My companions—as well they might—stared at him, and from him to me; thinking, no doubt, that here was some madman.
"Excuse me," said I, and presented him formally. "This gentleman and I are, in a fashion, acquaintances. He is a countryman of yours, by name Carminowe."
"Carminowe?" Young Grylls looked at him musingly. "I have read the name on a hundred old parchments at home."
"The estates, Sir," said Carminowe, "have passed into many hands, but into none worthier than that of Grylls."
"Faith, that's handsomely said!" answered Grylls, perceiving now that, in spite of the old man's dress, he had to do with a gentleman. "And, as for the estates, our greed (which, a generation or two back, was a scandal) has not swallowed them all, I hope?—though, for that matter, if these crop-ears prevail, 'tis little enough that any of us will inherit."
"They will not prevail at this bout," said the old man. "At Fowey, they tell me, the Earl has but six days' provisions and is planning to slip away by sea. Between this and the coast the soldiers have eaten all bare; in a day or two they must break through or surrender, and I think, gentlemen, I can promise that you will be soon enlarged."
"You speak with assurance, Sir," said I, handing him a crust and filling a pannikin for him from our common pail of water.
"And yet," said he, with a faint smile, "I am no combatant: no, nor even a spy—though to-morrow morning they are to hang me for one."
He spoke the words quietly and fell to munching his crust. The three of us—and the troopers too—stared at him amazed: and for explanation, his jaws being occupied, he pointed a thin finger at the ladder and rope.
"But surely," I began, "since you are no spy, someone can speak for you——"