"No," said Yoke-Moura; "no pity for such traitors as you. I repeat, you have dug your own tomb."
The General ordered stones and earth to be brought, to fill up the opening.
"Desist, I entreat you!" said Fide-Yori, pale with emotion; "those cries tear my heart. They only ask to surrender. Take them prisoners; that will suffice."
"You need not entreat me, master," said Yoke-Moura; "your wishes are my commands. Hollo there!" he added, "stop your noise; you are pardoned; you may come out."
The howls were redoubled. It was impossible to get out. The frightful crowding had suffocated many of the men, whose corpses blocked the mouth of the passage; they formed a solid rampart, increased with every instant, and impassable. All must perish; their struggles shook the ground; they trod one another down, bit one another; their swords pierced each the other's side; their armor was broken with their bones; they died amidst the blackest darkness, stifled in a sepulchre too narrow for their bodies. All attempts to clear away the mouth of the tunnel were vain.
"What an awful thing war is!" exclaimed Fide-Yori, hastening away, entirely overcome.
Soon the cries became less frequent; then utter silence was restored.
"All is over, they are all dead," said Yoke-Moura; "nothing remains but to close up the tomb!"
Five thousand men had perished in that subterranean passage, but a few leagues in length!