“Dead!” one of the fellows cried.

“No,” answered George, whose keen eyes detected a movement of the officer’s arm, “but he soon will be, if he is left lying there!” Another shot struck the bush, only just missing the body of the prostrate man.  In a moment George darted forward towards the place, in spite of the loud warning shouts of his mates.

He reached the spot, seized Fieldsend by the shoulders, and by main force dragged him quickly a dozen yards to the right.  It was a heavy task, but the lad was as sturdy a fellow of his years as one might have found in a week’s march, and his efforts were rewarded with a cheer from his comrades.

While the shouts were still ringing, yet one more shot came, this time striking the exact spot where the lieutenant had a moment before been lying, and ploughing up the little elder bush by its roots.

“As plucky a job as ever I see!” cried the sergeant, running up with three or four others, and he slapped George on the back with a heartiness that made the lad wince.

The wounded man was hastily carried off the field.

“More stunned than hurt,” reported the surgeon, “a nasty tap on the left shoulder; but he’ll be all right in a day or so.”

Within half an hour George Fairburn found himself on board the Dorsetshire, to assist in the operations against the New Mole.  The signal had come to Captain Whitaker to proceed against that place, and the ship was headed for the spot.  To the surprise of those on board, they perceived two other ships in advance of them; they were the Yarmouth, Captain Hicks, and the Lennox, Captain Jumper, a gallant pair.  Boats from the two vessels were perceived hastening to the shore.  The crews landed, and almost immediately their feet touched ground a dense cloud was seen to fly up into the air, followed by a deafening explosion.

“A mine!” rose from a hundred throats, as the Dorsetshire men watched with straining eyes.  It was true; two score gallant fellows were afterwards found lying on the fatal ground.

With a determined rush the Dorsetshire men fell upon the defenders, and George found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter.  It was all over in a few minutes; the handful of Spaniards could not stand against so powerful a force, and the New Mole was taken.  Hot and exited, the men were carried against Jumper’s Bastion, a strong work a little to the north of the New Mole, and that place, too, was rushed in an incredibly short space of time, and with scarcely any loss worth the naming.  From this time George Fairburn kept no count of the long series of exciting incidents that followed each other, the assault having been carried to the Line Wall that stretched away northwards to the Old Mole.

The attack when at its height was a terrible affair.  Sixteen English ships under the immediate command of Byng, and six Dutch men-of-war under Admiral Vanderdusen, faced the Line Wall, while three more English vessels were off the New Mole.