“Walk straight, that he may see you,” said Borroughcliffe, with much philosophy.
“Who goes there?” repeated the sentinel, throwing his musket to a poise, with a rattling sound that echoed along the naked walls.
“Walk crooked,” added Borroughcliffe, “that if he fire he may miss.”
“We shall be shot at, with this folly,” muttered Manual.
“We are friends, and your officer is one of us.”
“Stand, friends—advance, officer, and give the counter-sign,” cried the sentinel.
“That is much easier said than done,” returned his captain; “forward, Mr. Amphibious, you can walk like a postman—move to the front, and proclaim the magical word, 'loyalty;' 'tis a standing countersign, ready furnished to my hands by mine hosts the colonel; your road is then clear before you—but hark——”
Manual made an eager step forward, when, recollecting himself, he turned, and added: “My assistants, the seamen! I can do nothing without them.”
“Lo! the keys are in the doors, ready for my admission,” said the Englishman; “turn them, and bring out your forces.”
Quick as thought, Manual was in the room of Griffith, to whom he briefly communicated the situation of things, when he reappeared in the passage, and then proceeded on a similar errand to the room of the Pilot.