“Block the place up and starve them out,” said Pawson.
“No,” said the officer sternly. “The work must be done at once. Powder,” he cried to a couple of men near him, and a party marched off.
After a short delay, during which Roy looked vainly round for the secretary, the latter appeared again with the men, one of whom bore a keg. To this a piece of fuse was attached ready for lighting, and the officer walked to Roy’s side.
“Look here, youngster,” he said. “I shall stand at nothing to complete the reduction of this nest. You see that keg of powder. If these men do not surrender at once, I shall treat them as desperate vermin and blast them out or bury them, with perhaps half the tower upon their heads. It rests with you whether I shall kill a dozen or so of brave men or spare them. Which is it to be?”
Roy was silent.
“Come,” said the officer, “I want to be merciful now. You are Sir Granby Royland’s son. He is a brave soldier, though mistaken in defending a tyrant. I tell you that when a cause is hopeless he would act as I ask you to do. Now you have well proved your courage, and you spoke before in the rage of defeat. Speak now as a brave officer who would not willingly sacrifice his men. What do you say?”
Roy said nothing, for his heart swelled with emotion, and the words would not come. The officer came closer, so that none other could hear.
“In God’s name, boy,” he whispered, “don’t force me to do this brutal act; I ask you as the son of a brave soldier. Tell them to surrender now.”
The way in which these words came to Roy’s ear achieved that which no threats or insult would have done. It was an enemy speaking, but something told him that he was a brave soldier too; and without another word Roy stepped up to the door-way, from whence a mistaken shot might have laid him low.
The officer grasped this, and shouted loudly—