CHAPTER TEN. · Part 6

"And you did do something, my lad," said my father, holding out his hand--"a very risky something. But there, I'm not going to say any more about it. Now, tell me; your father has given you some instructions, I suppose?"

Bigley hesitated a moment.

"Yes, sir; he said that he should not be able to come back here, but he would write to me."

"Yes; go on."

"And that I was to stay with Mother Bonnet as long as you would let me, and when you turned us out, we were to take lodgings in Ripplemouth."

"When I turned you out!" said my father angrily. "Pish! Ah, well, stop till I turn you out then. There, I must go now, Sep; this will be a broken day for you. Bring your two friends over to the Bay, and we'll have tea and dinner all together."

He turned off and left us, but I saw him give Bigley a very friendly nod and smile as he went away, and I felt sure that he rather admired what Bigley had done, though he kept up the idea of being very fierce and indignant with him for striking an officer of the royal navy.

As soon as we were well alone Bob Chowne threw himself on the ground and began to laugh and wipe his eyes.

"Oh, what a game!" he cried, as he rolled about. "Didn't old Big run?"

"Enough to make anybody run when a bullet was after him," I said.

"But how he did go up the rocks. Just like a big rabbit. I say, Big, you were frightened."

"Yes, that I was," said Bigley frankly; "I don't know when I felt so scared. Made sure he would hit me, and then that the sailors would cut me down with their swords."

This disappointed Bob, who had fully expected to hear a denial of the charge of fear, and he sat up and stared at the speaker, who turned to me then.

"Why, Sep," he said, "they must have worked hard in the night to get all those things away. Do you know, I'm sure that must have been the _Hirondelle_. I wonder how they managed to get off."

"I know," I said suddenly.

"Yah! Not you," cried Bob. "Hark at old cock Solomon, who knows everything."

"I don't care what you say," I replied. "I'm sure this is how they've got away."

"Well, let's hear," said Bob, and Bigley's eyes flashed with eagerness.

"Why, they haven't got away at all," I said. "They wouldn't dare to go down Channel after getting the cargo out of the cave, for fear of meeting the cutter just at daybreak."

"And you think they've gone up towards Bristol?" cried Bigley excitedly.

"Yes," I said; "and they are lying up somewhere over yonder on the Welsh coast till to-night, when they'll be off again."

"That's it," said Bigley. "I'm sure that's it."

"I don't believe it," said Bob sharply. "And if it is true, I'm ashamed of you both. Here's Sep Duncan taking part with the smugglers, and old Big hitting the officers in the eye, and bragging about his father. I shall look out for some fresh mates, that's what I shall do."

"Come and have some tea and dinner first, Bob," I said mockingly.

"Yes, I'll have some food first, for I'm getting hungry. My, what a game, though! How old Big did run when the lieutenant was going to give him a pill! Ha, ha, ha!"

We strolled about the shore, and then went into the cottage for a bit, and that afforded Bob another opportunity for a few sneers about this being Bigley's home now, addressing him as the master of the house, bantering him about being stingy with his cider, and finally jumping up as he saw my father coming down from the mine, and then we all went over to the Bay to our evening meal.

That night Bigley and I went part of the way home with Bob, and then I walked part of the way home with Bigley in the calm and solitude of the summer darkness.

We walked along the cliff path, and were about half-way to the Gap when Big caught me by the arm and pointed down below, about a quarter of a mile from the cliff, where, stealing along in the gloom, I caught sight of the sails of a small vessel, and directly after of those of another gliding on close at hand. They were so indistinct at first that I could see but little. Then I could make out that they were both luggers by their rig, and that one of them had three masts and the other only two.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

SUSPICIONS OF DANGER.

Like all bits of excitement the coming of the cutter was followed by a time of calm. Bigley seemed to have settled down to a regular life at the cottage, spending part of his days looking out to sea, and the other part up at the mine, where my father seemed now to give him always a very warm welcome.

We saw the revenue cutter off the Gap now and then, and we had reason to believe that the crew had landed and thoroughly examined the caves again, but we saw nothing of them; it was only from knowing that one evening the little vessel lay off the shore about a mile to the west of the Gap, and Bigley went along the shore at next low tide, and said afterwards that he thought he could make out footprints, but the tide had washed over everything so much that he was not sure.

He heard no news of his father as week after week rolled by, till all at once came a letter from Dunquerque, inclosing some money, and telling him that he had got away safely, and was quite well.

"He said," Bigley told me in confidence, for he did not show me the letter; "he said that if your father behaved badly to me I was to go away at once with Mother Bonnet and take lodgings at Ripplemouth, just as he told me; but I don't think I shall have to do that."

I laughed as he told me this, and then asked him if he was going to write back to his father.

"No," said Bigley; "he says I am not to write, because it might give people a clue to where he is. I don't care, now I know that he is quite well."

Then the time glided on, with everybody at the mine leading the busiest of busy lives. I was there every day, and the men won the lead, others smelted it and cast it into pigs, then the pigs were remelted and the silver extracted and ingots cast, which were stored up, after being stamped and numbered, down in the strong cellar beneath the counting-house floor.

I did a great deal: sometimes I was down in the mine, whose passages began to grow longer; sometimes I was entering the number of pigs of lead that were taken over to Ripplemouth, and shipped at the little quay for Bristol; sometimes I was watching the careful process by which the silver was obtained from the lead, and learning a good deal about the art, while Bigley seemed to be growing more and more one of us, and worked with the greatest of earnestness over the various tasks I had to undertake.

"No news of old Jonas, father?" I said one day as we were walking along the cliff path to the mine, a lugger in the offing having brought him to my mind.

"No, Sep," said my father; "but I'm afraid that we shall have a visit from him some day, and a very unpleasant one."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because he will never forgive me about that cave business. I saw the look he gave me, my boy. He does not seem to have any very great ideas of the meaning of the word honour, and he evidently could not see then that I was bound to state what I had seen."

"But do you think he will owe you a grudge for that, father?"

"I am sure of it, my boy. He never forgave me for buying the Gap, and now I'm afraid this exposure of his smuggling tricks has made matters ten times worse."

"Oh, I hope not, father," I said eagerly.

"So do I, my boy; but I have very little faith in him, and I always dwell in expectation that some day or other, or some night or another, he will land with a strong party, and come up here to work all the mischief he can--perhaps carry off all our silver."

"But, father," I exclaimed, "that would be acting like a pirate."

"Well, Sep, there is not much difference between a pirate and a smuggler. They are both outlaws, and not very particular about what they do."

