He was nearly right to a man. There were, including their officers, twelve men penned up in the big stone chamber, where they had plenty of arms and ammunition. The others had their quarters in the five chambers in the towers, and were stationed as sentinels. All these had been accounted for, save the wounded men in hospital.
And as Roy listened to the hurrying tramp of feet, there was gathering silence on the ramparts, while around him, in the court-yard, hundreds of men were united and drawn up in line.
Then, in the darkness beneath the gate-way, Roy heard a commanding voice call upon the men in the guard-room to surrender.
“What?” came out clearly in a harsh, snarling voice, which Roy hardly knew as Ben’s. “Do what?”
“Surrender, my man! The place is taken.”
“Yes, by cowardly treachery, Ben,” yelled Roy, desperately. “Don’t give in. Fight to the last.”
A man came hurrying up, and the secretary, fierce with passion, stood before him.
“If this boy dares to speak another word, ram a gag in his mouth.—No, not yet.—Here, bring him up to the gate.”
Roy was half pushed and dragged to the great archway, and, as he reached it, the clock chimed the quarter after midnight.
“Now, general,” cried Pawson, “we’ll have them out. It’s not worth while to waste good men’s lives to tear a set of mad rats out of their hole.”