"Hurrah, Highlanders!" cried the stentorian voice of Campbell from another part of the works, where he appeared on foot at the head of his company (he was major by brevet) armed with a long Highland dirk in addition to his formidable Andrea Ferrara. "Hurrah! brave hearts! Give them Egypt over again! Mount the platform, lads! slue round the cannon, and blow their skulls off!" A hundred active Highlanders obeyed the order. The twenty-four pounders were reversed, loaded, pointed, and fired in a twinkling, sending a tremendous volley of grape-shot among the dense mass which crowded the dark square, from which arose a yell such as might come from the regions of the damned, mingled with the gallant cry of "_Vive l’Empereur!_" "Well done, brave fellows! Load and fire again! there’s plenty of grape! Another dose! Give it them!—hurra!" cried the inexorable Campbell again. The effects of the second volley were indeed appalling, as, from the elevation of the platform, the shot actually blew off the skulls of the unfortunate French in scores. This was the decisive stroke. The bastion and square were alike abandoned, and all rushed towards the Tagus, to cross and gain the tower of Ragusa; but the garrison of that place, on finding that fort Napoleon was captured and its guns turned on them by the German artillery, to ensure their own retreat destroyed that of their comrades, by cutting the pontoon bridge. D’Estouville’s troops had now no alternative but to surrender themselves prisoners of war. So enthusiastic were the soldiers while flushed with excitement and victory, that, following the bold example of Evan Bean, numbers swam the Tagus, and from the other side fired after the fugitive garrison of Ragusa. "Surrender, noble D’Estouville! Resistance is unavailing," cried Ronald to his old acquaintance, who with his back against the colour-staff, surrounded by corpses and scattered fascines, stood on his guard, with his proud dark eyes flashing fire under his grenadier cap. He was resolute apparently to die, but never to surrender to force. "Halt! keep back, soldiers!" said Stuart, striking down a ridge of threatening pikes and bayonets. "He will surrender to me. Yield, gallant D’Estouville! you may now do so without a shadow of dishonour." But he seemed to have forgotten the speaker, as he only replied by a blow and a thrust. "He is a gallant fellow!" said Fassifern, tossing the bridle of his horse to an orderly, and making his way through the press. "Save him, if possible, Stuart! _Monsieur, rends votre épée, vos armes?_" "_Monsieur_, permit me to retain my sword, and I will surrender; ’tis but _le droit de la guerre?_" "Certainly, sir, if it is your wish." "_Croix Dieu_! Cursed fortune! So soon again to be a captive! Surely, I was born under some evil star!’