"Keep up a brisk fire, lads," I called to them, "and the enemy will think our strength is greater than it is."
Two or three of the Frenchmen returned our fire, but without effect, and they soon retired from the passage into the yard. While this was going on, I remained on horseback, giving orders as occasion required. Close to me was the open window of a room on the ground-floor, and suddenly an officer, springing up from beneath the window-sill, discharged a pistol at my head, the ball passing through my shako, or cap as we called it in those days. Harry Symes was standing beside me, and seizing the officer, he dragged him through the window.
"Rendez vous, m'sieur!" I exclaimed, presenting a pistol. "You are our prisoner."
"It is the fortune of war!" he said, shrugging his shoulders; and unbuckling his sword he handed it to me.
This was an important capture, and I determined to make the most of it.
"M'sieur," I said to the lieutenant, for such was our prisoner's rank, "the brigade to which we belong is close at hand, and I call upon you to order your men to surrender before its arrival."
"What if they refuse?" he replied.
"I shall fire the premises, and not a man will escape."
"Sapristie! you must be a Spaniard, not an Englishman," he exclaimed. "I am in your power and must obey you."
"Bien, m'sieur," I answered; and calling one of the Germans who spoke French fluently, I bade him escort the officer to the yard.