horses were fairly lifted from their feet by the canister; the other two horses dragged them, a mass of mangled flesh. The gunners astride had been hurled from their seats; the caisson showed gaps, as the gunners sitting upon it wilted. Down sprawled the horse of the young officer who commanded. He staggered to his feet and ran on. An instant more and the gun was safely within the shelter of the battery parapet—was being unlimbered and turned muzzle to muzzle with the gateway guns.
Of the nine artillerists, five were out of action.
"That," said Lieutenant Grant, breathing fast, "is Lieutenant Harry Hunt, of the Second. I never saw a braver deed."
The roofs of the houses had been cleared well-nigh to the city wall. Lieutenant Hunt's gun opened point blank upon the gateway battery. And listen! See! There was another great cheer—suddenly the roofs right against the wall on either side of the gate had upheaved, a torrent of blue caps and blue jackets spurted out like bursts of water, and broke white with a terrific fire into the gateway battery and even over the wall itself.
The battery was silenced in a moment as the gunners fell or frantically scuttled back through the arched passage. Lieutenant Hunt's gun again belched grape. And here came the stormers, out from among the houses and down the road, yelling, firing, pouring through between the gate towers.
"The gate's taken, and so is the city," Lieutenant Grant rapped. "Come on, Fry. We'd better join our commands. Disassemble the piece, men, and report with it to Lieutenant Reno."
