BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH The remainder of that day, as well as much of the gloomy night following, composed a silent, lingering horror.

The fierce pangs of hunger no longer gnawed, but a dull apathy now held the helpless defenders.

One of the wounded died, a mere lad, sobbing pitifully for his mother; an infantryman, peering forth from his covert, had been shot in the face, and his scream echoed among the rocks in multiplied accents of agony; while Wyman lay tossing and moaning, mercifully unconscious.

The others rested in their places, scarcely venturing to stir a limb, their roving, wolfish eyes the only visible evidence of remaining life, every hope vanished, yet each man clinging to his assigned post of duty in desperation.

There was but little firing--the defenders nursing their slender stock, the savages biding their time.
When night shut down the latter became bolder, and taunted cruelly those destined to become so soon their hapless victims.