Morning came slowly and wearily to the besieged.  As the gray dawn melted into the rosy hues of sunrise, many a brave man within that fort looked up for the last time, as he thought, but still with no unmanly fear, only with that sad feeling which the boldest will experience when he sees himself about to be immolated.  Such a feeling, perhaps, crossed the heart of Leonidas, when he fastened on his buckler and waited for the Persian thousands.  Fernando stood near Croghan, who was in front of his men, calm in that hour of extreme peril.  It soon became apparent that the enemy did not intend an immediate assault, for, with the battery of six pieces, they began a fearful cannonade.

“Lie under the breastworks,” said Croghan to his men as the balls were hurled about the fort, or bounded from the ramparts.  The surface of the ground in the line of fire, soon became covered with smoke, which every few moments was rent by a whistling ball.

All that long forenoon Fernando Stevens remained behind the works occasionally picking off a gunner at long range.  When the hot August sun began to decline in the West, the roar of artillery seemed to increase rather than diminish.  At last he heard the young commander say: 

“They are concentrating on the northwest corner of the fort; that is the point from which the attack will be made.”  He called to Fernando and a dozen other sharpshooters and hastened to the threatened spot.  Every man who could be spared from other quarters was put in requisition, and every bag of sand and flour that could be found was hurriedly collected and sent to strengthen the angle.

“Lieutenant Stevens,” said Major Croghan, “get your riflemen together and pick off those fellows as fast as you can.  Never mind those bags of sand.  Others will attend to them.”

Fernando and his score of sharpshooters soon began dropping the redcoats as fast as they could see them.  The solitary cannon, the only hope of the defenders, was loaded to its fullest capacity and trained so as to enfilade the enemy.  The gunner who rammed home the charge said: 

“By thunder, she’s almost full to the muzzle.  Shouldn’t wonder if she’d bust.”  Each soldier took his position.  A tremendous volley of cannon shots suddenly rained on the fort.  It seemed as if the British had fired every gun at the same instant.  A profound silence succeeded within, which lasted for perhaps two minutes, at the end of which time the enemy was seen to advance through the smoke, in one compact column, with the steady tread of assured victors.  When Croghan gave the order to fire, such a withering volley was poured in by the garrison, that the British reeled and fell into disorder.  Whatever others may have done in that fire, Fernando’s sharpshooters wasted no bullets.  For a moment, the Britons wavered and were about to fly, when Lieutenant-Colonel Short, who led the British in assault, sprang to the front of his soldiers and, waving his sword above his head, cried: