Part 67 (1/2)

”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 flas.h.i.+ng 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.”