“I cannot promise that without consulting my friends.”
So saying, the subadar retired for further instructions. Ted had had time for reflection.
“Tynan,” he announced, “I sha’n’t agree to surrender. We’ve no right to do it! Look what a lift it would give them if they could get all these arms and ammunition.”
Our ensign had quite made up his mind what to do. If his death would make more secure the position of his comrades in the town he was prepared to die. There was satisfaction in the reflection that Ethel Woodburn would know that he had been staunch to the last. Poor Tynan had no friends among the officers of his corps, and consequently there was nothing to uplift his soul above the fear of death, and he had clutched eagerly at the straw of hope held out by Pir Baksh.
“Well, they’ll get it all the same after they’ve done for us,” he bitterly replied. “May as well live to fight another day. I was a fool ever to come to this accursed land. What right had Munro to leave us here?”
Before Ted could reply the white flag was thrust round the corner and the subadar returned.
“We agree to what you ask,” said he. “We will permit you to rejoin your friends in safety.”
“I tell you I shall not agree to surrender,” the junior ensign angrily declared.
“You fool! What’s the good of holding out any longer? Well, I shall surrender, and I’m chief here.”
“You’re not! You’re under Munro’s orders, and those were to hold the fort until he sends help. If you attempt to surrender you’re a traitor.”