“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.”