Dropping from the rampart Gervase crept down the hillside, taking advantage of the straggling line of defence that ran zig-zag down the hill in the direction of the enemy. As he drew nearer and bent his ear to the ground, he could hear the measured tread of marching feet and the ring of iron hoofs. The dawn had come up with a leap; the light was now broad and clear, and lying screened by the shelter of the fence, he could see the different regiments rapidly taking up their position with as much order as the irregularities of the ground would permit. What their strength was he could not rightly estimate, but the regiment before him was Butler´s foot, and on the left were Nugent´s grenadiers. He could hear the hoarse word of command shouted down the ranks and the rattle of the firelocks as the men shouldered their guns. Already they were in motion. There was not a moment to be lost if the rampart was to be kept that day. With the speed of a deer he made his way back to the lines, calling out as he came up, and took the deep trench at a bound. “They are coming,” he said, clambering up the breastwork; “they are coming, and will be up in a quarter of an hour. We must give them a warm welcome here. Bring out the powder, and remember to fire low; we are not shooting snipe to-day, and must not waste a shot.” He looked anxiously toward the city for the support that had been promised, for he knew the little body of men who surrounded him could not stand for a moment against the force in front of them. But the city was all astir. The Cathedral bell was pealing out its warning summons, and already a stream of men was pouring from the Bishop´s-gate without order or formation. And they were not a moment too soon, for the enemy came pouring up the hillside, a dark, crimson wave that seemed to undulate, swaying with a slow uncertain motion, as it advanced. The men stood within the shelter of the ramparts clutching their muskets and watching far below them the enemy advancing slowly to the assault. “I´m thinking I could put a brace of slugs into yon young cockerel with the feathers in his bonnet,” said a tall, raw-boned man of Down, glancing along the barrel of the fowling piece he carried, and turning to Gervase with an inquiring look. “It were a pity not to let them have a foretaste of what they´ll get by and by.” “You must not draw a trigger till they are close up; then you may bring him down if you will. God be praised! here come the reinforcements. I´m glad to see you, Colonel Baker, with all my heart. They would scarce have waited for you had you tarried.” “Tis very well done, Mr. Orme. You deserve no small praise for your watchfulness. This had been a serious business had they caught us napping, but there is not a man in the camp yonder who is worth a pinch of powder, and they come on like so many drunken drabs. Now we will show the rogues what they may expect when they call on honest men at home.”