shore by means of a bridge, on which his men might advance to the assault. The bridge was constructed under the very eyes of the Greeks, and on it was mounted one of the sultan's largest pieces of artillery. We are not to suppose that the garrison quietly allowed all this to be done without any attempt at resistance. But they were far too few in number to resist effectually, and such guns as they had were overpowered by the Turkish fire. In fact, as soon as they had to meet a really formidable assault at a fresh point, their fate was sealed. One desperate effort by night to burn both bridge and ships was made by a gallant band of noble Greek and Italian youths, but it was discovered and frustrated. All were taken and slain. The infamous deed was quickly avenged by the slaughter of two hundred and sixty Turkish prisoners, whose heads were displayed on the walls. The emperor, we should imagine, was the last man to approve in his heart of this horrible retaliation.
The city now had a very dismal prospect before it. The siege had lasted forty days, but it was every day becoming clearer that it could not be sustained much longer. The old walls had at last yielded at many points to the enemy's artillery. The gate of St. Romanus was in ruins, and four of its adjacent towers were demolished. Since the sultan's last success, the line of attack had been greatly extended, far, indeed, beyond the power of resistance yet retained by the small and weary garrison. There was strife between the Genoese and the Venetians, and Giustiniani and the Duke Notaras were at feud, and taunted one another with treachery.
