The Gentleman: A Romance of the Sea Part 56

"Splendid, Kit! Well done indeed! Lean on me. Lots o time."

"Have the soldiers come?" sobbed the boy, struggling forward.

"One has," came the st.u.r.dy voice--"a Black Borderer."

They waded through the shallows, the ripples breaking prettily about them.

Behind them a fierce voice sang out an order.

The galley, which had brought up with a b.u.mp against the submerged longboat, had hoisted the Gentleman on board, and was swooping in pursuit.

The boy heard the beat of the oars, and sank on his knees at the edge of the sea.

"I can't, sir. Take the bag. O go on!"

Two strong arms clutched him, and he was hoisted up.

All things were swimming away from him.

The last thing he knew was that he was in somebody's arms, and the somebody was running.

II

The boat swept sh.o.r.eward.

A man with a musket, standing in the bows, was about to fire at the fugitives.

A sharp voice stayed him.

"_Ne tirez point! Nous les prendrons vivants. Ce n'est qu'un seul homme et le gosse._"

A bugle from the shingle-bank retorted defiantly.

"_Halte!_"

The boat stopped short.

The crew looked over their shoulders.

_"Les soldats!"_

Upon the ridge a shako bobbed up.

A figure in uniform rose and ran at it

"Keep your eads down there all along the line!" it shouted. "Wait till I give the word, Royal Stand-backs."

The Gentleman sprang up in the boat.

_"Ramez toujours, mes enfants!_" he cried. "_C'est une ruse!_"

The men hung on their oars.

"_Laches!_" cried the Gentleman, smote the man on the foremost thwart a buffet, and leaping overboard floundered through the water.

The man in the bows fired.

There was no reply from the shingle-bank.

The men of the galley took courage. The boat swished through the shallows, and b.u.mped ash.o.r.e.

Out tumbled her crew, and stormed across the sand at the heels of the Gentleman.

The Parson was staggering up the shingle-bank, the boy in his arms.

At the top he paused, heaving like an earthquake, and looked back on his scampering pursuers.

"Yes, my beauties," he panted. "You just won't do it."

Knapp, keen as a terrier, bobbed up at his side.

"Shall I charge em, sir?" his little brown eyes bursting with desire-- "me and the boy. Down the ill and into em plippety-plumpety-plop! O for G.o.d's sake, sir!" whimpering, dancing. "Ave mercy as you ope for it. Let me ave me smack if it's only for the glory of the old rigiment."

"Certainly not," said the Parson sternly. "This is war, not tomfoolery."

The little man collapsed sullenly.

"_From the right--retire by companies--on your sup-ports!_"

shouted the Parson in measured regimental voice.

From his manner he might have been addressing a Brigade and not merely Blob, disguised in an ancient shako, lying on his stomach, and armed with a hay-rake.

III

He plunged down the bank.

As he reached the greensward a warning shout from the cottage reached him.

"Ha! what's this?" joggled the Parson sharply. "Flank attack! who the pest? Oh, Gap Gang--I forgot."

A stream of fierce dark figures with running legs poured down the Wish and across the greensward at him.

"Hold tight round my neck, Kit!" he panted, taut to meet the new attack. "I want my sword-arm free. What! the boy's fainted!" He gave the limp body a hoist on his shoulder. "Now, Knapp! Let's see these guts o yours!"