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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8396-8.txt b/8396-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bdf84a8 --- /dev/null +++ b/8396-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17383 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gentleman, by Alfred Ollivant +#2 in our series by Alfred Ollivant + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Gentleman + A Romance of the Sea + +Author: Alfred Ollivant + +Release Date: June, 2005 [EBook #8396] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on July 26, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GENTLEMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, William Flis, Jerry Fairbanks, Mary Musser, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + THE GENTLEMAN + A ROMANCE OF THE SEA + + + BY ALFRED OLLIVANT + + AUTHOR OF "BOB, SON OF BATTLE" AND + "REDBOAT CAPTAIN" + + 1908 + + + TO + THE NAVY + + + + + CONTENTS + + + JULY 1805 + + + BOOK I _THE LITTLE TREMENDOUS_ + + + I + THE DEATH OF BLACK DIAMOND + +Chap. + I. THE MAN ON THE GREY + + II. THE GALLOPING GENT + + III. THE GUNNER OF THE SLOOP + + IV. OLD DING-DONG + + V. REUBEN BONIFACE'S STORY + + VI. THE LUGGER _KITE_ + + VII. THE MAN IN THE LUGGER + + VIII. THE SCENT-BOTTLE + + + II + MAGNIFICENT ARRY + + IX. THE TWO PRIVATEERS + + X. THE MAIN-DECK + + XI. COMMODORE MOUCHE + + XII. BOARDERS + + XIII. AFTER THE FIGHT + + + III + UNDER THE CLIFF + + XIV. SUNDAY EVENING + + XV. THE VOICE FROM THE POWDER-MAGAZINE + + XVI. MAGNIFICENT ARRY GOES ALOFT + + XVII. THE GRAVE OF THE LITTLE _TREMENDOUS_ + + XVIII. OLD DING-DONG'S REVENGE + + XIX. OLD DING-DONG HOMEWARD-BOUND + + + BOOK II + + _BEACHY HEAD_ + + I + THE GAP GANG + + XX. THE LAST OF A BRITISH SEAMAN. + + XXI. KIT STARTS ON HIS MISSION + + XXII. FAT GEORGE & CO + + XXIII. THE CLIMB + + XXIV. THE CLIMB + + + II + THE MAN ON THE CLIFF + + XXV. THE GENTLEMAN BOWS + + XXVI. THE DEAD WOMAN + + XXVII. THE HOLLOW IN THE COOMBE + + XXVIII. ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD + + + III + ABERCROMBY'S BLACK COCK + + XXIX. THE FLAG OF HIS COUNTRY + + XXX. AN OLD SONG + + XXXI. THE MAN WITH THE SWORD + + XXXII. THE BROKEN SQUARE + + XXXIII. FIGHTING FITZ + + XXXIV. THE FACE ON THE WALL + + + IV + THE GARRISON + + XXXV. THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER + + XXXVI. THE FIGHTING MAN + + XXXVII. THE SAINT + + XXXVIII. THE SIMPLETON + + XXXIX. THE FLAP OF A FLAG. + + + V + THE BOARDING OF THE PRIVATEER + + XL. THE SWIM IN THE DARK + + XLI. PIGGY, THE PRIVATEERSMAN + + XLII. THE MAN IN THE BOAT + + XLIII. A BLACK BORDERER TO THE RESCUE + + + BOOK III _FORT FLINT_ + + + I + BESIEGED + + XLIV. THE ENGLISHMAN + + XLV. THE PARSON AT HOME + + XLVI. THE PARSON'S STORY + + XLVII. THE DESPATCH-BAG + + XLVIII. THE DOXIE'S DAUGHTER + + + II + THE SALLY + + XLIX. MAKING READY + + L. IN THE DRAIN + + LI. VOICES OF THE LOST + + LII. HARE AND HOUND + + LIII. OLD TOADIE + + LIV. THE PARSON'S AGONY + + LV. PRETTY POLLY-KISS-ME-QUICK + + LVI. THE RACE FOR THE COTTAGE + + + III + THE SHADOW OF THE WOMAN + + LVII. THE PARLEY + + LVIII. THE PLANK CAPONIER + + LIX. MISS BLOSSOM + + LX. THE TWO PRAYERS + + LXI. KNAPP'S RETURN + + LXII. THE PARSON MUSES + + + IV + THE GENTLEMAN'S LAST CARD + + LXIII. NELSON'S TOPSAILS + + LXIV. RUMBLINGS OF THUNDER + + LXV. THE DOINGS IN THE CREEK + + LXVI. BUGLES + + LXVII. THE ACE OF TRUMPS + + + V + THE FORLORN HOPE + + LXVIII. THE BLESSING + + LXIX. THE PARSON'S SORTIE + + LXX. THE LAST OF OLD FAITHFUL + + LXXI. ON THE SHINGLE-BANK + + LXXII. THE RACE FOR THE LUGGER + + LXXIII. _NOBLESSE OBLIGE_ + + + BOOK IV _NELSON_ + + + I + H.M.S. _MEDUSA_ + + LXXIV. NATURE, THE COMFORTER + + LXXV. ON THE DECK OF THE _MEDUSA_ + + LXXVI. IN THE CABIN OF THE _MEDUSA_ + + LXXVII. THE _MEDUSA_ GOES ABOUT + + LXXVIII. NELSON'S HEART + + LXXIX. IN THE CABIN AGAIN + + LXXX. THE _MEDUSA_ DIPS HER ENSIGN + + + II + KNAPP'S STORY + + LXXXI. THE RETURN + + LXXXII. BACK TO THE DOOR + + LXXXIII. PIPER PRAYS + + LXXXIV. IN THE COTTAGE + + + III + THE WISH AT EVENING + + LXXXV. THE SANCTUARY + + LXXXVI. TWILIGHT + + LXXXVII. HIS CAUSE + + LXXXVIII. THE ADVENTURER + + LXXXIX. THE LAST POST + + SEPTEMBER 1805 + + + + +The introductory poem appeared originally in the _Pall Mall +Magazine_, and is re-published by permission of the Editor. + + + + + OUR SEA + + The Sea! the Sea! + Our own home-land, the Sea! + 'Tis, as it always was, and still, please God, will be, + When we are gone, + Our own, + Possessing it for Thee, + Ours, ours, and ours alone, + The Anglo-Saxon Sea. + + The stripped, moon-shining, naked-bosomed Sea. + + No jerry-building here; + No scenes that once were dear + Beneath man's tawdry touch to disappear; + Always the same, the Sea, + Th' unstable-steadfast Sea. + 'Tis, as it always was, and still, please God, will be, + When we are gone, + Our own, + Vice-regents under Thee, + Ours, ours, and ours alone, + The Anglo-Saxon Sea. + + The mighty-furrowed, moody-minded Sea. + + New suns and moons arise; + Perish old dynasties; + For ever rise and die the centuries; + Only remains the Sea, + Our right of way, the Sea. + 'Tis, as it always was, and still, phase God, will be, + When we are gone, + Our own, + Our heritage from Thee, + Ours, ours, and ours alone, + The Anglo-Saxon Sea. + + Our good, grey, faithful, Saxon-loving Sea._ + + + + +JULY 1805 + + +"Succeed, and you command the Irish Expedition," said the squat fellow. + +"My Emperor!" replied the tall cavalry-man, saluted, and clanked away +in the gloom. + + * * * * * + +A sweet evening, very fresh, the tide crashing at the foot of the cliff. + +In the twilight, above Boulogne, a man was standing, hands behind him. + +The moon lay on the water, making a broad white road that led from +his feet across the flowing darkness West. + +The dusk was falling. About him the earth grew dark; above him all +was purity and pale stars. + +Only the tumble of the tide, white-lipped on the beach beneath, stirred +the silence; while one little dodging ship, black in the wake of the +moon, told of some dare-devil British sloop, bluffing the batteries +upon the cliff. + +The rustle of the water beneath, its crashing rhythm and hiss as of +breath intaken swiftly, soothed him. He fell into a waking dream. + +It seemed to his wide eyes that the sea rose, heavenward as a wall; +its foot set in foam, its summit on a level with his face. Against +it a silver ladder leaned. He had but to mount that ladder to pluck +the island-jewel, the desire of his heart these many years. + +He reached a hand into the night as though to realise his wish; and +even as he did so, the sloop barked. + +A mortar hard by boomed; the sea splashed; the sloop scudded seaward, +laughing; and the dreamer awoke. + +Behind him, hutted on the cliffs, lay the Army of England: [Footnote: +The Army of England was Napoleon's name for the Army of Invasion.] +such a sword, now two years a-tempering, as even he, the Great +Swordsman, had never wielded. + +Beneath him in the dimming basin huddled 3000 gun-vessels, waiting +their call. + +Before him, across the moon-white waste, under the North star, lay +that stubborn little land of Bibles and evening bells, of smoky cities, +and hedge-rows fragrant with dog-rose and honeysuckle, of apple-cheeked +children, greedy fighting-men, and still-eyed women who became the +mothers of indomitable seamen--that storm-beaten land which for so +long now, turn he where he would, had risen before him, Angel of the +Flaming Sword, and waved him back. + +Between him and it ran a narrow lane of sea, the moon-road white across +it: so narrow he could almost leap it; so broad that now after years +of trying he was baffled still. + +Could his Admirals only stop the Westward end of that narrow lane for +six hours, that he and his two-hundred-thousand might take the moon-road +unmolested, he was Master of the World. + +But--they could not. + +In his hand, fiercely crumpled, lay the despatch that told him +Villeneuve was back in Vigo, shepherded home again. + +And by whom? + +That little one-eyed one-armed seaman, who for ten years now had stood +between him and his destiny. + +One man, the man of Aboukir Bay. [Footnote: On August 1, 1798, Nelson +destroyed the French fleet in Aboukir Bay at the Battle of the Nile.] + + + + +BOOK I + +_THE LITTLE TREMENDOUS_ + + + + +I + +THE DEATH OF BLACK DIAMOND + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +THE MAN ON THE GREY + +The man on the grey was in a hurry. + +The stab of his backward heels; the shake and swirl of his bridle-hand; +the flog of his arm in time with the horse's stride, told their own tale. + +A huge fellow, his face was red and round as a November sun. Hat and +wig were gone; and his once white neck-cloth was soaked with blood. + +He came over the crest of the Downs at a lurching gallop; down +the ragged rut-worn lane, the dusty convolvuluses glimmering up at +him in the dusk; past the squat-spired Church in the high Churchyard +among the sycamores; down the rough and twisted Highstreet of Newhaven +in the chill of that August evening, as no man had ever come before. + +A bevy of smoke-dimmed men in the bar of the Bridge, discussing in +awed whispers last night's affair of the Revenue cutter off Darby's +Hole, hushed suddenly at the clatter and rushed out as he stormed past. +He paid no heed. Those staring eyes saw nothing but the brown street +sliding under him, a pair of sweating ears, a flapping mane, and before +him a tumble of old roofs; while beyond in the harbour, the spars of +a sloop of war pricked the evening. + +Clear of the little town huddling on the hillside, he drove along the +bank of the slow green river, flogging still. + +One thing was clear: the grey was dead-beat. + +He was roaring like a furnace, and straight as a rail from tail to +muzzle. Black and white with sweat, he jerked along at a terrible toppling +stagger. Only those vice-like legs and hands plucking, plucking, kept +body and soul together. + +Where the river widened, and the sea gleamed misty across the +harbour-mouth, as though he knew his mission was fulfilled, up went +his head, and he fell in thundering ruin. + +Where he fell he lay, lank-necked. + +The tail twitched once; the body trembled; the great heart broke. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE GALLOPING GENT + + +I + + +A boat had just put off from the bank, a tall lad steering. The great +red horseman, strangely active for so huge a man, flung himself clear +of his horse, snatched a pistol from a holster, and came floundering +down the cobbled river-bank, his coat-tails floating. + +"Put back, sir!" he bellowed in husky fury. "Put back, my God! or I'll +fire." + +He was standing, the water to his tops, with heaving shoulders. + +"Don't shout; don't shoot; and don't swear," replied a voice, pure +as a lady's. "And perhaps I'll oblige." + +The boy edged the boat into the bank. The huge fellow, in too great +a hurry to wait, floundered out, clutched her by the stern, and scrambled +in. + +"My God, sir!" he panted, thrusting a dripping face into the boy's. +"D'you know who you're a-talking to?--I'm a ridin-officer on Government +business." + +"And d'you know who _you're_ a-talkin to?" replied the boy, cold as +the other was hot. "I'm a King's officer on King's business. Remove your +face, please. Sit down. And don't shake so, or you'll spill us.--I'm a +midshipman going aboard my ship." + +"Then you're just in time for warm work, Mr. Milkshipman," panted the +other. + +He bumped down on the thwart opposite the waterman, and thrust +at the oars. + +"Row, man, row!" he urged. "The Gallopin Gent's got through." + + +II + + +The colour of apple-blossom, coming and going in the lad's cheek, died +away, and left him pale. + +He was a splendid stripling, sun in his hair, sun in his eyes; with +something of the lank grace of the fawn about him. + +The face was fine almost to haggardness; with long chin, delicate nose, +and eager eyes, very shy. + +The boy had broken through the chrysalis of childhood, and not yet +emerged into the fighting male. There was no down on his chin; the +radiance of his cheek was yet undimmed. The soul, rosy behind its clouds, +still tinged them with dawn-lights. + +He was a Boy, sparkling Boy; Boy at the age when he is Woman, and Woman +at her best, the playfellow, the tease, the inspiration; free of limb, +as yet untrammelled of mind; with passionate hatreds and heroic adorations. + +He was steering now, his eyes on the battered topsails in the mists +before him; and in those eyes a glitter of swords. Had his mother or +Gwen been there, they could have told from that frosty calm, those +jealous-drooping lids, that Master Boy meant mischief. + +And so it was. + +This fat fellow with the heaving shoulders on the thwart before him, +this chap with the crease across his bald neck, and the black sweat +trickling from his hair, had insulted him. + +As woman, he was bent upon revenge; as man, he would go warily, striking +only to strike home. + +"That was a fine horse you flogged to death," he began tranquilly, +trailing his fingers in the dead green waters. + +"Yes, sir," panted the other, thrusting at the oars. "I don't spare +spur when I'm ridin agin the French. I'm a man, and an Englishman--not +a pink-faced, girl-eyed booby togged out in a cocked hat and a tin +dagger, calling meself a King's officer." + +"I guessed that you were not one of us," replied the boy delicately. +"Your manners are too distinguished. But tell me a little more about +your ride. You seemed in rather a hurry. I take it you were riding +for a drink." + +The great man swung round. His whole life seemed to have stopped short, +and now hung behind his eyes--an appalling shadow. + +For one swift moment the boy thought he would be struck. + +Then the big man spoke; and his voice was measured and very still. + +"If you think I burst the gamest eart that ever beat in an orse's ide +for a drink, why then, sir," with crushing simplicity, "you think wrong." + +He resumed his rowing, and continued with the same surprising dignity. + +"I bred that orse; I broke that orse; I loved that orse." + +The tide of the boy's being set back with a shock. + +"O!" he cried. "O ... I didn't mean ... I really...." + +"That's all right, sir," came the other's smothered voice. "I know +you didn't." + +He swallowed, and his face grew rigid. Then a light broke all about +it. + +"But there!" with husky pride. "He won't bear me no grudge--will +you, old man?" with a hoarse burst of tenderness, flinging his arm +towards the bank, where the dead horse's girths glimmered still in +the dusk. "He know'd I wouldn't have asked it of him, only I had to. +That's my old orse! that's my Robin!--Never asked no questions. Just +took and died and did his duty without the talkin. Maybe some of us +might learn a bit from him." + +Taking a great bandana from his pocket, he blew his nose like the report +of a pistol. + +"A'ter all," he said, with touching solemnity, "he died for his country, +did my Robin--same as Abercromby at Alexandrya." + + +III + + +Behind them on the hill a clock struck eight. + +The riding-officer held up his hand. + +"Ark!" he cried. "It was going seven in Ditchling as I pelted down +the Beacon. Gallop! gallop! gallop! There's ne'er another orse in England +could ha done it, with big Jerry Ram bumpin on his back all the way; +danged if there be!" + +He thumped his knee. + +"King George ought to know on it! He died for him. Fair lay down to +it, belly all along the ground. Might ha know'd he was on the King's +business, and the Gentleman with two minutes' start streakin away for +Birling Gap like a bullet from the bow." + +"Aw, he'll be out again than?" drawled the waterman, sleepy and Sussex. + +"Out again!" shouted Big Jerry, and clapping the handkerchief to his +ear, thrust it beneath the other's eye of mildew. "What's that?--blood, +ain't it?--whose?--mine.--How?--The Gentleman." + +"You'll ha met him than, I expagt?" cooed the waterman in his cautious +way. + +"He met me more like," replied Big Jerry with the grim humour of the +whole-hearted man, who gives hard knocks and takes them all in good part. + +"Not but what we was expectin him, you'll understand." + +"You knaw'd he was comin than surely?" came the waterman's slow musical +voice. + +"Know'd it!" roared the other. "O course we know'd it. Why's the +_Kite_ been layin in Cuckmere Haven since night afore last?--why +was the Gap Gang strung out all the way from Furrel Beacon to Beachy +Head all day yesterday?--Why was Black Diamond mouchin round in Lewes +this morning?--Why?--why?--why?" + +"Why?" asked the boy, breathless. + +"Because the Gallopin Gent was comin down with despatches for Boney, +and they were keepin the road for him. That's why," screamed the big +man, bumping up and down in his excitement. + +"Only question was which way. Ye see it's most in general all ways +at once with him. Up and down, day and night, all over Sussex, these +weeks past. No stoppin him; no coppin him; no nothin him. Always the +same chap--gentleman, mighty gay, bit o red riband in his button-hole, +and blood chestnut with a white blaze between his knees. Always the +same tale--gave em the go-by somehow. No sayin where or when--only +just when you're least expectin him, then you can make sure of him. +And when you are ready for him, seems he's readier for you." + +He mopped his forehead, the laughing puckers gathering about his eyes. + +"Look at us this evenin. There we was ridin easy up the Beacon, me +and the orse-patrol--_lookin for him_. Just as we tops the brow +who pops over the wall like a swallow but the Gentleman himself on +his chestnut?" + +He threw back his head and chuckled. + +"There!--I can't ardly elp laughin. The cheek o the chap!" + +"Did he run?" asked the boy, all eyes. + +"Run!" snorted the riding-officer. "No run about _im_.... Rode +at us like a rigiment of cavalry, swinging his sword, and laughin fit +to bust himself.... Half the boys bolted--and I don't know as I blame +them: they swear he's old Nick. Dick Halkett, old Job, and me, we stood +it.... Bang he rides at old Job and bowls him over a buster; runs young +Dick through the body; slops me over the pate a good un; and steals +away down the hill, waving his hand and crying--'Adoo! adoo! adoo! +remember me!'--as if we was likely to forget him!" + +The big man mopped his bloody ear with a quizzical grin. + +"I know'd it was no good follerin. Nothing foaled o mortal mare can +collar that chestnut, once she's away. So I bangs my hat down, catches +the old orse by the ead, and rams him down the hill for Newhaven." + +He began to push at the oars again. + +"For there's two roads to Birling Gap, my lad: one by land, and one by +sea. We've missed him by land. Now we'll see what the Jack-tars can do." + + +IV + + +The boy said nothing. His eyes were on his ship, dim above him in the +mist. + +She was in rags and tatters: so much he could see, and little +else. Yet to him she seemed to glow in the dusk. He saw her through +blurred eyes in a cloud of glory, and his heart thrilled to her. + +She was his ship; that ship of which he had dreamed ever since he could +dream, this boy born to the sea. + +And was he not proud of her? + +Shivering like a lover, he brought up alongside; and as he did so he +thrust out a hand to feel the wooden ribs which covered that heart +of valour. + +For was she not the little _Tremendous_, of whom the heroic tales +were told! + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +THE GUNNER OF THE SLOOP + +Swiftly and silently the _Tremendous_ spread her wings in the dusk. + +The riding-officer was going over the side. + +"Good luck, sir!" he said. "Make a cop; and Pitt'll thank you on his +knees." + +For all answer the block-of-granite little man by the wheel +turned his back. + +"Cut the cable!" he barked. "Set studdin-sails alow and aloft! Inboard +side-lights! Boniface, take a party of small-arm men forrad, and keep a +sharp look-out!" + +Before the riding-officer had dropped into the dinghy, the +_Tremendous_ began to slap the water, shaking out ragged topsails +as she slid out of the harbour, a misty rain shrouding her. + +"There's a row-boat coming up astern, sir," ventured the boy--"rowing +like mad." + +"I have ears, sir, and I'm usin em," snapped the other, and stumped +forward, leaning heavily on a stick, thick and surly as himself. + +They were the first words he had spoken to the lad, this block-of-granite +little man, across whose knees his father had died at St. Vincent; +and the boy did not find them encouraging. + + "Send im victoriush, + Appee and gloriush, + Long to reign o er--i--ush, + Goshave---- + +"Uncle George!" bawled a bibulous voice. "Row, ye devil, row!--or I'll +split y'up, and chuck y'overboard." + +A boat pelted up under the counter of the sloop. The singer rose suddenly, +clutched at a man-rope, and came swinging up the side. + +The light of the binnacle-lamp fell upon him. + +He was a tall fellow, with bushy black whiskers, a long tallowy nose +that in some old-time battle had been broken, and eyes with a wild +wet gleam in them. Now he sheered up against the bulwark, waving riotously. + +"Three cheers for the lirrel _Tremendous_! Ooray! ray! ray!--We're +alf our ship's company short. There's only old Ding-dong left on the +quar'er-deck. I'm drunk as David's sow. And we're off to cur out the +Grand Armee. Ooray! ray! ray!" and he fell hiccoughing away into foolish +laughter. + +"Hadn't you better go below?" said a pure treble at his side. "You're +beastly drunk." + +The man pulled himself together, and stared through the gloom. + +"Lumme!" he whispered. "A tottie!--a tottie for Lushy!... Lemme cuddle +ye, darlin, _do_." + +"I'm a midshipman," said the boy briefly. "Shut up; and behave yourself." + +The man tried to stand up, and swept off his hat. + +"Ow de do, sir? Ow de do? By all means ow de do? Lemme introjuice you all +round. I'm Mr. Lanyon, commonly called Lushy, because? one? me failins: +Gunner aboard this packet by rights, and Actin Fust Lieutenant by the +grace o God--there bein no one else to act, see? This ere," he continued, +smacking the bulwark, "is His--Majesty's--ship--_Tremendous_, well +known and respected between the Lizard and the Nore. Not lookin her +sauciest just now, I grant you: shrouds tore to tatters, mizzen spliced, +bowsprit splintered, plugged fore and aft, and alf her weather bulwark +carried away. But that's _ex tempore_, as the sayin is. We only put +in at dawn to refit, and land wounded." + +"Where's she been?" asked the boy. + +"Been!" cried the other with rollicking laughter. "That's a good un. +Ere's a kid ain't eard where we been. Been!" the sudden thunder in +his voice. "Why, in Boulong Arbour among Boney's craft. H'in and h'out, +under Nap's nose. Stormed the Arbour Battery; set the gun-vessels afire; +and came out under their guns, colours at the truck, and the bosun's +boy in the mizzenchains singin-- + + O it's a snug little island, + A right little tight little island." + +He clutched the boy's shoulder, and thrust flaming eyes into his. + +"Old man's got a game leg since Camperdown. Fust Lieutenant led the +landin party--Mr. Wrot. Dessay you've heard tell of him. Dry Wrot, +they called him. Tubby little bloke, all belly and big voice. Fine +chap to fight, though, be God--only so thirsty, same as me. He took +it in the tummy, crawlin through the embrasure--hand-grenade, I fancies. +I was next man on the ladder." He was marching up and down, his hands +swinging, seeming to smoulder almost in the gloom. + +"Pretty work in the battery, be God, as ever I see!--One time we was +bungin round-shot at each other across the casement, like marbles. +Give the Mossoos their due they fought like eroes; but not like h'us, +sir! not like h'us!" + +He strode up and down, breathing flame. + +"Ah, you should ha seen us. I were in me glory. A bloody massacree, +that's what it were. Bloody massacree. Enough to make a blessed saint +weep for joy. Pommesoul it were." + +He turned in his stride, and the lamp showed the tears dribbling down +his face. + +"And when we'd mushed up the blanky caboodlum: spiked the guns; sent +the gunners to glory; and blow'd up the battery, who led the boys out?" + +He stopped dead. + +"Old Lush!--Lushy, the Gunner, Gorblessim!" swelling his chest, and +patting it. "And why?--because there wasn't a quarter-deck officer, +not so much as a middy or mate, left to do it." + +He resumed his strut with fighting hands. + +"That's our sort aboard the _Tremendous_, sir. We're the +halleloojah lads to fight. And what we are, old Ding-dong made us." + +"Who's old Ding-dong?" asked the boy, breathlessly. + +The Gunner shot a finger at the block-of-granite figure forward. + +"That's the man as won the battle o the Nile," he whispered with husky +magnificence. "And ere's the man that elped him." + +He bowed with wide hands. Drunk as he was there was yet a dilapidated +splendour about the fellow as about an historic ruin. The boy felt it +through his disgust. + +"I thought Nelson did a bit," he said. + +"Nelson did much; I did more; _e_ did most," with a wave forward. +"Why!" shouting now. "Who was it led the line inside the shoal--creepin +it, leadsman in the chains, soundin all the way?--We _Thunderers_, +the _Goliath_ treadin mighty jealous on our heels. And who +commanded the _Thunderer_?--Old Ding-dong. And what did he get +for it?" + +He smacked a hand down on the boy's shoulder. + +"Broke him, sir!--broke him back to a sloop o war!--old Ding-dong, +the damdest, darndest, don't-care-a-cursest old sea-dog as ever set +his teeth in a French line o battle ship, and wouldn't let go, though +they fired double-shotted broadsides down his throat." + +"But why did they break him?" gasped the boy. "It doesn't sound like +Nelson." + +The other smacked his long nose with a finger mysteriously. + +"I don't know what you mean," said the boy, short and sharp. + +"Ah, and just as well you don't," replied the other loftily. "Some +day, Sonny, you'll know all there is to know and a leetle bit more--same +as me. Plenty time first though. If you've done suckin it's more'n +you look." + +He began to march again. + +"Yes, sir: he'd ha hoisted his broad pendant afore this, would old +Ding-dong, pit-boy and powder-monkey and all, only for that. And as +I'd ha gone h'up with him as he went h'up, so I goes down with him +when he goes down. I know'd old Ding-dong. He was the man for me. Talk +o fightin!--Dicky Keats, Ned Berry, the Honourayble Blackwood: good +men all and gluttons at it!--but for the real old style stuff, +ammer-and-tongs, fight to a finish, takin punishment and givin it, +there ain't a seaman afloat as'll touch our old man." + +He spat over the side. + +"Yes, sir, when he went, I went along, and never regretted +it--never. We've seen more sport aboard this blame little packet than +the rest of the Fleet together. Clear'd the Channel, be God, we +ave!--prowlin up and down, snow and blow, fog and shine, like a rampin +champin lion. Why, sir, we've fought a first-rate from Portland Bill +to Dead Man's Bay--this blame little boat you could sail in a babby's +bath! _Took her too!_ and towed her into Falmouth Roads, all standin, +like a kid leadin its mother by the and. Talk o Cochrane and the +_Speedy_!--Gor blime!--what's he alongside us?" + +He steadied suddenly. + +"Ush! ere comes the old man." + +The boy could hear the stump of a stick on the deck. + +"What's he wearin?" whispered the other, peering. "You can most always +tell the lay he's on by that. Pea-jacket means boat-work, cuttins out, +fire-ships, landin parties, and the like. If it's old blue frock +and yaller waistcoat, then it's lay em aboard and say your prayers. +And if it's cocked hat and chewin a quid, then it's elp you God: for +your time's come." + +"You're a disgrace to the Service, Mr. Lanyon," came a curt voice. + +"And you're a credit to it, sir," was the hearty retort. + +"Go below." + +"And just sposin I won't," answered the drunkard--"only sposin, +mind!--just for the sake of argyment, d'ye see?--what then?" + +"Irons." + +The drunkard folded his arms. + +"And might I make so bold, Commander Ardin," he began elaborately, +"to ask who'll fight your guns, your Actin Fust in irons; and besides +yourself ne'er another officer on the quar'er-deck--only this ere squab." + +"I'll fight em myself if needs be. Go below, d'ye hear?" + +The Gunner stumbled away, roaring laughter. + +"Sail the blurry ship; fight the blurry ship; sink the blurry ship; +and go to ell in the blurry ship. That's old Ding-dong." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +OLD DING-DONG + +"They call you Kit?" + +The boy started. + +His name, his pet name that he had not heard for days, on the lips +of this block-of-granite little man, who had only spoken so far to +snub him. + +"Mother does, sir--and Gwen." + +There was silence; only the water talking beneath the ship's bows, +as she took the open sea and began to swing to it. + +"Your father was my friend," continued the voice, less harsh now. "I +was a pit-boy; he was a gentleman: we was friends." + +The voice was gruff again. + +"Ran away to sea same night--he from the Hall; me from the pit-mouth. +Met under the old oak on the green. + +"'Ready, Bill?' says he. + +"'Right, sir,' says I. + +"'Then forge ahead.' + +"And forge ahead it was, and never parted, till the Lord saw good to +come atween us for the time bein at St. Vincent." + +The voice in the darkness ceased and began again. + +"Quiberon Bay was our first. Fifty-nine that were. I was powder-monkey +on the _Royal George_; he was Hawke's orderly midshipman. St. +Vincent our last. And a God's plenty in between. One time Dutchmen; +one time Dons; and most all the time the French. Yes, sir," with quiet +gusto, "reck'n we saw all the best that was goin in our time, and not a +bad time neether--for them as like it, that's to say: seamen and such." + +He was silent for a time, chewing his memories. + +And what memories they were!--Had he not sailed under Boscawen in the +fifties, when that old sea-dog stood between England and Invasion? +Had he not lived to see Napoleon's Eagles brooding over the cliffs +of France, intent on the same enterprise?--And between the two, what +men, what deeds?--Hawke smashing Conflans in a hurricane; Rodney, +gloriously alone, fighting his ship against a fleet; Duncan hammering +the Dutch; Sam Hood, Jack Jervis, Nelson, Cuddie Collingwood; and all +that grim array of big-beaked, bloody-fisted fighting men who for fifty +years had held the narrow seas against all comers. + +"D'you remember your father?" + +The old man brooded over the boy. In a dumb and misty way he was puzzling +out one of life's mysteries--this long stripling with the eyes sprung +somehow from that other long stripling with the eyes, whom he had followed +from the pit-mouth fifty years since. + +"I just remember him coming into the nursery with mother and a candle +the night before he sailed the last time, sir, to join Lord Howe." + +"Ah," mused the old man, "that'd be a week afoor the First o June; +and nigh three years afoor he died." + +He paused again, rummaging in his memory. + +"He was Post-Captain at St. Vincent; I was his First--aboord the old +_Terrible_, 74.... You'll ha heard all about _that_ tale. +[Footnote: Sir John Jervis crushed the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent +in 1797. In this action the Spanish fleet was in two divisions. In +order to prevent a junction between them Nelson drew out of the British +line and single-handed attacked the Spanish weather-division, including +the Spanish flag-ship and five other sail of the line. See Mahan's +"Life of Nelson."] + +"'Plucky chap, Nelson,' says the Captain, as he tumbles to the little +man's game. 