stole out for a reconnaissance, not wishing to trust other eyes than his
own in the imminent peril of the place.

The expedition was successful. A few prisoners were taken, and valuable
information was obtained, but these advantages were counterbalanced by a
severe disaster. The vigilant and devoted little governor, before
effecting his entrance into the sally port, was picked off by a
sharpshooter, and died the next day. This seemed the necessary fate
of the commandants of Ostend, where the operations seemed more like a
pitched battle lasting three years than an ordinary siege. Gieselles,
Van Loon, Bievry, and now Berendrecht, had successively fallen at the
post of duty since the beginning of the year. Not one of them was more
sincerely deplored than Berendrecht. His place was supplied by Colonel
Uytenhoove, a stalwart, hirsute, hard-fighting Dutchman, the descendant
of an ancient race, and seasoned in many a hard campaign.

The enemy now being occupied in escarping and furnishing with batteries
the positions he had gained, with the obvious intention of attacking the
new counterscarp, it was resolved to prepare for the possible loss of
this line of fortifications by establishing another and still narrower
one within it.

Half the little place had been shorn away by the first change. Of the
half which was still in possession of the besieged about one-third was
now set off, and in this little corner of earth, close against the new
harbour, was set up their last refuge. They called the new citadel
Little Troy, and announced, with pardonable bombast, that they would hold
out there as long as the ancient Trojans had defended Ilium. With
perfect serenity the engineers set about their task with line, rule, and
level, measuring out the bulwarks and bastions, the miniature salients,