Hard Pressed
"Stand back so that they cannot see you," commanded Tom, as the
peasants rushed madly at the entrance of the church that the troopers
had defended so gallantly on the previous evening, and above which
they were now stationed. "There is no need for us to risk their
bullets yet. Let them climb, and then we will use our spears again
and teach them that, if anything, we are in a stronger position."
The advice came in time to save many a wound without shadow of doubt;
for while two or three hundred of the maddened Portuguese had swarmed
along the walls of the house, and turning the corner abruptly had
then made a fierce onslaught on the gate leading into the yard,
or were endeavouring to clamber to the top of the wall, an almost
equal number had selected the church door for their own particular
effort. They came on at the double, brandishing an assortment of
strange weapons, weapons which, though they were not similar to those
carried by the troops, and had seen many and many a summer, and, in
fact, were wont to be used more often in the peaceful employment of
agriculture, were still capable of giving terrible wounds, wielded
as they were by men who seemed actually to be maddened by the sight
of the defenders. The affair in which Tom and his friends found
themselves so strangely and unexpectedly mixed was, indeed, one of
those sad exhibitions of savagery to be met with, alas! in time of
war, when such war is accompanied by atrocities. Knowing something
of the history of this Peninsula campaign, and guessing at the rest,
Tom could realize that the Portuguese peasant had suffered severely
at the hands of vindictive troops who had been given a more or less
free hand. The French bore an unenviable reputation for rapine,
and history tells clearly that while the Spaniards had no very
great cause of complaint, the Portuguese were often enough horribly
treated. And at this time, when the French were slowly being forced
in front of our armies towards the Portuguese frontier, driven in
spite of their numbers out of a country they had sworn to hold, the
atrocities committed were many. They did not stop at burning villages
and ruining crops. Defenceless people were killed and horribly
illtreated. Even the women and children were subjected to violence.
And here was a direct result. One could hardly blame the peasants.
Reprisals, terrible reprisals when the opportunity came, were but a
natural sequence to violence.
"I have known these brutes waylay the rearguard of two battalions
marching north, and capture everyone," said a trooper who was close
to Tom, craning his head so as to see the mob from over the edge
of the parapet. "Yes, monsieur, I have known them to capture a
hundred men, and when the news reached us, and we, a full regiment
of cavalry, galloped to the spot, we found every one of our brothers
murdered, done to death by torture. _Vraiment!_ It made our blood
boil. It makes us fight now till there is not a breath left in us."
Tom sighed. It was not often that he indulged in such a melancholy
act; but the thing saddened him. In the midst of an attack it is
true that he could forget the reasons for it, could almost forget
the nationality of the enemy, but in his more serene moments he
could not help but see the fact that these were but peasants, and
that their rage and hatred were natural. Nevertheless, to allow them
to chop himself and his little command to pieces because the French
had earned reprisals was a very different matter. Self-preservation
is one of the first laws ingrafted in us, and in Tom it was acutely
displayed.
"Keep lower, my friend," he warned the trooper. "Ah! They have
rushed into the church, perhaps hoping that we have left a comrade
or two there. Soon they will try the steps, and then there will be a
hubbub. Stand back, you men with the spears; and recollect, no shots,
no wasting ammunition. Beat them back with the spears or with your
sabres. Now, I will go to see how the others fare."
He left the faithful Andrews in charge of the party, and, passing
into the clergy house, popped his head into the room occupied a
little while before by Jack and Mr. Riley. They were gone; it was
evident that they had risen. Pushing on, he came to the windows
commanding the yard, and there discovered the truants.
"What's this?" he demanded somewhat curtly.
"Disobeying orders," smiled Mr. Riley, while Jack looked his friend
up and down for a few seconds, as if he resented interference, and
then grinned widely.
"Never did see such a cormorant, sir," he said, addressing the naval
lieutenant. "Here he is; he gets up a row with these poor peasants,
bottles us in bed, and expects us to stay there. Not if I know it!"
Jack hopped on one leg to the far window, steadied himself there, and
then slowly lifted a carbine which he had managed to secure.
"You go along and see to the defence generally, lad," cried Mr.
Riley, slapping our hero on the back. "Jack and I couldn't be
expected to stay in that room when such an attack was being made.
You leave us in charge of this part of the defences, and even if we
can't do much, we can at least encourage the men and see that all
goes well. It will leave you free to arrange other matters. Ah! The
beggars have managed to get to the top of the wall; they've failed
once at the gate."
