In the same instant the sharp report of a rifle
rang through the canes, and a ball whizzed by.
Beni laughed and held up his hat, which was
pierced in two places.

"Well aimed, first shot!" said he, and rode
back again.

And now the plantations on either side of the
road seemed all at once to swarm with invisible
foes. Ball after ball whistled through the canes,
gap after gap opened suddenly in the forward
ranks. Those in the rear flung themselves by
hundreds into the vineyards, firing almost at
random, and guided only by the smoke of their
enemies' rifles; but the front poured steadily on.

Every moment the balls flew thicker and the
men fell faster. A German to whom Saxon had
been speaking but the instant before, went
down, stone dead, close against his feet, and
Saxon heard the cruel " thud" of the ball as it
crashed into his brain. Medici's horse dropped
under him; Beni came dashing past again, with
a bloody handkerchief bound round his arm;
Garibaldi and his officers pressed closer to the
front—and still not a single Neapolitan had yet
been seen.

Suddenly the whole mass of the centre, quickening
its pace in obedience to the word of command,
advanced at a run, firing right and left into the
cane-brake, and making straight for a point
whence the balls had seemed to come thickest.
Then came a terrific flash about twenty paces
ahead—a rush of smoke—a roar that shook the
very earth. The men fell back in confusion.
They had been running in the very teeth of a
masked battery!

As the smoke cleared, the ground was seen to
be literally ploughed up with grape-shot, and
strewn with dead and dying.

Castletowers flung down his rifle, rushed in
among the wounded, and dragged first one, then
another, into the shelter of the cane-brake.

Saxon clambered into an olive-tree beside the
road, and, heedless of the balls that came peppering
round him, began coolly picking off the
Neapolitan gunners.

In the mean while Medici's columns had
recoiled upon those behind, and the whole mass
was thrown into disorder. To add to the
confusion, a cry went up that Garibaldi was
wounded.

At this critical moment, while the road was
yet blocked with men, Major Vaughan came
galloping round by the front. Despatched with
orders to the rear, and unable to force his way
through, he had chosen this perilous alternative.
Dashing across the open space between the
battery and the Garibaldians, he at once
became the target of a dozen invisible rifles, was
seen to reel in his saddle, sway over, and fall
within a foot or two of Saxon's olive-tree.

In less than a second the young fellow had
leaped down, lifted the dragoon in his strong
arms, carried him out of the road, and placed
him with his back against the tree.

"Are you much hurt?" he asked, eagerly.

Vaughan bent his head feebly.

"Take my horse," he said, speaking in broken
gasps, and keeping his hand pressed close against
his side. " Ride round to the rear—bid Dunn
bring up the reserve— and charge the battery—
in flank."

"I will; but can you bear to be carried a few
yards further?"

"Tell him there's a wall—to the left of the
guns—under cover of which—he can bring up
—his men."

"Yes, yes; but, first of all ... ."

"Confound you!—go at once—or the day
—is lost!"

Saying which, he leaned forward, pointed
impatiently to the horse, and fell over on his face.

Saxon just lifted him—looked at the white
face—laid the head gently back, sprang into
Gulnare's empty saddle, and rode off at full
speed. As he did so, he saw that Medici's men
had formed again, that Garibaldi was himself
cheering them on to the attack, and that Castletowers
had fallen in with the advancing colums.

To rush to the rear, deliver his orders,
dismount, and tie up the Arab in a place of safety,
was the work of only a few moments. He then
returned with Dunn's regiment, threading his
way through the vines like the rest, and
approaching the battery under cover of a wall and
ditch away to the left, as Vaughan had directed.

Coming up to the battery, they found a sharp
struggle already begun—the Neapolitans
defending their guns at the point of the bayonet
—Medici's men swarming gallantly over the
earthworks, and Garibaldi, sword in hand, in
the midst of the fray.

The word was given; the reserve charged
at a run; and Saxon found himself the next
moment inside the battery, driven up against a
gun-carriage, and engaged in a hand-to-hand
light with two Neapolitan gunners, both of
whom he shot dead with his revolver.

"Drag off the guns!" shouted Colonel Dunn.

The men flung themselves upon the pieces,
surrounded, seized, and put them instantly in
motion—the Neapolitans fell back, opened out
to right and left, and made way for their
cavalry.

Then Saxon heard a coming thunder of hoofs;
saw a sudden vision of men, and horses, and
uplifted sabres; was conscious of firing his last
cartridge in the face of a dragoon who seemed
to be bending over him in the act to strike—
and after that remembered nothing more.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfield," &c.
Now publishing, PART XVIII., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND
BY CHARLES DICKENS
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.