A mad feeling of rage and despair seized upon the boy as he heard all this, and he struggled desperately with his captors in his endeavours to escape, and try to aid the poor fellows fighting to the death in their vain efforts to defend the place. Vain, too, were his efforts; for a couple of men held him while others wrenched his arms behind his back, and tearing off his gay scarf, bound his elbows so tightly together that he could not stir, but had to listen helplessly to the yells and despairing cries that arose towards the silent vault of heaven. It seemed to Roy like an hour of horror, during which he was listening to what seemed to be the massacre of the men, every one of whom he looked upon as a friend. But it was only a matter of a few minutes at the most, before a shout rang out from the top of the gate tower, to be answered with a burst of wild "hurrahs" from the four corners, and the ramparts as well; for the clashing of swords, the yells of rage, and the sounds of fierce and desperate struggles going on had ceased. Roy's despair was at its height; he knew that the castle was taken, and its defenders killed, hurled into the moat, or captive. But the boy's sinking heart gave one leap, for he knew that the flickering fire of defence blazed up in one spot, and that was in the guard-room, where he calculated that there must be twelve or fourteen men, with Ben Martlet, Farmer Raynes, and the corporal. He was nearly right to a man. There were, including their officers, twelve men penned up in the big stone chamber, where they had plenty of arms and ammunition. The others had their quarters in the five chambers in the towers, and were stationed as sentinels. All these had been accounted for, save the wounded men in hospital. And as Roy listened to the hurrying tramp of feet, there was gathering silence on the ramparts, while around him, in the court-yard, hundreds of men were united and drawn up in line. Then, in the darkness beneath the gate-way, Roy heard a commanding voice call upon the men in the guard-room to surrender. "What?" came out clearly in a harsh, snarling voice, which Roy hardly knew as Ben's. "Do what?" "Surrender, my man! The place is taken." "Yes, by cowardly treachery, Ben," yelled Roy, desperately. "Don't give in. Fight to the last." A man came hurrying up, and the secretary, fierce with passion, stood before him. "If this boy dares to speak another word, ram a gag in his mouth.--No, not yet.--Here, bring him up to the gate." Roy was half pushed and dragged to the great archway, and, as he reached it, the clock chimed the quarter after midnight. "Now, general," cried Pawson, "we'll have them out. It's not worth while to waste good men's lives to tear a set of mad rats out of their hole." "Well, get them out," said the same commanding voice, and in the officer a short distance from him, Roy recognised the one he had met with the flag of truce.