Behind him Kit heard a yell, and the crash and scatter of men storming down the shingle-bank.

Then silence as they took the gra.s.s.

He flung his head across his shoulder as he ran.

The lugger-guard, loosed at last, were hurling across the greensward at him, bayonets at the charge.

Such tall and terrible men!--and how they strode along, bearskins a- bob, savage eyes smouldering, snapping fierce phrases at each other as they came!

Kit loosed his soul in a ghastly scream.

"Back, Blob!"

It was well done, and not difficult to do. He had but to utter the horror that was in him.

"O, Kit!" came the Parson's resentful bellow.

"I'm afraid!" screamed the lad. "I can't help it. O-o-o-h!"

He ran with huddled head, clutching at the boy before him.

"_Attrapez ces gaillards! Ne tirez pas!_" shouted the Gentleman.

"_Un deux d'entre vous leur coupent le chemin! Les autres, par ici!_"

"_Ah, oui, mon General!_" panted the Corporal. "_Francois!

Albert!_"

Two men sprang away from the rest and raced to intercept the boys.

What a pace they ran! Their black-gaitered legs seemed to skim the ground.

The boy had not allowed for such speed.

"_Toi de l'autre cote de la chaumiere. Moi ici!_" called the swifter of the two.

He flashed behind the cottage, and flashed up again round the gable- end.

Kit recognised him. It was Francois, his friend of the dawn.

"Tiens! c'est toi, mon gars!" cried the man, with a quick smile.

A simple countryman, this Francois, he was a soldier because he had to be. That business beyond the wall, where the swords and shouts were, was little to his liking. This was a job after his own heart. He was a boy playing prisoner's base with another boy. Neither would be hurt.

So as he slewed round the gable-end he smiled.

Kit saw the smile and resented it. It angered him that this fellow did not take him seriously. He had not to resent it for long.

The smile died a swift and terrible death on Francois' face.

"_Dame!_" he screamed, and slithered back on his heels. A musket barrel was thrusting into his flank.

"_Pray!_" said a solemn voice.

There was a horrible plop as the man collapsed, coughing.

CHAPTER LXX

THE LAST OF OLD FAITHFUL

The old man clapped his smoking musket down, and s.n.a.t.c.hed his cutla.s.s.

"Any more for me, sir?"

"Another on your right, Piper!"

"Very good, sir."

The old man spun himself to the corner, and waited behind the wall.

The boy, running with all his might, watched fascinated.

Round the corner the doomed man whirled with a grin. The cutla.s.s swooped. The fellow sprawled over his slayer, the shock of the onset rolling the chair back. The old man shook off the body, as he might have shaken off a cloak, and backed himself, cutla.s.s b.l.o.o.d.y in his mouth.

"In with you, Master Kit!"

"You too!" panted Kit, thrusting the chair before him.

"No, sir, no!" fiercely. "I can do a bit o business here yet." He was loading swiftly, eyes on the battle. "Starn agin the door, larboard in the loo'th, and cutla.s.s-room all round--what better can a seaman want?"

"But--"

"Sharp, sir!--No time to waste. Here they come."

The Gentleman had gathered his Grenadiers in his hand, and was swinging them back at the cottage.

"In with you, sir!" urged the old man, ablaze. "Bolt and bar."

"O Piper!" whimpering.

"Nelson, sir!"

The word went home. The boy shot in, and slammed the door. All again was darkness, and Blob breathing heavily at his side.

"I'm through! I'm through!" came a triumphant yell.