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.
Pages:
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298