Devon Boys Part 67

"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 sh.o.r.e, 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 hoa.r.s.ely.

"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."