'Wear ship, and a'ter him.' So we hauls out? the line, +us and the _Culloden_--Tom Troubridge--and pushes up, all sail +set, to help him. + +"By then we got alongside, the _Captain_--Nelson's ship she +were--was a sheer hulk. As we pass her, your father leans over the +rail. + +"'Well done, _Captain_,' says he, liftin his hat. + +"Nelson blinks his one eye up--I can see him now. + +"'That you, Kit?' he pipes through his nose that way of is'n. 'You've +got it all your own way now. I'm a wreck. Good luck, _Terrible_.' + +"So on we goes bang atween two Spanish Fust-rates--hundud and twenty +guns apiece. Had em all to ourselves, and asked no better. + +"'Just your style, Bill,' says the Captain. He was pacing up and down +the lee of the poop with me. 'Pretty work, ain't it?' + +"'Too pretty to last, sir,' says I; as our fore-mast went by the board. + +"Just then up runs the carpenter's mate all of a sweat. + +"'Well, Michael,' says the Captain, 'what is it to-day?' + +"'Goin down with a run, sir,' pants old Chips. 'Twenty foot? water +in her well.' + +"The Captain turns to me. + +"'Where's the nearest land, Willum?' says he, with that twinkle of +is'n. Always called me Willum, when he meant mischief, did the Captain. + +"'Why, sir,' says I, 'the bottom, I reck'n.' + +"'Wrong again,' says he. 'That's the nearest land to me,' and he points +at the _Santy Maria_, Don Somebody Somethin's Flag-ship. 'Hard +a-starboard, if you please, Mr. Hardin,' says he. 'I'm a-goin to land.' + +"So I luffs up alongside, and fell aboard Er Oliness--like a mighty +great mountain above us she was, all poop, and galleries, and Armada +fittins. + +"When our bow scraped her quarter, + +"'Anybody for the shore!' pipes the Captain; and he jumps into her +main-chain.... + +"Ah, but you should ha heard the men cheer!" + +The old man paused, breathing deep. + +"Ten minutes a'terwards he was dying acrost my knees on the spar-deck +of the Don. + +"'Has she struck, Bill?' he whispers, coughing.... + +"'The three decker's struck, sir,' says I, 'and the four-decker's strikin.' + +"He shuts his eyes. + +"'Then I can depart in peace,' he sighs. 'Tell Marjory I done my duty.' + +"And he up and died." + +There was a cough in the darkness. + +"So I calls a cutter away, and rowed aboord the _San Josef_, the +men blubberin like a pack o babbies, to break it to Nelson. Like twins, +them two, Nelson and your father: that like, ye see! + +"Well, there was the Commodore on the Don's quarter-deck, Berry beside +him, the Spanish Captain afoor him, and behind him a British Jack-Tar +tuckin the Spaniards' swords under his arm like so many umberellas. + +"I breaks it to him short and straight. + +"'Captain Caryll's compliments, sir,' says I. 'And he's dead.' + +"Nelson claps his hands to his face as though I'd struck him. Then +he falls on my neck afoor em all--Dons too. + +"'O Ding-dong!' says he. 'I loved him.'--Just like that. 'I loved him....' + +"Yes, that was Nelson all through: one alf woman, t'other alf hero. + +"Then he pulls himself together. + +"'But there!' he says. 'He lived like an English gentleman; and he +died like a British seaman. May I go that way when my time comes.' +And he sweeps off his cocked hat as though it might ha been to the +King, and-- + +"'God bless Kit Caryll,' says he." + +The old man blew his nose in the darkness. + +"Yes, sir," he continued, "that was your father and my friend," and +then suddenly gruff-- + +"D'you mean takin a'ter him?" + +"I mean to try, sir," said the boy huskily. + +In the darkness a hand gripped his. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +REUBEN BONIFACE'S STORY + + +I + + +Clear of the harbour, the boy's hat blew overboard. + +He tasted his lips, and found them salt. + +Never at sea before, yet somehow it was all strangely familiar, and +strangely dear. + +The feel of the ship, alive beneath his feet; the lift, the plunge, +the swaying rhythm of the bows; the roll of the masts against a patch +of stars--there was music in them all; a music that stirred his heart; +the music of inherited Memory. + +The sea was in his blood; and his blood began to sing to it. Old voices +from the Past, that Past which is still the Present, woke within him. +Old memories, borne down the ages upon the dark river of race life, +haunted him dimly. Old and terrible experiences--murders and mutinies; +distresses on rafts; thirsts and screaming madnesses; naked men howling +on hen-coops under waste skies, sea-birds wailing desolately overhead; +great ships, man-forsaken, God-forgotten, wallowing blindly amid green +mountains that flowed and foamed upon them--shadows in shoals, they +rose, glimmered, and were gone in the twilight waters of returning +consciousness. + +Sea-wolves in beaked ships from the Baltic; pirate-adventurers who +had sailed and sacked under the Conqueror; pioneers of new-found lands: +blood of his blood, and brain of his brain, they lived again, roused +from centuries of sleep by the stir and whiff and secret business of +the dark waters. + +The mystery of it thrilled the boy: the blind night, the moving waters, +the wind in his hair, the crash of spray upon the deck--old friends +all, he recognised them as such, and found them beautifully familiar. + +He was flowing down the River of Eternal Life and one with it. He was: +he had been: he always would be. There was no Death, no Time. Life +was One and Everlasting. + +His nostrils wide, renewing old impressions, he walked forward, proud +and self-composed. + +True son of the sea, yet he knew himself her master. She was his woman, +to be loved and lorded over. He found himself brooding over her dark +beauty with the stern pride of possession. Manhood was rushing in on +him: its passions, its power, its splendid cruelties. He began to tingle +to them. + +They had not met, it seemed, to know each other, these two world-old +friends, for half a generation. Now once more they came together, +heart to heart, man to woman, loving faithfully as ever. + + +II + + +The wind freshened. The sloop began to feel the sea and swing to it. + She was a dark and secret ship: not a light save for the glare of the +binnacle-lamp; the only sound the creak of a block, the mutter of canvas, +and the chatter of waters. + +It was a dirty night, a wet mist blowing landward. There was no moon; +only here and there a star pierced the cloud-drift. + +The boy groped his way forward. + +In the bows a dark lantern on the deck shone on a group of sea-boots. + +"Pretty night for our work, sir," came a cheery voice. "Might ha been +made for us." + +"Where are we?" asked the boy. + +"Yon's Seaford Head, sir," as a great white dimness thrust out of the +mist towards them. "We're layin along close inshore. See that glimmer +forrad on the port-bow?--Ah, it's gone again! That's the Seven Sisters. +And between the last o them and Beachy Head lays Birling Gap. And +somewhere there or thereabouts, we'll make our cop, if a cop it's to +be." + +"Who is it we're after?" + +"Lugger _Kite, sir--Black Diamond's craft.... + +"Funny thing fortune, sir," the man continued after a pause. "Never +know how it's going to take you till you're took. Little thing sims +to sway it. At one day's time there warn't a smarter seaman afloat +than Bert Diamond. Might ha rose to the quarter-deck--just the sort; +got a way with him and that. Only one fault, sir--the sailor's failin." + +"What's that?" + +"Too lovin by fur.... + +"It's generally always his one fault capsizes a man," the seaman +continued. "And so it were with poor old Bert--he warn't Black at +that time o day, yo'll understand." + +"What's the rights o that yarn, Reube?" grumbled a deep voice. + +"I ca'ant rightly tall ye because I don't justly knaw, Abe. They said +this here Mr. Lucy--Love-me Lucy they called him in the ward-room--got +messin about a'ter Diamond's gal. But anyways there it were. Diamond +struck him--struck his officer." + +"What happened?" + +"Why, sir; flogged round the Fleet." + +A man spat noisily on the deck. + +"Maybe you've never seen a man flogged round the Fleet?" + +"Never." + +"Then heaven help you never may, sir. I'd liefer fight a gun in the +waist through farty Fleet-actions, than see one man go through +that--wouldn't you, Abe?" + +"Ay, that I would," grumbled the deep voice. + +"Ah; and so'd we all," came a windy chorus. + +There was a stamping of feet: then the story-teller went on, + +"I stood by the gang-way when he came up the side, a blanket across +his shoulders. + +"'Ullo, Reube,' says he.... + +"That were all.... I said nawthing.... I saw his face.... + +"When he came out o the sick-bay three months a'terwards, with his kit +to go ashore--he was dismissed the Service, yo'll understand, sir--I +was on deck.... He limped across, and shook hands with me out o them +all.... We'd been like brothers, him and me.... Then he went down the +side and never a word.... Just as his head was on a level with the +deck, he stops. Good-bye all,' says he, with a laugh I never heard +him laugh before. 'The British Navy ain't eard the last o Black +Diamond.'... And nor we had, by thunder." + + +III + + +The _Tremendous_ thrashed into a swell. A spout of foam flung +up, and crashed down on the deck. When the last hiss of it had died +away, Boniface took up his tale. + +"That was 99--after Acre. I was away nigh on six years, middlin busy +too. We'd the lot atop on us one time or t'other--French, Roossians, +Dons, Dutch, Swedes, Danes, and all; and Nap to thank for em.... + +"Last Spring I come home to find Black Diamond cock o the Gap Gang, +and better fear'd nor Boney's self in East Sussex. That'd be a day +or two after they'd done Mr. Lucy." + +"What was that?" + +"Why, sir, Mr. Lucy, he was Coast-guard Officer of this district. +One day his grey cob cantered into Lewes alone--no Mr. Lucy. Two night +a'terwards a keeper chap found his body in Abbot's Wood.... + +"They'd crucified him to a tree, and flogged him to the bone; then +stuck an ace o diamonds on to his back, and on it + + _Returned with thanks_." + +"And that warn't all," grumbled the deep voice. + +"That it warn't," came the windy chorus. "Never is with them." + +"But who'd done it?" cried the boy. + +"Gap Gang, sir." + +"Who are they?" + +"Why, sir, Birling Gap Gang it should be by rights. That's where they +mostly lay rough when they're this side. And it suits them +to-rights--that lonely, you see: just naked hills, cliffs, badgers, +foxes, and the like.--And such a crew! God help the man or maid crosses +their hawse. Fear neither God nor Devil." + +"Only Black Diamond," grumbled the deep voice. "Meek as milk with him." + +There was a grim chuckle all round. + +"Are they smugglers?" asked the boy. + +"Call emselves smugglers," replied Reuben. "But they ain't the gentlemen +proper. For it's mighty little smuggling they do. Maybe run a cargo +every now and then to keep in with the folk on the hill--East-dean and +Friston way. But they're after bigger game, I allow." + +"What's that?" + +"Despatch-running for Little Boney, sir." + + +IV + + +The boy waited. There was more to come, he felt; and he was right. + +In a minute Diamond's old ship-mate resumed his tale. + +"Last July, I was on furlough at Alfriston. One evening I went for a +bit of a stroll on the hill. Up there, under the sky, top o Snap Hill, +was a look-out chap with a telescope. I knaw'd his back, and the high +way with his head at first onset. It was Black Diamond. + +"'Hullo, Bert,' says I, coming up behind. + +"Round he jumps, terrible dark. + +"I'd hardly ha know'd him--toff'd out quite the officer, bits of +epaulettes, waxed moustachers, pistol and all. I'd never ha beleft it! + +"'That Reube?' says he, at last, starin properly. + +"'That's me, sir,' says I. + +"His face cleared; and he shoved his pistol back. + +"'Excuse me, Reube,' says he. 'Every man that wears that uniform is +unfriends with me, with one exception--and that's yourself,' and he +took my hand. + +"'It's nice to look into a pair of eyes can look back at you,' he +goes on, very quiet, pumping my hand. 'How are you, old mate?--We're +quite strangers.' + +"'I'm tidy middlin, thank-you, sir,' says I: must keep on a-sirrin +him somehow. 'How's things going with you?' + +"'Why,' says he, with that terrible great laugh of his, 'like God +Almighty--slow but sure.' + +"'Nice crowd you've got together by all accounts, sir,' says I. + +"'All picked men,' says he, mighty grim. 'But drop your voice if you're +going to talk about the darlings: I've a dozen of em in the goss handy +by. There's not a man sails aboard the _Kite_ but swings in chains, +if he's copp'd. Makes em wonderful nippy at a pinch,' says he, with +that little smile o his. 'You wouldn't believe.' + +"' Yes,' I says. 'Reg'lar man o war style aboard the _Kite_, +they do say. Trice em up, and flog em, if everything ain't just so.' + +"'That's so,' says he. 'Duchess could eat her dinner off my deck--has, +too.' + +"'Only wonder is they stick it,' says I. + +"'Ah,' he says, 'they're my _men_, not my _mates_, see?--This +ain't a free-tradin show. We ain't partners, I pay em.' + +"I looked him straight in the face. + +"'And who pays you, old pal?' says I--'if you'll excuse the question.' + +"'The Emperor,' says he, calm as you please. 'Nice feller, too.' + +"I stared a bit. + +"'Knaw him then?' says I. + +"'Supp'd with him night afore last,' says he, matter-of-fact like; +and I knaw'd he warn't lying--'Me and the Emperor and another +gentleman.' He began to laugh. 'Rare sport he was too, the gentleman! +Hear him sauce the Emperor!' Then he takes a sweeping look through +his glass. 'Ye see we've a little bit o business forrard, me and him +and the Emperor.' + +"Well, sir, I was gettin my monkey up, as you may allow. Here'd I been +tow-rowin up and down the high seas at tenpence a day these six years +past, doin my little bit to spoil Boney's game; and here was this +chap--dismissed with ignominy, mind!--toff'd out like a dandy Admiral, +flashin his French rings and sham Emperors in my face. + +"Still I aren't no mug. So cardingly, + +"'What's it all about, Bert?' says I, confidential-like. + +"He didn't answer: kep on all the while a-squintin through the glass +towards the Forest. + +"'You a blockade-man, [Footnote: The blockade-men were coast-guards.] +Reube?' says he at last. + +"'No,' says I, 'I'm a liberty-man from the _Tremendous_.' + +"'Ah,' says he, queer and quiet. 'I'm glad to hear that, Reube. Mighty +glad you're not a blockade-man.' + +"'Why for?' says I, innocent-like. + +"'Why,' says he, ''tain't healthy for blockade-chaps in these parts +just now.... You heard o poor Mr. Lucy?' + +"'Yes, surely,' I says, pretty spiteful--'dirty business and all.' + +"He dropped the glass. + +"'What's that?' says he, short-like. + +"So cardingly I told him _all_ about it. + +"'That's my friend Fat George,' says he between his teeth. + +"'I suppose it's news to you,' I sneers. + +"He looks me in the eyes properly. + +"'This is the first I've heard of it,' says he. 'Struth it is! No,' +he says, 'I gave him what he gave me, no more, and no less--five hundred, +_crossed_; while I lay among the blue-bells and counted em out +for him, same as he done for me. And when it was over--"And now," I +says, "to show you I'm a Christian, I'll leave the boys to put you +out of your pain; and that's more than ever you done for _me_." +And I strolled away. They must ha been up to their larks a'ter I +left--mucky gaol-birds!' he says. 'Funny thing they _can't_ be'ave +like gentlemen.' + +"'Well,' I says, 'as to Mr. Lucy, he play'd it down a dog's trick on you; +and you got back on him. And man to man,' I says, 'no parsons bein by, I +don't say no to that. But if it comes to selling your country for money--' + +"He swings round all black and white and lightning. + +"'Money!' he snarls. 'Steady, Reube.' + +"'What then?' says I. + +"'Ah,' says he, drawing his breath like a cat swearin. 'As I just +told you, I'm a Christian; and I don't forget.' + +"Talk o bitter! + +"'Well,' I says, 'if it's revenge you're a'ter, sims to me you've had +a belly-ful.' + +"'Ah, I ain't begun yet,' says he, breathing slow. 'That's my little +private account. There's the system to settle yet.' + +"'What!' says I, coming closer. 'So you're going to fix up the British +Navy next?' + +"'Goin to try,' says he, rollin out that tarrible great laugh of +his--'God helpin me.' + +"That was a bit _too_ much. + +"'Well, I'm a sailor myself,' says I, 'and an Englishman. So, mind +yourself!' And I goes for him blind. + +"He never budge: just blew his whistle; and a dozen of em sprang out +o nowhere. + +"'Unclasp his little arms,' says Diamond. 'He thinks I'm his lady-bird.' + +"Just then a whistle sounded rithe away acrost the Weald. Another nearer +took it up, and another--like partridges callin on a summer's evening. + +"'Here he comes,' says Diamond, glass to his eye. 'Reube,' says he, +'there's things good kids such as you are best not seein. Boys, take +him to the top o Deepdene, and give him a tilt down. Gently does it,' +says he. 'He's an honester man nor any o you.' + +"So cardingly they march me away. + +"But I hadn't gone above a dozen steps, when I heard him comin a'ter +me. + +"'Reube,' says he, kind o shy-like, 'I suppose you won't shake with an +old ship-mate?' + +"'No,' says I, 'I don't shake with no ---- traitors.' + +"He drops his hand. + +"'Ah, well,' says he, 'think the best you can o me. You're much the +man I'd ha been, if God had been gooder to me. Good-bye, Reube,' says +he. 'All the luck.' + +"And somehow he seemed a bit o choky; and somehow I felt the same myself. + +"So cardingly they march me away to the top o the coombe, where it's +steep as a ship's side, and gave me a shove. + +"Down I sprawls, rolly-bowly, anyhow all among the jumping hares, +and brought up in the shadows at the bottom. + +"And as I was feeling to see if my head still set on my shoulders, +a chap on horse-back comes cantering up the shoulder of the coombe +above me, black against the light.... + +"That was the first o this here Gentleman all the talk's on...." + + +V + + +The mist was blowing by in huge white puffs like the breath of a giant. + +"That was the beginning," continued Reuben. "It warn't the end though +not by no means. Many's the time since then them words of his about +the blockade-chaps, and his queer way o sayin em's come back to me." + +"Why?" asked the boy. + +"Why, sir?--why, indeed?--Two days later a patrol was found at the +foot o the Devil's Chimney, heads bashed in. Blow'd over o course!--Week +a'terwards petty officer found drowned in dew-pond top o Warren Hill. +Accident o course!--Next day common seaman hung in his own braces +Jevington Holt. Suicide o course! And so it's been going on ever +since--blockade-men murdered; blockade-men missin; blockade-men washed +ashore--until last night." + +"What then?" + +"Ain't you heard, sir?" aghast. "Last night--eleven o'clock--full +moon--clear as crystal--Diamond laid the _Kite_ aboard the Revenue +cutter off Darby's Hole." + +"Well?" breathlessly. + +"Ah, well indeed, sir!--No one'll ever knaw the rights o that yarn. +Only one chap o the crew o the _Curlew_ left alive to tell the +tale--poor Alf Huggett here alongside o me. Stove in a water-butt and +hid in it--didn't you, Alf?" + +There was a waiting silence. + +"It's broke him up surely, sir," whispered Reuben. "And I don't wonder. +Saw enough through that bung-hole to keep him thinking for the rest +of his life." + +"Fat George!" shivered a thin voice. "Fat George!" + +"Ah!" came the windy chorus. "Him and old Toadie!" + +"Anyways there it be!" continued Reuben. "At noon to-day the _Curlew_ +drifted up against Seaford jetty, yards hung with her own crew, like +carcasses in a butcher's shop." + +"Brutes!" gasped the boy. "But what's the meaning of it all?" + +Reuben shrugged till his oil-skins crackled. + +"No sayin, sir. Summat's up; summat big. Diamond wanted the coast +cleared; and he's cleared it--by thunder he has! Swep it up bald as +the back o my hand." + +The mist blew away faint and thin. Through it the bowed crest-line +of a cliff loomed up to larboard. + +"There's the last o the Seven Sisters!" said Reuben. "Birling Gap's +just here along." He moved among his men. "Stations, boys. It's here +or hereabouts...." + +"Hush!" whispered Kit. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +THE LUGGER KITE + + +I + + +"D'you hear anything, sir?" + +The boy made no reply, listening, listening. + +Had he made a mistake?--was it only the swish of waters under the +keel? ... No! + +_"There! there, in front!"_ + +This time there was no mistaking it--the noise of a boat's bow smashing +into seas. + +Reuben brought his fist down with a thump. + +"To the tick!" + +Just then the cloud-drift parted. Through tatters of mist the moon +shone down. + + +II + + +Bowling out on the top of the tide came a lugger, the foam at her foot. + +She was black in the moon, and barely a cable's length away. + +"That her?" asked the gruff voice of the old Commander. + +"That's the _Kite_, sir," answered Reuben. "Know her luff anywheres. +Foots it like a witch, and handles like a lady. A boy could sail her; +and she'll carry farty at a pinch." + +The old Commander watched her across the glimmering waters. + +"Means havin it," he said with a grunt half of admiration, half of +satisfaction. + +"Ah, that's Diamond, sir!" answered the other. "God A'mighty couldn't +stop him once he's set." + +The old Commander measured the lessening distance between him and his +prey. + +"I shall keep as I go," he said deliberately. "Reck'n he'll do +the same. We oughter meet. But if he should scrape through, why let +him have it nice and hearty as he goes under my bows." + +"Ay, ay, sir." + +He stumped aft; while the men rammed down their sou-westers. + + +III + + +"I'll lay I bag Fat George in the belly," said one, spitting leisurely, +as he fingered his musket. + +"I'll lay you don't then," retorted another. + +"I'll lay you couldn't miss it," chipped in a wag. + +There was a rumble of laughter, quickly hushed. + +The boy among them sniggered, to vindicate his courage. + +How brave they were! and what beasts! They made him sick, and filled +him with admiration. He should like to be like that--to feel nothing; +to see nothing; to loll up against the side and spit about, and make +bad jokes, a minute before he took the life of a brother man. That +was fine: that was manhood. One day, please God, he would be the same. + +He peeped at the lugger. She was holding on, hard-driven, a long-boat +with high-cocked nose tearing astern. + +The big ship was bearing down on her like a hawk on a sparrow. It was +bullying but O! was it not glorious? The old thrill, the thrill of +thrills, incomparable, made him tremble. He was manhunting once more. + +"He'll carry the sticks out of her," muttered one of the men. "Crackin +along all sail--capsize or no." + +"He may crack along," said another. "He's done. Black Diamond's done." + +The sea flopped in the moon. Here and there a gathering swell hissed +into foam. The _Tremendous_ scarcely felt it; but the lugger lay +over on her side, seams dripping, and thrashed furiously along. + +Her crew, squatting along the weather gunwale, turned bowed and shining +backs to the sloop. + +Only the man at the tiller had seen her; and he made no sign. + +The moon was on his face, black and white and bearded; and his eyes +on the sloop. + +"Calm chap!" whispered one. + +"Plucky meat," replied another. "Guts like a lion on him." + +"Which is Black Diamond?" asked the boy. + +"Him at the tiller, sir--moon on his face. He's seen us. 'Tothers +ain't--not yet." + +The _Tremendous_ crashed into a sea. The aftmost man on the +lugger's gunwale turned. + +He saw the Avenger towering over him, dark wings spread, snow-drifts +spurting before her. + +An awful horror convulsed his face. + +"King's ship!" came a ghastly-screaming treble. "Put back, Diamond!" + +The man at the tiller never stirred. One lightning arm flashed forward. + +"Down, George!" came a voice of thunder. "I'm going through." + +There was a flash in the moon; the smothered crack of a pistol; and +a furious tumble of men aft. + +"Gor! they're knifin him!" + +"Their own skipper!" + +"That's the Gap Gang!" rose in a groaning chorus from the bows of the +sloop. + + +IV + + +Splash followed splash. + +The crew of the lugger were jumping for the long-boat. + +The moon shone down mildly on savage waters, and a tumult of men. + +All about the boat was a fury of fighting. Some were in it, some in +the water. Those within were slashing at the hands of those scrambling +in. + +Every man was for himself, and every man against his neighbour. They +fought like beasts, beasts who could blaspheme. + +Sin seen naked! Sin and its consequences! + +Death-screams; bellowed blasphemies; howls for mercy rose as from the +pit. + +"No room!--It's me, Joe!--Too many aboard!--Knife the ----!--I'm +done!--Elp us up!--Don't, George!" + +Out of the torment of howls, oaths, prayers, came again the +ghastly-screaming treble. + +"Cut the painter!" + +A boy, the last on the lugger, afraid before to trust the water, jumped +now. + +"Don't leave Jacky!" spluttered the thin boy's voice, tearful and +terrified; as the little shaven head bobbed up by the boat. + +"Ands off!" screamed the treble. "We're sinkin a'ready. What, you +little ----! then ave it! ave it! ave it!" + +A shrill squeal and then again that ghastly-screaming treble-- + +"Row, ye ----, row!" + +Silence; tumbling waters; and the moon, sick with horror, darkened +suddenly. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +THE MAN IN THE LUGGER + + +I + + +The lugger came bowling on, one man in her stern. + +"Diamond's bested em!" rose in a roar from the _Tremendous_. + +And so it seemed. + +The _Kite_ was making straight for the sloop, plunging giddily, +as though wounded. + +"All hands aloft!" roared old Ding-dong. "Back tops'ls!" + +There was a scamper of feet along the deck; and up the shrouds a scurry +of dark figures. Above was ordered bustle; from the deck a sounding +voice ruled all, as God rules the world. + +"Canst use a pistol, lad?" + +The words, swift as hail, smote Kit's ear. + +"I don't know, sir," babbled the boy, sick with excitement. + +A minute back Hell had yawned, and he had peeped in. He was still aghast. + +"Then find oot!" fierce as a sword. "Joomp into t'mizzen-chains, and +pick off yon chap at the helm, as he cooms under ma counter." + +He thrust a pistol into the boy's hands. + +How limp the lad felt beside this masterful old man! + +In another moment he was standing in the chains, the dark and giddy +waters swirling beneath him. The blood thumped in his temples. + +Was it to be his St. Vincent? his chance? + +The lugger came tearing up. He could hear the swish of the waters, +white at her foot; he could see the wet sail, the bucketing bows, +the fore-deck awash. She would pass bang beneath his feet. He could +see no man at the helm--only the jumping bowsprit, the thrashing foot, +and that huge lug-sail, bellying over the water. + +Suddenly his mind flamed. In the white glare of it he saw the thing +to do, and had done it, before cold reason could check him. + +He jumped. + +The boat and giddy waters rose up to meet him. He fell as on to a +mattress, full of wind. It was the lug-sail he had struck. Down it +he sprawled to the deck, there to find himself upon his hands and knees, +something soft beneath him. + +One man was in the boat; and that man was staring him in the face. + +There was no mistaking him. He was black, with diamond eyes. The moon +was on his face; and about his lips a queer snarling smile. + +Kit expected him to pounce; yet he did not, lolling back in the +stern-sheets, very much at his ease. The tiller under his arm wobbled, +and he wobbled with it. In spite of those staring eyes of his, there +was a dreadful unsteadiness about the man. Was he wounded?--was he +drunk? + +Somehow the boy was not very much afraid. It was all too dream-like. +He heard his heart thundering far-away on the remotest shores of being. +He heard his own voice speaking, and was surprised at it--how steady +it was, and how small! + +It was saying, + +"I'm a King's officer. That's a King's ship. There are about a thousand +men on board. It's all no go. D'you give in?" + +The man grinned sardonically. Then his head fell forward. He lurched +horribly. The tiller slipped from under his arm. The lugger fell away, +and lay on the water like a wounded bird. + +Then Kit understood. + +Black Diamond was dead. + + +II + + +The boy's mind relaxed like a burst bladder. + +He began to laugh. + +Where was he? + +Alone on the deep with a dead man. + +Well, well. It was not for the first time surely. A ghost, long-laid, +walked again. A sudden lightning had flashed upon his past. In it he +had seen and _remembered_. Something of a forgotten self floated +to the surface. In turmoil, his Eternal Mind had thrown up on the sea +of Time a memory from its imperishable hoard. + +Slowly he recollected himself, and looked about him. + +He was kneeling on something soft, and his hands were warm and slimy. +He looked down, and jerked back with a scream. + +He was kneeling on a dead man, and his hands were crimson. + +A gust caught the lugger: she staggered forward with a flap and swing +of her boom. Her master, her mate, was dead; and the spirit had gone +out of her. + +No time for the horrors! he must be doing. + +In a moment he was at work with his dirk. The great lug came down with +a rattle. + +Forward under the boom, he cut the sheet of the jib. It fluttered +furiously, streaming lee-ward. Then he stumbled aft. + +The murdered helmsman still lolled in drunken stupor, smiling inscrutably. + +Astern the sloop lay with tall clothed masts, swaying, a phantom on +the troubled waters. + +A boat had put off from her, and was bucking towards him. + +"Lugger ahoy!" came a windy voice across the water. "Is that you, +sir?--all well?" + +"I'm all right," cried the boy, and was ashamed to find his voice +cracked with emotion. + +The boat bumped alongside. Reuben Boniface's face popped up over the +side. + +"Plucky thing, sir!" he cried, bobbing with the boat; then seeing +the man at the tiller--"Ah, Bert! a fair cop." + +"He's dead," said the boy with a sob. + +"Dead!" cried the other, thrusting forward. "By thunder! so he is. +Boys, Black Diamond's dead!" He took the dead man by the hand. "Poor +old mate!" he continued in hushed voice. "Fancy that now. Diamond dead!" + +Another head bobbed up. + +"Did you kill him, sir?" asked an awed voice. + +"No, I didn't. I think it was this man. He killed Black Diamond; and +Black Diamond killed him back." + +His heart was swollen almost to bursting. + +A row of heads now bobbed all along the side, staring at the dead man. +It awed them, this lay-figure with the dreadful stillness brooding +about it, rocking with the rock of the sea. They spoke of it with lowered +voices reverently. + +"Funny thing--him so quiet. Don't seem nat'ral like." + +"Warn't like that ten minutes since." + +"That Black Diamond!