His situation was one of imminent peril truly, for he was between two
fires. But what did he care? Only a few minutes more, if he could but
lie close, and he would be once more surrounded by his own men.
While he waited the dawn broke, and he could watch for himself the
progress the assailants made. They were now climbing along the slopes
of the ravine on both sides of the harbour, occupying house after
house, and maintaining a hot fire on the retreating foe. It was
exciting, maddening; in his eagerness McKay was tempted to emerge from
his shelter and wave encouragement to his comrades.
Unhappily for him, the gesture was misunderstood. The crack of
half-a-dozen rifles responded promptly, and a couple of them took
fatal effect. Poor Stanislas fell, badly wounded, with one bullet in
his arm and another in his leg.
CHAPTER XI.
AMONG FRIENDS AGAIN.
McKay lay where he fell, and it was perhaps well for him that he was
prostrate. The attacking parties soon desisted from firing, and
charged forward at racing-pace, driving all who stood before them at
the point of the bayonet. They swept over and past McKay, trampling
him under foot in their hot haste to demolish the foe.
But the wave of the advance left McKay behind it, and well within the
shelter of his own people.
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