"Oh, but I hope we shall have no trouble of that sort, for Bigley's sake."

"So do I, Sep, but I feel this, that we are not safe, for we have made a dangerous enemy--one who can descend upon us at any time, and then get away by sea. What can we do if he makes such an attack?"

"Fight," I said bluntly. "We have plenty of arms, and the men will do just what they are bid."

"Yes," said my father; "but I should be deeply grieved for there to be any bloodshed. I've known what it is in my early days, Sep, and in spite of all that has been said about honour and glory there is always an unpleasant feeling afterwards, when in cool blood you think about having destroyed your fellow-creatures' lives."

"Yes, father," I said; "there must be, and we don't want to do it; but if anyone comes breaking into the mine premises to steal, they must take the consequences."

"Yes, Sep," said my father sternly, "they must, for I have enough of the old fighting-man left in me to make me say that I should not give up quietly if I was put to the proof."

I thought a good deal about my father's words, but though I regularly made Bigley my confidant, and told him pretty well everything, I did not tell him that, for I knew it would make him very uncomfortable, and besides it seemed such a horrible idea for us to have to be fighting against his father--our men against his.

The time went on, and we kept on hearing about the French war, but we seemed to be, away there in our quiet Devon combe, far from all the noise and turmoil, and very little of the news excited us.

We knew when there was a big fight, and when one side got the better of the other; but to read the papers we always appeared to get the victory. But, as I say, it did not seem to concern us much, only when the country traffic was a bit disturbed, and our lead began to accumulate for want of the means of sending it away.

"I don't so much mind the lead, Sep," my father used to say; "what I mind is the silver."

This was when the store beneath the counting-house became charged with too valuable a collection of ingots; and the second time this happened my father suddenly altered his arrangements.

"I can't rest satisfied that all is safe," he said, "when I am away at the Bay, and this place is only depending upon locks and keys."

"What shall you do then, father?" I asked. "Have a watchman!"

He nodded.

"Who? Old Sam?"

"No," he said; "ourselves, Sep, my lad. It will not be so comfortable, but while the country is so disturbed we will come and live over here."

No time was lost, and in two days the upper rooms of the counting-house and store had been filled with furniture, and Kicksey came over for the day, and went back at night, after cooking and cleaning for us.

As my father said, it was not so comfortable as being at home, but we were ready enough to adapt ourselves to circumstances; and any change was agreeable in those days.

Bigley was delighted, for it robbed his rather lonely life of its dulness, and he never for a moment realised why the change had been made.

But though we were always on the spot, my father relaxed none of his old preparations. Every other day there was an hour's drill or sword practice. Sometimes an evening was taken for the use of the pistols; and, by degrees, under my father's careful instructions, the little band of about twelve men had grown into a substantial trustworthy guard of sturdy fellows, any one of whom was ready to give a good account of himself should he be put to the test.

At first my father had been averse to Bigley drilling with us, but he raised no obstacle, for he said to me, "We can let him learn how to use the weapons, Sep, but it does not follow that he need fight for us."

"And I'm sure he would not fight against us, father," I said laughing.

So Bigley grew to be as handy with the cutlass as any of the men, and no mean shot with the pistol.

As for Bob Chowne, he came over and drilled sometimes, and he was considered to be our surgeon--that is, by Bigley and me--but he was not with us very often, for his father kept him at work studying medicine, meaning him to be a doctor later on; but, as Bob expressed it, he was always washing bottles or making pills, though as a fact neither of these tasks ever came to his share.

Four months--five months--six months had gone by since the adventure with the cutter, and Bigley had only had two or three letters sending him money, and saying that his father was quite well, but there was not a word of returning; and it struck me old Jonas must have had means of knowing that his son was still in the old cottage, or he would not have gone on sending money without having an answer back.

The rumours about the war seemed to affect us less than ever, and I was growing so accustomed to my busy life that I thought little of my old amusements, save when now and then I went out for an evening's fishing with Bigley, the old boat having been brought over from Ripplemouth, none the worse for its trip.

The mine went on growing more productive, and, in spite of the great expenses, it seemed as if my father would become a wealthy man. Lead was sent one way, silver another, and when the latter accumulated, as we were on the spot, my father dismissed his anxiety, and we were gradually becoming lulled into a feeling of repose, save when Bigley talked about his father, and then once more a little feeling of doubt and insecurity would slip in, as might have been the case in the olden times when the people near shore learned that some Saxon or Danish ship was hovering about the coast.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

THE LANDING OF THE FRENCH.

It was nine months now since the scene, at the little bay, when one soft spring evening Bigley and I were walking slowly back to the Gap, after seeing Bob Chowne part of the way home to Ripplemouth. The feeling of coming summer was in the air, the birds were singing in the oak woods their last farewell to the day, and from time to time we startled some thrush and spoiled his song.

Every now and then a rabbit gave us a glance at his furry coat as he sprang along, but soon it grew so dark that all we saw after each rustle was the speck of white which indicated his cottony tail, and soon even that was invisible.

The thin sharp line of the new moon hung low in the west, and the sea had quite a steely gleam in the dying day, while the stars were peeping out and beginning to look at themselves in the glassy surface of the sea.

Here and there we could see the coasting vessels going up and down the Channel, and just beneath the sinking moon there was a larger vessel coming up with the tide, but it was getting too dark to make out what it was. We kept along by the cliff path, and as we came to the descent that led to the cottage Bigley and I parted, little thinking what an eventful night it was to prove.

"You'll come up by and by," I shouted, when he was about half-way down; and he sent back a cheery reply that he would, as I went on along the Gap.

I found my father seated before his books entering some statement by the light of a candle, and as I came in he thrust the book from him wearily.

"Oh, there you are, then," he said good-humouredly. "Look here, young fellow, I don't see why I should go on worrying and toiling over this mine just to make you well off. I was happy and comfortable enough without it, and here am I wearing myself out, getting no pleasure and no change, and all for you."

"Sell it then, father," I said. "I don't want you to work so hard for me. I don't want to be rich. Give it up."

"No," he said smiling; "no, Sep. It gives me a great deal of care and anxiety, but I do not mind. The fact is, Sep, I was growing fat and rusty, and loosing my grip on the world. A do-nothing life is a mistake, and only fit for a pet dog, and him it kills. I wanted interesting work, and here it is, and I am making money for you at the same time."

"But I don't think I want much money, father," I said.

"Maybe you will when you grow older."

"I wish I could help you better," I said.

