"This last stronghold of the emperor in the Calabrias, I have defended to the last—yes, with all my power and courage; and in this moment of extremity I must not desert my brave fellows, while a chance remains of driving Oswald’s brigade through the breach or into the sea. Farewell! God bless you, Claude! Speak kindly of me to those at home—to my poor mother—she will never see me more." He strained me for a moment to his breast, and snatching up his notched sabre, staggered towards that part of the works where an unequal contest was maintained by a section of Frenchmen; whom our soldiers were endeavouring in vain to dislodge from a bomb-proof vault, by firing in through the same loop-holes from which the enemy dealt death so securely. "Vive l’Empereur!" he exclaimed, rushing towards them with his brandished sabre. "Frank!" I cried; "Frank, by the memory of all that has passed!—for the love of God—hear me!" But he heard me not. He had scarcely advanced a dozen paces, when a shot—whether aimed or fired at random, I know not—passed through his head and flattened on a gun-breech beside me. He fell dead across a heap of his own men, and never moved again. A cry of horror rose to my lips; but expired upon them unuttered. Stupified with the events of the night, my brain whirled, and I sank down on the slippery and bloody pavement of the inner bastion: my mind was a fearful chaos, and I experienced a sensation like that of a horrible nightmare. Weak as a child, and quite unmanned, bitter tears rolled over my cheeks. A dead man lay across me: I was half-stifled, but could not move. I thought of home; and the splashing of the waves far below me sounded like the murmur of my native Esk: again I heard, in imagination, the ripple of its waters tinkling in Roslin’s lonely glen; the woods of Dalkeith rustled over me. Frank’s last words yet rang in my ears: but it seemed the familiar voice of a boy; then came that of my mother, low and sad—she was weeping for her son. Again I was a child, and her kiss was on my cheek. Salt and hot were the tears I shed, and bitter the agony I endured, ere blessed unconsciousness possessed me, and sinking back against the gun-slide, I swooned among the bodies of the dead. * * * * * Long ere this, the place had been taken. Infuriated by the protracted assault, our men burst over the fortress like a torrent. De Watteville’s soldiers were like madmen. Woe to the officer who dared to check their plundering, or curb their fury!—and woe to the unhappy women who fell into their power! Innumerable episodes of horror followed the conclusion of the storm. The French, who had been disarmed, were marched instantly to the beach, and embarked on board Sir Sidney’s squadron; which had come close in shore on hearing the noise of the attack.