Long and serious consultations were now held within the garrison. With the exception of Scarborough and his immediate companions, or his council, as he called them, all were unanimous that if terms were offered they must yield to them. Paul Newland, especially, was very strenuous on this point. “We have been great donkeys, of that there cannot be the slightest doubt; but we shall be still greater if we keep ourselves shut up here a moment longer than we can help,” he observed. “We have spent our money, we have made ourselves thoroughly uncomfortable, we have lost many a jolly good game of play, and we have obtained for ourselves a no very enviable character in the eyes of our masters, while we shall all of us go home with black marks against our names.”
“But we have been fighting for a great principle. We must remember that our honours were concerned,” answered Digby.
“Fighting! We haven’t fought at all,” returned Newland. “A great principle! I have been thinking over that point also. Our great principle should be obedience; that is one of the things we were sent to school to learn. I forget when I found it out, but I now clearly remember it, and in adhering to that, depend on it our honours were involved much more than in insisting on going out when, for some very good reason probably, Mr Sanford thought fit to keep us in. All I can say is, that I wish he was well, and could have us up and flog us all round, and so settle the matter off-hand. I certainly don’t like the thoughts of yielding to old Yates.”
A few acknowledged the justice of these opinions. It was not to be expected that many should do so. The last sentiment was reciprocated by all.
“The sooner, then, we make preparations for opening the door the better,” observed Farnham.
They possessed themselves of Spiller’s tools. That worthy, with Julian Langley, Scarborough, and a few others, were sitting up in a corner, puffing away slowly at their clay pipes, and sipping away at something which they did not wish the rest to see. They were too stupified to observe what was being done. The bars across the doors were removed; their strength had never even been tried. Then Farnham took down a shutter, and in desperation threw open the windows to let some fresh air in. Oh, how delicious and sweet it was, compared to the poisonous atmosphere they had been so long breathing.
“I, for one, vote that we all march out in order, and walk up and down in the playground till some one comes to know what we want,” exclaimed Digby, as if a bright idea had struck him. “Or, I will tell you what, I don’t mind going with a flag of truce straight up to Mr Sanford, to tell him our grievances, and to ask what terms he will give us.”
“Capital! grand! spirited!” shouted most of the fellows—at least they moaned out, for they were not in a condition to shout.
Not a moment was allowed him to recede from his offer. The largest and the least dirty white pocket-handkerchief they could find was immediately fastened on to the end of a broomstick. There was a little water remaining, in which Digby’s hands and face were washed. His hair was combed with the only pocket comb to be found in the army, and his clothes were brushed with the broom above spoken of, and his shirt-collar smoothed down as much as was practicable. Independently of his spirit and discretion, he certainly looked fatter and less pale than any of the rest, and was therefore the fittest envoy that could have been selected to give the enemy a favourable opinion of the garrison. They were, of course, not aware that Susan knew perfectly well all about them.
Digby was all ready, with his flag in his hand. He only waited for the door to be opened.