"Help me? Why, I am quite satisfied with you, my boy. You help me a great deal. There, put away those books, and let us have some supper. I find we have nearly eight thousand ounces of silver down below here, and it's far too much to have in our charge. We must get it away, Sep, as soon as we can."

"What would eight thousand ounces be worth?" I said.

"Somewhere about two thousand pounds, my lad. But there, let's have some supper, and then I should like to have a pipe for half an hour in the soft fresh air."

A tray was already waiting upon a side-table, and bringing it to occupy the place where the books had lain, we sat down and ate a hearty meal before we had done, after which I lifted the tray aside, and handed my father the tobacco jar.

In a few minutes he began to fill his pipe, and when he had lit it, I sat watching him and noticed how the soft thin smoke began to curl about his face, and float up between me and the row of cutlasses and pistols with the belts that were arranged along the wall.

"Now, let's have ten minutes' fresh air before we go to bed," he said rising. "You don't want to come, I suppose."

"Oh, yes, I'll come," I replied, and I stepped out with him into the soft transparent night.

"Ah, that's delicious!" he exclaimed as we walked a little way down the Gap, and then struck up the path leading to the high cliff track.

It was very dark, but at the same time clear; and as we paused after a time there were the lights below us in the new cottages, while above the stars shone out brilliantly and twinkled as if it was about to be a frost.

"What a calm peace there is over everything!" said my father thoughtfully. "Why, Sep, my very weariness seems to be a pleasure, it is so full of the promise of rest."

"I'm tired too," I said. "I've been walking a good way to-day. How plainly you can hear the sea!"

"Yes, the wind must be from the north. But how soft, and sweet, and gentle it is! What is that?"

"What?" I replied listening, for I had not detected a sound.

"That noise of trampling feet. Don't you hear?"

I listened.

"Yes, it is as if some people were coming along from the beach."

"What people should be coming along from the beach?" exclaimed my father in an excited manner.

"Or is it the murmur of the waves, father?" I said.

"No," he whispered after listening; "there are people coming, and that was a sharp quick order. Run down to the cottages and warn the foreman. Follow out the regular orders. You know. If it is a false alarm it will not matter, for it will be exercise for getting the men together against real trouble."

"Right, father," I said, and I was just about to run off to give the alarm to the foreman, who would alarm another man while I went to a fresh house. Then there would be four of us to alarm four more, who would run up to the rendezvous while we alarmed four more, and so the gathering would be complete, and the men at the counting-house and armed in a very few minutes.

I say I was just about to rush off, when a dark figure made a rush at us, and caught hold of my father's arm.

"Quick, captain!" he whispered. "The French. Landed from a big sloop. Coming up the Gap."

"Are you sure?" said my father in a low voice.

The answer came upon the soft breeze, and I stopped for no more, but ran down the slope as hard as I could go, dashed into the foreman's cottage, gave the alarm, and he leaped up, his wife catching up her child and following to go along the Gap, as already arranged, the woman knowing that the others would follow her so as to get to a place of safety in case of the enemy getting the upper hand.

It proved, as my father had trusted, but a matter of very few minutes before four men were running to the counting-house to receive the weapons ready for them, and for eight to follow, while the women and children were being hurried from the cottages and away inland.

The foreman and I were in front of the six men we were bringing, and as we ran and neared the dim grey-looking building that was to be our fort, we could hear the coming of what seemed to be quite a large body of men, who were talking together in a low voice, while from time to time a sharp command was uttered.

Then, all at once, and just as we reached the counting-house, there was a fresh order, and the sounds ceased, not a voice to be heard, and the tramp completely hushed.

"What did it mean?" I asked myself, as a curious sensation of excitement came over me, for it seemed that the strangers, whoever they were, perhaps the French, as Bigley had said, had halted to fire at us as we rushed to the counting-house door, and I fully expected to see the flashes of their muskets, and hear the reports and the whistling of the bullets.

But no, all remained still, and we paused at the door to let the others pass in first, and then, with a wonderful sense of relief, I leaped in, and heard the door closed behind quickly, but with hardly a sound.

It was a curious sensation. The moment before I felt in terrible danger. Now I felt quite safe, for I was behind strong walls, though in reality I was in greater danger than before.

There was no confusion, no hurry. The drilling had been so perfect, and my father had been for so long prepared for just such an emergency as this, that everything was done with a matter-of-fact ease.

Already as we reached the door the four first comers had been armed; now as the men entered they crossed over to the other side, and cutlass, pistols, and a well-filled cartouche-box were handed to each, and he took them, strapped on his belt, and then fell in, standing at ease.

"All armed?" said my father then, as we stood in the dark.

There was no answer--a good sign that everyone was supplied.

"The women and children gone?" said my father then.

No answer again.

"Load!" said my father.

Then there was a rustling noise, the clicking of ramrods, a dull thudding, more clicking, and silence.

"Now," said my father, "no man to fire until I give the word. Trust to your cutlasses, and I daresay we can beat them off. Ready?"

There was a dead silence.

"I would light the candles," said my father in a low firm voice, "but it would be helping the enemy, if enemy they are. Who's that?"

"It is I, sir, Bigley," said a familiar voice.

"I had forgotten you. What is it?"

"I have no weapons, sir."

"No, of course not. Boy, you cannot fight."

"Why not, sir?"

"Because--because--" I was close to them, and they were speaking in a low tone; "because--" said my father again.

"Because you think I should be fighting against my father," said Bigley sharply; "but I'm sure, sir, that it is not so."

"How do I know that?" said my father.

_Rap, rap, rap_, came now at the door, and a voice with a decided French accent, a voice that sounded familiar to me, said:

"Ees any boady here?"

"There, sir, it is the French."

"I don't know that," said my father. Then: "Stand fast, my lads."

"Ees any boady here?" said the same voice.

"Yes. Who's there?" said my father.

"Aha, it is good," came from outside. "My friends and bruders have make great meestakes and lose our vays. Can you show us to ze Ripplemouts towns?"

"Straight down to the sea and along by the cliff path east," said my father shortly.

"Open ze doors; I cannot make myselfs to hear."

My father repeated his instructions; there was a low murmur outside; and then there was a sharp beating on the door, as if from the hilt of a sword.

"What now?" cried my father.

"Le Capitaine Dooncane," cried a sharp fierce voice.

"Well?" said my father. "I am Captain Duncan."

"Open this door," said the same voice, speaking in French.

"What if I refuse?" said my father in the same tongue.

"If you refuse it will be broken down--directly."

"Is it the war?" said my father mockingly.

