While the mass was being performed in the Piazza, the Spanish sentries,
who guarded the trenches outside, could distinctly hear the voices of
those who took part in it; and could even distinguish the words of the
sacred song, which alone broke the silence of the night.
The sentinel whose post was nearest to the entrenchments of the town,
had for his companions a number of dead bodies of the enemy, who had
fallen during a sortie of the insurgents, and whose corpses their
comrades had no opportunity of interring. These, as already mentioned,
were all more or less mutilated by their cruel foes, who oft-times
revenged themselves on the dead for defeats they had suffered from the
living.
The sentry in question walked to and fro upon his prescribed rounds,
alternately turning face and back upon the mangled corpses. On each
occasion, as he faced round half mechanically he counted them, by way of
killing the time, at the same time preserving between them and himself a
respectable distance.
After a short while spent in this melancholy pastime, the sounds
accompanying the ceremony of the mass attracted his attention; and, as a
change, he commenced endeavouring to make out the words that were being
spoken or chaunted.