on one side.  But Pintard and Ithuel felt the security conferred by the rocks in their front, and each endeavored to give one effective discharge.  Ithuel succeeded the best He repaid McBean in his own coin, sending a grist of bullets into the bows of his launch, which admonished that prudent officer of the necessity of shearing toward the islet of the ruins.  Pintard’s assailant was brought up by the barrier in front, and turned aside also.  Then, in the midst of a cloud of smoke, shouts, curses, cries, shrieks, orders, and the roar of guns, all the English precipitated themselves in a body on the principal post, and became the masters of the battery in the twinkling of an eye.

CHAPTER XXIX.

     “Thus doth the ever-changing course of thing! 
     Run a perpetual circle, ever turning;
     And that same day, that highest glory brings,
     Brings us to the point of back returning.”

     DANIEL,

In scenes like that just related, it is not easy to collect details.  All that was ever known, beyond the impetuous manner of the assault in which the ruins were carried, was in the dire result.  Half the French on the islet were weltering in their blood, and the surface of the rocks was well sprinkled with enemies who had not been more fortunate.  It had been a desperate onset, in which mortification increased natural intrepidity, which had been nobly resisted, but in which numbers had necessarily prevailed.  Among the English slain was Sir Frederick Dashwood himself; he lay about a yard from his own gig, with a ball directly through his head.  Griffin was seriously hurt, but Clinch was untouched, on the low rampart, waving an English Jack—­after having hauled down a similar emblem of the French.  His boat had first touched the rock, her crew had first reached the ruin, and, of all in her, he himself had taken the lead.  Desperately had he contended for Jane and a commission, and this time Providence appeared to smile on his efforts.  As for Raoul, he lay in front of his own rampart, having rushed forward to meet the party of Clinch, and had actually crossed swords with his late prisoner, when a musket-ball, fired by the hands of McBean, traversed his body.

“Courage, mes braves! en avant!” he was heard to shout, as he leaped the low wall to repel the invaders—­and when he lay on the hard rock, his voice was still strong enough to make itself heard, crying—­“Lieutenant—­nom de Dieu—­sauve mon Feu-Follet!"

It is probable that Pintard would not have stirred, even at this order, had not the English ships been seen, at that instant, coming round Campanella, with a leading westerly wind.  The flap of canvas was audible near by, too, and turning, he saw the Michael falling off under her foresail, and already gathering steerage-way.  Not a soul was visible on her decks, Ithuel, who steered, lying so close as to be hid by