"It is the war," was the reply. "Open, and no harm will be done to you. Resist, and there will be no quarter. Is it surrender?"

"Monsieur forgets that he is talking to an English officer," said my father. "Stand back, sir; we are well-armed and prepared."

There was a low murmur of voices outside, and my father exclaimed:

"Sep, Bigley, upstairs with you and six men. Two of you to each window, and beat down with your cutlasses all who try to board. Well keep the doors here. Now, my lads, tables and chairs against the doors. You'll find the wickets handy. I thought so; they're at the back door already."

He darted to the back room, helped place a table against the door, mounted upon it, and as the blows of a crowbar were heard, he placed a pistol to the little wicket in the panel high up, and fired a shot to alarm the attacking party.

The blows of the crowbar ceased, and a low suppressed yell from many voices broke out from all round the little stone-built place.

"That has quieted them for the moment," said my father; and, applying his eye to an aperture made for the purpose, he inspected the attacking force.

"French marines," he said quietly. "Well, my lads, they're outside and we are in. If they leave us alone we will not injure them, if they attack they must take the consequences. It is war time; they have landed, and we are fighting for our homes and all belonging to us. Will you fight?"

There was a low dull growl at this, uttered it seemed by every man present, and as my father's words had been distinctly heard upstairs, the men with Bigley and me joined in.

"That's good," said my father. "I thought so. Now once more trust to your strong aims and cutlasses. A couple of shots and then swords. They don't want loading again. If they break in we must retreat upstairs. If they prove too much for us and force their way up, we must hold out as long as we can, and then retreat by the north window and back up the west side of the valley among the big stones; but no retreat till I give the word. Now, my lads, do you want anything to make you fight?"

"Only the orders, captain," said the foreman, "or the French beggars to come on."

"All in good time. What are they doing?" said my father. "One shot can't have scared them off. Ah, the cowards! I expected as much."

For just then a dull light shone in through the window, and made every bar clear. The dull light became brighter, and the Frenchmen set up a cheer.

"They've fired the big shed roof, sir," said the foreman.

"Father," I cried down the stairs, "they have fired Sanders's cottage."

"Curse 'em," growled the foreman. "I'll make pork crackling of somebody's skin for that."

"Now they've gone on to the next cottage," cried Bigley.

"They're firing all the cottages," cried another of the men, and now the growl that rose from our little force was furious and fierce, and full of menace against the enemy, who had done this to give them ample light as I suppose.

"Never mind, my lads, they have forgotten that it will make it easier for us," said my father. "But hold your fire. It will be wanted here."

We could see each other plainly now, and it became necessary to look out cautiously, for fear of offering ourselves as targets for the Frenchmen's shots.

We could see that about a dozen well-armed men were in front, and another group of as many at the back of the house; but they were paying little heed to us for the moment, being engaged in watching their companions, who were running from cottage to cottage, firing them by thrusting torches under the thatch, and shouting and chattering to each other, as if these acts of wanton destruction were so much amusement in which they had delight.

Over and over again men made their pistols click, and were ready in their rage to send bullets flying amongst the wreckers of their homes; but my father uttered a low warning.

"Stand fast. Not till I say _fire_. Never mind your homes, my lads, we'll soon raise better ones, and your wives and children are all safe. Wait."

There was a low growl as if so many bull-dogs were being held back from their prey, and once more all was silent within.

Then there was a good deal of chattering and rushing, and the firing parties came back to where their companions were waiting, and we knew by the next order given that our time had come.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

DESPERATE TIMES.

In my heat and excitement I wondered that my father did not order his little company of men to begin firing at a time when every shot would tell, for there was a feeling of rage within me, roused by the wanton destruction of the cottages and every portion of the works that would burn; but I had not learned all my lessons then, and how a just and brave man, whether soldier or sailor, shrinks from destroying life until absolutely obliged.

My father came upstairs for a minute about the time when I was thinking this the most, and I could see a peculiarly hard stern look in his eyes as the fire flashed through the window upon his face.

"Mind: no firing," he said, "until they attack, and I give the word."

I felt afterwards how right he was, but then it seemed almost cowardly.

I soon altered my opinion, for all at once the French leader came up to the door and struck it with the hilt of his sword, as he exclaimed in French:

"Now, Captain Duncan, surrender!"

No reply was given.

"Open this door and pass out the whole of the silver bars you have there," was the next command, and this time my father answered:

"Come and take them if you can--_si vous osez_," he added in French.

There was no more delay. A couple of men were ordered to the front with iron bars, and they began to batter the door heavily, but without any further effect than to chip off splinters and make dints.

The men were called off, the rest standing ready to fire at anyone who should show a face at the windows, but we gave them no opportunity, for my father whispered:

"They are sixty. We are only just over a dozen. Wait, men, wait."

"What are they doing, Big?" I whispered to my companion, for he was in a better post for observations than myself.

"I can't quite see," he whispered back. "They've got a bag of something, and they're bringing it to the door."

I looked out quickly.

"Powder!" I exclaimed, and then I ran to the head of the stairs and called down to my father: "They are going to blow in the door with powder."

"Good!" said my father coolly, and issuing an order or two he drew all his men together into the back room. "Stay where you are, Sep," he whispered; "the explosion will not touch you, only, if we are hard pressed afterwards, come down with your men and take the enemy in the rear."

I felt my heart swell with pride at being treated like this, and the nervous sensation of dread grew less.

"Sooner the better, Master Sep," said one of the workmen. "Better keep away from the window, sir."

"No," I replied, "I must see what they are doing."

I felt that I must, and going to the window I stood upon a chair, and, keeping out of sight, looked down from the upper corner just in time to see a man run back from the door to join his companions, several of whom held rough torches of oakum steeped in tar.

"What are they doing, Big?" I whispered.

"That fellow has just laid a powder-bag by the door. But, Sep, you can't see any Englishmen there, can you?"

"No," I said hastily; "but I'm sure that's the French skipper Gualtiere standing to the left of the French captain."

"So it is," whispered Bigley. "I thought I knew the face. Look out!"

"What are they going to do?"

"The men are being drawn back, all but the fellows with the lights, and one of them is coming forward to light the powder. Yes; now all the others are retiring."

"I can see," I whispered. "Now I can see the man with the torch. I say, will it blow the place up?"

"I don't know," said Bigley in a low whisper; "but I feel horribly frightened."

"So do I," I whispered back; "but don't let's show it, Big."

"I won't," he said sturdily.

Just then the man who had approached slowly made a dash in close to the house, and I was thinking that somebody ought to have shot him down when he dashed back again, and his friends received him with a loud shrill cheer.

