"I know them to be true men," said Griffith, "when needed, but--hark! what says he?"
"Who goes there? what noise is that?" repeated the sentinel who was placed at the entrance of the vault.
Manual and Griffith sprang at the same instant from their places of rest, and stood, unwilling to create the slightest sounds, listening with the most intense anxiety to catch the next indications of the cause of their guardian's alarm. A short stillness, like that of death, succeeded, during which Griffith whispered:
"'Tis the Pilot! his hour has been long passed."
The words were hardly spoken, when the clashing of steel in fierce and sudden contact was heard, and at the next instant the body of the sentinel fell heavily along the stone steps that led to the open air, and rolled lifelessly to their feet, with the bayonet that had caused his death projecting from a deep wound in his breast.
"Away, away! sleepers away!" shouted Griffith.
"To arms!" cried Manual in a voice of thunder.
The alarmed marines, suddenly aroused from their slumbers at these thrilling cries, sprang on their feet in a confused cluster, and at that fatal moment a body of living fire darted into the vault, which re-echoed with the reports of twenty muskets. The uproar, the smoke, and the groans which escaped from many of his party, could not restrain Griffith another instant: his pistol was fired through the cloud which concealed the entrance of the vault, and he followed the leaden messenger, trailing a half-pike, and shouting to his men:
"Come on! follow, my lads; they are nothing but soldiers."
Even while he spoke, the ardent young seaman was rushing up the narrow passage; but as he gained the open space, his foot struck the writhing body of the victim of his shot, and he was precipitated headlong into a group of armed men.
"Fire! Manual, fire!" shouted the infuriated prisoner; "fire, while you have them in a cluster."
"Ay, fire, Mr. Manual," said Borroughcliffe, with great coolness, "and shoot your own officer: hold him up, boys! hold him up in front; the safest place is nighest to him."
"Fire!" repeated Griffith, making desperate efforts to release himself from the grasp of five or six men; "fire, and disregard me."