The two Portuguese companies came forward with the ladders as the storming party moved up to the gateway.  And just at that moment there the sentry let off his alarm shot.  It set all within the San Vincente bastion moving and whirring like the works of a mechanical toy; feet came running along the covered way; muskets clinked on the stone parapet; tongues of fire spat forth from the embrasures; and then, as the musketry quickened, a flash and a roar lifted the glacis away behind, to the right of our column, so near that the wind of it drove our men sideways.

“All right, Johnny,” Dave grunted, recovering himself as the clods of earth began to fall:  “Blaze away, my silly ducks—­we’re not there!”

But the Portuguese companies as the mine exploded cast down the ladders and ran.  Half a dozen came charging back along the column’s right flank, and our soldiers cursed and struck at them as they fled.  But the curses were as nothing beside those of the Portuguese officers striving to rally their men.

“My word,” said Teddy.  “Hear them scandalous greasers!  It’s poor talk, is English.”

“On with you, lads”—­it was Walker himself who shouted.  “Pick up the ladders, and on with you!”

They hardly waited for the word, but, shouldering the ladders, ran forward through the dropping bullets to the gate, cheering and cheered by the rear ranks.

But they flung themselves in vain on the gate.  On its iron-bound and iron-studded framework their axes made no impression.  A dozen men charged it, using a ladder as a battering ram.  “Aisy with that, ye blind ijjits!” yelled an Irish sergeant.  “Ye’ll be needin’ them ladders prisintly!” Our three privates found themselves in the crowd surging towards the breastwork to the right of the gate.  “Nip on my shoulders, Teddy lad,” grunted McInnes, and Teddy nipped up and began hacking at the chevaux de frise with his axe.  “That’s av ut, bhoys,” yelled the Irish sergeant again.  “Lave them spoikes an’ go for the stockade.  Good for you, little man—­whirro!” Nat by this time was on a comrade’s back, and using his axe for dear life; one of twenty men hacking, ripping, tearing down the wooden stakes.  But it was Teddy who wriggled through first with Dave at his heels.  The man beneath Nat gave a heave with his shoulders and shot him through his gap, a splinter tearing his cheek open.  He fell head foremost sprawling down the slippery slope of the ditch.

While he picked himself up and stretched out a hand to recover his axe a bullet struck the blade of it—­ping!  He caught up the axe and ran his finger over it stupidly.  Phut—­another bullet spat into the soft earth behind his shoulder.  Then he understood.  A fellow came tumbling through the gap, pitched exactly where Nat had been sprawling a moment before, rose to his knees, and then with a quiet bubbling sound lay down again.

“Ugh! he would be killed—­he must get out of this!” But there was no cover unless he found it across the ditch and close under the high stone curtain.  They would be dropping stones, beams, fire barrels; but at least he would be out of the reach of the bullets.  He forgot the chance—­the certainty—­of an enfilading fire from the two bastions.  His one desire was to get across and pick some place of shelter.