As the cheer died away there was a low hissing noise from outside, and I knew it was the fuse burning, and then we all shrank together to the farthest corner of the room, waiting in the most painful suspense for the explosion, which we knew must follow, but which seemed as if it would never come.

It was only a matter of so many seconds, but they seemed to be minutes of terrible suspense, before there was a flash, the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, and then, in the midst of a terrific roar, the floor was lifted up, and one end then fell, so that we all slid down into the room below in the midst of splinters, plaster, dust, and broken joists, just as the Frenchmen uttered a yell, and came dashing towards the open door.

What followed was one scene of wild confusion. It seemed that my father and his men came dashing out of the back room, and we were seized and dragged over the heap of broken wood-work and plaster, to be placed behind it, where we struggled to our feet, and then, in the midst of the clouds of blinding dust and choking gunpowder smoke, everybody made a breast-work of the damaged wood, and received the charge of the French sailors with pistol-shots and blows from the cutlasses.

This proved so effective that they fell back, running out as fast as they came in, and my father took advantage of the lull to have a few pieces of furniture dragged forward, and laid upon the heap of refuse so as to give us a better breast-work to fight behind.

"Hurt, Sep?" cried my father.

"No," I replied, "only shaken."

"That's well. Keep more back, my boy. Now, lads, cutlasses; here they come!"

There was a yell and a rush, the clashing of steel, with shouts and groans, and the Frenchmen were beaten back again.

"Time for breathing, my lads," cried my father, as we stood there in the darkness with the light full upon our enemies as they gathered at a short distance from the shattered doorway. "Who's hurt?"

"No one much, captain," growled the foreman. "A few chops and scratches. Here they are!"

For just then there was a yell, and the enemy rushed at us, coming in a little column, and this time led by an officer.

They could only come in two at a time; but, as they darkened the doorway and made their rush, they spread out as they entered like a fan right and left, and once more the groans, yells, and blows rang out.

It was clearer now, for the smoke and dust had floated out, and I could see something of the desperate fight that was going on, with men falling, and others of the Frenchmen from behind filling their places, for they kept on thronging in through the open doorway, till the counting-house was densely packed, and those behind literally drove their companions forward, till the rough breast-work was beaten and trampled down, and our little party forced back towards the wall that separated us from the inner room, in which there was a doorway leading into a back place, opening on to the cliff slope.

I can't pretend to describe what took place accurately. All I know is, that in the midst of a scene of shouting, yelling, and clashing cutlasses, I found myself crushed against the back wall with my sword above my head, and my ribs seeming to give way, as I was pinned there helplessly, till all at once there was a tremendous crash, and we were all driven backwards in a heap, friends and enemies together.

For the wood-work partition, already damaged by the force of the explosion, had given way, and we were precipitated into the back room.

What followed I hardly know, for as the men struggled up from the ruin the fight began again, and the result was that I found myself with my father and five men in the little back place of all, where the door opened out into the valley; but of course it was locked and barricaded inside, and the door into the back room was held by my father, the foreman, and two others, who were keeping about a dozen Frenchmen at bay, yelling and cutting and thrusting at them.

"Sep! Here! Quick!" my father shouted, without turning his head, for the enemy kept him occupied parrying their cuts and points.

"I am here, father," I said, getting close behind him.

"Right. Stand firm, my lads!" said my father. "We're beaten, but we must retreat in order. Ah, would you?"

This last was to a Frenchman who dashed in at him, but only to have his thrust parried, and to go down with an upward cut which disabled his sword arm.

"Sep," he whispered then, "open the back door. Be ready. We must now make a dash for the rocks. You lead; I'll keep the rear. Mind, my lads," he said to the stanch group about him, "keep together. If you separate you are lost. You'll be cut down or prisoners before you can raise a hand."

These words were all said in a jerky way in the midst of plenty of cutting and foining; for, though the Frenchmen did not attempt to pass the doorway, they kept on making fierce thrusts at us, though with little result.

I crept back and unfastened the door silently, so as not to draw the enemy's attention, and, holding my sword ready, I peered out, the noise going on drowning that I made with the lock and bolts.

To my dismay I saw that there were three of the enemy on guard, and, closing the door softly, I took a couple of steps back, and told my father.

"Only three!" he said coolly. "Oh, that's nothing. Now, then, to the door! Hold it ready. In a few moments you will see us make a dash and drive these fellows back. Then we shall turn and follow you. Dash out with a good shout, and strike right and left. The men there are sure to run. Then all for the rocks, and don't look back; we shall follow."

I obeyed him exactly. Just as I had the door ready to fling open, my father, the foreman, and the others suddenly sprang forward, as if about to drive the Frenchmen out of the counting-house, and they fell back.

Then open went the door. I saw our fellows turn round, and, sword in hand and feeling as if I was going to my death, I dashed right at the three men guarding the back, shouting "Hurrah!" at the top of my voice.

I felt sure that they would run me through, but my father was right. One ran to the left, another to the right, and the other straight on up the steep slope, and, as I cut at him desperately, down he went untouched, save by a stone over which he tripped, and we all went over him as we rushed up the valley side to the shelter of the rocks, and with the enemy swarming out and after us.

It was rough work, but we knew our way. The enemy were strange, and before we had toiled up a hundred yards they began to tail off. In another hundred we were some way up, and panting behind a clump of rocks that formed quite a little fort, while below us we could see the enemy gathered together in a group, and evidently about to return.

CHAPTER FORTY.

AFTER THE FIGHT.

"Let's get breath first," said my father. "Sit down, my lads, anywhere. How many are we? Only six all told? Who's hurt?"

"Oh, I'm all right, captain," said the foreman; "only a bit of a cut."

"Only a bit of a cut!" said my father. "Here, hold your arm." My father drew out a bandage from his pocket, and tied up the foreman's arm, and he had no sooner done this than another man offered himself to be bandaged.

Just then a couple of shots were fired in our direction, and we heard the bullets strike the rocks not far away; but while our enemies were below, and in the full glare of the burning cottages, we were above them, and in the darkness of the shadows cast by the rocks.

So the shots were allowed to go unheeded, while the bandaging went on, every one having some injury which was borne without a murmur.

"Are you hurt, Sep?" said my father then, anxiously, after he had attended to his men.

"I don't think I'm cut anywhere," I said; "but my left arm hurts a good deal, and I can't breathe as I should like to."

"Breathe?" he said eagerly.

"Yes; it hurts my side here and catches."