The attack on the latter had, in fact, been easily driven off; for
the little room built over it projected a couple of feet beyond the
face of the wall, and was provided with a wide door and a trap, while
a wooden crane swung outside. It was, therefore, a matter of no
great difficulty to open the trap and fire directly down upon the
attackers, while Howeley, the energetic commander of the post, had
already contrived to gather a respectable number of paving stones
from the yard below, and with these had beaten down the attackers.
"Made 'em hop mighty quick, sir," he said. "There must have been
twenty dozen of the beggars, all as mad as hatters. But even mad
people feel blows when landed on their heads. You can see what
happened."
Tom peeped through the trap. Down at the foot of the gate were three
peasants prone and still, while two more were slowly crawling away.
At a distance of fifty feet there was a bunch of a hundred, eyeing
the gateway with savage looks, and discussing the situation hoarsely.
Then some went away at a run, returning in less than five minutes
with a long beam.
"Going to try a battering ram," said Tom, rather scared at the sight.
"We'll give 'em battering," came the reassuring words from the
rifleman.
"I've two men posted down in the yard with their carbines, and we've
knocked a couple of holes in the gates. If we can't reach the enemy
from above here, the boys below can manage. They've filled up their
barrels with pebbles scraped up from between the paving stones. The
shots will scare the peasants same as if they was birds."
A glance at the sturdy fellow showed that he had no fears with
regard to his own particular defences, and, staying there a moment,
Tom had full reason to trust him; for the mob outside were in such
temper that delay was out of the question. Some fifty of their number
began to fire at the gateway and at the trapdoor above, while their
comrades picked up the huge beam and advanced at a run, shouting
loudly to encourage one another. Crash! went the end of the beam
against the gates, shaking them severely. Then came the clatter
of stones. Standing well above the attackers, Howeley and his two
troopers advanced in turn, elevated a paving stone, took careful aim,
and then threw it downwards. With a shout of terror the attackers
promptly retired. A minute later, however, they came forward again
at a run, and on this occasion a dozen of their number bore muskets.
Stationing themselves in such position that they could fire through
the open trap, they sent their bullets thudding into the ceiling
of the room, making it impossible for Howeley and his men to take
effective aim. Meanwhile the others ran in, and, picking up their
beam, swung it backward in preparation for another blow.
"Jest you keep on tossing them stones over," commanded Howeley, as if
the troopers could understand every word. "Savvy, me lads? Don't show
up, but jest lift a stone same as this, standing well back, and heave
it through. It'll hit something."
It did. A howl from below, and a chorus of shouts and cries greeted
the stone, while one of the men holding the beam fell as if struck by
a poleaxe.
"Savvy?" asked Howeley curtly.
"_Bien!_" came the equally curt answer.
"Then jest you look to it."
Howeley went off as if he were provided with wings, and a moment or
two later Tom heard him shouting to the troopers down in the yard.
"Jest give 'em mustard," he bellowed. "You've got that, me lads?
Mustard's the stuff they're wanting. Let in at 'em."
A loud roar followed his words instantly, and then a second. Smoke
billowed up through the trap, while a torrent of yells and cries came
from the mob. Tom glanced over the edge, to find the beam lying on
the ground and the attackers in full flight, save for those struck
down by the slugs and bullets which had been discharged at them.
However, the fury of a mob is a thing to tremble at. The poor
wretches outside came on again, bearing a ladder, and in a trice the
latter was safely wedged in the open trap. Desperate men swarmed on
to it, and it looked as if there would soon be a contest at the top.
But Howeley's paving stones were irresistible. They swept the rungs
of the ladder clean, and in less than a minute the ladder was tossed
down and the frantic enemy was in full retreat.
"Well done!" cried Tom, delighted at the success gained in this
quarter, but sorry, nevertheless, for the peasants. "I can leave
you here knowing that all will be well. What's that?"
He went racing back to the windows occupied by Jack and the naval
officer, to discover that a commotion had suddenly arisen in the yard
over by the far containing wall. The tops of a dozen ladders could be
seen against the skyline, perched against the outside of the wall,
while the broad summit of the latter was thickly covered with defiant
peasants. They clustered thickly along the top, some firing their
muskets at the figures in the window. Others had managed to drag up
two ladders, and having dropped these into the yard were now swarming
down.
