"You may blow it into the sea, for aught that I care, gentlemen," said the Italian; "its late lord, my uncle, was ever a niggard of his ducats to me, and I have no great love for his old house. Many an unhappy heretic and infidel has perished in the obscurity of its dungeons. I know something of them. Will you believe it, Signor Claude? the old bashaw once lodged me in them for a week, because I interfered with his friendship for a certain fair damsel of Reggio: cardinals are not to be trifled with!" "Well, sir," said the general, "you may join the assault to-night, if the breach is practicable." The eyes of the brave cavalier sparkled. "With heart and hand, excellency! I bear as much hatred to our foes in Scylla, as a Christian man may bear to others. They are the false, tyrannical, and oppressive French! I have not forgotten that when Napoleon’s fleet appeared off Malta, the knights of Provence, Auvergne, and all the French langue, abandoned the banner of the order, instead of fighting like L’Isle Adam of old, as long as stone wall and steel blade remained true to them." The general bowed, and smiled slightly at the Italian’s enthusiasm. "Thank Heaven, the carcass did no more damage," said he: "the effect of one, properly shot, is indeed tremendous. I saw one fired when Moore took the Mozzello fort. Ah! Dundas, it was your poor brother, Frank, and I who led on the stormers there: he was a brave and dashing fellow, and would have been a glory to his profession but for that dog of a German—Kranz." Before sunset a tolerable breach was effected in that part of the bastions next the town; and by way of filling up the interval of time till dusk, our battery played on the keep with such success that a great part of the wall repaired by the French fell down, and thus weakened the fort considerably. But the marchese kept his soldiers steadily at work the whole day, although exposed to our fire; and, with billets and facines, endeavoured, in the usual manner, to repair the breaches: they, however, were reported fully practicable by the officer in charge of the battery, and at eleven o’clock that night an assault was ordered to take place. *CHAPTER XI.* *THE FORLORN-HOPE.* At sunset the following notice was circulated:— "_Brigade Orders_.—Officers desirous of leading the forlorn-hope are requested to send in their names, without delay, to Brigade-Major Gascoigne." After turning over this invitation in my mind for some time, and weighing the chances of promotion against those of escape, I resolved not to send in my card to Gascoigne; notwithstanding that longing for fame and distinction—a secret craving to be the first man among the multitude, which, in fact, is the true sentiment that makes us buckle on the sword at first: but to lead a forlorn-hope is to throw away one’s life.