--and can't lift his own hand now!" + +"Ah, makes a change, Death, don't it?" + +"One thing sure," ended a philosopher. "Like it or not--sooner or +later--in this world we all gets our desarts." + +So these solemn children, big of the sea, brooded over the Great +Mystery. Here _they_ were in the dark, the night blind about them, +the old sea roaming round; and here was _It_. Dimly they tried +to apprehend _It_. Somehow _It_ made them feel strangely +small, and somehow strangely great. + +Reuben was still pumping the dead man's hand up and down, the tears +coursing down his face. + +"Poor old mate!" he kept saying. "He'd not ha been the same if things +had been different--would you, old mate?--I wish I'd ha shook hands +with you now, I do." + +A shuddering voice spoke from the boat. It was the broken blockade-man. + +"Ow much is he dead?" he asked. + +"Why, dead as dirt," replied a matter-of-fact fellow, chewing his +pig-tail phlegmatically. + +"Sure he ain't learying?" came the voice of the man with the shivers. + +"You fear'd on him still, Alf?" asked one curiously. + +"Fear'd on him?--No, I ain't fear'd on him!" came a ghastly titter. +"Got no cause, ave I?" + +"He won't urt you," replied the other, soothingly. "He's dead all +right--ain't you, Diamond?--You can tweak his nose, see?--and then +go ome, and tell the gals what you done. Tweak Black Diamond by the +conk!" + +"You let him be!" growled Reuben. "Time was you'd ha crawled +to him. Now any snotty little toad can make game on him." + +Kit looked up at the rising voices. + +A fellow had seized Diamond by the nose, plucking back his head. + +The dead man's mouth gaped. Into the cavern of it shone the moon. + +"One moment!" cried the boy; and hating himself, he thrust a finger +and thumb into the opening, and plucked out the thing which gleamed +within. + +It was a cut-glass scent-bottle. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +THE SCENT-BOTTLE + + +I + + +They came under the counter of the sloop, the boat towing the lugger, +and Black Diamond dead, the moon upon him. + +A face, tallowy-nosed and black-whiskered, was leaning over the side. + +"Say! was there a tall chap on a blood chestnut aboard?" asked a slushy +voice. "Andshomish feller--might be own brother to me. If so, pass +him up the side, there's a good biy. There's £1,000 on his head." + +Kit went up the side, his heart beating high. + +"Anything?" asked the old Commander shortly. + +"Yes, sir." + +He surrendered his treasure-trove. + +"What! this all?" sniffed the old man, fingering the scent-bottle +contemptuously--"gal's fal-lal." + +He stumped below. + +The boy's heart was white-hot with indignation. + +This then was his thanks! + +Somebody tickled him under the arms. + +"You're in the old man's good books, Sonny," said a hilarious voice. +"Wha d'you think he said when you plumped overboard?" + +"I don't know. What?" + +"'Nelson might ha done that,' says the old man--Bible-truth, he did." +And he shook out loose coils of laughter. + +The compliment was so staggering that it humbled the boy. + +A minute since he could have stabbed that old man with the stiff knee. +Now he could have kissed him. + +"No! did he _really_?" he gasped. + +The Gunner clutched the boy with one arm, and +tilting his chin, looked down at the uplifted face. + +"There _is_ a look o the little man about the kid," he said--"kind +o gal-like look--all eyes, and spirit, and long chin. Funny thing!--I've +always noticed the best biys to fight are them as got most gal about +em." + +The purser's steward tripped up. + +"Mr. Caryll, sir, Commander Harding desires to see you in his cabin." + +"Told you, Sonny," crowed the Gunner. "It's to give you a certificate +for valour, and a drop o brandy on a lump o sugar." + + +II + + +A purser's glim lit the cabin, bare save for a solitary print upon +the bulk-head. + +Facing it stood the old Commander, broad as a wall, his hands behind +him, and the scent-bottle, unstoppered now, in one of them. + +Kit recognised the face on the wall at once. It was Nelson's. + +"That you, Mr. Caryll?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Can ye read French?" + +"A little, sir." + +"Then what ye make o this?" + +He thrust a hand behind him, never turning. + +Kit took from it a tiny roll of tissue paper, and unfolded it. + +"Shall I begin, sir?... It's headed _Merton, [Footnote: Merton was +at this time the seat of Lady Hamilton.] 17th, 2 a.m._, and goes +on--" he translated, stumbling-- + +_Everything is going beautifully. There is only one man for England +to-day; and for him there is only one woman. She is the absolute +master of her N., and he of Barham and the Board. The_ Victory +_is due to-morrow. She expects him here on Monday, and will do +all. The original plan holds good. He will be off Beachy Head +Thursday. The_ Medusa, 44. + + _A.F._ + +_Keep the frigate cruising. I am off to Dover at dawn to square up +there. Diamond calls for me at the old rendezvous on Wednesday, and +puts me on board the frigate that I may be_ in at the death _as +our friends this side say._ + +The boy lifted dark eyes. + +"It looks like a--" + +The other cut him short. + +"In our Service, sir, the Captain speaks when he's the mind; the First +Lieutenant all the time; and the midshipmen--_never_." + +He snapped fierce jaws. + +"What date, d'ye say?" + +"Seventeenth." + +"Seventeenth, _sir_.... That's to-day, ain't it?" + +The old man grunted. + +"Started this morning--sharp work." + +"He was riding a thorough-bred ... sir." + +"What's a furrow-bred?... plough-oss?" + +"Plough-horse!" sparkling scorn. "It's the best sort of horse going." + +"What if it be?--I'm a sea-man myself--not a postboy.... How d'ye know +he was ridin a what-d'ye-call-it?" + +"He always does." + +"Who does?" + +"The man they call the Gentleman--the Galloping Gentleman." + +"Who told you?" + +"I picked it up, listening to the riding-officer." + +The old man cocked an eye over his shoulder at the boy. + +"I keep on a-listinin for that _sir_," he said. "Reck'n I'm hard +o hearin." + +He resumed his study of the face on the bulk-head. A long while he +gazed: then smacked one fist into the other. + +"That gal!" he muttered. "I always know'd how it'd be," and turned +at last. + +Taking the paper from the boy, he packed it into the scent-bottle. + +"When I've laid this here in Nelson's hands," he said deliberately, +"I'll be ready to say what your father said aboord the Don." + +A curious smile made kindly wrinkles about his eyes: it was half +mischievous, half wistful: the smile of a child about to gratify an +innocent spite, long cherished. + +Then he shoved the bottle into his breast-pocket, and looked up. The +light fell on his face; and for the first time Kit saw his Captain +fairly. + +Square shoulders; square face; square chin; a square brow, strangely +white above the terra-cotta-coloured lower face; and blue eyes that +looked squarely into yours. All square, body and soul. A true man, +and a born fighter, the blue and white riband for St. Vincent at his +breast. + +"When you joomped aboord the lugger, was you scared?" he asked curtly. + +The boy looked him in the eyes. + +"Yes, sir." + +The old man's hand lay for a moment on his shoulder. + +"So'd I ha been," he said, and went out, nodding. + + +III + + +On deck the dawn glimmered faintly. + +On their lee, high in the heaven, a glowing smother hung in the dark +over a snaky brood, darting red tongues hither and thither. + +"What's that?" growled old Ding-dong. + +"The chaps as got away in the long-boat, sir. Set a light to the gorse +on Beachy Head. Signal. An old game o their'n." + +The old man swung about. + +As he looked, a blue light spurted seaward, and another answered it. + +"Thought so," he muttered. "Burning flares." + +Then he turned again. + +"Bout ship!" he barked. "Make your course for Newhaven. Send a look-out +man aloft. And clear for action." + + + + +II + +MAGNIFICENT ARRY + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +THE TWO PRIVATEERS + + +I + + +A roll of thunder woke Kit. + +Starting up on his elbows he looked about him. + +Where was he? + +Yesterday he had waked in the blue room at the White Cellar, the +sparrows chirping under the eaves, the smiling chamber-maid at the +door saying, "Half-past seven, sir," and the rumble of the Lewes +coach in the yard beneath. + +It was an altogether different rumble that he heard now. He had never +heard it before; yet how well he knew it. + +It was the roll of the drum, beating to quarters. + +Across the sea a bugle answered it. + +The boy thrust his head out of the port. + +All about him lay a shining floor of sea, gently undulating and six +cable lengths away, bearing down upon the sloop, a black ship flying +the tricolour. + +Across the bulk-head a sudden roaring voice boomed out an order. + +There was the scuffle and scamper of naked feet; the noise of tackle +running, shot trundling along the deck, and the roll of guns. + +Then all was silence but for the thumping of his heart, and the slop +of the water about her sides as the little _Tremendous_ footed +it into her last fight. + + +II + + +Kit rushed on deck. + +The sloop, stripped to her topsails, was stirring the water faintly. + +Only one man was on deck--old Ding-dong, conning the ship himself +bareheaded. + +He was in a worn frock-coat, and faded yellow kerseymere waistcoat, +stained with soup and tar; and the hands on the wheel wore grimy kid +gloves. + +There was such a dinginess about the old man's garments, and such a +dignity about his face, that Kit almost laughed to see him. + +Last night the old Commander might have been a Channel pilot, in his +rough sea-jacket and sea-boots. Today he was a King's officer, +fighting a King's ship; and no mistaking it. + +There was a change in his face too: something subtle, almost spiritual, +that the boy could feel although he could not define it. In fact the +explanation was very simple. Old Ding-dong was going into action, +and had brushed his hair first as was his invariable custom. + +"Morn, Mr. Caryll," said the old man, never taking his eyes off his +topsails. "I was just going to send for you. You'll be my orderly +midshipman. We're in for a little bit o business. See them two?" He +jerked his head across the water. + +Then Kit saw for the first time that two black monsters were sliding +down upon them over the shining waters, side by side. The nearer was +close on the larboard bow of the sloop; the other, on the same tack, +lay on her consort's far quarter. Their bows hardly rippled the water +as they stole forward. They seemed to flow with the flowing sea rather +than sail. Phantom-ships, they might have been creatures of the night, +surprised by day. + +The boy could see nobody aboard. Save for the flapping of the tricolours, +and the occasional creak of a spar, they were still as death. The silence +and terror of their coming sickened the lad. + +The voice of the old Commander, gruff and everyday at his elbow, +reassured him. + +"Privateers," he growled--"old friends both. This'n's the _Cock-ot_. +Happen you've heard tell of her. That'n's the _Cock-it_. +Sister-ships. And 'ot and 'it they'll be afoor long if I can make em so." + +He spun the wheel discreetly. + +"At dawn I found em atween me and Newhaven. So I went about; I wasn't +on the fightin lay--half my ship's company short, and this here in +my pocket for Nelson." He tapped his breast. + +"Thought I'd run for Dover. I was hardly off on that tack when I found +her"--with a backward jerk of his head--"athwart-hawse me." + +Kit turned and saw a third ship, very tall, a league in their wake. + +"Forty-four gun frigate," continued the old Commander. "Must ha given +somebody the slip. But what she's doin here along o them two pints +beats me." + +"They must have been waiting to escort the lugger," ventured the boy. + +"Happen so," said the other phlegmatically. "Well, they've got her +now--the husk, that is: I've kep the kernel," tapping his breast-pocket +once again. "I didn't want all three a-top o me at the first onset, +so I cut the lugger adrift, and set her bowling, helm lashd. As I reckoned, +the frigate stopped to pick her up. She won't be alongside for three +hours yet.... As to them two, we've been dodging about all morning, +but I reck'n we're about there now--just about. So-o-o!" + +There was a roar and a huge splash beneath the stern of the +_Tremendous_. A cold avalanche sluiced the boy. He staggered +blindly back, something crashing on the deck about him. + +"O!" he cried, and opened his eyes faintly, expecting to find himself +smothered with blood. + +It was water, not blood, that was dripping from him. + +The boy looked up in fear. + +Old Ding-dong drenched too, the water trickling down his nose, still +nursed his ship tender as a mother. + +There was not the ghost of a smile on his face, no curl of contempt +about his mouth. + +Kit thanked him inwardly. After all the rough old fellow was a gentleman. + +"Trying the distance with a bow-chaser," said the old man imperturbably. +"I'd have a lick back, only I can't spare no men for the deck carronades. +All below with Lanyon." + +The tip of his tongue shot out, and made the journey of his lips, +cat-like. From behind that grim and weathered visage peeped the child, +arch, mischievous, infinitely cunning. + +"Master Mouche, he _reckons_ I'm going to cross his bows and rake +him," he whispered. "He _reckons_ I'll keep my course to sarve +his consort the same. He _reckons_ to come up under my starn and +rake me fore and aft, while his consort wears ship and pounds me with +her broadside. That's his little game. 'Tain't mine though, ye know, +Mr. Caryll--'tain't mine." He rolled a blue eye on the boy; and in +that eye, twinkling cunning, bubbled the delight of a child about to +play a practical joke on an elder. + +So unexpected was the effect, and so tickling--this grim old veteran +revealing in himself the Eternal Child who hides behind us all--that +the Frenchmen at their guns, hearing in the silence the sudden ripple +of a boy's laughter, whispered among themselves that the Englishman +had a woman aboard. + + +III + + +The breeze was very light and fast falling away. Old Ding-dong kept +one eye on his topsails, and one on his foe, sliding towards him across +the water. + +"Like the Shadow o Death a'most, ain't she?" said the old man in hushed +voice--"so still-like and stealy." He dropped a kind eye on the boy's +face. "Makes ye think first time, don't it?--I mind Quiberon. Guts +feel fainty like." + +He renewed his watch. The twinkle had left his eyes. He had withdrawn +deep down into himself. Somewhere in the centre of that square body +sat his mind, alert, cat-like, about to pounce. + +The shadow of the _Cocotte_ fell across the sea nearly to their +feet. The wind breathed on the waters, dulling them. The languid topsails +swelled faintly. + +The old man spun the wheel. The _Tremendous_ swung towards her +enemy. + +Delicately across the glittering floor the two ships drew towards each +other, wary as panthers about to fight. + +There was dead silence, alow and aloft. Only the tricolour at the enemy's +fore flapped insolently; and the red-cross flag, at the mizzen gaff +of the sloop, licked out a long tongue and taunted back. + +"That's Mouche at the wheel," grunted the old Commander--"her skipper. +A fine fighter, but treecherous like em all.... Funny thing no one +on deck only him. Swarmin with men too, I'll lay." + +The French skipper too was at the wheel: a dapper little personage, +black-a-vised, with fierce moustachios and eye-tufts. + +He wore a huge tricorne, and vast tawdry epaulettes. + +"How do you, sair?" he called, all bows and smiles and teeth, as the +two ships came within biscuit-toss. "Vair please to meet you once more." + +"Queer lingo, ain't it?" muttered old Ding-dong. "All spit and gargle. +Comes from eatin all them frogs, I reck'n. Stick in their throats or +summat." + +He raised his voice. + +"Same to you and many on em," he growled. "I ain't seen that dirty +phiz o your'n in the Channel since our little bit of a tiff off the +Casquets last May. I yeard tell you was in the West Indies conwalescin +a'ter an attack o de _Tremendous_!" He chuckled at his joke. + +The Frenchman shrugged and smiled. + +"So I wass, sair, a while back. And now here--on express pisness; the +Emperor's pisness." + +"What's up?" asked the Englishman bluffly. "Tired o waitin to wop +Nelson? Goin to embark the Armee o England straight off?" + +"Not yet," replied the other, showing his teeth. "All in goot time, +my Captain. This first--this pit of pisness I do for my Emperor." + +"Seems to me that Emperor o your'n must be put to the push if he's +druv to gettin a mucky little pirit like you to do his business," grumbled +the other. + +The Frenchman waved the insult aside with utmost good humour. + +"He send for me across the seas. 'I need my leetle Albairt,' he says. +'Come queegly.' So I spread my wings and come. And _La Coquette_ +she slip out from Rochefort. And _La Guerrière_"-with a backward +jerk--"from Brest. Like swallows in April we flock to the +rendezvous--to meet the Queen of Hearts, is it not?" + +He bowed low, hand to his bosom. + +"And now you've come, sure I ope you'll stay," rumbled the grim old +seaman. "The trouble with you's always been your despart hurry to get +away." + +"This time we stay," replied the Frenchman with a smirk--"all three, +for ever, if need be." + +"We'll do our best to make you at ome, sir," grunted the Englishman; +and turning to Kit-- + +"Slip below and tell Mr. Lanyon to begin to talk when we're locked +fast--and not afoor." + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +THE MAIN-DECK + +Kit scampered below. + +The main-deck was clear as a room before a ball: bulkheads up; hammocks +slung. But for the sand on it, you might have danced there. + +How big and sweet and clean it looked!--like the loft at home, where +he and Gwen and the black cat's kittens played on wet days. + +But there was something other than the black cat's kittens to think +about now. + +The sunshine poured in through the ports on the sleek guns crouching +ready. On the breech of one somebody had scrawled in chalk-- + + _God is Love. Hear me preach it:_ + +on others obscene mottoes, texts, and lines from patriotic songs. + +About each gun clustered her crew, naked to the waist, black +handkerchieves bound about their foreheads. All had solemn puckers +about the brows; some were silent, some ghastly-joking in whispers, +and one, face averted, was obviously praying. + +Up and down the sanded deck between the guns, picking his teeth, +strutted a tall and faded splendour. + +His cocked hat was a-rake; his kid gloves white as his skipper's were +dingy; his whiskers, purple with dye newly applied, puffed out on +cheeks touched with rouge. + +Could this dilapidated dandy, so alert, so nonchalant, be the drunkard +of last night?-- + +Yes. That tallowy nose, those eyes with the wild gleam in them, could +not be mistaken. It was Lushy Lanyon. + +Somehow he had scraped up a First Lieutenant's uniform: bright blue +coat with long tails; white waist-coat, knee breeches, and stockings; +black hat cockaded, worn athwart-ships; and sword slung from a +shoulder belt. And the wonder was that it fitted and became him. + +The boy gave his message. + +The Gunner bowed ceremoniously. + +"Be so good as to give Commander Ardin my compliments, and say I don't +pull a lanyard till I can see through her ports." + +The other's formal politeness stirred the boy almost to laughter; yet +somehow the faded splendour of the man touched him too. + +It was as when a great light seeks to shine through smoked glass. Last +night he had seen only the sodden body; now he beheld the soul, shining +dimly, it is true, but shining still through its sullied habitation. +The call to action had set it burning. It illuminated the blurred face, +notable still. In his youth the man must have been extraordinarily +handsome. Even now he was a noble ruin. + +"Ah, you may stare, Mr. Caryll," said the Gunner, reading the other's +thoughts. "It was Lushy Lanyon last night; this morning it's _Me_!" + +He swelled his chest, and stalked down the deck between his guns, +shooting his cuffs. + +"Yes, sir. A fight's meat and drink to me. It pulls me together, and +makes me remember who I am." He threw back his head--"Magnificent +Arry, the man that's played more avock with earts in his day than any +other seaman afloat.... It's the whiskers done it," he added simply. + +The two men in him were at war: the high and mighty fighting-man and +the confidential toper. Each came bobbing out in turns. + +"And if you should want to see a main-deck fought as a main-deck should +be fought, why, sir, be good enough to take a seat." + +He kicked a powder-monkey off his box, and offered it with a bow. + +"Can't," said Kit, turning. "No time. See you again later." + +The other stooped and peered out of a port. + +"Doobious, I should say," he replied, picking his teeth. "Vairy +doobious. Ah! ----" + +A great black shadow stole across the port. Its effect on the Gunner +was miraculous. He shot up like a flame. He was dark; he was terrible; +there was something of the majesty of Satan about the man. Some huge +sea of life seemed to lift him above himself, and land him among the +giants. + +"Stand by the starboard battery!" he roared. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +COMMODORE MOUCHE + +Kit ran up the ladder out of that bellowing Inferno. + +The _Tremendous_ and her enemy lay side by side with locked spars; +the _Coquette_ becalmed beyond. + +Then Kit understood the ruse of that wary old fighter, his Commander. +Old Ding-dong had placed the _Cocotte_ as a bulwark between him +and her consort. As he had foreseen, the wind, falling away this hour +past, had dropped to nothing now. The _Coquette_ could not bring +a gun into action. + +Four hundred yards away, she might have been as many miles for all +the assistance she could render her sister-ship. + +As the boy came up, the old Commander was leaning against the wheel, +bending towards his knee, and breathing hard. + +There was a dark and peevish look about his face; and a trickle of +red was running down his white knee-breeches. + +"Tell ye 'taint etiquette to have men in your tops only in general +actions and duels atween ships of the line," he was saying in slow +and painful voice, very querulous. "In all my fifty years' experience +o sea fightin, I never see sich a thing afoor, never! Dirty trick I +call it." + +The little Frenchman across the narrow lane of water dividing +the ships, chattered excuses, all sympathy and shrugged shoulders. + +"Ah, I so grieve. Pain! pain! terrible, n'est-ce-pas?--But what would +you, my Captain?--It is no fault of mine. The Emperor's orders. 'I +trust you, my Commodore,' says he. 'Coûte que coûte.' + +"Emperor! about as much a h'Emperor as you are Commodore! And you're +welcome to tell him so with my compliments," snorted the old man. + +He threw his eye aloft. + +"Mr. Caryll, take a party o small-arm men aloft, and clear them sneakin +blay-guards out of her tops. Else they'll be boardin by the yards." + +The boy rushed away. + +Beneath his feet the deck staggered and shook. On the lower-deck of +the _Tremendous_ hell had broken loose, in flame and smoke and +horrible bellowings. The little ship was racked. In her agony she quivered +from truck to keel. + +Suddenly the spars of the _Cocotte_ above him began to crackle and +blaze. Plip-plop-plank! the bullets smacked all about him. He was under +fire and he didn't like it. He wanted to dodge under the bulwark and lie +there; but he daren't. So he ran breathlessly, skipping as a bullet +spanked the deck at his feet. + +They were in the enemy's main-top, swarms of them, tiny figures, crowding +along the spars, grinning at him, he thought. + +How on earth with a handful of men, climbing up the rigging under a +pelting fire, he would ever clear that lot out!... + +Even as he wondered the enemy's main-mast seemed to become alive. It +swayed; it shook; it almost danced; the taut shrouds sagged. + +At first the boy thought that horror had turned his brain, and he was +going mad. He stopped dead and gazed. + +Yes, it was coming down, coming towards him, towering, tremendous, +like a falling spire. + +It came in jerks, tearing its way with a snapping of stays and crashing +of spars. Figures, like black birds, seemed to detach themselves, and +flop through the air. They were men, thrown clear, and falling with +floating coat-tails as they revolved. + +One fell with an appalling bump on the deck of the sloop hard by the +wheel, a man in a red coat, bear-skinn'd and gaitered. He did not stir, +kneeling, his hands before him, head bowed, in attitude of adoration. +A sudden pool of scarlet seemed to spurt out of the deck and island him. + +Kit, his work accomplished for him, ran back to the wheel. + +"Reck'n that's the chap as got me," said old Ding-dong, nodding at +the dead man with a certain grim friendliness. "A red-coat, d'ye see?--Now +what's the meanin o that?--I never yeard tell of a privateer carrying +regulars afoor." + +The old man was leaning against the wheel. His brow was puckered; and +there was a tense, breathless air about his face. It came to the boy +with a shock of surprise that a man hard-hit makes just the same sort +of face as a man who has got one on the funny bone at cricket. + +"Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously. + +"Nay, I'm none hurt, but I am hit. They've took fifty years doin it, +but they've done it at last. It was yon chap with the bashed skull. +Haul him alongside o me, wilta? I'll set on him--ease my old stumps!" + +He lowered himself. + +"I'll larn him shoot me," he said, arranging himself comfortably on +his corpse. + +Kit giggled. Somehow this old man with the twinkle in his eye made +him feel at home among these screaming horrors. + +"Lucky shot o Lanyon's," continued old Ding-dong. "There's a lot o +luck in fightin; and good job for us too. Luck's the favour o God. +He always favours us. We're straight, ye see." + +He peered through the eddying smoke-drift. + +"That there top-hamper o their'n makes a tidy bridge atween ships. +Now if they was to tumble to that, reckon they'd boord--and we'd be +about done." + +Kit looked round. + +The enemy's main-top had fallen across the deck of the sloop. + +The lightning that is genius flashed in the boy's mind. + +In a second he was across the self-fashioned drawbridge between the +two ships and on to the deck of the Frenchman. It was deserted save +for the dead men, red-coats all, flung from the falling top, and sprawling +broadcast everywhere. Even Mouche had disappeared. + +Beneath him on the lower deck was the same bellowing Inferno as on +the _Tremendous_. He felt the privateer stagger and rend to a +broadside of the sloop, as though her bowels were being torn out. He +rushed to a hatchway belching smoke. In the pit below he could see +dim figures flitting about, and could hear the howls of those in torment. +Deafened, blinded, dizzied, he slammed the hatch upon them, clamping +it down. Swiftly he passed from hatchway to hatchway, making all fast. + +With dancing heart, he ran back to the bridge. + +As he did so a whimpering voice stayed him. + +"O mon enfant!" + +The French skipper was lying abaft the binnacle, a yard across his +lower body. + +There was no make-believe about him now, no mockery. He was naked man, +stripped of his tinsel, and laid bare to the soul by the inexorable +Master, Pain. Across his chin, as though to mock him, lay his false +moustachios. + +"Tuez-moi!" he whimpered hoarsely. "Tuez-moi!" + +"I can't!" gasped Kit--"not in cold blood!" + +The lad was face to face with one of the most appalling of God's +mysteries, and was unhinged by it. Gwen with the toothache had been +nothing to this. + +The agonised man rolled his head from side to side. + +"Sainte Mere de Dieu, intercédez pour moi!" he wailed. + +Again that lightning flashed in the boy's mind. + +The man's silver-mounted pistol lay on the deck beside him. He thrust +it into the other's hand. + +"Here, sir!" + +The man clutched it, as one dying in a desert may clutch the flagon +of water that means life to him. + +The head ceased its dreadful weaving. + +"Petit ange! petit Anglais!" he whispered, and tried to smile. + +Kit ran for his bridge. Halfway across it, he heard a crack, and +looked back. + +He could not see the French skipper; but what he could see made his +heart sick. + +Boats, crammed to the teeth, were putting away from the +_Coquette_. Black and scurrying, they tore across the water +towards him, like rats racing for blood. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +BOARDERS + + +I + + +Kit rushed madly aft. + +"Here they come, sir!" he screamed. + +Old Ding-dong sat propped on his corpse, shaving a quid of tobacco. + +"Who come?" + +"The boats, sir--boarding." + +"That's the game, is it?" + +He shut his jack-knife deliberately, and arranged his plug in the corner +of his jaw. + +"Fetch me that ere boardin-pike. Now give me a hike up. Then nip below +and pass the word to Mr. Lanyon." + +As Kit turned, he heard the rip of the first boat under the counter +of the sloop and a sharp command in French, sounding strange and terrible +in his ears. + +Furiously he sped along the deck. As he bundled down the ladder, he +caught a glimpse of the old Commander, braced against the bulwarks, +and spitting into his hands. + +The boy dropped into hell. + +Down there was no order. All was howling chaos. Each gun-captain fought +his own gun, regardless of the rest. Billows of smoke drifted to and +fro; shadowy forms flitted; guns bounded and bellowed; here and there +a red glare lit the fog. + +Through the shattering roar of the guns, the rendings of planks, the +scream of round-shot, came the voices of men, dim-seen. Jokes, +blasphemies, prayers, groans, issued in nightmare medley from that +death-fog. + +"Chri', kill me!--My God, I sweats!--Pore old Jake's got it!" + +On mid-deck a shadow was pirouetting madly. Suddenly it collapsed; +and the boy saw it ended at the neck. + +A dim figure lolled against an overturned gun. As the lad gazed, it +pointed to a puddle beside it. + +"That's me," it said with slow and solemn interest. + +The boy trod on something in the smoke. A bloody wraith, spread-eagled +upon the deck, raised tired eyes to his. + +"That's all right, sir," came a whisper. "Don't make no odds. I got +all I want." + +A hand out of the mist clutched his ankle. + +"Stop this racket," gasped a voice, querulous and tearful. "I ain't +well." A stump flapped in his face. + +A ghost, sitting up against the side close by, began to titter. + +"Once I was mother's darling. Mightn't think it to see me now." + +A shot, screeching past the boy's nose, took his breath away. He +staggered back, and brought up against a gun-captain, his shoulders +to the breech of the gun. + +The man turned with a grin. It was the Gunner, naked to the waist, +and smoke-grimed. + +"Sweet mess, ain't it?" he coughed. "How d'ye like your first smell +o powder, sir?" + +"They're boarding!" panted Kit. "Quick!" + +The man leapt up. + +"Boardin!" he roared. "Board _ME!