"Turn out, mate," cried one of the soldiers, shaking George vigorously
by the shoulder, and the boy sprang up to find everybody astir.
"How I do sleep in this hot country!" he yawned, to which the sergeant
replied with a laugh, "It'll be hotter still before long, my lad,
never fear."
It was a long time before the first shot was fired, however, the
disposition of the troops and the guns not being complete. At length a
movement was made. The _Dorsetshire_, with Captain Whitaker in
command, was sent to capture a French privateer with twelve guns,
which lay at the Old Mole, and the boom of cannon rose in the air.
Presently, from near the spot where Lieutenant Fieldsend and his
little company were posted, a shot was fired into the fortifications;
then another, and afterwards a third. Work had begun at last.
A puff, a boom in the distance, and there came screaming through the
air a big round shot, striking the ground, ploughing it up, and
covering those near with dust and dirt.
"Quite near enough, eh, sir?" George observed to his lieutenant, as
they shook the earth from their clothing. "And, by Jove, there's
another of them!" A second shot flew just overhead, to do its deadly
work on the unfortunate men who stood immediately behind.
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