The horsemen were ably seconded by a strong body of Cornish pikemen and musketeers, and, the guns being turned to command the principal approach to the bridge, the town was at the mercy of the Royal troops.
There was a roll of drums, and, bearing a white flag, a rebel officer rode from the headquarters of the Parliamentarian army towards the Royal lines.
"They are treating for terms," exclaimed the colonel. "While the armistice lasts, there's no reason why we should not try to take advantage of it."
And without let or hindrance we did indeed descend the tower, pass through the now deserted church, and gain the street. Soon we were safely within the outposts of the Royal army.
We were immediately taken to a tent, where the Royalist officers were engaged in drafting out the terms of capitulation, and, thinking we might be of service to them, they asked us for an account of our adventure.
"Chaloner, say you? Chaloner, the renegade?"
"The same, sir," replied Firestone.
"Mark him down. Mark him down, scrivener," exclaimed one of the officers, addressing a scribe who was laboriously writing out the terms of surrender at a roughly constructed table.
"Him we must have at any price. Let me think. His name will be third. There's the rebel Colonel Hobbs, formerly a waggoner, who ruthlessly burned Pentillie; the ex-miller, Captain Gale, who unlawfully strung up five of our men at Looe; and the traitor Chaloner. The other officers we will suffer to depart on parole."
While the clerk's quill pen was scratching and spluttering over the parchment, the officer turned to us once more.