Excerpt: ...the progress of the battle, by the uncertain index of its noise. When the fight had been some time concluded, Manual indulged his ill-humor more at length: "There has been a party of pleasure within a league of us, Mr. Griffith," he said, "at which, but for our present subterraneous quarters, we might have been guests, and thus laid some claim to the honor of sharing in the victory. But it is not too late to push the party on as far as the cliffs, where we shall be in sight of the vessels, and we may possibly establish a claim to our share of the prize-money." "There is but little wealth to be gleaned from the capture of a king's cutter," returned Griffith; "and there would be less honor were Barnstable encumbered with our additional and useless numbers." "Useless!" repeated Manual; "there is much good service to be got out of twenty-three well-drilled and well-chosen marines: look at those fellows, Mr. Griffith, and then tell me if you think them an encumbrance in the hour of need." Griffith smiled, and glanced his eye over the sleeping group, -for when the firing had ceased the whole party had again sought their repose, - and he could not help admiring the athletic and sinewy limbs that lay scattered around the gloomy vault, in every posture that ease or whim dictated. From the stout frames of the men, his glance was directed to the stack of firearms, from whose glittering tubes and polished bayonets strong rays of light were reflected, even in that dark apartment. Manual followed the direction of his eyes, and watched the expression of his countenance with inward exultation; but he had the forbearance to await his reply before he manifested his feeling more openly. "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...