_ I'll give em board." + +He snatched up a chain-shot, and raced down the deck. + +"Up aloft the lot o you!" he howled. "Heaven waits ye there!" + + +II + + +As he flamed through the smoke-drift, the crew caught fire from him. + +Behind him in roaring flood they poured--black men and bloody, +snatching each the weapon nearest to hand. + +An aweful joy seemed beating up through mists in their faces. Time +and Eternity warred within them. Man, the creature, hideously afraid +for his flesh, strove with Man, the Creator, impregnable in his +immortality. + +Kit, swept off his feet, was borne along with the flood. +The fury of enthusiasm, which the splendid drunkard had roused in the +hearts of his men, had seized him too. + +His body was aflame; and his veins ran fire. Now for the first time +he knew what it was to be alive--Life spurting from his finger-tips, +making madness in his blood, issuing riotously from his lips. He sang; +he yelled; he laughed, battering at the lunatic in front. He caught +the blasphemies of his battle-fellows, and echoed them shrilly and +with joy. The light in his comrades' eyes revealed to him deeps of +being undreamed of before. His spirit was pouring through his flesh, +making glory as it went. + +Uplifted as a lover, the wine of War drowned his senses. In the glory +of doing he had no thought for the thing done. His was the midsummer +madness of slaying. In that singing moment how should he remember the +bleak and shuddering autumn of pain inevitably to follow?--the winter +of clammy death?--the March-wind voices of distant women wailing their +mates? + +"Jam, ain't it?" yelled a man in his ear, as they raced up the ladder. + +"Glory! glory!" sang the boy, beside himself with passion. + + +III + + +Aft and alone stood the old Commander, a dead man at his feet. + +Another swarmed over the side. The old Commander's boarding-pike met +him fair in the face. Back the fellow went into darkness and death. + +"Good old Ding-dong!" came the Gunner's rollicking bellow, as he stormed +up on deck, swinging his chain-shot like a battle-axe. "That's your +sort!--bash em! blast em!--disembowl the ---- Turks!" + +Behind him, out of the smoke, poured the men, red-hot and roaring, +like lava spewed up from the bowels of a volcano. + +A stream of boarders, trickling over the bulwarks, raced across the +deck to meet them. + +"Love and War! O my God, ain't they glory?" howled the Gunner, and +plunged into the opposing flood. + +One man he felled with his chain-shot; then flung it aside. + +"Naked does it!" he roared, and swept up a boarder in his arms. "Ow, +the luscious little armful! no good kickin, duckie! You've got to ave +it!" He rushed to the side, hugging his man, and screaming fearful +laughter. + +"Love me and forgive me, pretty tartie!" he roared, and smashed +his burthen down over the side. + +The fellow crashed into a ladder of boarders, swarming up one behind +the other. Back they hurled into the boats, a hurricane of men, one +on top of t'other. The boat rocked, crumpled up, and sank. + +The tears were rolling down the Gunner's face. + +"Quenched their little ardour!" he bellowed, leaping on to the bulwark. +"That's the style below there, boys! Go it, ye cripples! Give em the +little _Tremendous_!" + +Beneath him the sea was black with boats. From the port-holes of the +main-deck the wounded were leaning out, hailing round-shot down into +the boats. + +"Plug em! ply em!" roared the Gunner. "Red ot shot--cannister--case! +anything ye like only give em slaughter for eaven's sweet sake!" + +He was back in the thick of it, raving up and down the deck, sowing +death broadcast, his great voice everywhere. + +Not a man on board but seemed to have caught something of his heroic +fury. The purser's steward, primmest of Methodists, who was said to +pass his time in action converting the cook, came tripping out of the +galley, a black-jack of boiling water in his hand. + +"Glory for you!" he screamed, and flung the contents in the face of +a boarder. + +"There's the proper Christian!" gasped the Gunner, slammed +up against the main-mast. "Propagate the Gospel ow ye can!--bilin +bilge!--buckets o filth!--spit in his face if ye can't do no better." + +A tall Frenchman pistoled the little steward. + +The ship's cook, a flabby great flat-footed man, all in white, and +snorting strangely, bundled up with a poll-axe, and cleft the +Frenchman's skull. + +"It a chap your own size!" he yelled, and felled from behind, went +down himself. + + +IV + + +Up and down the deck the battle raged: here a scrimmage; there a single +fight; men at hand-grips; men hurling round-shot. They swayed, they +staggered about in each other's arms; they shocked, parted, came together +again. Dead men lay in the scuppers; wounded men crawled the deck; +and up and down among them the living reeled. One man, turned cur, +crouched under the bulwark with ghastly face uplifted, and met his +death, whimpering. Another, strangely quiet amid the dance of devils, +stood against the foremast, nursing a broken arm. Nobody heeded him. +They were too busy. + +To Kit a sudden madness seemed to have possessed the world. The deck +danced before him. He was bumped; he was battered; he was hurled to +and fro--a twig in a torrent. + +All was dreadful; all was dizzy. Strange faces with appalling eyes +rose before him; men breathing terribly flitted past. There was a smell +of blood and sweat in his nostrils; a sound of panting and blasphemies +in his ears. + +This then was a battle--not much like the stories! All the same he +wished they wouldn't tread on his toes so. + +Blindly the boy slashed about him. Whether he killed them, or they +killed him, he hardly knew, and didn't greatly care. A sort of instinct +told him the men to stab at--the dirty beasts in shirts who showed +their teeth. The naked men were his own lot. + +Once he heard a voice beside him. + +"Go it, little un! you're almost a man!" + +Then the Gunner staggered by, all black eyes and straining face, his +arms about a huge boarder, his teeth deep in the fellow's shoulder. + +"Rip this ----'s backside up!" came a gurgling voice. + +His hand went up automatically; automatically his dirk came down. +A mountain fell on top of him.... + +As he crept out a voice panted hard by, + +"Old man's down." + +Dizzily he saw the old Commander sprawling to a fall, a man on top +of him. The boy heard him grunt as he fell. That grunt angered him. + +"I'm coming, sir!" he cried, and ran wrathfully with bloody dirk. +_"Beast!"_ he yelled. _"Leave him alone!"_ + +There was no need for him to cry. + +The old man had done his own work from underneath with the jack-knife. +Out poked his badger-grey head from under his man, much as the boy +had often seen a ferret from beneath the body of a disembowelled rabbit. + +"So fur so good," grunted the old man, crawling out on hands and knees, +the scent-bottle between his teeth. "How's things forrad?" + +Forward the deck was all but clear. + +The remnant of the boarders, jammed up in the bows, were being hammered +to death. A last fellow in a red night-cap, swarming out on the bowsprit, +plumped into the sea. + +The Gunner leapt on to the bulwark. + +"Cleared, be God! alow and aloft!" he roared, swinging his chain-shot +about his head. "Ats off all!-- + + _God save h'our gracious King._" + +A bandaged head poked out of the hatchway. + +"They're swarmin in through the port-holes!" came a husky scream. + +Old Ding-dong lifted on his elbows. + +"Leave the quarter-deck to me and the boy!" he roared. "Clear the +main-deck." + +"Ay, ay, sir," answered the Gunner, racing for the ladder. "Back to +hell, the leetle beetches!" + +The old man looked up. + +"Any more for us, Mr. Caryll?" + +A boat swept under the stern. + +"Here's another of them, sir!" + +The boy staggered to the side. A grappling iron swung from beneath +almost struck him in the face. + +He seized the cook's poll-axe, and hacked away at the bulwark. Then +he put his shoulder to a carronade and shoved. + +"H'all together eave!" whispered the dying cook, and lent a feeble +hand. + +Over went the carronade with spinning wheels. It caught the boat +fair amidships, and broke it up like matchwood. + +The boy leaned over. Beneath him in the green and sucking waters amid +a litter of wreckage one or two heads showed, swimming faintly. + +Pale and panting, he turned. + +"I think that's the last, sir," languidly. + +The old Commander removed the plug from his mouth. + +"There's two things go to make a British seaman," he growled--"guts +and gumption. Maybe you've got both, as your father had afoor you. +We're like to see e'er the day's out." + +He wiped his jack-knife on his breeches, and began to carve his plug +again. + +"Now run below and see how things are going with Mr. Lanyon." + +The boy went. His passion had long passed. He was sick and weary. +Head and heart ached. + +With shaking knees, he tottered below. Had a party of jabbering +Frenchmen met him, he wouldn't have minded. He was too spent. + +But no. + +All below was calm now and silence; smoke-drift and dying men. + +The Gunner was standing at an open port, directing operations. + +His passion too had passed. The giant-hero of a few minutes' back +seemed almost small now. And a strange figure he made. + +The sweat had coursed through the rouge on his cheeks; and the dye +on his whiskers had run, dripping on to neck and shoulders. He was +naked still, save for his trousers, but wearing his cocked hat a-rake. + +The man at his side heaved a French corpse through the port. + +"That's the lot," said the Gunner, picking his teeth, and turned with +black and grinning face to the boy. + +"Well, sir, what d'ye think? me?--earty fighter, ain't I?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +AFTER THE FIGHT + + +I + + +All was very still on the deck of the _Tremendous_; and those +quiet men lolling in the sun added to the hush. + +They sprawled about in all attitudes--on their faces, on their backs, +in each other's arms, as though snoozing. And the snoring noise that +came from one or two of them enhanced the illusion. Only the blank +unwinking eyes of those upon their backs, the expression of the upturned +faces, and the wet red stuff smeared everywhere, showed that they were +not holiday picnickers. + +Aft by the binnacle a man sat up against the side watching with appalling +solemnity the blood pat-pat-patting down from a wound in his side. +He dabbed a finger in the mess, and scrawled his name on the deck, + + Tom Bleach. R.I.P._ + +"Tom Bleach--Remember Im Please," he repeated, nodding his head with +portentous gravity. + +A white and crimson huddle beside him groaned. + +The man of letters frowned at it. + +"How d'ye feel, cookie?" he asked. + +"Mortal queer," whispered the dying man. + +"It do feel queer, dyin," admitted the other solemnly. + +A French officer close by opened glazed eyes. + +"I too I die," he announced. "What then will I do?" + +"Why, pray God forgive you bein French," growled old Ding-dong, +propped against the wheel. "That's your worst crime." + + +II + + +The boy came up from below, deathly pale, the wind lifting his hair. +He crossed to the old Commander, reeling faintly among the dead as +he came. + +"Lanyon alive?" + +"Yes, sir. All well below," in thin and ghostly voice. + +The old man nodded satisfaction. + +"Starry fighter, ain't he?--Wonderful gift that way. Don't know as +I ever saw his ekal at a pinch." + +He looked up at the lad, swaying above him. + +"Feel funny?" + +The boy did not reply, leaning against the side, a far-away look in +his eyes. + +Then he burst into tears. + +"There, there!" said the old man soothingly. "Sure to come a bit +okkud-like first start-off. It's been a nasty beginning for you +too--messy fightin, I call it. Look at my quarter-deck! More like a +slaughter-house nor a King's ship." + +He mopped at his leg. + +"And all the shore-goin folk on their knees in Church all the +time!--Funny to think on, ain't it?" + + +III + + +The Gunner came up the ladder. + +A sack was cast about his naked shoulders; his cocked hat was on the +back of his head; and a tooth-pick between his lips. + +He strolled to the side. + +Beneath him the _Cocotte_, smoking like a damped furnace, +the blood trickling from between her seams, was settling fast. + +"Got her bellyful all snug," said the Gunner complacently, picking +his teeth. + +He strolled off to old Ding-dong, propped on his corpse beside the +wheel. + +"Well, sir, you play a pretty stick with a handspike still!--how's +yerself?" + +"Tidy," grunted the veteran. "How fur's yon frigate yet? I can't +see over the side, settin on my little sofia." + +"Within random shot, sir. She's got a slant of wind, and is crowding +all sail to get alongside." + +"Then we'd best be sturrin. How are we ridin?" + +The Gunner looked over the side. + +"Why, middlin deep, sir." + +"Then cut the boats away, and the anchors. Stave in the water-casks. +Heave all spare shot and tackle overboard--we need nowt but the boards +we stand on and the guns we fight; and make what sail you can on +her.... I shall bear away for the shore. Don't mean bein took at my +time o life." + + +IV + + +A breeze light as a lady's kiss smote the water. The topsails of the +sloop began to fill and flutter. + +Deep in the water as a barge, she drew away from her floundering +antagonist. As she did so, the privateer, as though loth to let her +depart unsaluted, barked a sullen farewell. + +A roar of triumph from the _Coquette_, clearing now on the +port-bow and a fainter shout from the frigate to starboard, told +their own tale. + +The mizzen, struck twenty foot above the deck, came down with a +crash. With it fell the red-cross flag, and the faces of the crew. + +"Hand me that striped petticut!" roared the Gunner, pointing to the +tricolour lying entangled in the ruins of the privateer's main-top +on the deck of the sloop. "I want to blow me nose." + +He leaped on to the bulwark, flag in hand; and staying himself by +the shroud, blew his nose boisterously on the enemy's colours. + +The crew, busy clearing the wreckage of the mizzen, roared delight. + +The Gunner jumped down, and spread the flag over the old Commander's +feet as he lay. + +"There's the first on em, sir. There's two more to follow." + +"Make it so," said the old man grimly. + +He was chewing a quid, and a battered cocked hat tilted over his eyes. + + +V + + +The Gunner marched away, eyes to his right, eyes to his left. And as +he marched, he swept off his cocked hat. + +"Chaps," he called to the remnant of the crew gathered grimy about +the after-hatch. "I thank my God for this booriful sight. Frenchman +to port!" shooting his left arm. "Frenchman to starboard!" shooting +his right. "Frenchman astarn!" with a backward toss. "And God A'mighty +aloft. What more can a Christian ask?" + +A shot from the frigate splashed under the bows of the sloop, sluicing +her deck. + +"There she spouts!" roared the Gunner, and clapping on his hat ran, +kicking his heels behind him. "Come along, the baby-boys!--the last +fight o the little _Tremendous_--and the best." + + + + +III + +UNDER THE CLIFF + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +SUNDAY EVENING + +It was evening. + +The little _Tremendous_ lay under the cliff, pounding gently, +gently, on a reef. Her back was broken, she had a heavy list to +starboard, and her bulwark was awash. + +The mainmast had gone by the board. The quarterdeck carronades, +loosed from their moorings, sprawled in the wash of the water, a +dead man floating amongst them. The deck was a tangle of wreckage +and bloody sails. From a splintered stump, more like a shaving-brush +than a mast, the red-cross flag still flapped. + +Astern of her, in the deep water, lay her enemies in smoking ruins. +The privateer, her foretop in flames, was dishevelled as a virago +after a street fight; while great white clouds puffing out of the +frigate's quarter-gallery told that she was afire. + +The sea wallowed about the sloop, green and sleek and greedy. There +was scarcely a ruffle on the water; only a huge slow heaving, as of +some monster breathing deeply, and licking its lips before an orgie. + +Firing had long ceased. + +Kit, squatting, his back against the mizzen-stump, was coming to with +splitting head. + +All through that golden summer afternoon the sloop had drifted +shoreward, privateer and frigate hammering her from either side. +Towards evening, her last shot spent, the frigate boarded. The +Gunner, hoarse as a crow, bloody as a beefsteak, had brought up the +weary remnant of the crew to repel the attack, Kit aiding him +manfully. + +Men had been dancing idiotically about the boy; he had heard the +Gunner's raucous voice close in his ear, + +"Gad, you're a game un!" and had run at a nightmare man with goggle +eyes. + +Then something had happened. + +Now all was calm and sunset peace, and dew on the deck among the +blood stains. + +And how beautiful it was, this strange twilight quiet, after the howl +and torment of battle! + +Warily the boy opened eyes and ears. He was not dead then, not even +wounded, only horribly parched, and how his head ached! + +Before him the cliff fell sheer and blank--a white curtain dropped +from heaven. + +Over it sea-gulls floated on dream-wings. While from some +remote Down village, church bells swung out the old song-- + + _Come to Christ, + Come to Christ, + Come, dear children, come to Christ._ + +The boy, lying on the bloody deck, his feet cushioned on a dead man, +listened with closed eyes to the old call. + +Last Sunday at that hour, the blackbirds hopping on the lawn without, +the swifts screaming above, he and mother and Gwen had been singing +hymns together in the schoolroom--rather chokily indeed, for it was +his last Sunday at home. + +All that was ages and ages ago. He had lived and died a hundred times +since then. + +Now.... + +There by the wheel, in a puddle of his own blood, lay old Ding-dong, +grey and ghastly. His eyes were closed; his cocked hat with a rakish +forward tilt sat on his nose. He lay with shoulders hunched, his legs +spread helplessly along the deck before him, stubborn chin digging +into the breast of his frock-coat. + +One grim fist was frozen to the shattered wheel; the other, grimmer +still, clutched the scent-bottle. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +THE VOICE FROM THE POWDER-MAGAZINE + + +I + + +A bosun's whistle sounded. + +On hands and knees the lad crept along the tilted deck past the old +Commander. + +"That you, Mr. Caryll?" came a husky voice. "I canna see over plain." + +The old man had not moved, but one eye had opened and was glaring up +from under the eaves of his cocked hat. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Are they coomin?" + +Kit threw a glance seaward. + +"The frigate's piped her boats away, sir." + +The old man's head, still forward on his breast, did not move; he did +not seem to breathe. All of him was dead save that little eye, cocking +up at the lad from under the tilted hat. + +"Canst walk?" + +"Yes, sir. I'm not wounded, only stunned." + +"Then run below to Mr. Lanyon, and tell him to bide my whistle." + +"Where is he, sir?" + +"Where he ought to be," growled the old man--"powder-magazine o coorse." + +The eye closed: the little ray of soul, still haunting the body, seemed +quenched for ever; but it was not. + +"And bring along a brace o round-shot when ye coom back, wilta?" came +the painful voice out of the deeps. + + +II + + +Kit slid down the companion ladder. + +The lower deck was half awash, and foul with smoke. There was a stink +of dead men, bilge, and powder. + +But what a change from when he was last here! + +Then sights so ghastly that he dared not recall them: screams of torn +men, rending of torn planks; howling terrors on every side, shattering +his head, bursting his heart, dissipating his mind. + +Now silence everywhere, beautiful silence, the silence of Death. + +And those leaping devils with the hoarse throats, who had barked +themselves red-hot then, were strangely hushed now. Loosed from their +moorings, they huddled, together beneath him half under water, like +so many great black beasts, cowed, it seemed, almost ashamed; here +a huge breech showing, there a blunt snout, and again a thrusting trunnion. + +As he crawled along in the gloom among blackened corpses he thanked +God for the stillness. It was comforting to him as water in the desert +to a man dying. He drank it in gulps. + +A sound in the darkness and silence stopped him. + +Out of the deeps a shuddering voice rose up to him, mumbling a Litany +of the dead, + + "Lord ha mercy on me a sinner-- + Lord ha mercy on me a sinner-- + Lord ha mercy on me a sinner." + +The boy crept to the forehatch and peered down. + +One tiny yellow star flickered in the pitch blackness beneath. + +"Mr. Lanyon!" His voice was frightened of itself. "Is that you?" + +The Litany ceased. Some one cleared his throat. + +"That's me, sir," came a voice from the pit. "I'm back where I belong--in +her bow'ls." + +The Gunner was squatting in a powder barrel, a lighted purser's glim +between his teeth, and a pistol in one hand. Kit caught the glimmer +of naked shoulders, the wet gleam of eyes, and the shine of sweat on +a face black as a sweep's. + +"I was ummin all the bawdy bits I know to keep me company," called +up a voice husky as a ghost's and cheery as a robin's: "It's lonesome-like +kickin your heels in the dark against the powder bar'l you're goin +to ell in next minute. Not that it's ell I mind. Ell's all right once +you're there. It's the gettin there's the trouble--the messin about +and waitin and that." + +"You won't have to wait long now," replied Kit in a voice so still +and solemn that he hardly recognised it himself. Nothing was very real +to him. Even the words he uttered were not his own: they were machine-made +somehow. + +"They'll be alongside in a minute. Commander Harding says you're to +wait for his whistle. Then--" + +"Amen. So be it. God save the King." + +The Gunner dropped his voice to a whisper, rolling up his eyes.' + +"Say, Sonny, are you afraid?" + +"No. I can't take anything in." + +"Nor'm I; and ain't got no cause neether," came the voice from the +darkness, defiant almost to truculence. "I only ad but the two +talents--lovin and fightin; and they can't say I've id eether o them +up in a napkin. They can't chuck that in me face." + +He spat philosophically between his thighs. + +"On'y one thing I wish," he continued confidentially. "I wish all the +totties was settin atop o that clift to see Magnificent Arry go aloft. +Ah, you mightn't think it to see me now, Mr. Caryll, squattin +mother-naked in this bar'l, but I been a terror in me time. Sich a +way with em and all!" + +"You might think about something more decent just now," said the boy +coldly. "Good-bye. I'm afraid you haven't lived a very good life." + +As the boy groped his way back, the parched voice pursued him from +the nether hell. + +"My respects to the old man. We seen a tidy bit together, him and me; +but reck'n this last little bust-up bangs the lot. I'd ha gone through +a world without women for its sweet sake, blest if I wouldn't.... And +now," came the voice in a sort of chant, "avin lived like a blanky +King I'm goin to die like a blanky cro. Arry the Magnificent always +and for h'ever!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +MAGNIFICENT ARRY GOES ALOFT + +Old Ding-Dong lay as the boy had left him. + +"Got them round-shot?" hoarsely. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Stuff em in my tails then." + +The boy obeyed. + +"Ah, that's better," sighed the old man comfortably. "No fear I shall +break adrift o my moorings." He slipped the scent-bottle into his +breast-pocket and patted it. "She'll lay snug along o me, she will." + +He closed his eyes. + +Kit, kneeling at his side, held a pannikin to his lips. + +"Water, sir. Will you have a drop?" + +"Nay, thank ee, ma lad. I'll bide till t'other side. Shan't be long +now." + +Kit drank greedily. He could hear the oars of the approaching +boat; he had at the most some two minutes of life, but O! the delight +of that draught. + +A hand grasped his. + +"Mr. Caryll," said the old Commander in strange and formal voice, "I've +sent for you upon the quarter-deck to thank you for your gallantry +in your first action, which is also, I fear, your last.... Can you +swim?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, then, slip overboard, if you've a mind, and make shift for +yourself." + +"No, sir, thank you. I'll stand by the ship." + +The old man grunted satisfaction. + +"Then say your prayers." + +He put the whistle between his teeth. + +The flag he had kept flying, nailed to the splintered mizzen, curled +languidly above his head. + +The old mail, dying in its shadow, eyed it with silent content. + +"Are they coomin, Mr. Caryll?" + +"Yes, sir--near now." + +"Lay low," whispered the old man, "and we'll bag the lot, God helpin +us." + +The sound of oars ceased. Out of the silence a voice hailed. + +"Any one alife on board?" + +Old Ding-dong hearkened, his cocked hat far over his eyes. + +That look of the Eternal Child, arch and mischievous, played among +the wrinkles about his eyes. + +"Cuckoo!" he muttered. "Cuckoo!" + +Kit giggled. + +He knew the ship was about to be blown up; but he didn't take much +interest in it himself. It didn't seem to affect him. Somehow he was +so far away. All that was happening was happening in a dream-world +of which he was a spectator only. True he felt a vague discomfort at +the heart; but he knew that in a minute he should wake up--to find +mother's eyes smiling into his, and her laughing voice saying, + +"My dear boy, what _have_ you been dreaming about?" + +The boats were drawing nearer again, wary as hunters drawing on a +dying lion. + +Old Ding-dong heard them, and smiled. + +The little _Tremendous_ was a sheer hulk; her back was broken; +her crew were dead--and still they feared her! + +The old seaman's heart warmed within him. That one sweet moment paid +him generously for fifty years of toil, of battle, of chagrin. + +And as though thrilling to the emotion of the man who had loved her +for so long, the little ship trembled as she settled deeper. + +The old man patted the deck. + +"There! it wonna urt you, my dear," he said soothingly. "Too suddint." + +A tricorne rose over the bulwark. + +An officer cast his eyes up and down the deck, swift and alert as a +bird. + +"Anybody alife on board?" he repeated, and in the vast silence +his voice came small and very shrill. + +He clambered over the bulwark, and came up the steep deck monkey-wise. + +At the foot of the mizzen he paused. + +Kit, crouching in a heap close by, noticed his boots, old, split across +the toe, dingy white socks showing through. He found himself wondering +whether the man had corns. + +Clinging to the stump the Frenchman drew his sword, and looked up at +the red-cross flag flapping sullen defiance overhead. + +"Dans le nom de l'Empereur!" he cried pompously. + +A whistle, swift as the arrow of death, pierced him to the heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +THE GRAVE OF THE LITTLE _TREMENDOUS_ + + +I + + +A roar drowned the boy's senses, sweeping his mind away on a +mountainous billow of sound. + +Earth and sea were a bubble beneath his feet, swelling and sailing; +and he was walking on the bubble, and toppling backwards as he walked. + +He felt himself smiling in a foolish way. There was no pain then about +dying, he thought with a pleased and remote surprise--only this silly +smiling content. + +Things hit him outside. He was aware of them; but they did not hurt. +His body was wood, dull to sensation. He himself was within somewhere, +snug and safe. He had heard the parson at home talk about eternal life. +Now he knew what the man meant. To be alive yet above pain, to be dead +yet dimly comfortable--that was the heavenly life. It was very curious, +and not half bad. + +And--he had been there before. When and where, he could not recollect. +But all was friendly, all familiar. + +Suddenly there came a change, and for the worse. A great wet cloud +swamped him. The light went out. All about him was cold, and dark, +and clinging. Was this the grave and gate of Death? + +He shuddered, and yet was not greatly afraid. + +Everything was so far away, on the circumference of being, as it were; +and he at the centre, safe and warm, was mildly interested--little +more. + +Somehow he knew he was in the sea, walking dream-waters; whether +conscious, or unconscious, in the spirit or out of it, he knew not, +and didn't greatly care. + +Grotesque yet beautiful impressions of things familiar flitted across +his mind. He saw his mother in a cocked hat; Cuddie Collingwood, his +pet canary, strutting the maindeck and picking his teeth; and Gwen +with a tarred pigtail, her brawny bosom tattooed with dancing-girls. + +She was making faces at him, the faces that none but Gwen could make; +and he was about to shoot his tongue back brotherly, when there came +another change, terrible this time. + +There was a singing in his ears; a sense of suffocation and appalling +impotence. He was rushing back to the world of sense and pain--in time, +no doubt, to die, when he thought he was through that trouble. Just +his luck! + +He was throttled, battling, distraught. About him was the rush and +smother of waters. A secret power clutched him about the waist and +tugged him back. For the first time in his life he felt the aweful +and inexorable grip of Necessity; and his heart screamed. + +Then with a bob and a gasp, he was up; the water in his nostrils; and +his hands clinging to a spar. + + +II + + +About him was a fog of smoke, and the throes of water in torment, +sucking, spewing, pouncing. + +Then a great swell, roaring into foam, lifted him. He was swung out +of the stinging smother, away from the shock and battle of waters, +out and out under the calm sky. + +Beneath him a sheer white wall rose. There was no top to it, and no +bottom. He could have screamed. It was so huge, so blank, so +incomprehensible. It fell from heaven. Was it the skirt of God? + +Then he saw the dark crest miles overhead, and knew it for a cliff. +He was right beneath it, and swinging towards it. + +Suddenly he became aware of a badger-grey head bobbing beside him +on the spar. + +"Hullo, sir!" he gasped. + +A voice spluttered, + +"Pockets sprung a leak!--tailor! ruffian!" + +A great following swell lifted them. + +"Hold fast, sir!" called Kit. "This'll throw us up." + +The swell drove forward, toppling to a fall; curled, and crashed down. + +Kit found himself on hands and knees, banged, dripping, dizzy, in a +hiss and turmoil of waters. The backward sweep of the waves almost +carried him with it. But his hands were in the shingle up to the wrist, +anchoring him. The body of water passed him. A thousand tresses of +foam reminding him of his Granny's hair swept across his fingers. + +He looked up. He was kneeling on a tiny strip of beach at the foot +of the cliff. On his left sprawled the old Commander. His knees, cocked +by the receding wave, swayed and toppled now; the legs wooden and +dreadful as a dummy's. + +Kit crawled towards him. + +"Are you hurt, sir?" + +The old man answered nothing. His eyes were shut, his arms wide. He +lay upon his back on the wet and running shingle, his white knee-breeches +sodden and rusty with blood, the square chin heavenward. + +Another of those sleek green monsters stole towards them out of the +smoke. + +In an agony the lad tried to drag the old man back under the cliff. +He might as well have attempted to lift a cask of lead. + +"O, what shall I do?" wailed the boy to heaven. + +"Why, cut and run," answered the voice from earth. + +Then the wave was on them, swooping, worrying, white-toothed. + +Kit did his best. Kneeling behind the old man, he heaved him into a +sitting position, and propped him there, as the tumult of waters +sluiced about them. Over the limp legs, up the great chest, the wave +swept greedily; but the badger-grey head stayed above the flood. + +Then the water withdrew, blind and baffled. + +Kit lowered the grey head. + +"Thank ee," grunted the old man, and seemed to sleep. + +Kit made no answer. He was watching the sea with dreadful anxiety. +Was it coming up? Was it going down? Were there to be more of those +smothering floods? If so, they were lost. He knew he could not +lift again that leaden old man. + +No. The worst was over. A lesser wave swept towards them. It tossed +those wooden legs, dreadfully sporting with them, and fled, snarling. + +The boy bent with thankful heart. + +"That's all, sir. It won't come again. It's the swell made by the +explosion--not the tide." + +"Ah," said the other sleepily; and opened his eyes. + +Seaward hung a huge toad-stool of smoke. Out of the heart of it came +the clash and cry of torn waters. All else was still, save for the +scream of disturbed sea-birds. + +Through the frayed and drifting edge of the smoke could be seen the +frigate and the spars of the privateer; and sticking out of the water, +a jagged mizzen--all that was left of the little _Tremendous_. + +As his eye fell on the splintered stump the old Commander lifted a +hand to his forehead. + +"Plucky little packet," he muttered. "Plucky little packet." