 | THE PILOT. The pilot |  |
1. THE PILOT.
1. CHAPTER I.
King John.
As Griffith and his compantions 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 proceded,
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 already been 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 into 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 inquire 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 rumour 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 dare-devil, 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 sung 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 dare-devil 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 a winter—I must
leave you, my friends, to rejoin you some ten
hours hence; it will be necessary to look deeper
into our scheme before we hazard any thing, 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,
Signior Pilota, that a general ever puts his forces
in an ambuscade where he can't find them himself?
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 points
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 travelled 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 move
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 that 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
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 picquet, 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 a 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
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
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
harbours, if my reward is to consist only of violated
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 affect 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 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
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 honour, 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 look-outs on the boldest
of its head-lands, to those on the turrets of
Windsor-Castle. But I was born without the 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 honourably.”
“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; look to your charge, in such an
event, 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 brought him, unexpectedly, in contact,
and with whose fate and fortunes his own prospects
had, by the intervention of unlooked-for circumstances,
become so 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 secret places enough
to conceal all 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
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, towards 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 wood, he
waited until it was apparent the party intended 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 on their out-posts even,
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—harkye,
Mr. Griffith, one word in your ear.”
A short conference took place between the 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, 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 honourable 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
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 in 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 this 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 a 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 open view, where
they would be 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
the captain could obtain was liberty to place a
solitary sentinel within a few feet of the vault,
and under cover of the crumbling walls of the
building itself. With this slight deviation in
their arrangements, the uneasy group 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 weight of
metal carried by 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
previously made on the character of the combatants
during the action. Some of the marines
would raise their heads from the fragments
of the building, that served them as 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 concluded some time,
Manual indulged his ill-humour 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
honour 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 honour 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
would 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 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 fire-arms, 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 feelings
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 both sprang from their
places of rest, and stood, unwilling to create the
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 at 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
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 several
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
every thing 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 reconnoitred 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 shot
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 parly.
“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;
of war, and officers to retain their side-arms?”
“Inadmissible,” returned Borroughcliffe, with
great gravity; “the honour of his majesty's arms,
and the welfare of the realm, forbids such a
treaty; but I offer you safe quarter, and honourable
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 navy of the United
American States, and I pledge you my honour, 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's, and you may add, that I know
my man; I shall besiege instead of storming him,
with the certainty of his surrendering 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 apprize 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 intrenched
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
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 marlingspike! 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
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 our 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 prospects of a speedy release from their
captivity nearly hopeless.
| THE PILOT. The pilot | |