CHAPTER XIX

  “Our trumpet called you to this gentle parle.”
   King John.

As Griffith and his companions rushed from the offices of St. Ruth into the open air, they encountered no one to intercept their flight, or communicate the alarm. Warned by the experience of the earlier part of the same night, they avoided the points where they knew the sentinels were posted, though fully prepared to bear down all resistance, and were soon beyond the probability of immediate detection. They proceeded, for the distance of half a mile, with rapid strides, and with the stern and sullen silence of men who expected to encounter immediate danger, resolved to breast it with desperate resolution; but, as they plunged into a copse that clustered around the ruin which has been already mentioned, they lessened their exertions to a more deliberate pace, and a short but guarded dialogue ensued “We have had a timely escape,” said Griffith; “I would much rather have endured captivity, than have been the cause of introducing confusion and bloodshed in the peaceful residence of Colonel Howard.”

“I would, sir, that you had been of this opinion some hours earlier,” returned the Pilot, with a severity in his tones that even conveyed more meaning than his words.

“I may have forgotten my duty, sir, in my anxiety to enquire into the condition of a family in whom I feel a particular interest,” returned Griffith, in a manner in which pride evidently struggled with respect; “but this is not a time for regrets; I apprehend that we follow you on an errand of some moment, where actions would be more acceptable than any words of apology. What is your pleasure now?”

“I much fear that our project will be defeated,” said the Pilot, gloomily; “the alarm will spread with the morning fogs, and there will be musterings of the yeomen, and consultations of the gentry, that will drive all thoughts of amusement from their minds. The rumor of a descent will, at any time, force sleep from the shores of this island, to at least ten leagues inland.”

“Ay, you have probably passed some pleasant nights, with your eyes open, among them, yourself, Master Pilot,” said Manual; “they may thank the Frenchman, Thurot, in the old business of '56, and our own daredevil, the bloody Scotchman, as the causes of their quarters being so often beaten up. After all, Thurot, with his fleet, did no more than bully them a little, and the poor fellow was finally extinguished by a few small cruisers, like a drummer's boy under a grenadier's cap; but honest Paul sang a different tune for his countrymen to dance to, and—”

“I believe you will shortly dance yourself, Manual,” interrupted Griffith, quickly, “and in very pleasure that you have escaped an English prison.”

“Say, rather, an English gibbet,” continued the elated marine; “for had a court-martial or a court-civil discussed the manner of our entrance into this island, I doubt whether we should have fared better than the daredevil himself, honest——”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed the impatient Griffith; “enough of this nonsense, Captain Manual: we have other matters to discuss now. What course have you determined to pursue, Mr. Gray?”

The Pilot started, like a man aroused from a deep musing, at this question, and after a pause of a moment he spoke in a low tone of voice, as if still under the influence of deep and melancholy feeling:

“The night has already run into the morning watch, but the sun is backward to show himself in this latitude in the heart of winter.—I must depart, my friends, to rejoin you some ten hours hence: it will be necessary to look deeper into our scheme before we hazard anything, and no one can do the service but myself: where shall we meet again?”

“I have reason to think that there is an unfrequented ruin at no great distance from us,” said Griffith; “perhaps we might find both shelter and privacy among its deserted walls.”

“The thought is good,” returned the Pilot, “and 'twill answer a double purpose. Could you find the place where you put the marines in ambush, Captain Manual?”

“Has a dog a nose? and can he follow a clean scent?” exclaimed the marine; “do you think, Signor Pilota, that a general ever puts his forces in an ambuscade where he can't find them himself? 'Fore God! I knew well enough where the rascals lay snoring on their knapsacks, some half an hour ago, and I would have given the oldest majority in Washington's army to have had them where a small intimation from myself could have brought them in line ready dressed for a charge. I know not how you fared, gentlemen, but, with me, the sight of twenty such vagabonds would have been a joyous spectacle; we would have tossed that Captain Borroughcliffe and his recruits on the point of our bayonets, as the devil would pitch——”

“Come, come, Manual,” said Griffith, a little angrily, “you constantly forget our situation and our errand; can you lead your men hither without discovery, before the day dawns?”

“I want but the shortest half-hour that a bad watch ever traveled over to do it in.”

“Then follow, and I will appoint a place of secret rendezvous,” rejoined Griffith; “Mr. Gray can learn our situation at the same time.”

