Barely were we safely hidden than the door was unceremoniously thrown open, and several soldiers—a dozen at least by the noise they made strode into the room.
Roughly ordering the landlord to bring them drink, and plenty of it, they sat down, removed their steel caps, and began to discourse on the events of the day.
They were, judging by the manner of their conversation, dragoons of Chaloner's regiment, and held their late leader in scant respect, for they even expressed satisfaction at his death. Rough soldiers they were, with a true contempt for cowardice, and Chaloner's behaviour on several occasions had not escaped their notice; while, on the other hand, they confessed to a certain amount of admiration at our desperate deed of self-sacrifice, for, in common with every man in the rebel host that had lain around the castle, they firmly believed that the devoted garrison had perished in the explosion.
The barrels in which we had taken refuge were large, so that we were by no means cramped, but the one in which I lay hidden was encrusted with dried lees of wine, and before long I was seized with an uncontrollable desire to sneeze. Clapping both hands on my mouth, I strove to suppress the sound.
"What's that noise?" demanded one of the dragoons. There was instant silence in the room, though I felt my heart thumping violently against my ribs. Had I not stood in the centre of the cask, I felt certain the barrel would have shaken.
"Ho, there!" shouted one of the soldiers, bringing his tankard down with a crash upon the oak table. "Come hither, rascal!"
I heard Master Anthony shuffling down the stoneflagged passage.
"What do yonder casks hold, sirrah?" demanded the dragoon.
"They are empty, sir," replied the landlord, in a trembling voice.
"Empty, thou lying rogue? I heard someone sneeze!"