"Into the yard!" shouted Tom at once, leading the way downstairs at
a run, and dashing outside where the horses were quartered. He was
joined by a dozen troopers within a few seconds, who all raced across
the yard, their sabres swinging in their hands. One of their number,
a light horseman by the look of him, outdistanced his fellows, and
gripping one of the ladders dragged it aside with all his force,
and sent it thudding into the yard with a couple of the peasants
upon it. But a dozen and more of the latter had contrived to descend
the second ladder, and at once there began a desperate hand-to-hand
contest, pikes and scythes being opposed to sabres.
[Illustration: "GRIPPING ONE OF THE LADDERS DRAGGED IT ASIDE WITH ALL
HIS FORCE"]
"Hold them, lads!" came in stentorian tones from Mr. Riley, in spite
of his wound. "Hold them for a little, Tom. We'll have the other boys
along in a jiffy."
Stamping with impatience because common sense and lack of strength
told him that he himself was unfit to join in the mêlée, and, in
fact, even to clamber down the steps, the naval lieutenant put to
good purpose a stentorian voice trained in a service where lung
power is required, and where the weakling is useless. In spite of
the roar of the mob Andrews and Howeley heard him, and, rallying
in his direction, went headlong down the stairs, with a number of
their fellows with them. They arrived just in time to stem the
tide of invasion. The ladder still remaining upright, and loaded
with peasants scrambling to the help of their comrades, was thrown
down by a couple of the troopers. And then, for the space of five
minutes perhaps, there was a fierce struggle in the yard. The
troopers at a shout from Tom separated themselves and formed a ring
round the invaders, while the latter, taken aback now that they
found themselves cut off from all help by their comrades, retired
towards the wall, their scythes held well in front of them, their
eyes furtively seeking for some hole or corner which would give them
security.
"Hold!" cried Tom loudly, anxious to save unnecessary bloodshed. "You
men keep your formation. Now," he went on sternly, addressing the
Portuguese in their own tongue, "I give you a moment in which to lay
down your arms, promising on the word of an Englishman that you shall
not be injured. Answer."
With a sullen clang the peasants tossed their arms to the pavement,
and stood glowering at the troopers, fearful yet whether they would
be murdered.
"Form into line, two abreast," commanded Tom again. "Howeley, just
get to your post and tell us if the enemy are near. I'm going to
eject these fellows."
He waited till there came a hail from the rifleman.
"All clear, sir," he shouted. "Them fellers has had a stomachful and
has cleared."
"Then get below and make ready to open one of the gates. My lads,"
he said, addressing the troopers, who regarded their prisoners with
no very friendly looks, "these men have thrown down their arms on my
promise that they shall go unharmed. You will march beside them to
the gate and stand about in case of a rally. Pick up your wounded and
killed," he called to the peasants. "You will march straight across
to the gate, and will pass out without attempting violence. Any man
who disobeys will be killed instantly. Let this be a lesson to you.
Go to your comrades and tell them that we are well able to defend
ourselves, and that it would be better far for them and all if they
left us alone. Now, march."
Looking forlorn and frightened, and regarding the troopers with eyes
which showed even now, though rather cowed, their hatred of them,
the peasants picked up their comrades, of whom a number had fallen,
and bore them to the gate. Two minutes later they were gone, wending
their way from the defences sadly, and in different spirit from that
which had filled them a little while before. Crash went the gate.
Howeley threw the bar into position and turned the key.
"Well done!" came from the window above in loud tones. "Well done all
of you!"
Glancing up, Tom saw the jovial naval lieutenant waving eagerly to
him, while close at hand was Jack's grinning and perspiring face. He
was actually shaking a fist at our hero.
"Lucky brute!" he growled in a voice so quaint, and with such queer
grimaces, that even the French troopers could see the humour.
"Lucky brute to be able to hop about and take part in all these
skirmishes. Wouldn't I give something to be in your shoes."
"And right well ye'd do, sir, begging pardon," came from Andrews,
whom the contest had worked up to a degree of excitement. "But it's
well for us all that Mr. Clifford's here, begging pardon, sir."
"Well said," shouted Mr. Riley. "Ah, I wish to goodness I could talk
French! I'd make a speech in Tom's favour. I'd call for cheers."
"Then here's three cheers fer Mr. Tom," came from Andrews in
bellowing tones, cheers in which the troopers joined lustily, for
they fully understood the gist of what was passing.
"And now?" asked Mr. Riley, wiping the perspiration from his face.
"Now, Tom, after that precious near squeak?"
"Any damage done?" asked our hero at once. He ran his eyes over the
troopers, and soon discovered that four had been wounded, though,
fortunately, none of the wounds were severe.
