"_Chargez vos armes!_" cried the serjeant. "_Prenez la cartouche! Amorcez! L’arme à gauche!_" &c. and the noise of the steel ramrods ringing in the barrels as the cartridges were rammed home, fell like a knell upon the ears of Louis. He certainly grew pale, but his heart never quailed as he looked upon the loading of the musquets. He resolved to die with honour to his character and the garb he wore. At that moment, so critical to him, a French cavalry officer, on a panting horse, dashed up to the gate at full gallop, inquiring with all the hurry and importance of an aide-de-camp for the commandant of the place. "_Monsieur le Duc_," said he, "the allies are in motion: their troops have begun to cross the Nive, and Marshal Soult desires that you will be on the alert, and defend the ford, under the guns of this château, to the last." Without waiting for an answer, he wheeled round his horse and galloped out of sight in a moment. The clatter of the hoofs had scarcely died away, before two of the sentinels, posted on the bastion over-looking the ford, fired their musquets. A volley replied, lighting up the whole fortress for an instant, and all became hurry and confusion. Louis was thrust into his old place of confinement,—the castle-gates were secured,—the bridge was drawn up, and in five minutes every man was at his post. From the inmost recesses of his heart Lisle thanked Heaven for his narrow escape; and while in the close compass of his prison he listened to the booming cannon and musquetry, which shook the ancient fabric to its foundations, he earnestly prayed that the attack would be successful; and he well knew, by the hearty British cheers which from time to time came ringing on the wind, even above the noise of the conflict, that his comrades were carrying all before them. *CHAPTER XI.* *PASSAGE OF THE NIVE.* "The bayonet pierces, and the sabre cleaves, And human lives are lavished everywhere, As the year closing whirls the scarlet leaves, When the stript forest bows to the bleak air." _Byron._