"Humph!" he said. "Can you tie this round my shoulder?"

"Why, father," I said, "are you wounded too?"

"A scratch, my boy; but it bleeds a good deal."

He tore open his coat and tried to take it off, but could not, and we had to help him, and then roughly bandage his shoulder, where he had received a horrible cut.

I trembled as I helped, and forgot my own pains.

He noticed my trembling and laughed.

"Bah, Sep!" he said; "this is nothing. I'm afraid some of our poor fellows there are worse. Ah, who's that? Be ready, men; we must retreat, we are not in fighting trim."

For we could see a dark figure coming up after us, and it seemed to be an enemy; but directly after half a volley was fired at the figure, and we saw it drop and roll over.

"Down!" said my father with a groan. "Oh, if we were only fresh and strong! But they are six to one, my lads, and it would be madness."

"Look, father!" I cried pointing; "they are going back."

That was plain enough, and that they were going rapidly in answer to shouts of recall. So, encouraged by this, we were about to run down and help the man who had been shot, when by the glow of the fire we saw him rise up on his knees, and directly after there were a couple of flashes and reports, as he fired his pistols after the retreating foe, and then began to crawl up towards where we were.

"Why, it's Bigley, father," I said excitedly. "Ahoy!"

"Ahoy!" came back; and I saw my school-fellow get up and begin limping towards us as fast as he could come.

I ran to meet him, but stopped before I had gone many yards, for the painful sensation in my side checked me, and I was glad to hold my hand pressed upon the place, and wait till he came up.

"Oh, I am glad!" he cried, catching my hand. "I thought--no, I won't say what I thought."

"But you are hurt," I said. "Is it your leg?"

"Yes, I feel just as if I was a gull, Sep, and someone had shot me."

"And you are shot?"

"Yes, but only in the leg. Is the captain up there?"

"Yes," I said, "and three or four of the men. I say, Big, what a terrible night!"

"Yes," he replied, in a curious tone of voice; "but, I'm glad it's the French, and that no one else has done it."

My father had come down to where we were seated, and made us follow him to the shelter of the rocks.

"They may catch sight of you, my lads," he said, "and turn you into marks."

"Are you going to stop them now, captain?" said Bigley, following. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm ready to do anything, my lad," said my father sadly; "but what can half a dozen injured men, whose wounds are getting stiff, do against half a hundred sound?"

Bigley sighed.

"Couldn't we sit up here in the rocks and pick them all off with the carbines, sir?" he said suddenly.

"Yes, my lad, perhaps we could shoot down a few if we had the carbines, which we have not. No: we can do nothing but sit down and wait till we get well, comforting ourselves with the thought that we have done our best."

We were watching the French sailors now, not a man showing the slightest inclination to retreat farther, but standing like beaten dogs growling and ready to rush at their assailants if they could get the chance. Swords had been sheathed, but only while pistols were recharged; and then, as soon as these weapons were placed ready in belts, the cutlasses were drawn again; and just as they had obeyed the order to retreat, the men would have followed my father back, wounded as they were, to another attack.

Down below the Frenchmen were as busy as bees. We could hear the crackle and snap of wood as they seemed to be tearing it out of the counting-house; and then it was evident what they had been doing, for a torch danced here and there, and stopped in one place and seemed to double in size, to quadruple, and at last there was a leaping flame running up and a pile of wood began to blaze.

"There go years of labour!" said my father, speaking unconsciously so that the men could hear. "One night to ruin everything!"

"Nay, captain, such of us as is left 'll soon build un up again," said the foreman. "Women and children's safe, and there's stuff enough in the hillside to pay for all they've done."

"Ah! So there is, my brave fellow," said my father warmly. "You are teaching me philosophy."

"Am I, captain?" said the man innocently. "Think they'll find the silver?"

"I'm watching to see," said my father; "I don't know yet. Five minutes will show. I fear they know where to look."

Bigley was leaning on my shoulder at this time, and he gave me quite a pinch as his hand closed, but he did not speak; and there was no need, for I understood his thoughts, poor fellow! And what he must be feeling.

As the fires at the cottages were beginning to sink, the one the Frenchmen had lit by the counting-house blazed up more brightly. They kept feeding it with furniture, joists, and broken planks, about a dozen men running to and fro tearing out the broken wood-work and clearing the interior till we could see that everything had been swept away; and then there was a buzz of excitement by the ruined building while the hammer and clangour of crowbars could be heard, followed by the tearing up of more boards; and I knew as well as if I could see that the trap-door leading to the cellar was being demolished.

"They know where the silver be, captain," said our foreman; and once more Bigley started and I felt him spasmodically grip my shoulder.

"Yes," said my father between his teeth; "they know where the silver is. A planned thing, my man--a planned thing."

"None o' us had anything to do with it, captain, I swear," cried the foreman excitedly. "There wasn't a lad here as would have put 'em up to where it was hid."

"Hush, man! What are you saying?" cried my father. "As if it were likely that I should suspect any of the brave fellows who have been ready to give their lives in the defence of my works."

"But can't we get the rest together, captain, and stop 'em, or cut 'em off, or sink their boats, or something?"

"No, my lad, I'm afraid we can do nothing more than see them--Ah! They have found it!" said my father as a loud shout of triumph rang out from below. "Well, as you say, there's plenty more in the hillside, and we must set to work again, I suppose, and take warning by this and never keep a store here."

It was all plain enough. The silver was found, and the little boxes in which the ingots were packed in saw-dust were carried out and stood down by the blazing fire--twenty of them; and just as this was done there was the thud of a cannon away off the mouth of the Gap.

"Signal for recall," said my father.

It was quickly obeyed, for the French formed up round twenty of their party who shouldered the boxes. Four men with drawn swords went first, as if they were making a showy procession in the blaze of the burning fire; then came the twenty men carrying silver, then six more with drawn swords; then a group of about ten who seemed to be wounded, and four more who were being carried; and lastly some twenty or thirty, with swords flashing in the firelight, to form a rearguard.

"_En avant_!" rang out clearly in the night air, and away they went chattering and making plenty of noise, just as a second gun was fired and seemed to make the air throb as the report echoed up the valley.

"Why, there must be nigh a hundred on 'em. We may have a shot at 'em now, captain, mayn't us?" cried the foreman.

"What for, my man?" said my father kindly. "If we could save the silver I would say yes, but it would be only spilling blood unnecessarily. We made a brave defence and were beaten. We could not master them now, even if we could fire volleys every five minutes. It would only mean a fierce fight, and we should be hunted down one by one for nothing. No: they have won. Let them go now, but I should like to see them embark. A good-sized French man-of-war must be off the Gap."

