"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.