Maurice’s band was now much diminished, and he had serious thoughts of retreating back to the barricade, which Justinian by this time must have almost rebuilt, but seeing that the advantage was now on his side, he was unwilling to lose it; so, with his men stretched out into a single line from side to side, he continued advancing, driving the enemy step by step down the staircase. Alcibiades, who was a brave man in spite of his villany, had now shifted his sword to his left hand, as his right arm hung useless at his side, and with many prayers, curses, entreaties, and taunts, strove to rally his forces, but all to no purpose, for slowly but surely they retreated before that devoted little band, who, with flashing eyes and clinched teeth, pressed them steadily downward. Gurt, having bound up his thigh with a piece torn from his shirt, was again by Maurice’s side, fighting with a dogged determination, in spite of all entreaties to retreat back to the barricade. “Go back, Gurt! go back and tell Justinian to send more men.” “What! and leave you with these devils? Not if I know it, sir. Hurrah! England for ever!” “But you are wounded.” “Only a prod in the thigh. Look out, sir, for that black wretch!” Maurice sprang aside, just in time to avoid a slashing-down blow, and, turning on his foe, made a dash at him with his sabre. He managed to run him through the left shoulder, but the Greek like lightning cut at his defenceless head, and, but for Gurt, who intervened with his cutlass, Maurice’s career would have been ended. As it was, the Greek’s weapon smashed against the sailor’s sword, and before he could recover himself for another blow, Maurice had slashed him through the neck, so that he fell dead at once. The enemy were fighting like demons, and, the electric light having been shut off by the angle of the tunnel, the battle was raging in complete darkness, save for the fitful glare of the torches held by Alcibiades’ men, and the pale glimmer of daylight forcing itself in at the cliff entrance of the tunnel. As long as Maurice could keep his enemies in front, and his line steadily advancing, he had no fear, while, owing to the confusion of the retreat, the foe kept fighting the one with the other in the semi-darkness. Step by step they fell backward, until nearly the lowest platform of the staircase, when Maurice, having thus accomplished his object, began to think of turning back, especially as he had now but ten men left.