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +OLD DING-DONG'S REVENGE + +Old Ding-dong lay at the foot of the cliff among the chalk boulders, +his limp white legs glimmering in the twilight. + +To Kit, kneeling at his side, it seemed that only the old man's slow +blinking eyelids were alive. The horror of it thrilled the boy, and +woke the woman in him. He was not repelled; he was drawn closer. + +Taking off his coat, he rolled it, sopping as it was, and stuffed it +beneath the other's head. + +Propped so, the old man lay in the falling gloom, head quaintly cocked, +and chin crushed down on his chest. + +"Are you comfortable, sir?" + +"Comforubble as a man can be that canna feel," the other grunted. +"My back's bruk. I'm dyin uppuds." + +Stealthily the boy took the old man's hand in his. A faint tightening +of the clay-cold fingers surprised him. + +The dusk was falling fast. At their feet the sea still crashed uneasily. +Above them the cliff showed white. Under the moon one red star sparkled. +From out of the smoke they could hear the sound of oars and voices. +Boats were searching amid the wreckage. + +"Ay, you may sarch," muttered the grim old man. "It's little you'll +find but your own carpses." + +He rolled his head round. Kit marked the shine of his eyes, the blink +of pale lids, and the glimmer of his face. + +"Look in ma breast-pocket. It's there." + +The boy's scared fingers travelled over the other's sodden coat. It +was like searching a drowned man. + +"Yes, sir. Here it is." + +"Hod it oop." + +The boy held the scent-bottle before the other's eyes. The old man +gazed at it, licking his lips. + +Then he rolled his eyes up to the boy's. + +"Kit Caryll," came the squeezed voice suddenly, +"are you your father's son?" + +"I hope so, sir." + +There was a thrilling silence. + +"Then take charge." + +Slowly the boy received the trust into his soul. + +"Very good, sir." + +He slipped the scent-bottle into his pocket. + +"It's all in there," continued the ghastly voice. "It's a plot, see?--to +kidnap Nelson. There's a gal in it--o coorse. Thinks she can twiddle +the A'mighty round her thumb because her face ain't spotty. Lay that +in Nelson's hands--and we'll see." + +The dusk was falling fast; the sea stilled; a breathing calm was +everywhere. + +"This here's Beachy Head. Birling Gap's yonder--where there's a last +glimmer yet. Don't go that road. Soon as the tide's down, round the +Head, and climb t'other side. It falls away there. Make for Lewes along +the top o the Downs. There's a camp o soldiers there. Soldiers ain't +much account, but they'll serve to see you through to Merton. And once +there, and that in Nelson's hands--I ain't died in vain." + +The hoarse voice grew hoarser. + +"And mind! trust no one; don't go anigh farm, cottage, or village. +It's an enemy's land all this side o Lewes. Gap Gang country, +the folk call it. They're all in it--up to the neck." + +"I'll do my best, sir," said the boy, licking up his tears. + +"And not a bad best eether, as I know," came the squeezed voice. +"And when you've won through to Nelson, as win through it's my firm +faith you will--and laid that there in his hand"--his voice came in +pants, and pauses, and with little runs--"tell him I sarved him all +I was able and give him--my kind dooty--old Ding-dong's dooty." + +There was a gasping silence. + +"That's my revenge. He'll understand." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +OLD DING-DONG HOMEWARD-BOUND + +The light was ebbing fast, and old Ding-dong with it. + +All was silence and a few pale stars. + +The old seaman began to wander. + +Scenes near, scenes far, drifted across his fading mind. Now he was +a tiny lad babbling in broadest dialect to his mother at the washing-tub; +now he was a pit boy yelling at Susannah, the one-eyed pit pony; anon +he was on the spar-deck of the Don, holding by the hand the father +of the boy who now held his. + +Then there came a silence, and out of it the words, clean and quiet: + +"I'm the old man Nelson never forgave for doin of his dooty." + +His brain seemed to clear. He began to tell a story half to himself, +half to the stars--the story of the incident of his life. + +"A'ter the Nile [Footnote: It was after the battle of the Nile, on +his return to Naples, that Nelson succumbed to the fascination of Lady +Hamilton.] it were--when we got back to Naples. Things got bad, very +bad. At last Tom Troubridge wrote to him--I saw the letter. Tom and +he'd been very thick--till then. Things got worse. It was in the papers +and all. Somebody had to tackle him. Nobody durst--only old Ding-dong." + +The wind gathered round to listen. A few curious stars pricked the +darkness above. The old man's voice was gaining strength as he went on. + +"So I goes aboord the _Vanguard_, and there in his own state-room +I says the thing that had to be said and I says it straight." + +Kit was listening intently. The strange blurred voice coming to his +out of the darkness moved him to his deeps. + +"Ooop joomps Nelson, raving mad. 'My God, Hardin!' he screams--'Ger +off o my ship!--_Ger off o my ship!_ GER OFF O MY SHIP!' + +"'Pardon, my lord,' says I. 'I've done my dooty as a man, though I +may have exceeded it as a sailor!' + +"He called me a blanky pit boy. + +"'A pit boy I was, my lord,' says I, 'and not ashamed on it; and +powder-monkey to Hawke afoor your lordship was born. For nigh on +fifty years I've touched the King's pay, and ate the King's salt. +I'm the Father o this fleet, and all for the Service, as the sayin +is. And I can't stand by and see the first officer in the British Navy +lowerin himself in the eyes of Europe without a word.'" + +The darkness hushed; the moon stared; the stars crept closer. + +"He struck me. Nelson struck me in the mug. I wiped the blood away +with my cuff. 'That's not the Nelson I know, my lord,' says I, and +stumps out. And I never seen him from that day to this." + +The boy could hear the old man's breath fluttering in the darkness. + +"He was mad, ye see. She'd gone to his head; and she's stayed there +ever since. Mad--as a man. As a sailor he's still Nelson--the first +seaman afloat, ever was, or will be." + +There was a thrill in the fading voice; a thrill of devotion +to the man who had destroyed him. + +"So he broke me, Nelson did, and I don't blame him: discipline is +discipline, all said. Told the Admiralty they could choose between +him and me--between Lord Nelson of the Nile, that is, and old +Ding-dong, who'd climbed to the quarter-deck through the +hawse-holes.... So they chose." + +The sea rustled; the night was sprinkled with stars. + +"But I've paid him now," ended the old man comfortably. "Reck'n I've +paid him now." + +Kit had heard the tale with puzzled but passionate interest. + +"What was it all about, sir?" he asked at last in awed voice. + +"Why; what it's always about," grunted the other. "One o them gals." + +He coughed faintly. + +"Thank the Lord there's been nobbut one woman in ma life, and that's +the one a man can't help. + +"What did I want with a pack?--trashy wives?... Nay. Fear God; fight +to a finish; and steer clear o them gals--that's been old Ding-dong's +rule o life: and it's the whole duty of a British seaman." + +The old man's hand stirred in the boy's. + +"In ma breech-pocket you'll find a Noo Testament and the Articles o +War--all my readin these forty year; and all a sailor needs. Take em +and study em. It'll pay you. Happen they run a bit athwart here and +there; but that makes no odds, if you keep your head. There's always +light enough to steer by if your heart's right. 'Christ's my compass,' +your father'd say. 'He don't deviate.'" + +The old man lay back, his eyes shut, the light on his uplifted face. + +About him was stillness, hushed waters, and the moon a silver bubble. + +In the quiet cove, beneath the quiet stars, after sixty years of +storm, his soul was slipping away into the Great Quiet. + +"I like layin here," came the ghostly voice. "So calm-like a'ter +the trouble." + +The cold fingers grew stiff; the eyes closed. + +Kit laid a hand on the old man's forehead, and stroked his hair. + +"I'm a-coomin," came a tiny chuckle as of a sleepy child--"Billy's +coomin." + +Seaward something flapped. + +The boy turned. + +At first he thought the Angel of Death was hovering over the white +waters on sable wings. + +Then he recognised what he saw for the flag on the splintered mizzen +of the _Tremendous_ saluting solemnly the dying seaman. + +Old Ding-dong saw it too. + +He raised his head. The moonlight was on his face, and the hand in +Kit's quivered. + +"Them's my colours," he whispered. "I never struck em." + + + + + +BOOK II + +_BEACHY HEAD_ + + + + + +I + +THE GAP GANG + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +THE LAST OF A BRITISH SEAMAN + + +I + + +The dawn-wind blowing chilly on the boy's skin roused him. + +All night he had slept like a child far from the world and its +terrible distresses. The weary body had brought peace to the worn +mind. The two had merged in sleep, neither demanding aught of the +other except to feed and to refresh. + +He was coming to himself with a sore throat and a shiver. + +His bed was hard; the bed-clothes had slipped off. He tried to pull +them round him. His groping hand found nothing but impossible lumps, +and stuff that trickled between his fingers. Why was he naked? where +was his night-shirt? and what was this small hard thing he clutched in +his hand? + +With a puzzled frown he opened his eyes. + +Overhead rose a dim white wall, a thin curtain swaying before it. At +first he took it for the white-washed wall of his attic at home, the +lace-curtains at the head of the bed blowing in the wind. Then a +slow-winged shadow, passing between him and the ceiling with puling +cry, startled him to the truth. + +The memories surged back on him. He knew. + +That white wall sheer above him was the cliff; that swaying curtain +was the mist; that passing shadow a sea-bird. The hard something he +was clutching so jealously was the scent-bottle; this still thing at +his side was-- + +The thought stabbed him awake. He sat up with a start. + +About him drifted a white and waving mist. It shrouded him, chilly as +a winding-sheet. There was no shore, no sea--only a hiss and rustle in +the silence; and this still thing at his feet. + +"Sir!" he gasped. + +The still thing did not answer him. + +The body leapt to his feet. He was alone; alone for ever in a blank +universe where nothing was--but the still thing! + +A sodden heap of clothes caught his eye. Last night; he had doffed +them, dripping as they were, and slept naked beside _that,_ his +head pillowed on a chalk boulder. The huddle of clothes, sprawling +there so unconcerned, comforted him. _They_ weren't afraid: +_they_ took it calmly enough. Hang it! he was as good a man as +they. + +And after all the old man was dead; and so long as he stayed dead the +boy didn't mind. It was the chance of his coming to life again, of his +stirring, winking an eye-lid, speaking, that he feared. + +At length he dared to look at the old man's face. A sand-fly was +crawling on his nose. The boy sighed. He wasn't quite alone then: the +fly was there, and the fly was alive. His courage returned to him with +a leap. He flicked the fly off with joyful indignation. They knew no +reverence, these beastly little beasts! The old man lay upon his back, a +rusty stream running down his white shorts. The salt had dried in +scurfy ridges on hair and face. His head had slipped off Kit's coat; +the little tail of neat-tied hair peeped from beneath; the eyes, wide- +open, stared skyward. + +Kit closed them; and the action cost him more than all his valours of +the day before. Almost he expected to hear the old man's harsh voice-- +"Now then!" + +The deed done, it seemed to the boy as if his action had eased the +dead man. The look of strain on the set and yellowing face passed. The +old man was tired: he had done with the world; he would shut his eyes +for ever on it. The kind wrinkles, deep-puckered about his mouth, +seemed to gather into a smile. + +Lying there with set mouth, and stubborn chin, in death, as in life, +he was old Ding-dong still. + + +II + + +Kit could not bury the old man: he had no tools. He could not stay +with him: time pressed. What he could, he did with the tenderness of a +woman, and the respect of a midshipman for the bravest of the brave. + +He arranged the body orderly, straightening the legs and pulling down +the coat. + +As he did so, he felt something bulky in the flaps. He looked. It was +a little old leather-bound New Testament, sea-soaked; and between the +leaves of it the Articles of War. + +The book fell open at the fly-leaf. On it three names were written, +each in a different hand. + + _Horatio Nelson, + Christopher Caryll, + William Harding._ + +A bracket bound the three, and opposite the bracket, in the same hand +as the first name, the words, + + _England and Duty_. + +The date was a week before St. Vincent. + +The fly-leaf turned. On the back of it, in the great vague hand of a +peasant-woman, rheumatic-ridden, + + _bili from mother + Xmas_ 1755 + _be a good boy_. + +Kit read the inscription with full throat. In his chest, awaiting him +at the Bridge at Newhaven, there was such another book, with such +another inscription, from such another mother--given him the night +before his setting out on his life's voyage, she sitting on his bed +with rather a rainy smile. + +The old man had left him that little sea-worn book with his last +breath; but he could not take it, perhaps the last gift from mother to +son. It had seen the old man through his life; in it were to be found +the Fighting Instructions which had led him on through fifty years of +battle to the last great Victory; in death the two should not be +divided. + +He laid the book on the old man's breast, and his sword beside him, as +he remembered his mother had done when Uncle Jacko Gordon died. + +What more could he do? + +It seemed an ill thing to desert the old man; to leave him alone among +the sea-birds. Yet he must. + +Putting his arm round the other, he raised his head; then thrust a +boulder between the dead man's shoulders to prop him. + +A moment he knelt beside the old Commander with closed eyes. Then he +bent and kissed the chill forehead. + +"Good-bye, sir," he said in breaking voice, and rising to his feet +saluted. + + +III + + +Old Ding-dong was left alone: his back against the white cliffs for +which he had lived and died; his head with a skyward cock; his gaze +seaward to where, when the mists rose with the morning, he would see +the Colours of his Country waving above those waters that he, and his +peers, had made hers for ever. + +The old man asked no more. + +Tired now, he wished to be alone with his sword, his Bible, and his +memories. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +KIT STARTS ON HIS MISSION + +The boy blew his nose, and set off along the foot of the cliff, the +scent-bottle in his hand. + +Beneath the chalk boulders that strewed the bottom of the cliff, weird +in the white gloom, a band of shingle ran like a road before him. He +took it, the shingle crunching beneath his feet. + +The tide was rising: he could hear its stealthy rustle beneath him. He +must reach the Head and round it before the water; and how far off the +ultimate point might be, he did not know, and could not see. + +Once round it, if he had understood the old man aright, the cliffs +fell away. There he would climb them; and he hoped to be on the top of +the Downs before the mist rolled away and the frigate, were she still +lying off the wreck, could send boats to search the beach. + +He was very hungry; but his heart soared. Youth, the great healer, had +done its work. Already the terrors of that fierce yesterday, the +tendernesses of that solemn night, were far away. + +He laboured on as rapidly as the backward drag of the shingle would +permit; at every stride clutching the scent-bottle to make sure of it. + +His was a tremendous mission. + +Yet surely it was not for the first time he had set out on such an +errand? alone, journeying through perilous lands, the fate of the +world on his shoulders. No, no, no. Somewhere, somewhen.... He had +forgotten; yet somehow he remembered. + +Well, he had won through then: he must have--else he would not be here +now. Yet not in this little life, these fifteen years of home- +experience. Death then, perhaps a thousand deaths, must have +intervened between him--and him. Such a strange mystery!--What was the +answer to it?--Was death a sham? was there no such thing?--did He, the +real He, go on for ever not merely in heaven, as the parsons affirmed, +but on earth? was this life of his One, One reiterated, One to +Everlasting, a tide ebbing and flowing between the night of Time and +the day of Eternity? these recurring deaths only barriers blocking off +terms of his Eternal Self? + +Digging his toes into the shingle, he marched on, his heart strangely +uplifted, the sense of his immortality strong on him. + +And besides, the darkness and danger lay behind. Discretion, sharp +eyes, and a nimble pair of feet should do the rest. Above all, his +experience of the last thirty-six hours had given him confidence, the +mother of success. He began to be aware of his own power. Action had +revealed him to himself. Responsibility now confirmed him. The boy was +merging in the man with extraordinary swiftness. There was in his soul +an aweful joy, the joy of dawn, the dawn of holy manhood. + +Rejoicing in his newly found strength, he laboured on gallantly. With +luck, he would be in Lewes before the coach left; in London before +night; and at Merton before Nelson sat down to breakfast to-morrow +morning. + +His, his, his, to save Nelson! + +And O, mother? would not her heart be proud? + +The mist grew thin before him, as though lace curtain after lace +curtain was being swept back by unseen hand. The sun, the colour of a +shilling, and as round, glimmered above the horizon. At his feet he +could distinguish the sea silvery-twinkling; and not a hundred yards +away the Head, bluff as a wall, loomed before him. + +His heart leapt.... Hurrah!... Once round that.... + +He began to run with noisy feet. + +A shadow stooping on the edge of the tide sprang up. + +"_Hell_!" came a sudden scream. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +FAT GEORGE & CO. + +Kit's heart brought up with an appalling jerk. + +He dropped behind a boulder. + +A filthy little scarecrow of a man, trousers rolled about his knee, +was standing in the sea, holding some one by the hand not ten yards +away. + +In the mist Kit thought at first that he was paddling with a child. +Then he saw his mistake. The scarecrow was holding a bare arm by the +hand. That arm thrust up horribly from the water: the body to which it +belonged was beneath the surface. Between his dirty teeth the man held +a knife. His business was obvious. He was spoiling the dead. + +A huge fellow with a tawny beard spread fan-like on his chest strolled +round the Head, a musket beneath his arm. + +"What, Dingy! got the jumps aboard again?" he growled. + +"I thart I yeard a chap a-walkin," trembled the scarecrow. + +He let the dead man's hand flop into the water. + +"Plenty o chaps--not much walkin," chirped a voice of one unseen. + +A treble laugh greeted the sally. + +Round the Head a boat came paddling. + +In it was a man fat as a sow, and not unlike one. Honey-coloured +ringlets hung down to his neck. He had slits for eyes, and the great +face, dough-like, was set in an ogreish smile. + +Kit saw before him in the flesh the worst of the nightmare imaginings +of his nursery days. He began to dither like a monkey in the presence +of a snake. There was a horror of the unnatural about the man that +turned him faint. Here was Mammon, Mammon in the flesh; and so close +that the boy could smell him. + +"Belike it's Black Diamond come after you, Jow!" wheezed the fat man-- +"to pay you for what you done to him night afore last." The shrill +voice, squeezing from that vat-like carcass, added to the terror of +the man. + +'"Twarn't me, I tall you!" screamed the scarecrow. + +"It were you, Fat George; and now you're for puttin it on me." + +The fat man backwatered in-shore; the smile set and horrible on his +face. + +"None o that, my lad, if you please," he husked--"that's to say if +you're wishful to stay friends with George--ole George, who don't +forget." + +Dingy Joe began to whimper. + +"I suppose it were me flashed my knife on the Gentleman too?" + +The fat man leaned on his oars. + +"Now," he said with manly frankness, "that _were_ me. Every man +answers for his own work in this gang, and none needn't go short. I +faced the Gentleman plucky, didn't I, Bandy?" + +"You faced him plucky from behind," chirped the voice of the man +unseen. + +Hoarse laughter from behind the Head told that the shaft had gone +home. + +Fat George held a deprecating hand to heaven. + +"Now eark to that, my God!" he squeaked. "I risk my blessed neck for +em. I'm the only man o the lot got the guts to stand up to him. I +tells him straight, I says--'We've lost our leader and our lugger in +your service, my lord,' says I, 'and now you got to--well square +it.'" + +"'--well square it!'" snorted the giant. "That's a pretty way to talk +to a gentleman, ain't it?" + +Fat George pointed a derisive finger at him. + +"Can't forget he was a gamekeeper!" he tittered. "Touch his at and +all, didn't you, Red Beard?" + +"And wish I'd never stopped touchin it!" shouted the giant. "Blasted +young fool that I were!--Thought I'd take a short cut to fortune, same +as the rest.--And where's it landed me?" + +He swept his hand around. + +"Heark to Red Beard!" giggled Fat George. "Quite the Methody man, +ain't he?" + +A gust of passion darkened the giant's face. He surged through the +water towards the boat. + +"--well square it!" he foamed. "I'll--well square _you_, you lump o +lard with the heart of a maggot!" He stopped, steadying down to a +fierce scorn. + +"And he would ha--well squared it only for you messin about with that +blasted knife o your'n be'ind him." + +"He would ha--well squared it only for you knockin the blasted knife +up!" shrilled the fat man. "That's the best _you_ can do. Pretty +set for a man to be 'sociated with." + +He bent over his hand; his locks fell about his face; and he rocked to +and fro like a weeping woman. + +The sound of angry voices brought others trooping round the Head. Some +slopped along in the water, others trailed along the edge. The eyes of +all were down, hunting for prey. + +Kit, watching them with shuddering heart, recalled that passage in his +mother's favourite Sunday book where Christian, at the mouth of Hell, +heard a company of fiends coming to meet him. + +He found himself envying Christian. An honest fiend was an honest +fiend; but these were men! It was their humanity, the sense of his +kinship with them, that seemed to make his heart collapse. + +And their names! + +Toadie, the squat brute, with the front teeth; Whitey, the albino, +peering and prying; One-eye, Humpy, Bandy and the rest--all labelled +like dogs from some physical deformity. + +Once and for all they slew in the boy's mind the Romance of Crime. Now +he understood what the old Book meant about the Wages of Sin. Death +indeed; death in life. He read it in their faces. Yes; it was all +true. These men _had_ done evil, and they _had_ come forth +unto the Resurrection of Damnation. + +And not so very long ago he had wished to be one such!--a highwayman, +a smuggler, a gentlemanly villain of some sort, very devil-may-care +and gallant, robbing the rich, helping the poor, waving a scented +handkerchief to the ladies as he rode to Tyburn, debonair to the last. + +Now he was face to face with criminals in real life. And what was +their distinguishing feature?--_Filth_. + +They had not shaved for days, nor washed for years. The stink of them +blew off the clean sea towards him. It seemed to his imagination that +the water curdled with disgust as the brutes slushed through it. + +A phrase of his laughing mother's occurred to him--_no soap, no +soul_. True too. + +He would have given all he had for a look at one clean-fleshed, clear- +eyed Englishman, smelling of earth and honest tobacco. + +"Listen to im!" grumbled Red Beard. "Might be Cock o the Gang the way +he carries on." + +The fat man tossed back his locks. + +"All mighty fine!" he shrilled. "But if you'd follow'd me, where'd you +be now?--why back in Boulon. And cause you didn't, where are you?--why +hung up on a dead foul leeshore: Diamond dead, lugger gone, the hue- +and-cry up after you--" + +"And our only ope in eaven," chimed in Bandy of the chirpy voice. + +"And how'd stickin the Gentleman elp us?" grumbled the brutal Toadie. +"I'd stuck him fast enough if I'd twigged that!" + +Fat George leaned forward. + +"What's the reward out agin him?--Thousand guineas, ain't it?" + +"Go on!--We'd never ha took him alive. You know his hackle." + +"Ah!" interposed the fat man, "but what d'ye think his corpse'd ha +been worth to the British Government? him _and_ the papers on +him, to say nothin o pickins for pore men, what nobody needn't know +nothin about--them rings, that pin, and the bundle o notes in his +tail-pocket." He combed his fingers through his locks. "What'd that ha +been worth? I'll tell you." He wagged a fat finger. "A free pardon to +h'every man h'all round, a free pass back to Boulon--" + +"And the thanks o Parlyment for what we done to the crew o the +_Curlew_!" piped Bandy. + +"It's God's truth, I'm talkin!" screamed the fat man. "And there's the +man what stood between you and it!" He flung a fat hand at Red Beard. + +The giant turned. + +"What, sell him!" he drawled. "Sell the man that made you; that +trusted you; that never turned his back on a rat yet--much less a +pal." He spat into the sea curling at his feet. "What was it old +Diamond says?--'We're all--traitors,' says he, poor old horse; 'but we +are men, only Fat George. And he's a--sow without a soul." + +A murmur of approval ran round. + +"You're right, Red Beard." + +"The Genelman were a genelman." + +"That he were!" came a chorus from the maingy crew. + +"Gentleman!" put in Bandy. "He were better. He were a--lord. I ought +to know seein I rode for one--afore my misfortune." + +The boat had drifted sea-ward, the fat man giving an occasional sly +dig. + +Suddenly he flung back into the oars. + +"Ave it your own way," he sang out. "Ole George ain't good enough for +you, I see. I'll say good-day." + +The giant jerked his musket to his shoulder. + +"Come in!" he thundered. "Or I'll plug a hole through that great +paunch o your'n." + +The fat man saw himself covered. He paddled back, grinning ghastly. + +"Avast there, Red Beard!" he tittered. "You're that asty. Can't you +take a little joke?" + +"I can take one o your little jokes about as easy as you can take one +o my little bullets in the belly," rumbled the giant. "Come in now. +Get out o that boat. You'd sell us as you sold the Gentleman. That bit +o wood's all that stands atween us and Kingdom Come." + +"Easy all," chimed in Bandy Dick. "Only one thing's sure in our +present interestin sitiwation; and that is if we don't ang together, +we'll ang separate." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +THE CLIMB + + +I + + +Crouched behind the boulder, Kit listened. + +Surely they must hear his heart! It was thumping so that he took his +hand off the boulder before him lest it should betray him by its +shaking. + +Black Diamond!--Fat George!--the Gentleman! + +There could be no question as to the identity of these kites. They +were the Gap Gang, and in desperate plight. Their lugger was gone, and +their leader dead. At sixes and sevens among themselves, they had +quarrelled with the only man who might somehow have saved them. Behind +them lay the gallows; before them the sea--and nothing to cross it in +but the lugger's long-boat, and that water-logged. + +Their condition was desperate; but what about his own? + +He could not round the Head. They stood between him and his goal. +Could he go back along the bay? He glanced back at the line of +headlands, shimmering in the sun. The tide in places already lapped +the foot of the cliff. And even as he pondered, a chill something +startled his feet. He looked down. It was the water, stealing in upon +him, quiet as a cat. He could not stay where he was. To do so was to +drown. + +There was but one thing for it--to climb. + +He glanced up. Things were not so hopeless as he had feared. The mists +were drifting seaward. He could see the dark crest of grass rimming +the cliff-edge above him. + +Thank heaven!--this was no longer the blank and aweful wall, hundreds +of feet high and sheer as a curtain, which he had found above him last +night. The cliff must have fallen away towards the point. That dark +crest of grass, shivering in the wind, was not so far away; and the +cliff itself was by no means sheer. + +The tide was already lapping the point. The smugglers had drifted away +before it. He could hear their voices on the other side. Now was his +chance. + + +II + + +On tiptoe he crept off the betraying shingle, and began to climb, the +scent-bottle in his mouth. + +A recent fall of cliff helped him, making a ramp. Up it he went, a +tiny trickle of dislodged shale dribbling away beneath his feet. + +At the top of the fall a mat of weeds had grown. On this he stayed. +The cliff arched out blue-white over him like the inside of a shell. +There was no hope there. + +He looked about him. On his right a narrow ledge, grass-grown, +trickled darkly across the face of the cliff, inclining upwards and +out of sight. It would give him foothold, and no more. + +He took it tremblingly, sidling along, his face pressed close to the +cliff, his hands finding finger-hold on the ridges and irregularities +above his head. + +The track led up and up. He dared not look down: all there was sheer +now, he knew, and the sea lapping among the dead bones of the cliff. +He could not look up: to have done so, he must have craned backwards; +and little thing as that might seem, it would have been enough to +upset his balance on that skimpy track. + +Up and up he sidled to the noise of trickling chalk, his eyes glued to +the white and callous cliff. His hands were damp and chill; his back +set against nothingness; his long eyelashes swept the chalk-surface. +He had a sense that the cliff was swelling itself to thrust him off. +It was alive; it was hostile. The leer he detected in the great blank +face pressed against his own roused his anger. He clung the more +tenaciously because of it, snarling back. G-r-r!