I don't want to use pistols and cutlashes to Englishmen.

You know the game's up.
Surrender." Still no reply.
"I don't think that hole goes in far, Mr Raystoke," whispered the master.

"There's no echo like, and it sounds smothered." Then aloud,-- "Now, then, is it surrender?
Oh, very well; I've got some nice little round messengers to send in after you." He drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it, winking at Archy as he did so.

"Now, then, once--twice--fire!" He pointed the mouth of the pistol downward, and drew the trigger, and in the semi-darkness below the overhanging brambles and clematis there was a dull flash, the report sounded smothered, and the place was filled with the dank, heavy-scented smoke.
"There's precious little room in there," whispered the master.

"If there'd been much of it, we should have heard the sound go rolling along instead of coming back like a slap in the face.