hose body is
round, whilst the claws go diverging round from this circumference.

The kitchen-garden, one of the longest claws of the abbey, extended to
Monk's camp. Unfortunately it was, as we have said, early in June, and
the kitchen-garden, being abandoned, offered no resources.

Monk had ordered this spot to be guarded, as most subject to surprises.
The fires of the enemy's general were plainly to be perceived on the
other side of the abbey. But between these fires and the abbey extended
the Tweed, unfolding its luminous scales beneath the thick shade of
tall green oaks. Monk was perfectly well acquainted with this position,
Newcastle and its environs having already more than once been his
headquarters. He knew that by this day his enemy might without doubt
throw a few scouts into these ruins and promote a skirmish, but that by
night he would take care to abstain from such a risk. He felt himself,
therefore, in security.

Thus his soldiers saw him, after what he boastingly called his
supper--that is to say, after the exercise of mastication reported by
us at the commencement of this chapter--like Napoleon on the eve of
Austerlitz, seated asleep in his rush chair, half beneath the light of
his lamp, half beneath the reflection of the moon, commencing its ascent
in the heavens, which denoted that it was nearly half past nine in the
evening. All at once Monk was roused from his half sleep, fictitious
perhaps, by a troop of soldiers, who came with joyous cries, and kicked
the poles of his tent with a humming noise as if on purpose to wake him.
There was no need of so much noise; the general opened his eyes quickly.

"Well, my children, what is going on now?" asked the general.

"General!" replied several voices at once, "General! you shall have some
supper."

"I have had my supper, gentlemen," replied he quietly, "and was
comfortably digesting it, as you see. But come in, and tell me what
brings you hither."

"Good news, general."

"Bah! Has Lambert sent us word that he will fight to-morrow?"

"No; but we have just captured a fishing-boat conveying fish to
Newcastle."

"And you have done very wrong, my friends. These gentlemen from London
are delicate, must have their first course; you will put them sadly out
of humor this evening, and to-morrow they will be pitiless. It would
really be in good taste to send back to Lambert both his fish and his
fishermen, unless--" and the general reflected an instant.

"