--it shouldn't beat +him--beast! + +All the same his fingers were getting tired and sore. He was +whimpering as he went. The great horror was overwhelming him. He shut +his mind against it: still it crept in. Head swirled: brain lost grip +of body: all was dissipation. + +O--o--oh! + +The voice of one of the Gang rose to his ears. It steadied him; +recalling all that hung on him ... old Ding-dong's trust ... Nelson +... Duty.... + +The track led round a corner--and ran away into nothing. + +Retreat along that path or headlong death--these seemed his +alternatives. Of the two the latter appeared just then least horrible, +as swifter, and more certain: he had no need to look down to make sure +of that. + +Biting his nails, he listened to his own breathing. A tiny shell had +become incrusted in the great blind face, so close to his own. Putting +out his tongue, he licked it, and hardly knew he had. + +Suddenly he saw his mother. She was sitting in her particular little +low chair beside the fire in the Library, reading aloud a favourite +passage from her favourite Sunday book, Gwen sprawling at her feet. + +_To go back is nothing but Death_, came the familiar voice, pure +and tranquil; _to go forward is fear of Death, and life everlasting +beyond it. I will yet go forward_. + +The book snapped softly; his mother's eyes lifted to his as she +repeated, + +_I will yet go forward_. + + +III + + +Yes, if there's a way! + +On his right, some ten feet distant, a little table-land of grass +projected from the face of the cliff--the green top of a flying +buttress, as it were. + +Once there he could at least lie down and recover himself. And, unless +he was mistaken, the cliff above there was no longer sheer. + +But how to get there?--a ten-foot jump to be attempted off one leg at +a stand and sideways. + +Half-way between him and the plateau a bush with feathery green plumes +grew out of a crevice overhead. Those green plumes stirred deliciously +in the breeze; the little stem, thick as his wrist, and reddish of +hue, thrust out sturdily over the sea. It was three feet out of reach, +and above him. + +He scanned the distance. Without wings he certainly could not do it. + +A butterfly settled on a purple sea-thistle close to his head. It +poised there with fanning wings, so languid, so unconcerned. _It_ +didn't mind. + +A bitter anger surged up in the boy's heart. It was sitting there +flopping its wings out of swagger--to show it had them. He'd teach it +to swagger! + +He put up his thumb to crush it. + +Then he remembered himself. He must be just in this that might be his +last moment on earth. After all the butterfly couldn't help itself. It +was made that way; and perhaps it didn't mean it. To kill it was +spiteful--worthy of a girl, worthy of Gwen, as he would have told her +had she been present. That would get Gwen into one of her states. His +eyes twinkled, and grew haggard again. + +He observed the butterfly with extraordinary intensity. Its body and +wings were the colour of the sea; the undersides of the wings a +silvery-brown. The face was white, with large black eyes, and long +antennae. Lovely furry down clothed body, thighs, and lower wings. On +the nose two tiny horns stuck up.... + +He would have given all he possessed to be that butterfly just then. +Yet after all--could the butterfly venture for his country?--and would +he if he could? + +Suddenly the boy's soul broke through the darkness shrouding it, and +bubbled up, a sea of twinkling, tumbling light. Standing there, +clawing the cliff, death at his feet, Eternity within touch of him, he +laughed. + +At the crisis his humour, heaven's best gift, had saved him. + +_I will yet go forward._ + +A knob of chalk, swelling out of the side of the cliff, caught his +eye. He saw it, and too wise to pause for thought, sprang. His foot +touched the knob. He thrust back. As he thrust, it gave beneath him, +and fell with a resounding splash into the sea. + +But it had done its work; and he was swinging with one hand on the +stem of the green-plumed bush.... + +Curiously familiar this swinging in space with fluttering heart.... +Was it only in dreams?... + +The splash of the falling boulder set the gulls screaming. + +"_There!_" shrilled a voice, faint and far beneath. "_What did +I tell you?_" + +"_Take the boat, Red Beard, and have a look._" + +Kit, swinging, heard the dip of oars. Another second and the boat +would be round the Head, and he, hanging there, black against the +white cliff, as easy to kill as a fly on a window-pane. + +He reached up his left arm, swung once and again, and loosed his hold. + +He flung through the air, the sea glancing sickeningly miles below, +and landed on hands and knees on the green carpet. + +_Hallowed be Thy Name._ + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +THE CLIMB + + +I + + +_"There's nowt here,"_ called a voice from below. _"A fall of +the cliff belike."_ + +The boat put back. + +Kit stayed on hands and knees on the grass plateau, his forehead bowed +to the ground in attitude of prayer. + +He was sick with humility and thankfulness. + +Already the boy began to have that sense which distinguishes the great +man from the herd, swinging him over obstacles to others +insurmountable, the sense that God is with him, and therefore he +cannot fail. + +A fly was buzzing somewhere near. It comforted him amazingly. It was +earthy and every-day, that solid buz-z-z-z; reminding him of the +kitchen at home, fat Maria kneading dough, and the smell of fly- +papers. It steadied him as a feast of bread and meat steadies a man +heady with long fasting. + +Rolling over on his back, he lay flat, panting. + +How good it was to feel the earth beneath him once more! Faithful old +thing! she wouldn't give way beneath her child. He hammered her with +his heels; he patted her with his hands; he wriggled his shoulders +into her: all massive, all motherly, all good. + +Turning on his side, he kissed her. + +A while he lay there, arms and legs wide, eyes shut, breathing in +security and peace. Angels fanned him; strong arms held him up. Yes, +yes. It was all true. He _was_ loved. + +The sea rustled beneath him, flowing on and on. How happy it was in +its work! He could have listened to it for ever. The sun, labouring +too, was climbing upwards in a shroud of glory. It stared him fiercely +in the face, bidding him rise and get to business. + +He sat up and looked round. + +It was as he had thought. He was on a flying buttress of the cliff, at +his feet a floor of water, silvery-ruffled. + +On his right cathedral cliffs blocked out the light. Mighty-towering, +they made a white and awful gloom between him and heaven. The shadow +of them darkened his heart. Crouching fly-like there, he cowered as he +peered up at them. They were terrible: so stern, so white, so +inexorable. Had he wronged them?--They seemed to stand over him in +fearful and affronted majesty. Yet with the awe there came a pride, +the pride of possession. They were his, these tremendous battlements; +they were England's. With what a high and massive steadfastness they +challenged France! Surely they knew themselves impregnable. + +Beneath him the sea, a vast plain of silver-blue, merged in a sky +white as diamonds. The one drifted, the other was still; the one +sparkled, the other shone: for the rest there was no distinction, no +dividing line. Each ran into the other; and all was splendid with +light and life. + +Below, those dark dead men still scavenged on the edge of the tide. He +could have dropped a pebble on them. Dingy Joe's whine floated up to +him.... + +"_This cove's rings won't come off._" + +"_Ain't you got a knife, then?_" growled the brutal Toadie-- +"_talks like a Miss._" + +"_Say! look at this chap's lady-bird._" + +Bandy Dick held something aloft. + +"_He won't want no lady-bird no more. She'll ave to get another +fancy-man._" + +Followed filthiest jests on women ... love.... Such love! + +Pah!--Were they men?--The beasts were purer. + +The boy straight from his own white home and gayhearted mother +sickened as he heard. + +Hell?--What need of Hell hereafter for these men, when they had +plunged into it on earth? + +The words of a greater than Bunyan rang in his ears-- + +_Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin._ + +Servants! slaves rather; slaves of themselves. + +From his perch in the high heavens the boy looked down on them as an +angel may look down on souls in torment. + +An aweful anger seized his heart. He longed to do God's work for Him-- +to avenge. + +"_Vengeance is mine_," came a voice. "_I will repay._" + +He started back, amazed. + +Had he spoken? had the Lord? + +The lightning words flashed down out of the heavens on the self-damned +below. + +Dingy Joe flung up a ghastly face, screamed, and falling on his knees +in the water, began to babble about his Redeemer. + +Fat George took to his heels. Furiously he splashed along, yellow +locks flopping. Kit could hear him snorting as he ran. All his life +the fat man had been running away from God, the Great Enemy; and still +He was there. Some day He would catch him--Fat George never doubted +that ... some day ... but not while he had legs. + +How should he know that as he ran, God ran with him? + +The others huddled together like thunder-frightened cattle. Bandy Dick +cocked a scared snook, while Red Beard was man enough to loose his +musket at the zenith. + +"_Not yet, Governor!_" he shouted with a roaring laugh--"_not +yet!_" + +Fools!--they were living in the Hell they feared. Their punishment was +_now_. They had long been damned. While they lived God, the +Avenger, would punish them inexorably. When they died, God, the +merciful Saviour, would take them and make them clean. + +Death, the death they feared and fled from, would be their Salvation, +as it is every man's. + + +II + + +_I will yet go forward._ + Kit turned to a reconsideration of his enterprise. + +The top was far yet, but the cliff was no longer sheer; a precipitous +slope rather, patched with grass. + +On hands and knees he set out. The grass trickled down like a dark +torrent from above, cutting as it were a channel between two bastions, +sheer on either side of him, and naked as the moon. + +Up that dark trickle he climbed, and the sun climbed with him. + +The grass gave him hand-hold. The chalk was rough and shale-like. He +dug knees and toes into it. There was a constant dribble of stuff away +from beneath his feet, and once a little land-slide, slithering +seaward. + +Beneath was nothing but a shining waste, waiting for him. He rather +felt than saw it: for he dared not look down. He must think of what +lay above. Therein was his hope. He clung to it, as he clung to the +cliff-face, desperately. + +The sun blazed on his back. The sweat trickled down his face. He kept +his mind to his work, and his nose to the cliff. A bee with an orange +tail sucked at a purple thistle. Butterflies chased, loved, and sipped +all round him. O for Gwen, and her killing-bottle! + +Up and up; the sun fierce upon his back; the earth bulging beneath his +nose, the splash and ripple of the sea growing fainter and more faint +below. + +Blue above him, blue beneath, blue in his brain, blue everywhere, save +for this dull leprous white beneath his nose--blue emptiness, calling +him, clutching him, waiting for him. Would it never end? + +Once he looked up. + +He was climbing into heaven. + +The cliff bluffed up into the sky. He could see the bearded crest dark +against the light. Up there a pair of kestrels floated--two living +cross-bows bent above him. They were almost transparent and very +still: a tremble of the wings, a turn of the broad steering tail, a +motion of the blunt head, a swoop and a sway and a glint of russet +back. + +They had wings too! Everything in the world had wings but himself, the +only one who really needed them. + +Once he slipped, and hung sprawling over Eternity. The grass, tough as +wire, and wound about his hands, stood his friend. He recovered +foothold. + +On again with battering heart. The top was not far now. + +Hope began to flutter in his breast. It seemed to heave him upwards. +The way grew steeper and more steep. The stream of grass, faithful so +far, ended abruptly five feet below the top. Those feet were sheer, +the chalk darkening to the blackness of soil, and the crest of grass +making a rusty _chevaux-de-frise_ at the summit. + +Cautiously he crept on, his hands feeling the blank wall. Now his +fingers touched the top. + +He drew himself up. + +His struggling toes found some sort of foot-hold. The wind blew on his +wet forehead. His eyes were on a level with the summit. + +He could see over. + +A man was sitting by the edge. + +Kit could have stroked his back. + + + + +II + +THE MAN ON THE CLIFF + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +THE GENTLEMAN BOWS + + +I + + +The man was babbling French and weeping; weeping over a dead woman. + +So much was clear. + +His back was against the light. He wore no hat; and here and there a +hair caught the sun and flashed like the sword of a fairy. + +The dead girl must be lying with her head in his lap. + +Unaware of anybody by, the young man poured out his heart: the dead +woman was his little one, his darling of the chestnut hair, his petite +pit-a-pat. + +There was something so desolate about the grief of man, perched up +there between sea and sky, nobody near but a floating sea-gull, that +Kit almost wept to hear him. + +But he had his own affairs to think about. + +The man was a Frenchman: therefore an enemy. + +What should he do? + +As often happens, the question was decided for him. + +Suddenly the projection on which his feet had found resting-place gave +way. + +A lurch, and he was dangling at arms' length. His toes could find no +foothold. To drop even an inch or two was certain death: for he would +land on a slope almost sheer; and the impetus must carry him--down-- +down--down.... + +"Sir!" he gasped. + + +II + + +A face flashed over the cliff, eagle-beaked and beautiful. + +A young man knelt above him. + +"Hullo!" he said in voice of quiet amusement, peering down at the boy +beneath him. "May I ask what you are doing here?" + +If he was a Frenchman, he spoke English without a trace of accent. + +"Hanging on for dear life!" gurgled Kit, the scent-bottle between his +teeth. + +The young man broke into a ripple of boyish laughter. + +"Flew so far: then the wings gave out, eh?" + +He rose to his feet, and Kit saw he was wearing buck-skin breeches and +top-boots. + +Bending, he grasped the boy's wrists. + +"One--two--and--h'up she comes!" + +He staggered back, and fell with a gay laugh, the boy on top of him. + +"Thank you," said Kit between his teeth. "Let go my wrists, please." + +The man, lying on his back, smiled up at him. + +How strong he was! how young! and how handsome! + +Tears still bedewed his lashes, and his eyes had the sparkle and +colour of the sword he wore at his side. + +"What have you got between those nice milk-teeth of yours, Little +Chap?" + +"Nothing for you," stammered the boy. "That is--only eggs. I've been +birds-nesting. Let go, please. I must get home. I'm late. I'll get +into a row as it is." + +The other loosed his wrists suddenly; a long arm swept about him; the +thumb and forefinger of a hand like a steel-vice pressed his jaws +asunder. + +"Parrdon," said a voice, half tender, half teasing, the roll of the r +for the first time betraying an alien strain. + +Perforce the boy must open. + +The scent-bottle rolled out upon the grass, and trundled towards the +edge. + +Lithe as a panther, the young man pounced and snatched it. + +As he did so, Kit leapt on his back. + +"Give it up or I dirk!" he panted. + +For all answer the man fell back on top of him with the merriest +laughter. + +The boy's breath was shaken out of him. Two hands loosed his; and he +was left gasping on his back. + +"I say! did I hurt you?" came an anxious voice. + +Kit scrambled to his feet. + +"Give it up!" he cried passionately, thrusting out a hand. "It was +given me. It's a trust." + +"It's only eggs," the other reminded him, twinkling. + +"I don't care what it is!" cried the boy. "It's mine!" + +He was almost in tears, stamping his foot, much as in old days when +Gwen, a born tease, had stolen his woolly bear, and refused to give it +up. + +The man made him feel like a baby--he, a King's officer. + +"Forgive me," replied the other. "It is mine." + +"Finding's keeping, I suppose!" sneered the boy, ablaze. "You take it +by brute force--you steal it--and it's yours! And I daresay you call +yourself a gentleman!" + +"When I said it was mine," replied the other with the grave tenderness +of a gentleman dealing with an angry woman, "I meant it was mine. It +was given me by a lady. These are her initials on the stopper--E.H., +d'you see?--If I was to surrender this bottle to you, two things would +happen. My work of weeks past would be undone, and a noble woman would +be hung unjustly." He put the bottle into his pocket. "And now to +prove to you that it really is mine I will tell you what it contains, +shall I?--A letter on tissue paper signed A. F. Is it not so?" + +The flames in the boy's soul were beaten back. + +"How d'you know?" sullenly. + +"I wrote it." + +Breathing through his nostrils, Kit eyed him. + +"Then you're the Gentleman." + +The young man bowed with an action that was altogether French. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +THE DEAD WOMAN + + +I + + +He stood bareheaded in the sun in long black riding-coat and muddied +boots and breeches. + +"What's that red riband in your button-hole?" asked the boy in a kind +of awe. + +"That! that's the Legion of Honour." He came a step forward. "Put your +finger on it. That little bit of riband once lay upon the heart of +Napoleon." + +The boy began to tremble. That tiny square of red from which he could +not take his eyes had once throbbed to the heart-beats of the Arch- +enemy! + +"D'you know him?" + +"Little Boney!" laughing. "Yes, I know him." + +The boy listened without hearing. It was all too dreamlike. + +"D'you--d'you like him?" + +The other chuckled. + +"_Like_ him?--I don't know that I exactly _like_ him. You +see he's not what you and I should call a gentleman. Still he serves +me, so I serve him." + +The boy's thumb was to his mouth, baby-like. All his anger had passed. +He was gazing at the other with brooding admiration. + +This was the man who had kept three counties agog these two months +past! + +He was an enemy, but O! he was a hero. + +Strangely young too, almost a boy; tall and slight as his own sword, +the grey eyes big under dark brows, the face sun-golden and lean +almost to gauntness. + +"How _did_ you do it?" murmured the boy. + +The other's eyes clouded; the lids fell. + +"I could not have done it but for her," he said. + +Then for the first time the boy remembered the dead woman. + + +II + + +But it was no dead woman the Gentleman was standing over now; it was a +chestnut mare, the sun glistening on a coat that shone like a girl's +hair. She lay along the turf with lank neck, belly exposed, and shoes +flashing; strangely pathetic as a horse seen in such position always +looks. + +There was not a stain of sweat on her coat, not a trace of froth about +her muzzle. A plain snaffle bridle lay beside her. Her head was bare +and fine as a lady's; the eyes wide, the nostrils still. + +Strangely like somehow, mare and man; and about both faces something +of the length and strength of the eagle. + +There was one marked difference. In the man life still rippled +gloriously; the mare was quiet for ever. + +Born to the saddle as to the sea, the boy's eye ran over her. + +"What a beauty!" he gasped. + +"I couldn't have attempted it but for her," replied the other quietly. +"When the Emperor asked me to undertake it--'Sire,' I said, 'if I may +take my Bonnet Rouge!'... I tell you," he cried, turning almost +fiercely on the boy, "I've left Merton as the first star peeped, and +seen the sun rise out of the sea from here!... But I forgot...." + + +III + + +A cold shadow swept over him. Kit could feel the change--it was like +passing from day to night; and it chilled the boy's heart. + +Up there in the lonely stillness, sea beneath, heaven above, earth +around, the two faced each other. + +All the laughter had ebbed from the man's being. He was still and cold +as his sword. + +"D'you know what is in here?" tapping the scent-bottle. + +His eyes, frosty now, seemed to bore down to the boy's soul. + +Kit froze too. + +"Why?" + +"Because if you will give me your word that you do not know, I will +let you go." + +Those eyes of his were terrible. + +"Will you give me your word?" + +The boy was pale as ice. + +Death in cold blood here on the quiet hillside--death like a pig's in +a sty.... Ugh!... + +"No, thank you." + +"Then prepare to meet your Maker." + +He turned and fiddled with a pistol, snapped it, cursed in an +undertone, and thrust it back in his pocket. + +Then he turned again. + +The boy stood before him with dark eyes. Slight as a lily, and the +colour of one, he seemed to sway in the breeze. + +"Give me your word not to speak of what you know till after Thursday +next--and you may go." + +The boy shook his head. + +"I mustn't." + +The man flashed the hue of lightning. + +"Then I must." + +An arm swept about the boy. A hand at his waist was fumbling for his +dirk. + +For a second the lad struggled: then he felt himself helpless as a +rabbit in a python's grip, and lay back quite still. + +Once face to face with God, his heart calmed strangely. + +There was a horrible breathing in his ear. + +A face, all eyes, was bending over him. + +"_My God_! _how like a girl he is_!" came a far whisper. + +"Go on, please, and don't insult me," gurgled the boy. And as he said +it, his mind flashed back to Gwen: Gwen with her pride of sex, +standing before him, fists closed, challenging him to fight--"cad!" + +"What are you chuckling about?" + +"Gwen--my sister.... She thinks a girl's as good as a boy.... Go on." + +The hand upon his forehead quitted its hold. + +"I can't," said the Gentleman. + +The arm about the boy relaxed. + +Kit stood up. + +"Thank you," he said, and readjusted his collar. + +The Gentleman rippled off into laughter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +THE HOLLOW IN THE COOMBE + +For the first time Kit glanced round him. + +On the top of the cliff, they were by no means on the top of the +Downs. A great dun wave of earth, patched with gorse, surged up into +the sky before him. + +It flopped and flowed down to the edge of the cliff, swelling up round +and steep towards the brow, a quarter of a mile back from the sea. He +was standing at the foot of a prominent shoulder, curving away above +him. On the right was a deep coombe, the hill at the blind-end of it +sheer-seeming. On his left the jagged edge of the cliff ran up and up +and out of sight. Beneath him the sea was a sparkling plain. + +The Gentleman was kneeling beside his dead. He closed her eyes, and +kissed the cold muzzle. + +_"Adieu, ma mie,_" he whispered. "_L'Irlande n'oubliera +jamais."_ + +Then he put on his hat, and braved the sunshine. + +"Take my arm, Little Chap." + +So the two faced the hill. + +A question bubbled to the lad's lips. At last it blurted out. + +"How did they catch you, sir?" + +"They didn't catch me. They murdered her." + +The arm within the boy's trembled, but the voice continued quietly. + +"Yesterday I had words with some old friends of mine in the Gap +yonder. We parted in a hurry, and I rode up to the Head to watch the +fight--your fight." + +He flashed his grey eyes on the boy. + +"You were in it, weren't you?" + +"Yes--a bit." + +The other drew a sighing breath. + +"I'd have given all I had to have been there.... + +"From noon to sundown I watched the fight, and never stirred. My body +was asleep. I was aware of nothing but those three black dots, miles +beneath me on that plain of silver, spurting flame at each other. +Bonnet Rouge grazed beside me. And when she heard the guns, she +neighed, shaking her bridle. For she loved brave men and War, and knew +it too. Yes, she led the Green Brigade at Marengo." + +He came to a halt. + +"When they came right under the cliff, I couldn't see from the top. So +I came down here." + +He lifted his face to the sun. + +"And that was how they caught me--cornered me here--while I was +watching--the sea on all sides but one--and they on that." + +His face was dusky now. + +"Her whinny was the first thing that woke me. I turned to see her +coming towards me at a stumbling canter--like a hurt child running to +its mother." + +His eyes were shut, his voice strangely still. + +"They'd run her through--a lady--who thought them friends." + +A great vein stood out blue on his temple. + +"I wouldn't have believed it of an Englishman." + +He sighed profoundly. + +"But they paid for it." + +Slanting off the shoulder, he led down towards the coombe on his +right. + +The boy on his arm was trembling. + +In the deep bosom of the coombe was a green hollow. + +On the brink they paused. Above them a lark sang. + +A little circle of men lay round the saucer in the sun, the flies upon +their faces. In front of the others a big man sprawled across a great +black horse. + +He flung forward over the saddle-bow, face down. One fat hand was +crumpled on the turf. His bob-wig had slipped awry. + +There was no mistaking that bald red neck with the crease across it. +It was Big Jerry Ram, the riding-officer. + +The Gentleman toed the body. + +"It was this carrion. 'Got you this time, sir,' said he, grinning his +fat beef-steak British grin. 'Clipped your wings at last, I guess.' + +"I said nothing. I was mad.... + +"He was a brave man--an extraordinarily brave man. You English, you +are brave. But he was no soldier. He rode at me alone, handling that +sabre of his like a flail. We'd hardly crossed blades before he knew +his fate. 'You've got me, sir,' said he, splashing about with his +sword. I said nothing. 'Maybe I hadn't ought to ha stuck her,' he +gasped. He wasn't whining. He wasn't that sort. He knew he had to have +it. 'It was tit for tat: your blood-mare--my old Robin. 'Tain't +Christian, but 'tis sweet.' Then as he saw it coming--in a kind of +scream--'Through the heart if you're a gentleman, sir.'... So much I +permitted him. You see he was brave." + +Kit's brow was dank. The man's calm terrified him. + +"The others gave little trouble. They'd sabres; but only one had a +pistol, and it wouldn't go off--English-like.... + +"Then they formed a rallying group. Yes, they formed a rallying group. +You see they were afraid.... + +"It was no good. I walked round them with my pistols." + +Shuddering, the boy saw it all: the group of ghastly men, back to back +in the hollow; silence, butterflies, and Death in breeches and boots +stalking round. + +"Then they broke. They couldn't run: I could. I would have spared +them, mud that they were--but for her. + +"You see," his voice was still again, "I loved her." + +He dreamed, his eyes upon the hills. + +"Yes," he said, "I was terrible." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD + + +I + + +The Gentleman led up the shoulder of the hill, the tails of his long +riding-coat flapping about his legs. + +Kit, panting behind, admired him as he had never admired even Uncle +Jacko. The man seemed to know no fear, striding rapidly on, his enemy +behind him. + +True, the boy's dirk still flashed in the other's hand; but the lad +had his jack-knife; and his eyes dwelt on the place where he could +plant it home and home in that black back--there by the seam, where it +was a little worn. + +And the man had the scent-bottle! + +Surely a fellow would be justified.... + +"Now's your chance, Little Chap!" came the gay voice. + +Kit, betrayed to his own soul, sniggered and put the dark thought away +with shuddering disgust. + +The man was a gentleman, the man trusted him. Once he had saved his +life; and once spared it. Should he pay his debt with the jack-knife? + +The long-striding figure went up the hill as though on wings. + +Kit clambered at his spurs. + +Escape he knew was vain. As well might a canary attempt to escape a +hawk. + +The scabbard of the other's sword poking and peeping between his tails +caught the boy's eye and fascinated it. It had seen plenty that sword, +he would bet! What tales it could tell! + +How he should like to know!... + +"Have you ever fought a duel?" he blurted out. + +"Used to a bit. Not now." + +"Why?--d'you think it wrong?" + +The other flung back a merry laugh. + +"No, my little Puritan. I gave it up, because it gave me up. You see, +I never quite met my match with the small-sword. Or rather I did meet +my match once, but the beggar wouldn't fight." + +"Do tell," panted Kit, scenting a story. + +"It was in Egypt--during the occupation. He was said to be the finest +sword in the British Army--Abercromby's Black Cock, they called him. +He'd a standing challenge out against any man of ours who'd take it +up. Killed seven of our fellows in seven days, a man a morning, in +single combat, between the outpost lines--all fair and square and +according to Cocker, and the staffs of both Armies looking on. Sounds +like a legend, don't it?--The eighth day I appeared to do battle with +him. I was twenty-one at the time, and looked seventeen. It was to +have been the great day of my life--and was the bitterest. Directly he +saw me--'I don't fight with children,' says he, high and mighty as a +turkey-cock, and turned on his heel. I wept." He laughed joyously at +the reminiscence. + +"Curious how small the world is," he continued. "Five years passed-- +five years full of things. Then one fine day, a few weeks back, I was +over yonder at Birling Gap, waiting for a friend, when who should come +strolling round the corner, smelling of roast beef and Old England, +but my old friend of the curly pate and ruddy cheeks. I'd a minute or +two to spare. So I introduced myself, and we adjourned to the beach at +once." + +"What happened that time?" asked the boy keenly. + +"Why, Fat George!" replied the other. "And deuced lucky for Master +Black Cock too. You see, he was fat and scant o breath." + + +II + + +They had climbed to the top of the world. + +It lay spread before them, wide and wonderful; head in the heavens, +feet in the sea miles beneath on every side. + +On the brow beside them the blackened skeleton of a building stood up +stark against the light. + +The charred stump of a flag-staff pricked up out of the turf. On the +scorched grass lay a singed red flag and tattered pendant. + +"What's this?" whispered Kit. + +The ghastly desolation of the ruins amid the sea of light and living +green appalled him. Moreover he smelt death. + +"Signal-station," said the Gentleman, hurrying by. "Black Diamond +stormed it at dusk on Saturday night--just before I came along. They +took it and burnt the men inside. Black Diamond did the storming--Fat +George the burning, he and old Toadie." + +"Brutes!" hissed Kit. + +"I don't much care for Fat George and old Toadie myself," replied the +Gentleman, rather white. "They seem to me scarcely--what shall I say? +--_spirituels_.... Black Diamond was quite a different pair of +shoes. A curious nature--three parts sheer devil, one part pure +gentleman. I could tell you some strange tales about him." + + +III + + +They had turned their backs on the dark scene. + +Before them the land rolled away, fold upon fold, the sea encircling +it. + +Big Jerry's coombe lay vast and vault-like beneath them on the right, +certain dark specks in the centre of it. + +They were not sheep, those specks: Kit knew what they were. + +Over the shoulder of the coombe, a great flat bay, the sea white along +the brown edge of it, swept away scimitar-wise into the mist. + +The Gentleman stopped, his hand on the boy's shoulder. + +"Pevensey Bay! That is where the first Frenchman who ever conquered +England landed. Hastings yonder! Battle Abbey over there!