"Come on, then, captain, and let's get over the mouth."

"No," said my father. "You go with my son and one of the men, but I forbid firing. See all you can. I must stay and look after our poor fellows here, unless they've taken them away as prisoners."

"Ah! I forgot them," said our man. "Come along, Master Sep. Let's go down here and cross, and get on the cliff path."

"Will you go, Big?" I said.

"No, I couldn't walk," he replied. "I can hardly get down here."

"I'll look after him," said my father. "Go on, but take care not to be caught."

"We'll mind that, captain," was the reply; and we descended as rapidly as pain would let us, reached the stream, crossed the path the Frenchmen had taken, and went on diagonally up the slope, getting higher above the enemy at every step, and talking together in a low tone about the fight, and how the poor fellows were whom we had missed.

"I hope and pray," said our foreman, "as no one ar'n't killed; and, my lor', how my arm do hurt!"

"So do I. Poor fellows!" I said, "how well they all fought!"

"Ay, they did. But the captain, Master Sep, he was like a lion all the time. Why, lad, what's the matter?"

"I--I don't want to make too much fuss," I panted; "but I'm broken somewhere, and it hurts horribly."

"Sit you down, lad, and wait till we come back," said the foreman kindly.

"No," I said, grinding my teeth, "I won't give up;" and I trudged on, knowing as well as could be that one or two of my ribs were broken when I was crushed against the wall, just before it gave way.

And all the time below us to the left wound the line of Frenchmen. It was so dark that we could not have told that they were there, but for the low babel of sounds that arose of voices and trampling feet, while now and then a sound more painful to us still came up in the form of a groan or a faint cry of pain, and after one of these outbursts the foreman said:

"I wonder whether that be one of our lads."

"Nay, not it," said our companion roughly; "it be a Frenchy. One of our lads wouldn't make a noise like that if you cut his head off."

I felt sure he was right, and I could not help smiling, but I was in too much pain to speak.

And so we trudged on, our paths diverging in a way that took us higher and higher towards where the track curved round the cliff at the east side of the Gap, while theirs, of course, kept down by the stream to the beach.

It was a weary painful walk, for the excitement was now gone, and my companions' wounds were stiffening, and giving them as much pain as my chest did me; but no one murmured, and we kept on till we were at the mouth of the Gap, high up above where four boats were lying, while half a mile away we could see the lights and dimly make out the hull of a large vessel.

In spite of our pain we had made most progress, and were waiting some minutes before the head of the column came up, and there, as we seated ourselves hundreds of feet above, we could watch the embarkation of the little force, and see in a dim way the boats run in, hear the plashing of feet in the shallow water, and then the sound of the boxes as they were laid in the bottom of one of the boats, this boat being then rowed out about a dozen yards to wait for the others.

"Only wish it was a storm instead of a calm smooth time," said our foreman. "Everything seems for 'em. I can't see why the Ripplemouth people haven't been over to help us. They must have seen the fires."

"No," I said, "I don't suppose they would. See how deep down in the valley the cottages are."

It was quite dark where we were sitting, but there appeared to be a pale light on the sea which enabled us to make out all that was going on below; and we watched the boats fill, and one by one push off, the wounded men being divided between the four. It was plain enough, and it made me shudder when some poor fellow was lifted moaning in by his comrades, who did not seem to be any too tender in their ways.

At last all were on board, and the word was given to start. There was a loud plashing as the oars dropped into the water, and we saw one boat lead off, and then a second follow, then the third and the fourth in single file, and making haste to join the big vessel, upon which signal lights were burning.

"Why, they don't know the way," I exclaimed, as I saw them bear off at once to the eastward instead of following right out the meandering channel of the little river.

"Don't know the way?" cried our foreman; "why, it's plain enough. They're at sea."

"They're over a lot of dangerous rocks," I said excitedly; "and if there don't happen to be water enough they'll come upon the Goat and Kids, and perhaps be upset."

"No fear," said the foreman; "they'll know better than that."

They were now about four hundred yards from the shore, and fading away into the darkness, heading for the lights of the French ship, and far to the east now of the course of the river, where it ran down through the sand and shingle--a course the lugger always followed when going out or coming in. But all seemed to be well with the boats, the regular beat of whose oars we could hear though they were quite out of sight, when all at once there came out of the darkness a tremendous yell, and we all started to our feet in alarm.

We could see nothing, but as we listened to the cries for help, and the shouting and splashing of the water, it was evident that an accident had occurred, and it needed very little imagination to picture the men of an overset boat struggling in the water, and being helped into the others.

"There's one of them capsized on the Goat Rock," I said excitedly.

"Think so, my lad?" said our foreman hoarsely.

"I'm sure of it," I cried. "Oh! If the day would break and we could only see."

As if in response to my wish there was a faint gleam out in the darkness just like a pale star, and then a blue glow which lit up the scene with a curiously sickly glare.

It made everything very plain, and by this light we could see that there were three crowded boats out in the blue circle of light, while we could just see the fourth beyond them upside down, the keel just above the water, and three men seated astride.

"Regular capsize," said our foreman. "Hope none of the wounded chaps aren't drowned. Don't mind about the rest."

The blue light burned out, but not before we had plainly seen that it was burning in the bows of the largest boat, and that the men on that capsized had been dragged into one of the others. Then, as we listened, the babble of voices ceased, the plash of oars recommenced, and gradually died away.

"Well," I said, "we may as well go back and report what we have seen. They've gone now."

"Yes," growled our foreman, holding his hand to his wound, "and they've left their marks behind."

CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

AMONGST THE WOUNDED.

Weary as our walk down to the mouth of the Gap had been, that back seemed far worse, and we reached the fire by the counting-house, which still burned brightly, being fed with more wood, to find my father anxiously awaiting our news.

"Gone!" he said. "Yes, but they may return. Two--no we cannot spare two men, one must go and keep watch to warn us of their return."

"I'll go, Captain Duncan," said Bigley, limping up. "I can't walk about much, but I can sit down there on the top rocks and watch."

"Very good, my lad," said my father, "but take your pistols and fire twice rapidly if boats come in again."

As Bigley squeezed my hand and started off, my father exclaimed:

"Now I must have a messenger to go to Ripplemouth for Doctor Chowne. What man is not wounded?"

There was a murmur among the group assembled about the fire, a grim blood-smeared powder-blackened set of beings, several of whom had had their hair scorched away by the explosion. There was not a man who was not ready to go, but there was not one who was not wounded.

