'There's little doing to-night,' said an officer, as he descended the
ladder to the sick bay. 'Melas is waiting for some heavy mortars that
are coming up; and then there will be a long code of instructions from
the Aulic Council, and a whole treatise on gunnery to be read, before
he can use them. Trust me, if Massena knew his man, he 'd be up and at
him.'

Much discussion followed this speech, but all more or less agreed in its
sentiment. Weak as were the French, lowered by fever and by famine, they
were still an overmatch for their adversaries. What a glorious avowal
from the lips of an enemy was this! The words did more for my recovery
than all the cares and skill of physic Oh, if my countrymen but knew! if
Massena could but hear it! was my next thought; and I turned my eyes to
the ramparts, whose line was marked out by the bivouac fires, through
the darkness. How short the distance seemed, and yet it was a whole
world of separation. Had it been a great plain in a mountain tract, the
attempt might almost have appeared practicable; at least, I had often
seen fellows who would have tried it. Such were the ready roads, the
royal paths, to promotion, and he who trod them saved miles of weary
journey. I fell asleep, still thinking on these things; but they haunted
my dreams. A voice seemed ever to whisper in my ear--'If Massena but
knew, he would attack them. One bold dash, and the Austrians would fall
back.' At one instant, I thought myself brought before a court-martial
of English officers, for attempting to carry these tidings; and proudly
avowing the endeavour, I fancied I was braving the accusation. At
another, I was wandering through the streets of Genoa, gazing on the
terrible scenes of famine I had heard of. And lastly, I was marching
with a night party to attack the enemy. The stealthy footfall of the
column appeared suddenly to cease; we were discovered; the Austrian
cavalry were upon us! I started and awoke, and found myself in the dim,
half-lighted chamber, with pain and suffering around me, and where,
even in this midnight hour, the restless tortures of disease were yet
wakeful.

'The silence is more oppressive to me than the roll of artillery,'
said one, a sick midshipman, to his comrade. 'I grew accustomed to the
clatter of the guns, and slept all the better for it.'

'You 'll scarcely hear much more of that music,' replied his friend.
'The French must capitulate to-morrow or next day.'

'Not if Mass