“We will strike off a horn of the beast, or level one of her hills,” said Rigby, as he strode forth early on that morning to the enterprise.

“Which seven towers be the seven hills of Rome or spiritual Antichrist,” said Jackson, his chaplain, who kept near his master, or rather kept his master between himself and the Babel that roused his indignation.  Morgan was just preparing his engines when Rigby approached, cautiously worming his way along the trenches, for the marksmen were become unmercifully expert by reason of continued practice.

The match was lighted,—­when bounce went the shot, a four-and-twenty pounder, against the Eagle Tower.

“We will beat the old lady from her perch:  I find she hath taken to high-roosting of late,” said Morgan, as he watched the despatch and destination of his messenger.

The ball had entered into her ladyship’s chamber, where she and the children were at breakfast.  With as little emotion as Charles the Twelfth on a like occasion, she merely remarked that since they were likely to have disagreeable intruders, she must e’en seek a new lodging.

“But,” said she, rising with great dignity, “I will keep my house while a building is left above my head.”

This mischievous exploit, though an occasion at the time of great triumph and exultation to the besiegers, was the main cause of their subsequent expulsion and defeat.

We now propose to follow out their operations with more minuteness, tracing the consequences of this action to its final result.

That same night some of the garrison, having permission from their commanders, annoyed their enemies with strange and noisome alarms, during which they contrived to steal some powder, and other necessaries of which they were much in want.

Colonels Egerton and Rigby were in close counsel before their tent when they beheld a terrible appearance moving towards them,—­looking in the dark like the leaders of some mighty army, waving their torches to light them to the assault.  This frightful apparition was a poor forlorn horse, studded with lights fastened to cords, that shook and flickered about in so fearful a manner.  In this plight he had been turned out of the gates, the garrison looking on, with frightful shouts and yells.

The sentinels ran from their posts, crying out that the king’s army was coming.  In an instant all was uproar and confusion, the trenches were cleared, and happy was he that came foremost in the rout.

Rigby clasped on his sword-belt which he had doffed for the night.  Springing on his horse, he met some of the runaways, whom he forced back, hoping by their means to stem the main torrent.  But, lo! in the very height of the panic, appeared another and more direful intruder—­an avenue of fire seemed to extend from the walls to their own trench.  It appeared as though the enemy had by some unaccountable means formed in a double line from the fortress, illuminated rank and file as if by magic—­flinging their torches by one simultaneous and well-concerted movement into the air with great order and regularity.