sorts of stones and scraps of metal, so that they would hit you
as certainly as I have hit a pheasant on a branch. The Spaniard
stood peering down through the darkness, while an occasional
groan from below showed that the sergeant was still living. The
sentry looked round and everything was still and safe.

Perhaps he thought that he would like to finish of this accursed
Frenchman, or perhaps he had a desire to see what was in his
pockets; but whatever his motive, he laid down his gun, leaned
forward, and swung himself into the tree. The same instant I
buried my knife in his body, and he fell with a loud crashing
through the branches and came with a thud to the ground. I heard
a short struggle below and an oath or two in French.

The wounded sergeant had not waited long for his vengeance.

For some minutes I did not dare to move, for it seemed certain
that someone would be attracted by the noise.

However, all was silent save for the chimes striking midnight in
the city. I crept along the branch and lifted myself on to the
roof. The Spaniard's gun was lying there, but it was of no
service to me, since he had the powder-horn at his belt. At the
same time, if it were found, it would warn the enemy that
something had happened, so I thought it best to drop it over the
wall.

Then I looked round for the means of getting of the roof and down
into the city.