“Flag o’ truce, sir. But if they did, our guns would sweep ’em away.”
“And what about us, Ben?”
“Well, sir,” said the old fellow, drily, “we should be swep’ away too.”
“I say, Ben!”
“Yes, sir, sounds nasty; but soldiers has to take their chance o’ that sort o’ thing, and look at the honour and glory of it all. Ready, sir?”
“Yes,” said Roy, in a husky voice; and a minute later he stood with the two martial-looking figures behind, and the drawbridge slowly descended in front. The two guns were manned, a small guard of three was behind each, and the port-fires sparkled and shot tiny little flashes of fire as if eager to burst out into flame.
Just then, as Roy was watching the heads of the three mounted men coming slowly forward, and, as the end of the bridge sank, seeing their chests, the horses’ heads, and finally their legs come into sight, Ben leaned towards him, and said, in a whisper—
“They don’t know how young you are, sir. Let ’em hear my dear old colonel speaking with your lips.”
“Yes,” said Roy, huskily; “but what am I to say, Ben?”
“You don’t want no telling, sir. Advance now.”