No cry for quarter, no supplicating look for mercy; it was the death struggle of vengeance and despair.

At this instant an explosion louder than the loudest thunder shook the air; the rent and torn up ramparts sprang into the sky; the conquering and the conquered were alike the victims; for one of the greatest magazines had been ignited by a shell; the black smoke, streaked with a lurid flame, hung above the dead and the dying.

The artillery and the murderous musketry were stilled, paralyzed, as it were, by the ruin and devastation before them.

Both sides stood leaning upon their arms; the pause was but momentary; the cries of wounded comrades called upon their hearts.

A fierce burst of vengeance rent the air; the British closed upon the foe; for one instant they were met; the next, the bayonets gleamed upon the ramparts, and Ciudad Rodrigo was won..