--my name on +its Roll. Such a wonderful old Church!" + +He stopped abruptly. + +A ship, lying inshore beneath him, tiny on the plain of sea, had +caught his eye. + +He flashed round on the boy. + +"What nationality?" fiercely, and with pointing finger. + +Kit knew at a glance. Even at that distance the ship had something of +the dishevelled appearance of a virago after a street-fight. She was +the privateer. + +"Double Dutchman." + +A hand clutched his throat. Eyes of steel pierced him to the heart. + +"Frenchman or English? tell, or take the consequences!" + +"I couldn't tell you that," choking. + +A python arm swept about him. + +A face smiled into his. + +"I knew you wouldn't. And I wouldn't have liked you if you had. But--" + +The boy snapped his eyes. After all he couldn't blame the man! + +It was no quick stab that he felt, no maddening darkness that drowned +him; but a swift forward thrust that shot him down the slope of the +coombe. + +It was steep as the roof of a house. Down he pelted, headlong, his +legs attempting to catch up his falling body. In vain: head over +heels, rolling, bumping, tumbling, a ripple of mocking laughter +pursuing him. + +There was no danger, he knew. The bottom of the coombe was flat as a +floor, the cliff running athwart it a quarter of a mile away. + +At last he fetched up, battered and breathless. + +Above him he could see the figure of the Gentleman tiny against the +sky. + +"Forgive me, Little Chap," came a far voice. "I am in a hole, and have +to get out as best I can. _Il faut que je file_. Here is your +little prodder." + +His arm swung. Something flashed in the sky, fell, always flashing, +and stuck in the hillside above him, quivering there. + +It was the boy's dirk. + + + + +III + +ABERCROMBY'S BLACK COCK + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +THE FLAG OF HIS COUNTRY + + +I + + +The Gentleman had gone, and the scent-bottle with him. + +The boy stood on a track that ran among the gorse, and looked about +him. + +The wind was at his back, and the sun on his cheek. Above him the +brow, rough with gorse, swelled up against the light. + +He rushed up the hill into the sky. + +On the top, he hunted the landscape with anxious eyes. There was +nothing to be seen; no round but the zig-a-zig of the heartless +grasshoppers, merry all about him, and the thunder of his own heart. + +He swung round. About him, above him, below him, dumb earth, blind +sea, deaf heaven. + +What was his agony to them? + +His hopes died, and he with them. Here was the end of his mission and +the end of him. + +Old Ding-dong had trusted him--and now! + +Mother believed in him--and now! + +There would be no Lewes before breakfast; no London before night; no +Nelson to-morrow morning. + +A jackdaw chuckled overhead; a far sheep bleated; a great beetle, with +black wing-cases flung back, roared by. + +For the rest, all was silence and despair. + +He had hoped greatly; he had tried hard; and failed utterly. + +Above all he had not eaten for twenty-four hours. + +The boy sat down and wept. + + +II + + +About him in the turf the grasshoppers kept up their accursed zig-a- +zig. Little cads! At least they might be gentlemen enough not to crack +their jokes just now. + +The thought tickled him. He began to smile. Plucking a grass-blade, he +smote one of his annoyers across the tail. It hopped gloriously. The +boy laughed, and rose to his feet, his heart rising with him. + +After all he had done his best. Now he must get to Lewes and make his +report. + +He started. + +About him the turf was bare and brown. Here a patch of tall thistles, +hoary-crowned, stood out among grey bents. There a clump of gorse and +bramble darkened the turf. + +Before him a sea of long smooth hills, billow behind billow, rolled in +on him out of Infinity. It seemed to him that a giant wind had crept +beneath the carpet of green and lifted it. Smooth as water it flowed +down to the sea on every side. There were no trees, no hedges, no +habitations. It was the loneliest land he had ever seen, and one of +the loveliest. Here Earth, the Woman, rounded and beautiful, reclined +at her ease before him, naked as God had made her. How different she +was from that savagely shaggy man-land in the North whence he sprang! +But for a haystack like a hive on a far ridge, a fold in a hollow, and +the hillsides patched here and there with plough, it might have been +an uninhabited land. + +Here he was alone with the Eternal. + +A poet to the heart, the boy's soul rose within him. For the moment he +forgot his troubles. He was walking on the back of the world, his head +in heaven. Beneath him rose the sea, sheer as a wall. The sight of it, +dropped from heaven, as it seemed, filled him with awe. It was so +near, and yet so far. + +The breeze had fallen; all was still. He could hear the rustle of the +tide, and the chuckle of jackdaws. Overhead a raven flapped by with +slow-skewing head. + +Horror of loneliness swept upon the boy. He shrank into his body. The +windows of his spirit shut with a bang. Night came down. + +All was darkness, mortality, and fear. + +Somewhere at the bottom of the coombe beneath lay that ring of still +things. Behind rose the blackened skeleton of the signal-station--and +heaven knew what inside! He glanced back fearfully. They weren't after +him--yet. + +He took to his heels, and ran, screaming. + +A familiar face greeted him. In a flash he recognised it--a meadow- +brown come all the way from Northumberland to comfort him. That was +beautiful of the meadow-brown, it was Christian of the meadow-brown, +seeing the war to the death that he and Gwen had waged against it at +home. + +The butterfly gave its message to the boy's heart and settling on a +blue flower, began to sip leisurely. Dash it!--the meadow-brown wasn't +afraid. Need he be? + +His soul took charge again with a smile. + + +III + + +Over there on the left that sheer white bluff, thrusting out into the +sea, would be Seaford Head. + +Beyond it lay Newhaven; behind it somewhere Lewes. To get there he had +only to keep along the highlands. + +He held on at a steady jog-trot. The grass sparkled with dew; mushroom +bulbs shoved through the turf at his toes; above him and beneath all +was blaze. + +He crossed a shoulder, threading the gorse; skirted the edge of +another huge coombe, troughed out beneath him; passed an ancient +withered elder, squatting crone-like on the brow, and climbed a knoll +that rose up bald out of the gorse. + +He topped the crest, and stopped suddenly. A little dewy-eyed pond, +blue as the sky, was staring at him out of a saucer of green. + +In a moment he was on his knees at the edge of it, and drinking +greedily. Then he took off his coat and laid it on the edge of the +saucer to dry. + +That done he flung himself on his back to think. + +After all there was no hurry. Young as he was, he knew his England +well enough to know the reception that awaited him at Lewes. He could +see them about him, that cluster of Army officers, as he told his +story--stonily incredulous, grimly silent, some sniggering, others +jeering openly. The boy's head had been turned by his first brush!-- +You'd only to look at him to see his sort--the romantic sort, commonly +called liars! Great eyes like a girl! What did a chap with eyes like +that want in the Service?--Scent-bottle--loss of the _Tremendous_ +--kidnapping Nelson! Lorlumme, what a yarn! + +A clamour of feet close by startled his heart. He leapt up, expecting +cavalry. + +But no: it was a patter-footed multitude of sheep, who welled in +staring yellow flood over the edge of the saucer and down to the pond. +Behind them stalked Abraham, a black and white bobtail at heel. + +The patriarch wore a slouch-hat and old cloak, loose as a cloud. A +wild beard flamed all about him; and in his hand was a long crook. He +stood on the rim of the saucer and looked down at his drinking flock. + +Kit expected him to raise his hands and bless somebody. Instead he +spat luxuriously, and addressed his dog in gibberish. + +"Ge ou tha go!" he growled, and only the dog knew he was being desired +to get out of that gorse. + +Kit watched the man placidly. Instinct, which is inherited experience, +reassured him. There was nothing to be feared from this chap, and +nothing to be got from him. Abraham was shaggy, he was unintelligible, +he was harmless. + +In his few days' experience of life, the boy had already learned one +great truth: that every man is exactly what he _looks_. The face +always reveals or betrays. And in this face, wild with the wildness of +storms and skies, there was nothing but the stupid innocence of one of +his own sheep. + +The man threw at the boy one shy glance of a woodland creature, and +then ignored him. Another moment and he was stalking on his way, with +floating cloak, tall crook, dog at heel, a mass of yellow backs +rippling along in front of him. + + +IV + + +The boy stood on the rim of the saucer and looked down. + +Dim green lowlands lay beneath him, spurs of the Downs thrusting out +into them. + +Beyond, the bay swept away saucer-wise, the sea white along its brown +edge. From his feet a shoulder, dark with gorse, plunged seaward. +Beneath the swell of it, a level plain ran away to the shore, heaving +up there in a little hillock that stood out from the beach as a bump +of green. + +Off the hillock lay the privateer hove-to. Another boat hung at her +stern. The boy recognised it at once. It was the lugger _Kite_. + +Behind the hillock, upon the plain, stood a solitary cottage. + +At that cottage, lonely in a sea of turf, the boy stared long and +earnestly. + +It was flying a flag out of the chimney. + +And that flag--yes--no--yes--was the Union Jack. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +AN OLD SONG + + +I + + +He was off the rim and rushing down through the gorse with thumping +heart. + +True, Ding-dong had ordered him with his last breath to steer clear of +human habitation--"They're all in it," the old man had said. But then +he possessed the scent-bottle. Now he had nothing but his skin to +lose, and as things were he could afford to lose that. Here at any +rate was a straw to catch at. Moreover he was in no hurry to get to +Lewes to be called a liar. + +Of course it might only prove to be some loyal old lady, flying her +colours dauntlessly in the face of the Frenchman. Just such a thing +his mother might do; and there were thousands of her like up and down +the country--thank heaven for it! + +On the other hand it might be a temporary signal-station. After the +sacking of the station on Beachy Head, what more likely than that this +cottage should be seized for Government purposes and garrisoned?--his +own chaps too, sailors--not those swaggering snobs in red coats. + +If so, he saw his course clear as day. + +There was the privateer. Somewhere among these huge smooth hills +lurked the Gentleman, primed with his fatal message. Between the two +was one boat, and so far as he knew one only--the long-boat of the +smugglers. + +If his surmise were correct, and this should prove a blockade-house, +he would take the garrison, though it consisted of only half-a-dozen +men, attack the Gang, and smash the boat at all costs. + + +II + + +The boy plunged down the hill. + +The sun beat fiercely on his head, but he hardly felt it. + +Along a track that snaked through the gorse, he pushed his way, flies +buzzing about him. A shining gossamer lay across his path, bosom-high. +From it a web swung in the wind. At the centre, where the threads met, +a black and yellow spider, marked like a man of war, waited its prey. +The lad brushed through it with a pang. The spider's work fell about +him in ruins: he rushed for the gorse, and hung there topsy-turvy, as +though heart-broken. Hard lines certainly! He had upset the spider's +apple-cart, as the Almighty had upset his. But he had _had_ to-- +and so no doubt had the Almighty. + +He turned as he ran. + +"Cheer up, old chap!" he hollaed back to his friend, crouching among +the ruins of his home. "It'll all come out in the washing." + + +III + + +Fluffy thistle-heads, reminding him of Gwen's young chickens, stood up +out of the gorse all about him. The bunched blackberries were ripening +now: he almost expected to see Gwen's face, purple-mouthed, peering at +him from a bramble. All about him the silver-downed gorse-pods were +snapping like pistols. A stone-chat with ruddy breast spurted out of +the gorse, and flirted upwards. + +The path broadened; the gorse grew scantier. His feet crushed +sweetness out of the thyme. Here and there a young ash thrust up +feathery. + +Of a sudden he found himself again at the top of one of those almost +sheer descents to which he was becoming used. + +At its foot grew a hanger of beeches, already bronzing to autumn. + +Down he went, slithering on hands and tail, picked himself up towards +the bottom, and ran away into the shade of the wood to find himself +among silver-grey beech-stems. + +How refreshing it was after the glare, how rich, how dark! + +Till he was out of it, he had not known how hot it had been on the +bare hill-side. Now he was aware of the sweat on his forehead, and a +dripping shirt. + +Beech-stems rose in stately columns all about him. The floor was red +and brown mosaic, the roof a tracery of leaves intertwined with light. +Eastward the sun flashed as through a window. Close by a wood-pigeon +was praying. + +Out of the aisle once again into the glare. + +Now the Downs lay behind him, barren and dun. On his left-front the +rounded bosom of another beech-wood rose, in its midst a single +chestnut already rusting. Across the valley, behind a ridge, a blunt +church-tower and yellow-lichened roofs peeped. On the hill beyond, a +windmill cocked up against the sky. + +He paid little attention, making straight for the flag of his country. + +The cottage stood about a quarter of a mile away, conspicuously +solitary in the greensward, the Union Jack brave above it. + +The boy approached, wary but swift. Out here on the open plain there +was no cover. He was exposed as a fly on a sheet of paper. Still +things couldn't be worse--he comforted himself with that most +comfortable of thoughts. + +Some two hundred yards from the cottage a ruined wall ran across the +greensward. Behind it the boy took cover and spied. + +The cottage was very small; yet, small as it was it was grim to a +degree. The flint in rows, tier upon tier, grinned at him fiercely, +reminding him of a dog showing its teeth. The colour of steel, the +rows of set teeth, the shaggy roof of thatch, the flag ruffling it +from the chimney, all bespoke the same sturdy fighting character. +Indeed it was so small, and yet so truculent, that Kit laughed to see +it. + +Chained there a dumb watch-dog on the threshold of its country, it +seemed to be saying as it crouched-- + +"You can all go to sleep: I'm watching." + +Kit crossed the wall, and almost expected to hear the cottage growl. + +Warily he approached. As he did so, the warrior aspect of the cottage +grew upon him. It was less a cottage than a tiny fort. There were only +three windows, one on each side the door, and a dormer. The lower +windows though latticed were cross-barred; and the door of massive +oak, iron-studded, was heavy enough for a castle. Through it, ajar, he +caught the gleam of arms. + +Certainly this was no peasant's cottage. What was it then?--a signal- +station?-- + +There was no flag-staff, no signal-tackle. + +Some lonely smuggler's hold?--not likely: for there was the flag. + +Could the flag be a decoy? + +There was nothing for it but to go and see. + +He stole forward with noisy heart. + +The cottage crouched; the sycamores behind it rustled; and the wind +that stirred the sycamores brought to him the sound of a voice. + +He stopped, fingering his dirk. + +Friend or enemy? + +The voice was that of a man, deeply melodious without being exactly +musical, and came from beyond the cottage somewhere by the clump of +sycamores behind. + +It was humming a tune, and a tune the boy knew well. Holding his +breath, and listening with his heart, the boy could distinguish the +words-- + +_Jesu, Lover of my Soul_. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +THE MAN WITH THE SWORD + + +I + + +Those familiar words, so unexpected in that strange place, smote the +boy's heart. + +A thousand memories surged in on him. + +His lips trembled. A very little, and he would have fallen on his +knees. + +It was as though an Angel had come to him walking through the Valley +of the Shadow, to tell him all was well, and to go forward. + +And forward he went with thankful heart. + +The sea of turf ran right up to the wall, and broke against it. The +windows, seen close, were less windows than loop-holes, barred across. +On the sill of one was a pot of musk, newly watered, and very +fragrant. Within upon the wall shimmered a ship's cutlass, and a brace +of pistols. + +The boy peered in. + +A kitchen-parlour, raftered and paved with stone, formed the ground- +floor. At one end was a huge fire-place; in the opposite corner a bed, +piled high with clothes. A ladder led to a trap-door in the low +ceiling. The sun flooded into the room through the one window in the +other wall. The door on that side was half open; and behind it sat a +man. + + +II + + +He was all in black, and very neat: an Englishman, a gentleman, and a +parson, Kit would have sworn. + +His back was turned. The boy could see nothing but a black coat, a +pair of solid shoulders, and a curly head. + +This was not the hymn-singer to be sure. He was otherwise engaged. +There was something across his knees, and he was tending to it, and +talking as he worked. + +From his actions and his words, Kit would have sworn that he was +bathing a child. For the man was talking as women talk to babies, and +some men to the women they love--that little talk, half tender, half +mocking, such nonsense, and so sweet. + +Then something flashed and sparkled against the dark of the door; and +Kit saw it was no babe that lay across the man's knees, but a naked +blade. + +He was furbishing it with a chamois leather, and caressing it with +words. + +Now he lifted the blade on flat hands, and kissed the point +reverently. + +Then he leaned forward, and peered round the half open door with +extraordinary stealth. + +Comic as the action was, there was yet something terrible about it. + +Kit choked with laughter and fear. + +The man was half child playing peep-bo! and half spider waiting for a +fly. + +That vision of the Eternal Child, which he had surprised in the eyes +of old Ding-dong sailing into action, was manifest in this man too. + +Were men only children?--Yes, surely!--the good ones, at least. Only +sinners grew old. Christian never ages. + +The man's head turned a trifle. There was a smile flickering about his +lips; and in the smile was something of the ogre, and something of the +boy. + +It was clear that he meant to kill; equally clear that he took joy in +his purpose. + +He sat down again; and as he did so held up a finger, hushing himself. + +He was playing a game, unaware that he was being watched, and enjoying +it intensely. + +Behind the door he sat now, blade in hand, spider-still. + +Plainly he was waiting for somebody. + +But for whom?--and what would happen when that somebody came? + +The door opened another inch or two, and through it, Kit saw the +privateer, black on the white water. + +In a flash he understood. + +The man was waiting for the French. + + +III + + +The humour of the thing--this lonely swordsman lying in wait behind +the door for the crew of the privateer--seized the boy by the throat. +The laughter poured out of him headlong. + +The man leapt round, dark-faced and terrible. In a twinkle he was +across the floor, wary as a panther. + +The door opened. + +Out he came, thrusting stealthily, his blade leading him. His flanks +were covered, himself almost unseen in the dark of the door. + +Whatever else the man might be, he was a soldier born. + +Then he saw the boy and halted on the threshold. + +A man more aggressively English Kit thought he had never seen. + +Forty or thereabouts, five feet ten high, and perfectly compact: he +wore no wig, and his hair broke in crisp grey curls all about his +head: a ruddy face, fighting jowl, and blue eyes, kindled with equal +ease to savagery or smiles. + +The boy's heart leapt to those eyes, as it leapt to the first blossom +starring the black-thorn after winter's desolation. There was hope in +them, the hope of Spring. + +The man smelt of roast beef and Old England. + +Kit loved him at a glance. And was he a stranger?--Had he not fought +with this man, hunted with him, died with him a thousand times of old? +Had they not stood shoulder to shoulder, and back to back, in many a +desperate venture in the past that haunted him? Had he not tried him +time and again on the anvil of hard experience, always to find that he +rang true? Would he fail him now at his need, this old comrade, who +had never failed him before? No. That old sense of the familiarity of +all experience swept in on him with staggering force. + +Drawn as in a dream, he stepped forward and took the other's hand. + +"Friend," he said. + +The man lowered his point. His eyes drank in the boy's face. + +"So be it," he answered, twinkling. + +The blue eyes lived in the brown ones; the hands gripped. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +THE BROKEN SQUARE + +"My name is Caryll--Christopher Caryll." + +The other nodded over him. + +"Christopher Caryll, called by his mother Kit: an officer of the Sea +Service, eh?" + +The boy's eyes brightened. + +"Yes, sir. How did you know?" + +"I remember a Kit Caryll by name in the Mediterranean in the nineties. +And I ought to know the King's uniform, seeing I was a King's officer +myself before I took orders." + +"A sailor?" + +"Sailor be d'd!" cried the Parson, heartily. "I'd sooner be a cod- +fish. No, sir, no: I hate the sea like I hate the French. D'you think +if the Almighty had meant me for the water, He'd have troubled to give +me that?" He thrust forth his right leg, and dwelt fondly on the calf, +contracting and relaxing it. + +"But I forget my manners." + +He bent over his blade with tenderest chivalry. + +"Will you allow me," with a sweep, "to introduce to your ladyship a +young gentleman of the sister Service? Mr. Caryll--Lady Polly Kiss-me- +quick." + +He averted the sword, and shielding his mouth, whispered +confidentially-- + +"The sweetest of her sex, Mr. Caryll, but that hot after the men you +wouldn't believe." + +Kit threw back his head and gurgled. Only fifteen, and man enough not +to be ashamed to be a boy, he still loved make-believe. And his heart +went out to this man, who was after all a brother-boy. + +"No, I wasn't a sailor. I had my company in the King's Black +Borderers," continued the Parson--"the old Blackguards, as they call +us, of whom you may have heard." + +The boy's eyes flashed. + +"I should think I had!" he cried. "It was a brute in the Borderers +nearly killed my Uncle Jacko in a duel--in Corsica--in '94. A chap +called Joy. He was a notorious bully--a cursing swearing fellow. +After-wards he died of drink, mother says. Uncle Jacko was her +favourite brother." + +The other's face had chilled. + +"And what was mother's favourite brother's name--if I may ask?" + +"Gordon, sir--Jacko Gordon." + +"Jacko Gordon--the Horse-Gunner!" laughed the Parson. "Ha! ha! ha!" + +"Did you know him, sir?" + +The Parson tossed his Polly in the air, and caught her deftly. + +"Did we know him? did we not? You remember Jacko Gordon, my lady?--and +the sands of Calvi?" + +"That was where the bully fought him!" cried Kit. "Ran him through the +fore-arm when he wasn't ready." + +A dark breeze swept across the other's face. + +"He was ready; and it was not the fore-arm," he replied with icy +chilliness. "It was the wrist; was it not, my own?" bending over his +blade.... "Yes; he had a lovely wrist--until she kissed it...." He +shrugged. "But what would you?--'Calves!' says he; and it was before +the mess-tent--' d'you call those things? yours calves?'--'And what +d'you call em yourself?' says I, mighty polite. 'Why, _cows in +calf!'_ says he, and swaggers off with a silly guffaw. + +"After that there was nothing for it but the usual of course. I ran +him through the wrist. He dropped his blade.... + +"'D'you withdraw?' says I, she straining for his heart. + +"'What I have said, I have said,' he answered, white as silver and +steady as the firmament. + +"Then little man Nelson knocked up my sword-- + +"'That'll do, Black Cock,' says he. 'A joke's a joke; but a brave +man's death's a mighty bad joke. She's a little blood-sucker that lady +o yours.' And nobody but Nelson'd ha dared to say it." + + +II + + +The boy was staring hard. + +"Did they call you Black Cock, sir? Abercromby's Black Cock?" + +"That's me, sir, at your service," replied the Parson--"Joy of Battle +in the Regiment, Abercromby's Black Cock in the Army. What of it?" + +"I met a man who knew you this morning." + +The other's eyes leapt. + +"Chap with a beak on a chestnut!--handsome young scoundrel!-- +Frenchified, theatrical, bit o red riband stuck on his stomach." + +"That's the man, sir." + +"Well, what of him?--Quick!" + +Kit repeated the tale of Egypt, as the Gentleman had told it. + +The other listened with rapt interest. + +"It's all true," he said, "true as the Bible." + +He was pacing up and down, his hands behind him. + +"There was a time in my life," he began at last "when I had--er--the +regrettable habit of--er--using foul language, as your Uncle Jacko may +have told you. Never filthy language! never that. I always swore like +a gentleman. Chucked the d's and b's and g's about a bit too merry. +Well, one day--it was in Egypt--I was carrying on a bit, when a pious +sort of ass I knew at home, who was standing by, said--'I wonder what +your mother'd think if she heard you now, Harry Joy.' So after I'd +given him some for imself, I went back to my tent and thought a bit. + +"You see I'd just heard from home that poor old mother was failing. And +I couldn't help thinking--Now supposing she dies, and first thing she +hears when she gets to heaven is her boy loosing off on earth!... + +"So I took an oath Samson-style, and I prayed I and I said--'Look +here, Lord, if you'll look over what's past, and help me keep a clean +tongue in future, I'll kill you a Frenchman a day for seven days....' + +"So I sent a challenge into their lines. There was nothing stirring +just then, and they took the thing up very readily. The business took +place before reveille out in the desert, between the out-post lines at +a place they got to call the cock-pit. All the bloods and bucks on +both sides used to come out to see the fun. It was the regular thing-- +to see Black Cock breakfast.... + +"Well, on the seventh morning as they were carting their chap away, +and I was wiping my sword, a swaggering great Cuirassier turned round +and shouted, + +"'To-morrow we bring David to slay your Goliath!' + +"'D'you hear that, Black Cock?' says Olifant, the Guardsman. 'Are you +game?'--'I'm not tired, if they ain't,' says I." + +His blue eyes began to twinkle. + +"Next dawn, when I got to the Cock-pit, and saw their champion, why, +he was a boy!--a boy like a girl!--one of these pretty pink and white +things, all eyes and legs and a silly smile. 'I am David,' says he. +'Then go back to Jesse,' says I, pretty short. 'I don't fight with +kids.'... And that afternoon I sent him a bottle of milk with my +compliments." + +The Parson stopped his pacing, and looked the boy in the eyes. + +"Next day they broke us, sir,--broke the Black Borderers in square." + +"Who did?" + +The Parson was breathing deep, and his eyes were smouldering. + +"The Legion d'Irlande. No other regiment in the world could have got +in; and once in, no other regiment in the world but ours could have +got em out, though I say it as shouldn't." + +Voice and eyes burst into thunder and flame. + +"And who led em? Why, my boy-girl friend storming along on an old +white Arab, and laughing like the devil. 'Here, they come!' yells the +Colonel. _'Prepare for--Cavalree!'_ I jumped on to the big drum, +and had a squint over the men's heads. Lor! I can see the dust of em +now--like a mighty great wave sweeping across the desert, and the boy +on the white Arab coming along like an earthquake six lengths before +the lot. It sent me screaming mad to see em. 'Come on, ye dirty black- +a-mouths!' I screeched. 'Irish stew for the rebel brigade!' 'Hullo, +Black Cock!' he cried, and I saw him grinning through the dust. 'I'm +going to cut your comb.' And he took the old horse by head, and rammed +him at us--slap-bang, like riding at a bull-finch; and the whole +blanky lot after him." + +The Parson was stamping up and down, roaring out his story, his eyes +laughing and battle-lusty. + +"Such a hell of a hugger-mugger you never saw! They rolled in on us +like the sea. Rough and tumble every man for himself--stab somebody-- +don't matter who!" He paused to pant. "It was the day of my life. The +Colonel was down; the Majors were dead; the Captains heaven-knows- +where. Our old Raven banner, that we took from their Black Horse at +Dettingen was in the dust, the Junior Ensign tumbled up in it all +anyhow. 'Got it, Miss B.?' I cried. 'Here!' squeals the poor little +chap. 'Heave her up!' Then a horse jumped on him, and put him out of +his pain. + +"I got the old rag up somehow. 'Round this, men!' I yelled, jumping on +the Colonel's dead charger. Get round, ye blanky blanks!' Then I saw +this boy-girl chap grinning above me. 'Slash away!' I roared. 'Here's +one for yourself!' and I jabbed the staff in his mug. 'No,' says he, +as jolly as you like, 'I don't fight with poultry!' And dam-my-soul!-- +if he don't sneak his hand under the rag and tweak my nose!--this +nose!" the Parson squeaked, tapping it--"this nose upon this face! +this nose I'm talking to you out o now! And he jumped that wallopin +old white out the way he came. 