The Pilot was seen to beckon, through the gloom of the night, for his companions to come forward; when they proceeded, with cautious steps, in quest of the desired shelter. A short search brought them in contact with a part of the ruinous walls, which spread over a large surface, and which, in places, reared their black fragments against the sky, casting a deeper obscurity across the secret recesses of the wood.

“This will do,” said Griffith, when they had skirted for some distance the outline of the crumbling fabric; “bring up your men to this point, where I will meet you, and conduct them to some more secret place, for which I shall search during your absence.”

“A perfect paradise, after the cable-tiers of the Ariel!” exclaimed Manual; “I doubt not but a good spot might be selected among these trees for a steady drill,—a thing my soul has pined after for six long months.”

“Away, away!” cried Griffith; “here is no place for idle parades; if we find shelter from discovery and capture until you shall be needed in a deadly struggle, 'twill be well.”

Manual was slowly retracing his steps to the skirts of the wood, when he suddenly turned, and asked:

“Shall I post a small picket, a mere corporal's guard, in the open ground in front, and make a chain of sentinels to our works?”

“We have no works—we want no sentinels,” returned his impatient commander; “our security is only to be found in secrecy. Lead up your men under the cover of the trees, and let those three bright stars be your landmarks—bring them in a range with the northern corner of the wood——”

“Enough, Mr. Griffith,” interrupted Manual; “a column of troops is not to be steered like a ship, by compass, and bearings and distances;—trust me, sir, the march shall be conducted with proper discretion, though in a military manner.”

Any reply or expostulation was prevented by the sudden disappearance of the marine, whose retreating footsteps were heard for several moments, as he moved at a deliberate pace through the underwood. During this short interval, the Pilot stood reclining against the corner of the ruins in profound silence; but when the sounds of Manual's march were no longer audible, he advanced from under the deeper shadows of the wall, and approached his youthful companion.

“We are indebted to the marine for our escape,” he said; “I hope we are not to suffer by his folly.”

“He is what Barnstable calls a rectangular man,” returned Griffith, “and will have his way in matters of his profession, though a daring companion in a hazardous expedition. If we can keep him from exposing us by his silly parade, we shall find him a man who will do his work like a soldier, sir, when need happens.”

“'Tis all I ask; until the last moment, he and his command must be torpid; for if we are discovered, any attempt of ours, with some twenty bayonets and a half-pike or two, would be useless against the force that would be brought to crush us.”

“The truth of your opinion is too obvious,” returned Griffith; “these fellows will sleep a week at a time in a gale at sea, but the smell of the land wakes them up, and I fear 'twill be hard to keep them close during the day.”

“It must be done, sir, by the strong hand of force,” said the Pilot sternly, “if it cannot be done by admonition; if we had no more than the recruits of that drunken martinet to cope with, it would be no hard task to drive them into the sea; but I learned in my prison that horse are expected on the shore with the dawn; there is one they call Dillon, who is on the alert to do us mischief.”

“The miscreant!” muttered Griffith; “then you also have had communion, sir, with some of the inmates of St. Ruth?”

“It behooves a man who is embarked in a perilous enterprise to seize all opportunities to learn his hazard,” said the Pilot, evasively: “if the report be true, I fear we have but little hopes of succeeding in our plans.”

“Nay, then, let us take the advantage of the darkness to regain the schooner; the coasts of England swarm with hostile cruisers, and a rich trade is flowing into the bosom of this island from the four quarters of the world; we shall not seek long for a foe worthy to contend with, nor for the opportunities to cut up the Englishman in his sinews of war—his wealth.”

“Griffith,” returned the Pilot, in his still, low tones, that seemed to belong to a man who never knew ambition, nor felt human passion, “I grow sick of this struggle between merit and privileged rank. It is in vain that I scour the waters which the King of England boastingly calls his own, and capture his vessels in the very mouths of his harbors, if my reward is to consist only of isolated promises, and hollow professions: but your proposition is useless to me; I have at length obtained a ship of a size sufficient to convey my person to the shores of honest, plain-dealing America; and I would enter the hall of Congress, on my return, attended by a few of the legislators of this learned isle, who think they possess the exclusive privilege to be wise, and virtuous, and great.”

“Such a retinue might doubtless be grateful both to your own feelings and those who would receive you,” said Griffith, modestly; “but would it effect the great purposes of our struggle? or is it an exploit, when achieved, worth the hazard you incur?”

