather beyond the range of musketry, and their battery-guns could not be pointed to such an elevation as that on which we were situated, they had recourse to mortars: these, however, were so ill-managed that the bombs generally fell short, and either sank into the turf or rolled down the hill to the sea-shore and exploded among the breakers. When again our battery opened, we heard the French band playing the old republican carmagnole—a piece of mere gasconade. "I will bet a dozen of wine we change their tune in an hour," said the general, who was watching the operations through his telescope. "We will humble them yet." "Ha! what can that be?" I exclaimed; "a sortie?" "No; but the devil seems to have jumped over the castle-wall into the town below," said Oswald. An unusual bustle took place amongst our soldiers, who were seen running through the streets in confusion, and exposed to the enemy’s musketry, which instantly opened on them. An enormous carcass, 230-pounds weight, had been blown from a mortar into Scylla; with the intention of setting it on fire. The combustibles which compose this amiable engine of modern warfare, are pitch, tallow, powder, saltpetre, oil, broken barrels of muskets, loaded grenades, bars of iron, chains, and broken bottles, all hooped together in one globular mass; through these, fuse-holes are bored, and to which lighted matches are applied the moment before the bomb is shot forth. This ponderous affair descended through the roof of the general’s temporary quarter; where, luckily, there was no wood-work to burn: but the house was shattered to its foundations, unroofed, and blown to ruins in a moment. "Basta!" exclaimed Cavaliere Marco, as the carcass exploded, without doing further harm; "a rare fellow is this marchese! He will fight to the death-gasp, I warrant; and Scylla will never fall while his hand can hold a sabre." "Then we will leave the castle in a worse predicament than the earthquake left it," replied Sir John, closing his telescope sharply.