"That man with his treachery has placed himself without the pale," he retorted. "Therefore I am justified in shooting him like a dog. Mark my words, Humphrey, you'll rue the day you made me miss my aim." "Nevertheless, 'tis a craven act to shoot a man unawares. I, too, have an account to settle with Chaloner, and with more cause than you have, I trove; but Heaven forfend that I strike him after the manner of a hired assassin." Happily, Firestone soon regained his accustomed composure, and, after reloading his piece, we watched the progress of the assault. A ring of smoke encircled the town, for the cavaliers had drawn a cordon round it, and already their advanced works were within musket-shot of the bridge, whence the cannon behind the bridge kept up a steady fire on the attackers. It was low tide, and the river ran but an insignificant stream, barely two feet in depth beneath the arches. Even as we looked we heard a flourish of trumpets, and with a wild, irresistible rush a squadron of Royalist cavalry, with loose rein and flowing mane, charged headlong for the bridge as only our horsemen can charge. Saddles were emptied, but, regardless of the losses, the attackers deployed right and left, plunged into the river, and the next instant the barricade was charged in the rear, and the gunners cut down or made prisoners. The horsemen were ably seconded by a strong body of Cornish pikemen and musketeers, and, the guns being turned to command the principal approach to the bridge, the town was at the mercy of the Royal troops. There was a roll of drums, and, bearing a white flag, a rebel officer rode from the headquarters of the Parliamentarian army towards the Royal lines. "They are treating for terms," exclaimed the colonel. "While the armistice lasts, there's no reason why we should not try to take advantage of it." And without let or hindrance we did indeed descend the tower, pass through the now deserted church, and gain the street. Soon we were safely within the outposts of the Royal army. We were immediately taken to a tent, where the Royalist officers were engaged in drafting out the terms of capitulation, and, thinking we might be of service to them, they asked us for an account of our adventure. "Chaloner, say you? Chaloner, the renegade?" "The same, sir," replied Firestone. "Mark him down. Mark him down, scrivener," exclaimed one of the officers, addressing a scribe who was laboriously writing out the terms of surrender at a roughly constructed table. "Him we must have at any price. Let me think. His name will be third. There's the rebel Colonel Hobbs, formerly a waggoner, who ruthlessly burned Pentillie; the ex-miller, Captain Gale, who unlawfully strung up five of our men at Looe; and the traitor Chaloner. The other officers we will suffer to depart on parole." While the clerk's quill pen was scratching and spluttering over the parchment, the officer turned to us once more.