FENTON. They cannot! Even Cromwell-- HUGH TALBOT. Tut, tut, Dick! It's little ye know of Cromwell. JOHN TALBOT. Then--you mean-- HUGH TALBOT. An you surrender Cashala, we may all six pass free. An you hold Cashala, they will hang me, here before your eyes. (DRISCOLL _gives a rattling cry._) BUTLER. God forgive me! HUGH TALBOT. You have your orders. Hold the bridge! (_Turns to door._) JOHN TALBOT (_barring his way_). No, no! You shan't go forth! FENTON. God's mercy, no! HUGH TALBOT. Are you stark crazed? FENTON. You shall stay with us. JOHN TALBOT. What's your pledged word to men that know not honor? HUGH TALBOT. My word. Unbar the door, Jack. Why, lad, we're traveling the same road. FENTON. God! But we'll give them a good fight at the last. (_Goes to the shot-window._) Take up your musket, Kit. NEWCOMBB. But I--Captain! When you are gone, I--I-- HUGH TALBOT. I'll not be far. You'll hold the bridge? JOHN TALBOT. Aye, sir. BUTLER. We've powder enough--you said it, sir,--laid there at the stairhead, to blow the bridge to hell. HUGH TALBOT. Aye, Myles, you've hit it! (_Holds out his hand._) BUTLER. Not yet, sir! HUGH TALBOT. Hereafter, then. God speed you, lads! JOHN TALBOT. Speed you, sir! (_All five stand at salute as_ HUGH TALBOT _goes out. In the moment's silence upon his exit_, JOHN TALBOT _bars the door and turns to his comrades._) You have--Hugh Talbot's orders. Take your pieces! Driscoll! Newcombe! (_Obediently the two join_ FENTON _at windows._) Butler! BUTLER. Aye! We have Hugh Talbot's orders. (_Points to powder-keg._) JOHN TALBOT. Are you meaning-- BUTLER. It's not I will be failing him now! FENTON (_at window_). God! They waste no time. JOHN TALBOT. Already--they have dared-- FENTON. Here--this moment--under our very eyes! DRISCOLL. Christ Jesus! (_Goes back from the window, with his arm across his eyes, and falls on his knees in headlong prayer._) JOHN TALBOT. Kit! Kit Newcombe! (_Motions him to window._) NEWCOMBE. I cannot! I-- JOHN TALBOT. Look forth! Look! And remember--when you meet them--remember! (NEWCOMBE _stands swaying, clutching at the grating of the window, as he looks forth._) Lads! (_Motions to_ BUTLER _and_ FENTON _to carry the powder to the stairhead._) The time is short. His orders! (DRISCOLL _raises his head and gazes fixedly toward the centre of the room._) FENTON. Yonder, at the stairhead. BUTLER. Aye. (FENTON _and_ BUTLER _carry the keg to the door._) NEWCOMBE. Not that! Not that death! No! No! JOHN TALBOT. Be silent! And look yonder! Driscoll! Fetch the light! Newcombe! Come! You have your places, all. DRISCOLL. But, Captain! The sixth man--where will the sixth man be standing? (_There is a blank silence, in which the men look questioningly at_ DRISCOLL'S _rapt face and at one another._) JOHN TALBOT. Sixth? FENTON. What sixth? DRISCOLL. The blind eyes of ye! Yonder! (_Comes to the salute, even as, a few moments before, he has saluted_ HUGH TALBOT, _living._