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."