"Those houses should come down, sir," suggested Marmaduke to a general, and almost before assent answered him, had sprung to organise the work. But ramshackle, tumbledown though the wooden piers and pilasters seemed, they were curiously strong, needing time for destruction. Hawsers were brought ashore to facilitate the job and parties told off to each house. Three hundred soldiers--mostly French--lay to manfully on one of the ropes, pulling for all they were worth, when just as the house they were tackling began to totter a loud explosion came from within. And, lo! the only two men left on that rope were Marmaduke and a young French officer who clicked his heels together and stood to the salute with a merry "_Mes compliments, mon Colonel!_" "_À vous, Monsieur le Capitaine!_" returned Marmaduke laughing, as he rallied the men. "It's not the magazines, boys!" he called. "We've to save that yet. Yo-ho--heave ahoy!" They set to again with a will; but the flames gained ground every instant and the densely dark cloud of smoke drifting over the magazines showed alive with ominous shoals of sparks. "Mac!" shouted Marmaduke, as he worked like a demon, when his major came hurrying past with another fatigue party. "Get hold of someone and suggest the commissariat blankets; there are bales and bales of them somewhere. Put them on the magazine roofs, soak 'em with water. Tell the blue-jackets----" "All right, sir!" shouted back the major. And thereon came blankets, bales on bales of them, and blue-jackets swarming up and over everything, and jets of water turned from their useless work on houses that would burn, to keep those blankets sodden. The din was deafening. The inhabitants, swept out of their houses, stood huddled in the streets and kept up a constant wail. The bugle calls rang out here, there, and everywhere, and above the roar and crackle could be heard voices in urgent exhortation--"All together, men! The blue-jackets are laughing at you!" "Heave away, I say, boys, show the land-lubbers how to do it!" Or shriller, more passionate--"_A moi, mes enfants! Les Anglais nous regardent!_" Once there came a sudden pause. The red flare of the conflagration changed to brilliant blue. "_Milles tonnerres!_" cried the French soldiers sadly, as they recommenced work. "_Ahé, le bon eau-de-vie!_" Their commissariat canteen store had gone. So through the long night they worked, fighting the flames with their hands for the most part. Fatigue party after fatigue party poured into the town and one strong man after another lay down exhausted on the quays and begged someone to cool him with water. It was just as a faint lightening over the sea in the east showed dawn was nigh that Marmaduke, wiping the sweat from his blackened forehead, said-- "I think that's done with. The magazines are safe now!" "Yes," said a man near him, "up here it's almost over. But they've got it still down there, by the dock wharves, poor devils!"