Griffith felt the hand of the Pilot on his own, pressing it with a convulsive grasp, as he replied, in a voice, if possible, even more desperately calm than his former tones:

“There is a glory in it, young man; if it be purchased with danger, it shall be rewarded by fame! It is true, I wear your republican livery, and call the Americans my brothers; but it is because you combat in behalf of human nature. Were your cause less holy, I would not shed the meanest drop that flows in English veins to serve it; but now, it hallows every exploit that is undertaken in its favor, and the names of all who contend for it shall belong to posterity. Is there no merit in teaching these proud islanders that the arm of liberty can pluck them from the very empire of their corruption and oppression?”

“Then let me go and ascertain what we most wish to know; you have been seen there, and might attract—”

“You little know me,” interrupted the Pilot; “the deed is my own. If I succeed, I shall claim the honor, and it is proper that I incur the hazard; if I fail, it will be buried in oblivion, like fifty others of my schemes, which, had I power to back me, would have thrown this kingdom in consternation, from the lookouts on the boldest of its headlands, to those on the turrets of Windsor Castle. But I was born without nobility of twenty generations to corrupt my blood and deaden my soul, and am not trusted by the degenerate wretches who rule the French marine.”

“'Tis said that ships of two decks are building from our own oak,” said Griffith, “and you have only to present yourself in America, to be employed most honorably.”

“Ay! the republics cannot doubt the man who has supported their flag, without lowering it an inch, in so many bloody conflicts! I do go there, Griffith, but my way lies on this path; my pretended friends have bound my hands often, but my enemies, never—neither shall they now. Ten hours will determine all I wish to know, and with you I trust the safety of the party till my return: be vigilant, but be prudent”

“If you should not appear at the appointed hour,” exclaimed Griffith, as he beheld the Pilot turning to depart, “where am I to seek, and how serve you?”

“Seek me not, but return to your vessel; my earliest years were passed on this coast,—and I can leave the island, should it be necessary, as I entered it, aided by this disguise and my own knowledge: in such an event, look to your charge, and forget me entirely.”

Griffith could distinguish the silent wave of his hand when the Pilot concluded, and the next instant he was left alone. For several minutes the young man continued where he had been standing, musing on the singular endowments and restless enterprise of the being with whom chance had thus unexpectedly brought him in contact, and with whose fate and fortune his own prospects had, by the intervention of unlooked-for circumstances, become intimately connected. When the reflections excited by recent occurrences had passed away, he entered within the sweeping circle of the ruinous walls, and, after a very cursory survey of the state of the dilapidated building, he was satisfied that it contained enough secret places to conceal his men, until the return of the Pilot should warn them that the hour had come when they must attempt the seizure of the devoted sportsmen, or darkness should again facilitate their return to the Ariel. It was now about the commencement of that period of deep night which seamen distinguish as the morning watch, and Griffith ventured to the edge of the little wood, to listen if any sounds or tumult indicated that they were pursued. On reaching a point where his eye could faintly distinguish distant objects, the young man paused, and bestowed a close and wary investigation on the surrounding scene.

The fury of the gale had sensibly abated, but a steady current of sea air was rushing through the naked branches of the oaks, lending a dreary and mournful sound to the gloom of the dim prospect. At the distance of a short half mile, the confused outline of the pile of St. Ruth rose proudly against the streak of light which was gradually increasing above the ocean, and there were moments when the young seaman even fancied he could discern the bright caps that topped the waves of his own disturbed element. The long, dull roar of the surf, as it tumbled heavily on the beach or dashed with unbroken violence against the hard boundary of rocks, was borne along by the blasts distinctly to his ears. It was a time and a situation to cause the young seaman to ponder deeply on the changes and chances of his hazardous profession. Only a few short hours had passed since he was striving with his utmost skill, and with all his collected energy, to guide the enormous fabric, in which so many of his comrades were now quietly sleeping on the broad ocean, from that very shore on which he now stood in cool indifference to the danger. The recollection of home, America, his youthful and enduring passion, and the character and charms of his mistress, blended in a sort of wild and feverish confusion, which was not, however, without its pleasures, in the ardent fancy of the young man; and he was slowly approaching, step by step, toward the Abbey, when the sound of footsteps, proceeding evidently from the measured tread of disciplined men, reached his ears. He was instantly recalled to his recollection by this noise, which increased as the party deliberately approached; and in a few moments he was able to distinguish a line of men, marching in order towards the edge of the wood, from which he had himself so recently issued. Retiring rapidly under the deeper shadow of the trees, he waited until it was apparent the party intended to enter under its cover also, when he ventured to speak.

