"Hold, Manual," he cried, "make no rash oaths: Captain Borroughcliffe, I
am Edward Griffith, a lieutenant in the navy of the United American
States, and I pledge you my honor to a parole----"
"Release him," said Borroughcliffe.
Griffith advanced between the two parties, and spoke so as to be heard
by both:
I propose to descend to the vault, and ascertain the loss and present
strength of Captain Manual's party: if the latter be not greater than I
apprehend, I shall advise him to a surrender on the usual conditions of
civilized nations."
"Go," said the soldier; "but stay; is he a half-and-half--an
amphibious--pshaw! I mean a marine?"
"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.
Pages:
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297