"Let us make another attempt to drive them off," was the answer. "They are afraid themselves of the flames they have kindled, and will not venture through them. Now, my lads, give them one more volley," he shouted, "and if I mistake not they will turn tail." As he shouted "Fire!" at the top of his voice, the order was heard by the blacks, and away they went scampering down the hill, hoping to avoid the bullets which they expected would follow. The greater number got under cover, or escaped by falling flat on their faces. Ignorant savages as they were, they were unable to take advantage of the success their bravery and hardihood had accomplished. On this the ultimate safety of the hard-pressed garrison depended. Had they pressed on through the opening which the fire had produced, they might have forced their way, not only within the stockade, but into the house itself. Hopes were entertained that the enemy had had fighting enough for the night, and intended to allow the fire to do its work before making another assault. Fresh efforts were made by the garrison to extinguish the fire, which had got hold of the stockades. They had been composed chiefly of dry timber, which easily ignited and burned furiously. At length the lieutenant saw that all attempts to save them would be futile, and that the utmost that could be done would be to prevent the doors and windows of the house itself from catching fire. This, by constant watchfulness and great exertion, was done; and he then, complying with Mr Twigg's earnest appeals, summoned the people to come within the house, when the door was barricaded, and they prepared to hold out, in what they had from the first called their citadel, till the moment for the intended sortie had arrived. It was a night of terror to many and anxiety to all. Their ammunition was running terribly short; but a few rounds only remained, and there was barely food sufficient to afford a breakfast for the weary garrison. The water also was almost exhausted.