"Then pitch those ladders up against the wall again and look about
for a strong plank. We'll make a bit of a platform above, where we
can post a few men. They'll be able to keep others of the peasants
from trying the same game. How are things passing at the church door?"
An inspection there proved that the enemy had retreated, though
doubtless some of them were within the church. However, for the
moment at least, the bulk of the mob had gone, and Tom took advantage
of the lull to make his preparations for feeding the defenders. The
kitchen fire was soon roaring up the chimney, while outside, in the
yard, there was another blaze. A trooper, booted and spurred, and
stripped to his shirt, bent over a huge basin perched on a low wooden
table, and sturdily pummelled a mass of dough. Near at hand stood
another, stripped like his fellow, thrusting his long moustaches
upward toward his eyes.
"_Nom de nomme_, but this is soldiering!" he was saying to his
comrade, as he added handfuls of flour from an open sack. "This is
what a man can call campaigning."
"Eh? Ah!" the other grunted. "_Mais pourquoi?_"
"Hear him!" came the astonished answer, while the trooper held a
floury hand aloft as if to show his amazement. "He asks why, when the
reason is plain. _Dites donc, mon fou_; is it so often, then, that
we fight under the eye and command of an English _garçon_? Poof! That
is the charm of the thing. I tell you, yesterday I said to myself:
'Pierre, you will be chopped to pieces before the sun comes up
to-morrow. You and your comrades will be but mince meat.'"
The man kneading the dough shivered and grunted his disapproval.
"Gently, comrade," he growled. "You will spoil the tart I am making.
What then?"
"What then? He asks what then? See here, _mon brave_, we have
fighting, heaps of it, and it is the peasants--poor fools!--who are
chopped to pieces. We have excitement and work fit for a soldier,
I say, and, with it all, see also what we get. Ah! I smell meat
cooking, and here is something that we have not seen for many a long
day."
He went clanking his spurs across to a corner where the watchful
Howeley had deposited a huge jar of jam, and came staggering back
with it. The two men took the pan from the low table, lifted the
dough from it, and, having thickly dusted the table top with flour,
laid their dough upon it. Then came the task of rolling.
"Try that, mate," suggested Howeley, who was now watching the
proceedings with a grin of expectation. "Wasn't meant for the job;
but beggars can't be choosers."
He offered the barrel of an old firelock, the butt and lock of which
had gone, and the trooper took it with a flourish. Dusting it well,
like the table, he rolled the dough with the hand of an expert,
and, having satisfied himself that his work was nearly finished, he
pinched a corner from the dough and handed it to the rifleman.
"Try," he grunted.
"Real fine!" answered the Cockney. "I'm waiting for this here pie to
get finished."
"Then the jam, Pierre."
The second trooper let it fall from the jar into the species of basin
which his comrade had now contrived within a shallow pan, and watched
as the latter smoothed it down with a wooden ladle. On went the
covering of dough, while the cook with skilled eye and hand marked
the edges of the pie, dividing it into as many sections as there were
defenders.
"Now," he cried, "to the kitchen with it. If we are to be cut to
fragments this evening, at noon we will at least dine like gentlemen.
Take it, Pierre, and see that you do not get it burned. Then indeed
would your punishment be terrible."
Such rejoicing as there was over that meal! Divided into three
separate messes, the defenders ate slices of frizzled ham in the
recesses of the room above the doorway of the church. Others again
washed down the food with liberal allowances of the wine of the
country, looking about them through the door opening above the
gateway of the yard, while Jack and Mr. Riley held a reception in
the corridor from which windows opened into the yard, and there
discussed the good things sent them with many a jest and laugh. Yes,
the spirits of the defenders were wonderfully buoyant. And why not?
"Why be miserable while we're alive?" asked Jack, cramming a piece
of that wonderful tart into his mouth; for, even if he were wounded,
Jack could still show a remarkably undiminished appetite.
"First there's ham, and then there's jam," he sang, till another
mouthful kept him silent.
"Indeed, why not be jolly?" chimed in Mr. Riley. "Here we are all
tight and weatherproof, as you might say. What's there to grumble at?
But, seriously, how on earth is this matter to end? Those peasants
have drawn off for the moment; but will they retire from the contest
for good? Eh? Now, sir, what's the answer?"
Tom flushed at being addressed in such a manner, and munched steadily
at his food. But his deep-set eyes wore a far-away look which showed
that he was thinking.