“Who comes? and on what errand?” he cried, “A skulker, and to burrow like a rabbit, or jump from hole to hole, like a wharf-rat!” said Manual, sulkily; “here have I been marching, within half musket shot of the enemy, without daring to pull a trigger even on their outposts, because our muzzles are plugged with that universal extinguisher of gunpowder, called prudence. 'Fore God! Mr. Griffith, I hope you may never feel the temptation to do an evil deed, which I felt just now, to throw a volley of small shot into that dog-kennel of a place, if it were only to break its windows and let in the night air upon the sleeping sot, who is dozing away the fumes of some as good, old south-side—hark ye, Mr. Griffith, one word in your ear.”

A short conference took place between he two officers, apart from the men, at the close of which, as they rejoined the party, Manual might be heard urging his plans on the reluctant ears of Griffith in the following words:

“I could carry the old dungeon without waking one of the snorers; and consider, sir, we might get a stock of as rich cordial from its cellars as ever oiled the throat of a gentleman!”

“'Tis idle, 'tis idle,” said Griffith impatiently; “we are not robbers of hen-roosts, nor wine-gaugers, to be prying into the vaults of the English gentry, Captain Manual; but honorable men, employed in the sacred cause of liberty and our country. Lead your party into the ruin, and let them seek their rest; we may have work for them with the dawn.”

“Evil was the hour when I quitted the line of the army, to place a soldier under the orders of an awkward squad of tarry jackets!” muttered Manual, as he proceeded to execute an order that was delivered with an air of authority that he knew must be obeyed. “As pretty an opportunity for a surprise and a forage thrown away, as ever crossed the path of a partisan! but, by all the rights of man! I'll have an encampment in some order. Here, you sergeant, detail a corporal and three men for a picket, and station them ii the skirts of this wood. We shall have a sentinel in advance of our position, and things shall be conducted with some air of discipline.”

Griffith heard this order with great inward disgust; but as he anticipated the return of the Pilot before the light could arrive to render his weak exposure of their situation apparent, he forbore exercising his power to alter the arrangement. Manual had, therefore, the satisfaction of seeing his little party quartered, as he thought, in military manner, before he retired with Griffith and his men into one of the vaulted apartments of the ruin, which, by its open and broken doors, invited their entrance. Here the marines disposed themselves to rest, while the two officers succeeded in passing the tedious hours, without losing their characters for watchfulness by conversing with each other, or, at whiles, suffering their thoughts to roam in the very different fields which fancy would exhibit to men of such differing characters. In this manner hour after hour passed, in listless quiet or sullen expectation, until the day had gradually advanced, and it became dangerous to keep the sentinels and picket in a situation where they were liable to be seen by any straggler who might be passing near the wood. Manual remonstrated against any alteration, as being entirely unmilitary, for he was apt to carry his notions of tactics to extremes whenever he came in collision with a sea officer: but in this instance his superior was firm, and the only concession the captain could obtain was the permission to place a solitary sentinel within a few feet of the vault, though under the cover of the crumbling walls of the building itself. With this slight deviation in their arrangements, the uneasy party remained for several hours longer, impatiently awaiting the period when they should be required to move.

The guns first fired from the Alacrity had been distinctly audible and were pronounced by Griffith, whose practised ear detected the metal of the piece that was used, as not proceeding from the schooner. When the rapid though distant rumbling of the spirited cannonade became audible, it was with difficulty that Griffith could restrain either his own feelings or the conduct of his companions within those bounds that prudence and their situation required. The last gun was, however, fired, and not a man had left the vault, and conjectures as to the result of the fight succeeded to those which had been made on the character of the combatants during the action. Some of the marines would raise their heads from the fragments which served them as the pillows on which they were seeking disturbed and stolen slumbers, and after listening to the cannon would again compose themselves to sleep, like men who felt no concern in a contest in which they did not participate. Others, more alive to events and less drowsy, lavishly expended their rude jokes on those who were engaged in the struggle, or listened with a curious interest to mark the progress of the battle, by the uncertain index of its noise. When the fight had been some time concluded, Manual indulged his ill-humor more at length:

“There has been a party of pleasure within a league of us, Mr. Griffith,” he said, “at which, but for our present subterraneous quarters, we might have been guests, and thus laid some claim to the honor of sharing in the victory. But it is not too late to push the party on as far as the cliffs, where we shall be in sight of the vessels, and we may possibly establish a claim to our share of the prize-money.”

“There is but little wealth to be gleaned from the capture of a king's cutter,” returned Griffith; “and there would be less honor were Barnstable encumbered with our additional and useless numbers.”

