with himself.
"Better draw your sword."

"No, sir," said Samson, coolly; "if I do they'll think I'm afraid; and
besides, there's no room to give it a good swing for a cut, and the
point's blunt since I used it for digging up potatoes."

"No, no; I can get down," said Fred, quickly, as Samson once more
offered his help, and the next moment he was also standing in the old
passage, peering before him, and listening.

All was as silent as the grave, and a chilly feeling of dread came over
the lad, as he wondered whether poor Nat had, after all, only crawled in
there to die, just as some unfortunate wounded creature seeks a hole to
be at rest.

"What nonsense! when he took the food we put there," he muttered the
next moment.

"What say, sir? Shall I strike a light?"

Samson did not wait for an answer to his first question before
propounding the second.

"Yes. Go a few steps forward out of the light," whispered Fred, "and
then we are not likely to be heard."

"Not from outside," grumbled Samson; "but how about them inside?
They'll come down and spit us like black cock on a big skewer."

"What are you muttering about?" whispered Fred, as his companion went
forward and knelt down.

"I was only saying, don't blame me if they come down on us with swords
that hasn't been used to dig potatoes, Master Fred."

"Let me come by you, and I'll stand on guard while you strike a light."

"No, sir; I shan't," said Samson, gruffly.

"What's that?"

"You heared, sir."

"Yes, I did hear," whispered Fred, angrily; "and please remember, sir,
that I am your officer."

"Can't remember that now, Master Fred, only that you're to be took care
of. I had strict orders to be always ready to shove my big body in
front of you when anybody was going to" (_nick_, _nick_) "cut at you"
(_nick_, _nick_, _nick_)--"Look at that!--with a sword."

"Who gave you those orders?" said Fred, sharply.

"Your mother, sir, 'fore we" (_nick_, _nick_) "started for the wars at
first." (_Nick_, _nick_) "I shall never get a light."

Samson was down upon his knees, striking a piece of flint sharply upon a
thin bar of steel turned over at each end, so as to form a double hook,
which the operator grasped in his left hand, while Fred stood gazing
straight before him, sword drawn, and the point held over his man's
head, ready to receive any attack.

At every stroke with the flint, a number of sparks shone out for a
moment, lighting up the striker's f