that the army withdrew as if struck with a panic terror. For every shot from the Basiglia had hit its man, whilst not a ball from the camp of the enemy touched a soldier behind the defenses of the rock. In the evening, Arnaud addressed his people, and those countenances, lately fierce and stern with the lust of war, were now bathed in tears.
Ten days afterwards, again the white flag showed itself before the Basiglia. Marshal Catinat admonished the Waldenses to surrender; he had commanded cannon to be placed upon the rocks on the other side of the valley, just opposite Basiglia, and they would be directed against its fastnesses. The Waldenses replied, “We will defend the soil of our fathers! Let your cannon thunder; our rocks will not tremble, and we—we will listen to the firing!”
But after some hours' firing, a breach was opened in the lower fortifications, and although twilight compelled the enemy to discontinue the attack, yet it was evident that it was only to be renewed the following morning, and that neither the stronghold of the Basiglia nor its people could long hold out. The French commander was also aware of the same fact, and sent word to the town of Pignirol, “that any who wished to see the Waldenses hanged two and two must make haste before the following morning to the valley of San Martino.” He collected his troops and ordered watchfires to be lighted still closer around the rock-fastnesses of Basiglia, and their flames mingled through the night with the wild cries of derision, of fiendish joy, from the camp.
In the stronghold of Basiglia, all was hushed and