“Useless!” repeated Manual; “there is much good service to be got out of twenty-three well-drilled and well-chosen marines: look at those fellows, Mr. Griffith, and then tell me if you think them an encumbrance in the hour of need.”

Griffith smiled, and glanced his eye over the sleeping group,—for when the firing had ceased the whole party had again sought their repose,—and he could not help admiring the athletic and sinewy limbs that lay scattered around the gloomy vault, in every posture that ease or whim dictated. From the stout frames of the men, his glance was directed to the stack of firearms, from whose glittering tubes and polished bayonets strong rays of light were reflected, even in that dark apartment. Manual followed the direction of his eyes, and watched the expression of his countenance with inward exultation; but he had the forbearance to await his reply before he manifested his feeling more openly.

“I know them to be true men,” said Griffith, “when needed, but—hark! what says he?”

“Who goes there? what noise is that?” repeated the sentinel who was placed at the entrance of the vault.

Manual and Griffith sprang at the same instant from their places of rest, and stood, unwilling to create the slightest sounds, listening with the most intense anxiety to catch the next indications of the cause of their guardian's alarm. A short stillness, like that of death, succeeded, during which Griffith whispered:

“'Tis the Pilot! his hour has been long passed.”

The words were hardly spoken, when the clashing of steel in fierce and sudden contact was heard, and at the next instant the body of the sentinel fell heavily along the stone steps that led to the open air, and rolled lifelessly to their feet, with the bayonet that had caused his death projecting from a deep wound in his breast.

“Away, away! sleepers away!” shouted Griffith.

“To arms!” cried Manual in a voice of thunder.

The alarmed marines, suddenly aroused from their slumbers at these thrilling cries, sprang on their feet in a confused cluster, and at that fatal moment a body of living fire darted into the vault, which re-echoed with the reports of twenty muskets. The uproar, the smoke, and the groans which escaped from many of his party, could not restrain Griffith another instant: his pistol was fired through the cloud which concealed the entrance of the vault, and he followed the leaden messenger, trailing a half-pike, and shouting to his men:

“Come on! follow, my lads; they are nothing but soldiers.”

Even while he spoke, the ardent young seaman was rushing up the narrow passage; but as he gained the open space, his foot struck the writhing body of the victim of his shot, and he was precipitated headlong into a group of armed men.

“Fire! Manual, fire!” shouted the infuriated prisoner; “fire, while you have them in a cluster.”

“Ay, fire, Mr. Manual,” said Borroughcliffe, with great coolness, “and shoot your own officer: hold him up, boys! hold him up in front; the safest place is nighest to him.”

“Fire!” repeated Griffith, making desperate efforts to release himself from the grasp of five or six men; “fire, and disregard me.”

“If he do, he deserves to be hung,” said Borroughcliffe; “such fine fellows are not sufficiently plenty to be shot at like wild beasts in chains. Take him from before the mouth of the vault, boys, and spread yourselves to your duty.”

At the time Griffith issued from the cover, Manual was mechanically employed in placing his men in order; and the marines, accustomed to do everything in concert and array, lost the moment to advance. The soldiers of Borroughcliffe reloaded their muskets, and fell back behind different portions of the wall, where they could command the entrance to the vault with their fire, without much exposure to themselves. This disposition was very coolly reconnoitered by Manual in person, through some of the crevices in the wall, and he hesitated to advance against the force he beheld while so advantageously posted. In this situation several shots were fired by either party, without effect, until Borroughcliffe, perceiving the inefficacy of that mode of attack, summoned the garrison of the vault to a parley.

“Surrender to the forces of his majesty, King George the Third,” he cried, “and I promise you quarter.”

“Will you release your prisoner, and give us free passage to our vessels?” asked Manual; “the garrison to march out with all the honors of war, and officers to retain their side-arms?”

“Inadmissible,” returned Borroughcliffe, with great gravity; “the honor of his majesty's arms, and the welfare of the realm, forbid such a treaty: but I offer you safe quarters and honorable treatment.”

“Officers to retain their side-arms, your prisoner to be released, and the whole party to return to America, on parole, not to serve until exchanged?”

“Not granted,” said Borroughcliffe. “The most that I can yield is a good potation of the generous south-side; and if you are the man I take you for, you will know how to prize such an offer.”

“In what capacity do you summon us to yield? as men entitled to the benefit of the laws of arms, or as rebels to your king?”

