‘Run,’ Markham yelled.

He stood upright and turned to face them, presenting a target at which they could aim, willing the Frenchmen to fire off their weapons without taking too much in the way of aim. They obliged, with a standard of musketry that was deplorable. If muskets were inaccurate, cavalry carbines, with their short barrels, were worse. But they should have been able to hit Markham at thirty-five yards. Both shots were too high, coming nowhere near their target. He flinched as one of the balls, having hit the wall, ricocheted so that it span past his head.