"Eh?" asked Jack, prodding him with the prong of a broken fork
discovered in the kitchen. "Do we draw off as victors, receiving
well-deserved promotion for this--er--this--shall we say, gallant
action? or shall we, in fact----?"
"Be paid the compliment of appearing in the _Gazette_ as 'missing'?
My word, that would be hard luck after such a business! Now, Tom?"
"More pie," said the latter deliberately. "Whilst we live we'll eat.
But who can say what'll happen? We've given those poor fellows
a regular drubbing; but I don't believe they've done with us. I
don't like this drawing off, and the silence we now have; it means
mischief. I'd give a heap to know what they are up to."
Once the meal was finished, and the horses' wants seen to, the
defenders of the place occupied themselves in a hundred different
ways. Some cleaned their carbines and burnished their scabbards;
others indulged in the luxury of a wash at the pump in the yard;
while Tom, on whom the responsibility of everything depended, walked
slowly from one end to the other of the defences.
"I'd give a heap to be able to guess rightly what the enemy are up
to," he said, for perhaps the tenth time, to Andrews, who seemed to
haunt his side. "One sees little or nothing of them."
"Next to nothing, sir," agreed the rifleman, with knitted brows.
"But they ain't up to no good, I'm sure of it. You can see 'em come
from the village at times and stare over here at us. Then they'll
disappear again, while boys and young men scuttle about, and carry
armfuls of something that I ain't sure of at this distance. There's
been knocking, too, in the church."
"Hum!" Tom pondered over the information. He listened acutely, for he
was just at the edge of the platform above the church door. But from
that position, indeed from any position held by the defenders, it was
impossible to look into the place. Yes, there was knocking, coming
from the interior of the church, and----
"I heard a heavy fall, as if stones had been dislodged!" he
exclaimed. "Come down below with me, Andrews."
They ran to the stairs, and scuttled down at their fastest pace.
Making their way along the corridor they were soon at the kitchen,
and then entered a storeroom beyond. It had been ransacked by Howeley
and his helpers, and had provided an ample supply of good things. But
it was not the contents of the room that interested Tom; it was the
wall, the party wall, on the far side of which was the church.
"Listen," he said. "There!"
A glance at the rifleman's face was sufficient to show that he, too,
had gathered the full meaning of those blows.
"Can't get at us by fair means, as you might say, sir," he grunted,
"so they're agoing to break through the wall. It'll be a teaser to
hold 'em if they once get through."
"Couldn't be done," agreed Tom. "There's not room enough here for
more than four men. We should be driven back into the yard, and, of
course, an attack would be made in other quarters. It is a teaser!"
His face was drawn and stern as he retraced his footsteps, and
stopped to discuss the situation with Mr. Riley.
"Of course we could pile all the bales and boxes we could find
against this side of the wall," he said. "But that would not help
us; the peasants would pull them into the church. There's no way of
blocking up the passage either, and the difficulty of the situation
seems to be this: we have now another place to defend, and no men to
spare for the work. I think we shall have to try a sortie."
"Or retire up here and hold on to the last," said the naval
lieutenant, his face serious. "But they'd smoke us out, or burn the
whole place over our heads. I know well the temper of such men as
these. Harmless enough as a general rule, but demons now that they
are roused. They've suffered frightfully at the hands of the French,
and they have made up their minds to retaliate in the best way they
can. Well?"
"I'll see," answered Tom shortly. Turning on his heel, he went off
with Andrews, and clattered down the stairs to the yard. Yes, there
was nothing for it but to defend the upper story of the house, or----
"Or make for the church again," suggested Andrews, for our hero had
spoken his thoughts aloud. "You could clear out those fellows who are
working there in a twinkling, carry all the grub and wine in--and
there you are, as good as ever you were, and better."
"But with a wall still," said Tom dryly. "They could come in here
then, and knock the wall down just the same. We should have them
pouring in through the church door and through this other opening.
Still, there's a lot in the suggestion. Tell me, can you see anyone
elsewhere than in and around the village?"
They had mounted to the top of the house, and could obtain a clear
view. Both stared out in all directions, and kept silent for a few
minutes.
"Heaps at the village, sir," reported Andrews after a while. "A
few here and there, watching the surroundings. No big body of them
anywheres as I can see."
"Nor I; let's get below."