“Ye are rebels all, gentlemen,” returned the deliberate Borroughcliffe, “and as such ye must yield; though so far as good treatment and good fare goes, you are sure of it while in my power; in all other respects you lie at the mercy of his most gracious majesty.”

“Then let his majesty show his gracious face, and come and take us, for I'll be——”

The asseveration of the marine was interrupted by Griffith, whose blood had sensibly cooled, and whose generous feelings were awakened in behalf of his comrades, now that his own fate seemed decided.

“Hold, Manual,” he cried, “make no rash oaths: Captain Borroughcliffe, I am Edward Griffith, a lieutenant in the navy of the United American States, and I pledge you my honor to a parole——”

“Release him,” said Borroughcliffe.

Griffith advanced between the two parties, and spoke so as to be heard by both:

“I propose to descend to the vault, and ascertain the loss and present strength of Captain Manual's party: if the latter be not greater than I apprehend, I shall advise him to a surrender on the usual conditions of civilized nations.”

“Go,” said the soldier; “but stay; is he a half-and-half—an amphibious—pshaw! I mean a marine?”

“He is, sir, a captain in that corps——”

“The very man,” interrupted Borroughcliffe; “I thought I recollected the liquid sounds of his voice. It will be well to speak to him of the good fare of St. Ruth; and you may add, that I know my man: I shall besiege, instead of storming him, with the certainty of a surrender when his canteen is empty. The vault he is in holds no such beverage as the cellars of the Abbey.”

Griffith smiled, in spite of the occasion and his vexation; and making a slight inclination of his head he passed into the vault, giving notice to his friends, by his voice, in order to apprise them who approached.

He found six of the marines, including the sentinel, lying dead on the ragged pavement, and four others wounded, but stifling their groans, by the order of their commander, that they might not inform the enemy of his weakness. With the remainder of his command Manual had entrenched himself behind the fragment of a wall that intersected the vault, and, regardless of the dismaying objects before him, maintained as bold a front, and as momentous an air, as if the fate of a walled town depended on his resolution and ingenuity.

“You see, Mr. Griffith,” he cried, when the young sailor approached this gloomy but really formidable arrangement, “that nothing short of artillery can dislodge me: as for that drinking Englishman above, let him send down his men by platoons of eight or ten, and I'll pile them up on those steps, four and five deep.”

“But artillery can and will be brought, if it should be necessary,” said Griffith; “and there is not the least chance of your eventual escape: it may be possible for you to destroy a few of the enemy, but you are too humane to wish to do it unnecessarily.”

“No doubt,” returned Manual with a grim smile; “and yet methinks I could find present pleasure in shooting seven of them—yes, just seven, which is one more than they have struck off my roster.”

“Remember your own wounded,” added Griffith; “they suffer for want of aid, while you protract a useless defence.”

A few smothered groans from the sufferers seconded this appeal, and Manual yielded, though with a very ill grace, to the necessity of the case.

“Go, then, and tell him that we will surrender as prisoners of war,” he said, “on the conditions that he grants me my side-arms, and that suitable care shall be taken of the sick—be particular to call them sick—for some lucky accident may yet occur before the compact is ratified, and I would not have him learn our loss.”

Griffith, without waiting for a second bidding, hastened to Borroughcliffe with his intelligence.

“His side-arms!” repeated the soldier, when the other had done; “what are they, I pray thee—a marlinespike! For if his equipments be no better than thine own, my worthy prisoner, there is little need to quarrel about their ownership.”

“Had I but ten of my meanest men, armed with such half-pikes, and Captain Borroughcliffe and his party were put at deadly strife with us,” retorted Griffith, “he might find occasion to value our weapons more highly.”

“Four such fiery gentlemen as yourself would have routed my command,” returned Borroughcliffe, with undisturbed composure. “I trembled for my ranks when I saw you coming out of the smoke like a blazing comet from behind a cloud! and I shall never think of somersets without returning inward thanks to their inventor. But our treaty is made; let your comrades come forth and pile their arms.”

Griffith communicated the result to the captain of marines, when the latter led the remnant of his party out of his sunken fortress into the open air.

The men, who had manifested throughout the whole business that cool subordination and unyielding front, mixed with the dauntless spirit that to this day distinguishes the corps of which they were members, followed their commander in sullen silence, and stacked their arms with as much regularity and precision as if they had been ordered to relieve themselves after a march. When this necessary preliminary had been observed, Borroughcliffe unmasked his forces, and our adventurers found themselves once more in the power of the enemy, and under circumstances which rendered the prospect of a speedy release from their captivity nearly hopeless.