"I hardly know whom to send," said my father. "Sep, can you get over there?"

"I'll try, father," I replied from where I was sitting down on a piece of rock; but I spoke so faintly that my father came to my side, and caught my cold damp hand, and laid his upon my wet forehead.

"Madness!" he muttered. "Look here, my lads," he cried, "a couple of the women must be found at once."

"Ahoy! Duncan, ahoy!"

It was a distant hail from high up on the track.

"Heaven be praised!" cried my father, and then he shouted, "Chowne, ahoy!"

There was an answering hail, and in five minutes more Doctor Chowne came scrambling down the side of the ravine upon his pony, with Bob hanging on to its tail.

"My dear boy!" exclaimed the doctor, grasping my father's hand. "We heard the guns, and could make out the lights of a big vessel off here. I was afraid that something was wrong, and going up the hill yonder I could see the glow in the sky. That decided me, and we came over together. Anybody hurt?"

"Well, yes, a little," said my father grimly.

As he spoke the first grey dawn of morning was beginning to show in the valley and mingle strangely with the glow of the big fire and of the sickly flickering gleam above the burned-out cottages.

It was a doleful sight upon which the doctor gazed round as he stripped off his coat. My father, blackened, scorched, and blood-stained, was standing with the foreman, six men were sitting or half reclining on the ground, and four more lay on their backs as if insensible.

It was a ghastly answer to the question, "Is anybody hurt?" for there was no one without a serious wound.

"Ah! I see," said the doctor grimly. "Well, is anybody killed?"

"Heaven forbid!" cried my father.

"Amen," said the doctor. "Here, Bob, bandages, scissors. Fine lesson in surgery for you. Now, captain, you first."

"No, no--the men," said my father.

"Here, I've no time to waste," cried the doctor. "Now, then, who's worst?"

"Mas'r Sep," cried the foreman loudly; and there was a sort of chorus of "Ay, ay!"

I tried to protest, but I felt sick, and as if I should faint, and the doctor cried:

"Hold your tongue, sir. Now then, what is it--bullet or sword cut?"

"Oh!" I shrieked, for he had seized me rather roughly.

"There, eh?" said the doctor, "that's it, is it? Here, knife, Bob."

"What is it?" said my father excitedly; "an operation?"

"Yes," said Doctor Chowne, "on his coat. Only going to rip it off, man. What a fuss you do make about your boy!"

"But tell me, Chowne," cried my father, "is he badly hurt?"

"Badly hurt? No. A few ribs broken seemingly. I'll soon bandage him up."

He did, and very painful it was; but at the same time it seemed to give me strength and confidence, as he wound the stout bandage round and round and left Bob grinning at me as he fastened the ends, while he went to another patient.

"Been a regular fight, then?" said Bob, who kept on questioning me, and making me tell him everything, though I felt as if I could hardly speak.

"Yes," I said, "terrible."

"But old Big; where's he?"

"Wounded, and keeping watch where the Frenchmen went."

"Old Big wounded, eh? And a regular fight--French and English too. Well, of all the shabby mean beggars that ever lived, you and old Bigley are about the two worst."

"What do mean?" I cried angrily.

"There, don't wriggle that way or I shall stick the needle in you. To go and have a big genuine fight like that and never let me know."

"Here, Bob, quick!" cried the doctor, and my old school-fellow had to go and help bandage another's wound.

"He will have his grumble," I said to myself, smiling as well as I could for one in pain.

The daylight grew broader, and the blackened counting-house and cottages more desolate-looking, the whole place seeming to be suffering from the effects of some terrible storm, and as I lay there I saw the doctor go on busily bandaging the poor fellows' wounds, every one suffering the pain he was caused without a murmur. The worst cases he temporarily bandaged, leaving the rest till the men were better able to bear it, and at last he came round to my father, who was wounded in two places.

"Die? No: there are some ugly chops and holes, but I'm not going to let any of the brave fellows die," cried the doctor cheerily. "Now the first thing is to get the women back and a roof over that long shed in case it should rain. I'll have a lot of ling cut for beds, but I must have some help. Perhaps I had better ride over to the village--no, I'll send my boy. But I say, Duncan, I think you ought to have given better account of the Frenchmen."

"Why, they had to get fifteen or sixteen wounded men away," I cried, and then winced.

"And serve 'em right," said the doctor. "Here, Bob!"

_Bang, bang_!

"What's that?"

"Bigley's signal; and by the way, doctor, the poor lad is wounded too. Come along and see."

"No, I'll go," said the doctor. "You are not fit."

"But I'm going all the same," cried my father; and I saw them go off along the cliff path.

"Here, Mars Sep," said our foreman, "I'm going to climb up yonder to see what's going on; will you come?"

"I don't think I can do it," I said, "but I'll try;" and with the help of his hand now and then I managed to climb up the west slope of the Gap right to the very top, where, in the bright sunny morning, we saw a sight that filled us with horror, for a couple of well-filled boats were rowing towards us from the side of a large sloop of war, from whose port-holes projected a row of guns that seemed to threaten fresh destruction to our coast.

But all at once we saw a flag run fluttering up to the peak and then blow out clear, with the result that the boats began to alter their course, turning completely round and rowing back to the man-of-war.

As they were going back we could see sail after sail drop down from the yards of the sloop; and as the boats reached her and were hoisted up to the davits, she began to move swiftly towards the west, her canvas growing broader minute by minute till she passed out of our sight.

"Why, she's gone," said our foreman. "Is she coming back?"

"I hope not," I cried. "Look!" I pointed towards the east over a depression in the Gap side through which we could catch a glimpse of the sea, and there in the bright sunlight we could make out a couple of vessels crowding on under all sail; and, little as I knew of such matters, I was able to say that one was a small frigate and the other a man-of-war cutter that looked very much like our old friend.

"After the Frenchman--eh?" said our foreman, gazing hard, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as his cheeks flushed and he seemed to forget his wounds. "Well, then, all I can say is, that I hope they'll be caught."

"Let's get down," I said. "See, there's the doctor bringing Bigley Uggleston back on his pony. I wonder how he is."

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

A FIGHT AT SEA.

We descended slowly and painfully, to get down in time to receive a severe scolding from the doctor, while my father confirmed the news, as Bigley was half-lifted off for Bob to mount the pony and go off for help.

The British ships had had news brought them of the attack, and had started at daybreak in full chase, and an hour afterwards all who could climbed to where we could catch sight of the sea, to find out the meaning of the firing that was going on.