The discharge of forty musquets almost shook the frail block-house to pieces; and while those soldiers who had fired withdrew to reload, forty others took their places; and thus a rapid and constant fire was maintained against the enemy, blazing around the redoubt and flashing incessantly from every loop-hole. The summit of the hill was enveloped in clouds of smoke streaked with red fire, and the echoes of the musquetry sounded like peals of thunder, booming through the clear atmosphere and echoing among the surrounding peaks. Deadly execution was done among the advancing foe, whose killed and wounded were seen lying prostrate on the frozen snow, and marking the route up the hill by a series of black spots. Nevertheless, although their numbers were diminishing at every step, the main body continued to advance with unabated ardour, formed in a wide half-circle at extended order, returning as well as they could the fire of their adversaries, upon whose place of concealment their shot came every instant, tearing away huge splinters or sinking deep into the stockade with a dull heavy sound; but only a single bullet, during a hot contest of two hours, entered the block-house. It passed through a loophole, and wounded a Highlander named Allan Warristoun in the neck, passing through his leather stock, and he sunk on the ground bleeding profusely; but Chisholm attempted to stanch the blood, by dressing the wound as well as circumstances would permit. This was the only casualty that occurred during that night’s skirmish, but terrible execution was done among the enemy. They were kept completely at bay, until they became wearied and disheartened by the slaughter made among them. The light-company being excellent marksmen, every shot they fired told fatally on the assailants, at whom they could aim unseen with the utmost coolness and precision. After enduring that sort of work for nearly two hours, they retired with the utmost expedition on perceiving a strong body of Spanish guerillas advancing up the mountains from the village of Roncesvalles. A little further off was seen the brigade of General Walker, which the noise of the firing had summoned to arms; but their appearance was needless, as the conflict was over. "Here comes Mina,—the king of Navarre!" exclaimed Stuart, as the great mob of guerillas came rushing up the mountains with shouts of "_Viva Ferdinand_! Long live Spain!" &c. "Cease firing, lads, and let the French retreat. Poor devils! we have mauled them sadly. They are lying as thick as blackberries on the hill-side." In less than half an hour the French had disappeared, and the block-house was surrounded by the bold guerillas, their appetite for blood and plunder having been keenly whetted by the report of the musquetry.