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Devon Boys: A Tale of the North Shore, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 38. The Landing Of The French |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. THE LANDING OF THE FRENCH It was nine months now since the scene, at the little bay, when one soft spring evening Bigley and I were walking slowly back to the Gap, after seeing Bob Chowne part of the way home to Ripplemouth. The feeling of coming summer was in the air, the birds were singing in the oak woods their last farewell to the day, and from time to time we startled some thrush and spoiled his song. Every now and then a rabbit gave us a glance at his furry coat as he sprang along, but soon it grew so dark that all we saw after each rustle was the speck of white which indicated his cottony tail, and soon even that was invisible. The thin sharp line of the new moon hung low in the west, and the sea had quite a steely gleam in the dying day, while the stars were peeping out and beginning to look at themselves in the glassy surface of the sea. Here and there we could see the coasting vessels going up and down the Channel, and just beneath the sinking moon there was a larger vessel coming up with the tide, but it was getting too dark to make out what it was. We kept along by the cliff path, and as we came to the descent that led to the cottage Bigley and I parted, little thinking what an eventful night it was to prove. "You'll come up by and by," I shouted, when he was about half-way down; and he sent back a cheery reply that he would, as I went on along the Gap. I found my father seated before his books entering some statement by the light of a candle, and as I came in he thrust the book from him wearily. "Oh, there you are, then," he said good-humouredly. "Look here, young fellow, I don't see why I should go on worrying and toiling over this mine just to make you well off. I was happy and comfortable enough without it, and here am I wearing myself out, getting no pleasure and no change, and all for you." "Sell it then, father," I said. "I don't want you to work so hard for me. I don't want to be rich. Give it up." "No," he said smiling; "no, Sep. It gives me a great deal of care and anxiety, but I do not mind. The fact is, Sep, I was growing fat and rusty, and loosing my grip on the world. A do-nothing life is a mistake, and only fit for a pet dog, and him it kills. I wanted interesting work, and here it is, and I am making money for you at the same time." "But I don't think I want much money, father," I said. "Maybe you will when you grow older." "I wish I could help you better," I said. "Help me? Why, I am quite satisfied with you, my boy. You help me a great deal. There, put away those books, and let us have some supper. I find we have nearly eight thousand ounces of silver down below here, and it's far too much to have in our charge. We must get it away, Sep, as soon as we can." "What would eight thousand ounces be worth?" I said. "Somewhere about two thousand pounds, my lad. But there, let's have some supper, and then I should like to have a pipe for half an hour in the soft fresh air." A tray was already waiting upon a side-table, and bringing it to occupy the place where the books had lain, we sat down and ate a hearty meal before we had done, after which I lifted the tray aside, and handed my father the tobacco jar. In a few minutes he began to fill his pipe, and when he had lit it, I sat watching him and noticed how the soft thin smoke began to curl about his face, and float up between me and the row of cutlasses and pistols with the belts that were arranged along the wall. "Now, let's have ten minutes' fresh air before we go to bed," he said rising. "You don't want to come, I suppose." "Oh, yes, I'll come," I replied, and I stepped out with him into the soft transparent night. "Ah, that's delicious!" he exclaimed as we walked a little way down the Gap, and then struck up the path leading to the high cliff track. It was very dark, but at the same time clear; and as we paused after a time there were the lights below us in the new cottages, while above the stars shone out brilliantly and twinkled as if it was about to be a frost. "What a calm peace there is over everything!" said my father thoughtfully. "Why, Sep, my very weariness seems to be a pleasure, it is so full of the promise of rest." "I'm tired too," I said. "I've been walking a good way to-day. How plainly you can hear the sea!" "Yes, the wind must be from the north. But how soft, and sweet, and gentle it is! What is that?" "What?" I replied listening, for I had not detected a sound. "That noise of trampling feet. Don't you hear?" I listened. "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. _ |
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