And so I left the room, my heart--shall I avow it?--bumping and throbbing in a fashion that gave a very poor corroboration to my words. There were always three or four horses ready saddled for duty at each general’s quarters, and, taking one of them, I ordered a corporal of dragoons to follow me, and set out. It was a fine night of autumn; the last faint sunlight was yet struggling with the coming darkness, as I rode at a brisk trot down the main street towards the scene of action. I had not proceeded far when the crowds compelled me to slacken my pace to a walk, and finding that the people pressed in upon me in such a way as to prevent anything like a defence if attacked, still more, any chance of an escape by flight, I sent the corporal forward to clear a passage, and announce my coming to the redoubted commandant. It was curious to see how the old dragoon’s tactic effected his object, and with what speed the crowd opened and fell back, as, with a flank movement of his horse, he ‘passaged’ up the street, prancing, bounding, and back-leaping, yet all the while perfectly obedient to the hand, and never deviating from the straight line in the very middle of the thoroughfare. I could catch from the voices around me that the mob had fired a volley at the church door, but that our men had never returned the fire; and now a great commotion of the crowd, and that swaying, surging motion of the mass, which is so peculiarly indicative of a coming event, told that something more was in preparation. And such was it; for already numbers were hurrying forward with straw faggots, broken furniture, and other combustible material, which, in the midst of the wildest cries and shouts of triumph, were now being heaped up against the door. Another moment, and I should have been too late; as it was, my loud summons to ‘halt,’ and a bold command for the mob to fall back, only came at the very last minute. ‘Where’s the commandant?’ said I, in an imperious tone. ‘Who wants him?’ responded a deep, husky voice, which I well knew to be Dowall’s. ‘The general in command of the town,’ said I firmly--‘General Serasin.’ ‘Maybe I’m as good a general as himself,’ was the answer. ‘I never called him my superior yet! Did I, boys?’ ‘Never--devil a bit--why would you?’ and such like, were shouted by the mob around us, in every accent of drunken defiance. ‘You ‘ll not refuse General Serasin’s invitation to confer with your commandant, I hope?’ said I, affecting a tone of respectful civility, while I gradually drew nearer and nearer to him, contriving, at the same time, by a dexterous plunging of my horse, to force back the bystanders, and thus isolate my friend Dowall. ‘Tell him I’ve work to do here,’ said he, ‘and can’t come; but if he’s fond of a bonfire he may as well step down this far and see one.’