Brereton, sword in hand, had half sprung, half been tossed upon the row of barrels filled with earth which topped the breastworks, only to face a bayonet which one of the garrison lunged up at him.  A sharp prick he felt in his chest; but as in the quick thought of danger he realised his death moment, the weapon, instead of being driven home, was jerked back, and the soldier who had thrust with it cried:—­

“Charlie!”

“Fred!” exclaimed Jack, and the two men caught each other by the hand and stood still while the invaders poured past them over the barrels.

It was Mobray who spoke first.  “Oh, Charlie!” he almost sobbed, “one misery at least has been saved me!  My God!  You bleed.”

“A pin-prick only, Fred. But what does this mean?  You! and in the ranks.”

“Ay, and for three years desperately seeking a death which will not come!”

“And the Fusileers?”

“Hold this redoubt.  Oh, Charlie, to think that your sword should ever be raised against the old regiment!”

As Mobray spoke, came a cry from the garrison, “We yield!” and the clatter of their weapons could be heard as they were grounded, or were thrown to the earth.

“Quick!” cried Brereton, fairly hauling Sir Frederick to where he stood.  “Run, Fred!  At least, you shall be no prisoner.”  Jack gave him a last squeeze of the hand and a shove, which sent his friend fairly staggering down into the ditch.

Mobray sprang through a break in the abattis, but had not run ten feet when he turned and shouted back something which the thundering of the artillery prevented Brereton from entirely hearing, but the words he distinguished were sufficient to make him catch at the barrels for support, for they were:—­

“Janice Meredith ...  Yorktown ... point of death ... small-pox.”

For a moment Brereton stood in a kind of daze; but as the full horror of Mobray’s words came home to him, he groaned.  Turning, he plunged down into the fortress with a look of a man bereft, and striding to the commander cried, “For God’s sake, Hamilton, give me something to do!”

“The very man I wanted,” replied the little colonel.  “Carry word to the marquis that the redoubt is ours, and that the supports may advance.”

Dashing out of the now open sally port, Jack ran at his top speed, and within two minutes delivered the report to General de Lafayette.

“Ah, mes braves,” ejaculated the marquis, triumphantly.  “My own countreemen they thought they would not it do, and now my boys, they have the fort before Deuxponts has his,” he went on, as he pointed into the darkness, out of which could be seen the flash of muskets.  “Ah, we will teach the baron a lesson.  Colonel Barber,” he ordered, turning to his aide, “ride at your best quickness to General Viomenil; tell him, with my compliments, that our fort, it is ours, and that we can give him the assistance, if he needs it.”