As if bent on a purpose, Tom led the way to the yard, and then dived
into the stable. There were the two nags they had seen when first
they established themselves in the place, contentedly munching at the
hay with which a thoughtful trooper had provided them. Tom pulled a
door open and entered the cart shed.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Two of them--light carts too. Call Howeley and
his men."
The riflemen came plunging down at once, and stood at attention.
"Get the carts out and the horses harnessed in," Tom ordered. "When
that's done, load one of the carts with food. We shan't want water or
wine, though you can take a small cask of the latter. Don't overload.
Now you, my friend," he went on, addressing one of the troopers,
"hurry to the rooms above, and bring down a mattress and some
blankets. Quick with it!"
"You're going to--beg pardon, sir," began Andrews, using his
accustomed formula. "You ain't going to take French leave of them
beauties! Never!"
His smile told of his delight, and of his agreement with the order.
"Take my compliments to Mr. Riley and your own officer, and help them
both to descend," said Tom. "When they are safely in the cart on the
mattress I have ordered, and armed, Andrews----"
"Yes, sir."
"And armed with carbines, you get to the top of the building and look
about you carefully. If all's clear, let me know. Then slip down to
join us. Now, I'll collect the other men."
Very silently and swiftly did the troopers obey his orders. At an
earlier date they might very well have demurred and hesitated,
delaying, perhaps, to discuss the matter; for why should they give
obedience to one who was, nominally at least, their prisoner? But Tom
had won their confidence, and that is a great thing where troops are
concerned. They merely looked their surprise when ordered to repair
to the yard and mount their horses, while the man posted over the
church door bared his sabre, as if determined that no fault of his
should allow a slinking peasant to mount secretly and discover the
movement of the garrison.
"Wait till I call you," whispered Tom. "Then run down to the yard and
mount your horse. You understand?"
The fellow grinned at him, a grin of interest and friendship.
"_Parbleu!_ An enemy, he!" he grunted, spitting into the palm that
gripped his sabre. "By all the fiends, but I, Jacques, would welcome
the English as brothers."
The clatter of hoofs told of moving horses, or preparations down
below. Not that it was likely to disturb the enemy, for the horses
moved often enough, particularly when being watered. Men slipped
silently from their defensive posts and crept into the yard, while a
couple of brawny troopers bore the injured Jack to the cart, smiling
serenely at his angry protestations.
"Treat me as if I were a child," he growled, as Tom came into
hearing. "Who said I couldn't walk?"
"I'll leave you behind if you're a trouble," came the answer.
"Fiddlesticks, Jack!"
"Or cut his diet down," laughed Mr. Riley, who already lay on the
mattress placed on the cart. "That's it, my lad; cut his grub short.
That'll make our Jack less fiery. What's up?"
"Going for an airing," came the answer. "Now, men," said our hero,
addressing the troopers, who were mounted by now. "You'll fall in on
either side of the carts, which will be driven by two selected by
yourselves. Spare horses will be led by others. If I have it reported
that the coast is clear, we will throw the gates open and ride out.
A sharp trot once we reach the road will take us away from the
village. After that----"
"After that, monsieur?" asked one of the men eagerly.
"We will see. You are prisoners at this moment just as much as we
are. If we get through, perhaps we'll call it quits. You'll ride for
the army of France, and we for our comrades."
That brought a grin of pleasure to the bronzed faces of the men. They
would have cheered had not the need for silence been there. Instead,
they picked up their reins, and fell in on either side of the carts,
waiting for the signal to open the gates. Tom went back to the sentry
he had posted over the church doorway.
"All clear," was the report. "There is still knocking."
"Then get to your horse and mount. I am following."
Tom clambered once more into the yard, and looked up at the window
which Andrews occupied.
"All clear," came the gentle hail.
"Then fall in--time we were moving."
All were mounted within a minute, save Howeley, who stood at the
gates. "Open," called Tom.
"Open it is, sir," said the rifleman, throwing the gates wide at once.
"Forward!"
Steadily, and without sign of undue haste, the cavalcade rode from
the yard into the open, leaving a place which, though it had
revictualled them and offered excellent cover, might, were they to
hold it longer, lead to disaster. They moved away into the open in
regular order, the carts in their midst bearing their wounded and
their supplies with them as became good soldiers.
"Trot!" commanded Tom, and at the word the troop set their horses
into faster motion, Andrews at their head leading them off obliquely
towards a point where the road was accessible.
"Hear 'em!" ejaculated Jack, by no means dismayed, as a torrent of
yells and cries came from the village and from a number of points
about them. "They don't seem overpleased at our leaving."