"I am not going to give it up without a tussle," said Jack resolutely. "If they bring artillery to bear, our barricades must fall; but we still have the houses opposite. The Y mines in Tobar and Vega will do enormous damage if the French get in there. I rather suspect they will fight shy of the houses and try to rush in from the streets. All that we can do with our little force is to man the windows and roofs of the houses and delay them as long as possible." It was a pathetic sight to see the unquenched eagerness of the haggard crowd. Not one faltered; all were as resolute as though it were the first day of the siege. Jack arranged with them for their respective posts on the morrow, and waited anxiously for daylight. About twelve o’clock on February 20th Tio Jorge and Jorge Arcos were staying their hunger in the latter’s café with a mess of boiled rice and half-baked corn-meal. Their begrimed, black-bearded faces wore a look of savage gloom. No one was with them. Outside, in the Coso, not a living person was to be seen. "By all the saints, I vow I will not surrender!" Tio Jorge was saying. "Nor I!" replied his friend. "Nor would the general himself, but that he is ill. Had he been well, no one could have persuaded him to beg for terms from the French dog. When I heard it last night I could not believe the news. For two months we have fought; shall we yield now? I for one will not yield; I will die rather!" "And we could have told the general it would be of no use. We have killed too many of the accursed French for them to let us march away. I could have laughed when Señor Casseillas came back after his journey to the French camp, and said that we must lay down our arms without conditions. And the general is dying! God have his soul! He has given the command to San March. Ay, ’twas San March who lost the Monte Torrero—curse him! But the Junta!—the saints be praised our brave padres are members of the Junta, and will not let the others yield. Traitors, por Dios! I myself will shoot any man, high or low, who counsels surrender. But Don Basilio, and Padre Consolacion, and Padre Santiago Sass—ah, they will never yield! The priests of Spain are men, mi amigo!" "Yes; they will fight and—" A shattering explosion from the other side of the Coso interrupted him. "Where is that?" cried Tio Jorge, starting up. Running to the door he saw, beyond the Franciscan convent, a cascade of dust and stones darkening the air. "’Tis towards the Casa Alvarez," he cried, "where the English Señor still holds out. The dogs are attacking there. Come, Jorge Arcos, we can do nothing elsewhere; come, and let us help the brave Englishman!"