'Come along, children,' says he. +'You've had quite enough for one meal.' And away he goes, laughing +like the devil, his blessed pathriots after him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +FIGHTING FITZ + +The tempest in the Parson's wrathful blue eyes subsided. + +"Yes, that was my first real meeting with Fighting Fitz." + +"Was that Fighting Fitz?" cried the boy, ablaze. + +He had heard, as who had not, of the brilliant young Irishman whom +Napoleon had called the first light cavalryman in Europe after +Marengo. + +"That was Fighting Fitz of Green Brigade fame," said the Parson, +mopping his forehead. "We knew him as the Boy Sabreur in Egypt. Even +then it was said that no woman could resist him, and no man stand up +against him. He went out with young de Beauharnais, Boney's step-son, +and ran him through the body; and he carried on an intrigue with ... +but there! there!... When he was First Consul, Boney decorated him +before the Army, and disgraced him within the year. They said the +little Corporal began to be jealous: the men worshipped Fitz.... +Anyway I know it'll be the regret of my life that I missed my chance +when I first met him." He sighed profoundly. + +"But you met him again, didn't you, sir?" + +The Parson nodded. + +"Last month. I was up on Beachy Head with the spy-glass, when I saw +the _Kite_ beating up for Cuckmere Haven. So I ran down to +Birling Gap thinking--thinking--" he coughed--"she might a--a--be +bringing me a little present from France--a bit o bacca, or dallop o +tea, or what not, ye know.... What ye say?" + +He turned on the boy savagely. + +"I didn't say anything," replied Kit, astonished. + +The Parson scowled. + +"Well, as I swung round into the cutting I nearly ran into a chap on a +chestnut--quite the Corinthian, with a bit o red riband stuck on his +stomach. I brought up sharp on my heels. + +"'Well, my fine fellow,' thinks I, 'what you posing here for?--and +why's that mare in a lather?' But before I could say anything-- + +"'Hullo!' says he, 'I think I should know that nose.' + +"'What ye mean?' says I, pretty sharp. + +"'Why,' says he, 'I once had the pleasure of pulling it.' + +"Then he laughed. And directly he laughed of course I knew. + +"I put my hand upon my sword. + +"'And what you doing attitudinising in _my_ land, my lord?' says +I, the bristles at the back of my neck rising. 'Play-acting your +Caesar about to conquer Britain by the look o you!' + +"'Why, your Majesty,' says he, 'I'm out for a ride on _your_ +land.' + +"I gave him a look. + +"'Shall we adjourn to the beach?' says I. + +"'Charmed,' says he--'if I'm not too young.' + +"And he cocked his leg over the mare's withers, and slid down. 'Now, +old lady!' says he. 'You know your own way.' And he gave her a spank; +and off she went with a make-believe kick at him, up the hillside and +out of sight. + +"We went down to the beach, and took our coats off." + +The Parson's eyes began to twinkle. + +"Yes: the bully had met his match for once--and a bit more. After a +very few minutes that was clear. 'How d'you feel?' says he. 'Why, +right as rain,' I panted. But I knew he had me. And I knew by the look +in his eyes he knew it too. 'True 'tis pity,' says he, running his eye +over my shirt. + +"'Get on with it,' I says, pretty gruff. 'I must play pussy-cat with my +fat mouse,' says he. 'Where'd you like it?' and I must say he was +mighty courteous about it. Well, I was just going to tell him, when +somebody banged me over the head from behind.... I fell on my face, and +a mountain seemed to fall on top of me. 'Shall I knife him, my lord?' +comes a voice like a girl's. Then--'Get off, you dung! or I'll make +muck o you!'--'I ony thought, my lord--'--'Think, swine! _you_ +think!' And smack--smack goes his sword! The mountain got off. The +lord was kneeling by my side. + +"'I hope to the deuce you're not hurt, sir,' says he, very concerned. + +"I got to my knees. + +"'Thanks to you, my lord, I'm not.' + +"'It was Big Belly there,' says he, helping me to my feet.... 'These +fellows don't understand our ways.' + +"'That's the worst of dabbling in dirty water,' says I. + +"'Ah, it's not the water--it's the fish you meet in it I mind,' he +says. + +"He picked up my sword, and gave it me. + +"I was trying to walk. + +"'Here, take my arm,' says he. 'You've had about two ton o bad man +upset on top o you.' And he walked me up and down that beach, tender +as a lady--pon my soul he did. + +"Just then I heard a holloa. + +"'No time to cut to waste, my lord,' sings out someone. 'We've a clear +run now, but only knows how long we shall have.' + +"Then I saw the _Kite's_ long-boat beached close by, and Diamond +and a couple of his chaps standing by. + +"The lord took me to a rock, and made me sit down. + +"I wonder if you'll excuse me,' says he. 'I'm due to dine with little +Boney tonight at eight sharp, and I must be up to time. Truth is I'm +not in the Little Corporal's best books just now. He caught Josephine +and me amusing ourselves in the rose-walk at Malmaison last week; and +he wasn't best pleased.' + +"And he took off his hat in his theatrical Frenchified way and went +down to the boat. + +"I sat on the rock, brushing my knees. + +"Diamond shoved her off. + +"'Good-day, Parson,' says he, grinning. + +"'So this is your smuggling, Diamond!' I roared, shaking my fist at +him. + +"'Yes,' says he, 'I'm about as good a smuggler as you are Parson.' + +"That made me mad. + +"'I'm an Englishman anyway and not a blanky traitor!' I roared. +'Here's something to remember me by!' and I snatched the pistol out o +my tail-pocket, and snapped it at him. + +"The ball went through the full of his shirt. + +"'Ah,' says he, mighty nasty, 'I'll drop a return card on you one o' +these days, Mr. Clergyman. And don't you forget it.' + +"Then the lord stood up and waved. + +"'Thank you for a very pleasant afternoon, Mr. Joy,' he called. 'May +I say _au revoir?_' + +"'The same to you, my lord,' I answered. 'And the sooner the better.' + +"And that's the last I saw of him.... And now what I want to know is +_where is he?_--for I'm after him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +THE FACE ON THE WALL + +"It's a long story," said Kit. + +The Parson took him by the arm, and led the way into the kitchen. + +It was more like a guard-room than a parlour. Clearly no woman reigned +here. All was wood, or stone, or steel, clean as a ship, and as +comfortless. Arms on the wall; iron-barred windows; no carpets, no +curtains, no fal-lals. + +The only soft thing in the room was the bed in the corner, piled high +with clothes; the only ornament a print above the chimney-piece. + +"It looks more like a fort than a kitchen," whispered Kit, awed. + +"Ah, thereby hangs a tale!" replied the Parson. + +He drew up before the face on the wall. + +"You know who that is?" he asked, one hand on the boy's shoulder. + +Kit laughed. + +It was the face that had hung in old Ding-dong's cabin, that was +hanging at that hour in thousands of English homes. + +"A Colonel of Marines," continued the Parson--"Nelson by name." +[Footnote: In 1795 Nelson was appointed Honorary Colonel of Marines in +recognition of his services in the Mediterranean.] + +"Indeed," said the boy ironically. "I'd a notion he was a sailor." + +The other made no answer. Indeed he did not hear. He stood before the +print, worshipping it. + +"Every night and morning I say my prayers before that picture," he +continued quietly, all the laughter out of his voice. And there was +something profoundly stirring about the solemnity with which he added, + +"If it's God's will that our country shall be saved, there is the man +will save it!" + +The boy looked up at him. + +"Sir," he said, "Nelson will save the country, if we can save Nelson." + + + + +IV + +THE GARRISON + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER + +Kit told his tale. + +The Parson listened without a word, his hands folded, and face +inscrutable. + +His silence chilled the boy. + +"D'you believe me, sir?" he flashed out at last. + +"Believe the boy!" cried the Parson fiercely. "Why, I _saw_ the +fight. I was dancing mad at the foot of the cliff. Great heavens, +sir!--didn't you hear me holloa? I should have thought they'd have +heard me in France. Why, for the first and last time in my life, I +wanted to be a sailor myself!" + +Kit finished with a free heart, withholding nothing: the death of +Black Diamond; the fight with the privateers; the end of old Ding- +dong; and the scene with the Gentleman on the cliff. + +The Parson drank in the lad's words. His eyes were grave; his brow +furrowed. So stern he seemed, his face so smileless under those +laughing curls, that Kit hardly recognised in him the boy-hearted +swordsman of a few minutes since. + +The story finished, he sat long unmoving; his mouth set, and eyes +inward. + +Then he began to pace up and down again. + +"My prayer is heard," he said at last, and stopping turned to the boy. + +"Kit Caryll, d'you know what I am?" + +"You look like a--kind of a clergyman, sir." + +"And that is what I am," replied the other a touch defiantly. "I am in +Holy Orders in my own humble way." + +He began pacing once more. + +"We all have our weaknesses, sir.... My mother was mine.... She should +have been the mother of saints rather than of a--' bully swordsman!'-- +I think that was the phrase?" cocking a blue eye at the boy. + +"After Egypt I came home to find her dying.... Well, she entreated me +to forsake my profession and become a Christian--'for my sake, Harry,' +says she.... I argued it with her. I told her it was good work, God's +work, to kill the French. I said I looked on myself as a Crusader +fighting the Moors, as indeed I did. But she wouldn't hear of it. She +said the Moors were black and the French white, and that made just all +the difference.... And she begged so hard--and--and--" + +His back was to the boy, and he was looking out of the window. + +It was some time before he went on. + +"I couldn't say her no then. So I told her I'd do as she wished and +take Orders. But I made one condition. 'I won't go to the French; but +if the French come to me, then,' I said, 'surely, mother, I may up and +smite!' She gave me that. You see, she never thought they would come." + +He cleared his throat. + +"Well, the Bishop wouldn't give me a cure, because I didn't know the +Catechism. So I kicked my heels till the Peace was broken, and things +looked up a bit. And when little Boney began to get his Army of +England together on the cliffs yonder, I cheered up, and came and +pitched my tent on the nearest spot I could find to be ready. And here +I've been ever since. + +"On calm summer evenings I've seen the cliffs of France from Beachy +Head, and with the spy-glass I've thought I've made out the tents of +Lannes' camp. That's been bread and meat to me these two years past. +Then a month ago I had that little affair with my lord. That knocked +ten years off my life. I've been in training ever since. Today I think +I'm a better man than I've ever been." He inhaled a deep breath, +swelling his chest. + +"And this morning, when I woke and saw that ship hove-to off the Wish, +and old Piper told me she was a Frenchman, I just went down on my two +knees and thanked God for His great mercies." + +He blew his nose boisterously. + +"Then I ran up my colours to tempt em ashore. And I've been waiting in +hope ever since." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +THE FIGHTING MAN + +He clapped on his hat. + +"And now the first thing to be done is to hold a Council of War with +old Piper." + +The boy looked up shyly. + +"Could I have something to eat first, sir? I haven't tasted food for +twenty-four hours." + +The Parson fussed off to the cupboard. + +"Just like me. Just like a man. No thought--no consideration. All +comes of there being no woman about the place." + +He brought out a knuckle of ham, a loaf, a pot of jam, and a jug of +milk. + +As he did so there came a groaning gurgle from the corner. + +The Parson whirled round and shot a denouncing finger at the piled +bed. + +"You dare!" he roared. + +"I was ony sniffin, sir," whimpered a cockney voice. + +Then for the first time Kit saw that in the bed lay a man. A shaven +head, pert and pug-like, and a face shining with sweat protruded. All +the rest was lost beneath that mountain of clothes. + +As Kit stared, the man winked a merry brown eye at him. + +The boy approached. + +"Isn't it rather stuffy under all those clothes?" he asked +compassionately. + +"It's like a h'oven, sir--that ot!" chirped the little man. + +"You'll go to a much hotter place when you die, if you so much as stir +a finger out," called the Parson with firm cheerfulness. "I'm a +Parson, mind you. I know what I'm talkin about." + +"Ah, I know you wouldn't go for to put a pore bloke away for fetchin +his thumb to mop a drop o sweat off his conk," whined the other. + +"Ha! you sweat, Knapp?" + +"I spouts pushpiration, sir!" + +"Capital, capital!" The Parson hopped across the room and bent his ear +to the bed. "I can almost hear him simmer!" He twinkled up at Kit. +"It's the very weather for him. He's in a sweet muck-sweat. Lying +between two feather-beds, ain't you, me boy?" + +He sat down on the table beside the eating lad. + +"That's Nipper Knapp. He was my batman in the Borderers. I brought him +down here to train, while I was waiting for the French. Such a pretty +little bit o stuff! Arms like legs, and legs like bodies. I'll strip +him for you one day. Only thing is I have to sweat the meat off him +so. Get a belly on him in a day, little pig, if I'd let him." + +He spoke of the man much as a farmer speaks of his beasts. The boy's +sensitive soul recoiled. + +"He can hear every word," he whispered. + +"I don't mind," replied the Parson cheerfully. + +"Nor don't I," chirped the voice from the bed. + +"And what are you training him for?" asked Kit--"the Church, like +yourself?" + +"No, sir!" retorted the Parson shortly. "I'm training him to make the +best use he can of the gifts God has given him--that's his hands and +his feet. He can rattle his dukes, and chuck his trotters, as I never +saw man yet. Strips ten six. All good, too; all guts. You can't glut +him.... I'm backing him to run ten miles in the hour against any man +in England, and fight him to a finish in a 24-ft. ring at the end." + +The boy shoved back his plate. + +"And have you any other spiritual duties, sir?" he asked. + +"I stand over Blob while Piper teaches him his prayers," replied the +Parson sullenly. + +"Who is Piper?" + +The Parson was staring out of the window. + +It was some time before he answered. + +"I once asked Nelson who was the bravest man he'd ever met. He +answered like a flash, 'My captain of the foretop aboard the +_Agamemnon_--Ralph Piper. The bravest man,' said Nelson, 'because +the best. He's my hero!' And I remember the voice in which he said it +now." + +Kit had risen to his feet. + +All his life Nelson had been his hero; and now he was within touch of +his hero's hero. + +"Where is he?" with glowing eyes. + +"Out there--under the sycamores." + +Kit recalled the voice humming the hymn that had welcomed him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +THE SAINT + +They passed out of the cottage. + +A heavy-browed jasmine, the flowers fading now, hung about the door. + +The greensward ran smoothly away to a shingle bank that rose, long- +backed and brown, some three hundred yards away. The bank crossed the +horizon like a low breast-work, sweeping away eastward in long roan +curve. On the right it ran into a little blunt hill, green-brown and +bare. Beyond the bank the sea leapt to the eye. + +The Parson was walking reverently. + +There was about him something of the subdued air of the schoolboy +going to interview a respected master. + +"Step quietly," he murmured. "We are going into the presence of a +saint." + +In front of the cottage, about two hundred yards from it, a little +knoll, shaded with sycamores, humped up out of the greensward. + +At the foot of it, in the shadow of a tree, a tall old man was sitting +bolt upright in a wooden chair with wheels. A brown book had fallen +open beside him; and a musket, propped against the chair, threw a +black shadow across the page. + +"Loaded!" muttered the Parson, pointing. "He can draw a cork from a +bottle at a hundred yards." + +"More than most saints could," whispered the boy. + +"He's a common-sense saint, not the ordinary run," replied the Parson +with a grin. + +The old man's back was towards them. He was gazing intently through a +long glass at the privateer. Kit could see nothing but a straight back +and moon-silvered head. + +"Piper, I've brought a young gentleman of your Service to see +you," said the Parson in the quiet tone in which a man addresses a +woman or a superior. + +The old sailor dropped the glass. His great hands fumbled with the +wheels of his chair, and he slewed himself about. + +Kit's heart gave a jerk. + +The old man ended abruptly at the thighs! + +Irresistibly the boy recalled a doll of Gwen's whose china legs he had +once plucked off in passion, leaving saw-dust stumps. + +The Parson saw the look on the boy's face. + +"Ah, I should have told you. Lost both legs in the action with the +_Ca Ira_, wasn't it, Piper?" + +The doll spoke. + +"Not lost, sir--gone before." + +Kit glanced at him sharply. + +Was he joking? + +No; in that grave face lurked no laughter. The old man had said the +thing that he believed in simplest faith. And what a face it was! +nobly large, worn as the earth, and as full of quiet dignity. Pale, +too, but not with the pallor of ill-health. Indeed the old man looked +hard and wholesome as a forest tree. Rather the boy was reminded of a +cathedral seen in February sunshine. + +The great upper lip was bare and stiff as clay. The wide mouth curled +up at the corners, as though it often smiled. Friendly eyes, the colour +of forget-me-nots, dwelt on the boy. A stiff white fringe framed all. + +And the note of the whole was calm--calm invincible. + +Then the boy's eyes fell on those blue bags thrusting out over the +edge of the chair. A question leapt to his lips. It was out before he +could stop it. + +"Dud--dud--does it hurt?" + +The old man's face broke up and shone. He chuckled. + +A saint could laugh, then! the boy felt himself relieved. + +"No, sir, thank you, ne'er a bit. And not nigh as much at the time as +you might fancy--a tidy jar like to be sure.... One thing, I don't +suffer from no bunions." He went off again into his deep chuckle; and +again the boy felt comfort at heart. + +The saint could joke! + +"Tell him about it, Piper," said the Parson; "you and Nelson." + +"Why, sir," said the old man, frank as a child, "the Captain were +standin by my gun in the waist, where he'd no business to ha been +reelly by rights. Flop I goes on the broad o my back, when it took me. +He was down on his knees beside me in a second, dabbin with his little +handkercher. 'Don't kneel in that, sir,' says I, 'your white breeches +and all.' 'Ah, dear fellow!' says he, taking my hand, 'dear fellow! +dear fellow!...' Then they carried me off to the cock-pit." + +That was the whole story, but it was so simply told that the boy saw +and felt it all. + +"Yes, sir. There warn't a man aboard the _Agamemnon_ but'd ha +died for Captain Nelson and proud too." + +He put the spy-glass to his eye to hide the fact that he was blinking. + +"She's had a rare mauling, surely. I'd just like to know her story." + +"Here's the young gentleman can tell you, Piper," chimed in the +Parson. + +There was a faint glow in the hollow of the old man's cheeks as he +listened to the boy's tale, and he was rubbing his huge hands together +slowly. + +"Seems the powder's laid, but the match lies yet in the pocket of this +here Gentleman," he said, as Kit concluded. "One thing's clear, sir! +We want that boat!... Now if so be I might make so bold, if you and +the young gentleman'd take the glass, and step across to the Wish +there, you could see all along the shore past Cow Gap to the Head, and +make out what they're up to." + +"That's a good notion for a sailor!" cried the Parson briskly. "Come +on, Kit." + +"And I'll make my course for the cottage and see all's snug there," +said the old man. "You never know what's comin next in this world. +It's the wise man as is ready for the worst." + +He trundled himself across the grass. + +"Here's your book!" cried Kit, and bending picked it from the ground. + +As he did so he saw the name. + +It was Law's _Serious Call._ + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +THE SIMPLETON + +They passed out of the shadow of the sycamore into the sun-glare. + +The greensward ran away into shallow creek lying between them and the +little hill beyond. Crossing it, they began the ascent. + +"This is the Wish," explained the Parson, climbing; "the Wash really, +because the sea washed round it in old days. It's gone back along +these parts. Old Piper says, when he was a boy, the creek used to fill +at spring-tides." + +At the top of the hill Kit looked about him. + +The Wish thrust out into the brown beach, a natural watch-tower, some +hundred feet high. This was no doubt the bump of green he had seen +from the dew-pond. + +Eastward a long sweep of shingle embraced Pevensey Bay. Westward, +Beachy Head shouldered out into the sea. + +It was nearly low tide. Barriers of black rocks bound the sea. + +On the edge of it a boy in a blue jersey danced. In his hand was a +sea-weed scourge; and as the sea toppled in tiny ripples at his feet, +he spanked it, leaping back to avoid the touch of the water. As he +leapt he yelled; and in the stillness his pure treble rose to them. + +"Hod back, ye saucy thing! hod back, I say!" + +The Parson put his hand to his mouth. + +"Blob!" he holloaed. + +The boy looked up, and with a parting spank came towards them. + +"Who's that?" asked Kit, "and what's he doing?" + +"Blob--blobbing'," replied the Parson laconically. + +"Who's Blob?" + +The Parson took up his tale. + +"You remember I told you Black Diamond promised to look me up some +time. Well, I knew he'd be as good as his word. So very next day I had +the windows barred, a brace of bullet-proof doors slung, got in a +barrel of powder, and made all snug.... + +"And just as well I did, too. A couple of days later, just about the +time the bats begin to twitter, I heard the thud of feet on the grass, +and a laugh. They thought they'd taken on an easy job--just walk into +the house, and cop me at my supper. We let em up to within twenty +yards. Then we let em have it, the three of us--Piper, Knapp, and I.... + +"Such a panic! 'It's a trap!' screams one. 'Blockademen!' yells a +second. Diamond was the only one of the lot to keep his head. ''Bout +ship, boys!' he shouts. 'Call again another day.' And off they +scuttled, quicker than they came.... + +"'Come on, Knapp!' says I, and bundles out after them, holloaing like +a regiment. One or two turned, and there was a bit of a barney. I +stuck one chap, and was just going to stick another--a fellow in blue +jumping around in a queer kind of way--when all of a sudden he gave a +jab in the back to one of his own chaps. + +"Then he turned, and I saw he was a boy about your age, with a face +like a pink moon. + +"He came at me like a man, flashing his knife. + +"'Here! who are you for?' says I. + +"'Whoy, mesalf!' says he. + +"'But what you at?' says I. + +"'Whoy, foightin!' says he. + +"'Who?' says I. + +"'Whoy, the nearest!' says he, and smacks at me. + +"Then Knapp tripped him from behind, and he was our prisoner.... + +"He's been with us ever since. Piper's been tryin to make a Christian +of him." + +"What's his story?" + +"I don't know, and he can't tell us. He knows nothing--not even fear. +I call him Blob, because blob's his nature. Piper found the name Hoad +on his shirt. I daresay his people sold him to the Gap Gang; and they +kept him." + +"To be cruel to?" shuddered Kit. + +"Not they," laughed the Parson. "He was plump as a little pig. They'd +be kind to him because he wasn't right--superstition, you see. Kept +him to bring em luck, probably. A kind of idol." + +The boy in the blue jersey was coming up the hill towards them, +slobbering at the mouth. His hands were in his pockets, and he +lolloped along on his toes. + +"Oi druv her back," he announced with complacent cunning. "She was +creepin in on us, sloy-loike." + +His face was that of a babe. Clearer eyes Kit had never seen, nor a +more perfect mouth. But for the ears, large and flap, it might have +been the face of a cherub, poised on the gawky body of fifteen. The +expression, by no means vacant, was of slow and staring interest. +Certainly this was no congenital idiot. Probably some chance blow on +the head in infancy had arrested mental growth. The flesh had gone on; +the mind had stopped. A baby-soul was sheathed in the body of a boy. + +The two lads were much of a height, and much of an age. But what a +difference between them! + +The one was limp as a lolling flower, the other alert as a sword, and +as keen. Experience had written nothing on the face of the simpleton. +All there was blank as the moon. The haggard cheeks and anxious eyes +of the other told that he had already drunk deep of the bitter waters +of life. + +Blob was staring at Kit with the solemn interest of a babe. + +Then he pointed a finger. + +"Boy!" he bleated. + +"Call me 'sir'!" ordered Kit imperiously. "And take your hands out of +your pockets when you talk to me." + +"Go home, Blob!" said the Parson, patting him. "Home!" pointing, +"Home! and stop making a blob o yourself for the present, there's a +good boy. Mr. Piper wants you to help him." + +Blob shook a slow head. + +"Nay," he said in musical Sussex. "Oi'll boide with Maaster Sir." + +Here was another boy in a land of men. In a dim way he felt their +kinship. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +THE FLAP OF A FLAG + +The Parson was staring through the spy-glass at Beachy Head. + +A mile and a half away, it lay in misty splendour, not unlike a lion +sleeping. + +At the foot of it a few tiny black figures moved among the rocks. + +"I make out about a score of em," he said. "The boat's beached, and a +man over it. I can catch the glint on his gun-barrel. We can't get at +em except along the shore, hang it! They'd see us coming a mile off." + +"If we can't get at the boat," said Kit, "neither can the Gentleman." + +"That's truth," mused the Parson, dropping the glass. + +"He'll prowl about till night-fall probably. Then he'll have a chance +--if they've got liquor. The boat's his one hope. He's in a tightish +place, mind!--enemy's country; wings clipped; his old friends his best +enemies." + +"And he doesn't know whether the privateer's a Frenchman or not," said +Kit. "Though, of course, he might come down to the shore and signal +her--on chance." + +"Not while it's light," replied the Parson grimly; "If he signalled +from anywhere it'd be from here. And here I squat till dark. After +dark he can signal till he's black in the face--he hasn't got a +lantern." + +The boy's anxious eyes were sea-ward. + +The old pain of heart, forgotten for the moment in the cottage, had +returned, the old sickening sense of failure. After all, the +responsibility was _his_, and his alone. It was in _him_ old +Ding-dong had trusted; it was to _him_ the scent-bottle had been +bequeathed; the fate of Nelson rested on _his_ shoulders. + +Hither and thither his mind darted, seeking a way of escape from the +net of circumstance. + +"If we could only make sure of his thinking her an Englishman!" he +fretted. + +"She's flying no colours," said the Parson, "that's one good thing." + +"I wish she'd fly the Union Jack," replied the boy. + +The remark annoyed the Parson, practical or nothing. + +"What's the good of wishing what can't be?" he snarled. "You might +leave that to the women." + +"Why can't it be?" retorted the boy hotly. + +A sound behind him caught his ears. He turned to see the flag in the +cottage chimney ruffling it behind the sycamores. + +It flashed a message to his heart. + +"By Jove, sir!" he panted. "I've got it." + +The blood had rushed to his face, and ebbed as suddenly. + +"Lend me your flag, and I'll swim out with it after dark!" + +The Parson stared. + +"To the privateer?" + +"Why not? It can't be more than a few hundred yards. I've often done +more." + +"Well, what if you did get there?" curt and sarcastic. "Summon her to +surrender, else you'd take her by storm and put the lot to the sword, +I suppose?" + +"Why, board her, sir, and run the flag up! She's not a man-of-war. +They'll be keeping no watch, likely as not." + +The boy was in a white blaze. + +"They won't see it till broad daylight!" he panted, pressing. "And by +that time the Gentleman, if he's hanging about, will see it too. If +they haul it down then and run up the tricolour, he'll think it's a +decoy." + +There was something contagious about the lad's white-hot enthusiasm. + +The light was coming and going in the Parson's eyes. + +The scheme was as mad as you like. Still, there was a chance of +success, a fighting chance. And was it not the only one? + +Himself he no more doubted the lad's story than he doubted that a +month since he had crossed swords with Fighting Fitz. But who else +would believe? + +Of course he must send Knapp over to Lewes at once to report to Beau +Beauchamp, the Commandant there; but what would come of that? + +Loving his old Service with passionate jealousy, he was not blind to +the weakness of its traditional logic: it was not probable; therefore +it was not true; and so to sleep again, dear boys! + +And Beau Beauchamp, of all men! + +The Parson had not yet forgotten the reception that heavy sensualist +had given to his report that Fighting Fitz was riding up and down the +land just outside his lines. + +"_May I, sir?_" + +The boy was burning at his side. Perforce the Parson began to smoulder +too. + +The adventure had just that smack of romance about it that tickled +this man of prose. Could he have run the risk himself, he who could +hardly swim to the bottom, he would have ventured it with laughing +heart. Was he justified in staying the sailor-boy? + +No, no, no! his heart thundered the answer at him. + +There must always be a risk. And was ever risk better worth running +than this one? But what a boy! + +He was flaming merrily now. + +"May I, sir?" + +He turned to the lad, pale beside him, and smacked a hand into his. + +"Kit!" he cried with gusty laughter, "you should have been a soldier!" + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +THE SWIM IN THE DARK + +Kit awoke with the horrors. + +All was black about him, and a great hand lay on his breast. + +He gripped it, gurgling. + +A calm voice, already strangely familiar, reassured him. + +"By your leave, sir, it's about time for you to rouse and bitt." + +It was Nelson's old foretop-man. The moon, slanting through the +window, shone on his white head and those tranquil, big-dog eyes of +his. + +Kit relaxed his hold. + +"That you, Piper?" he sighed. "I was dreaming of Fat George. What's +the time?" + +"It's a little better'n two o'clock, sir; you've had a tidy sleep. The +tide's pretty near down, and the moon's a-nigh off the water. By than +you get alongside there'll likely be a bit o' mist on the water crep +up from the eastud with the sun." + +The boy slipped off his clothes, shivering. + +"Where's Mr. Joy?" + +"He came in from the Wish just on midnight. 'No Knapp yet?' says he. +'Then I shall make a reconnaissance in force myself.' 'Beggin your +pardon, sir,' says he, don't see the force--one man agin a score.' +'Ah,' says he, 'you forget my lady.' And he whips up his Polly, and +off he pops over the grass like a lad a-courtin." The old man chuckled +as he told. + +"What's Knapp up to?" trembled the boy. + +"Why, sir, gone over to Lewes for the soldiers, and should ha been +back hours sen." + +"Wonder why he's not?" + +"Got fightin and foolin on the road, sir, I'll lay," chuckled the old +man. "Like a lamb with the heart of a lion is Knapp, sir. Frisks into +trouble, and then fights out again. This is first time he's been let +out of hissalf since he went into training. So he's all of a bubble +like. Bubble or bust--that's how Knapp feels." + +Stripped, the boy stood up in the darkness. + +"Got the flag, Piper?" + +"Here it be, sir. How'll you carry it?" + +"So." He wound it up in a coil and tied it about his neck, scarf-like. + +"Now I'm ready." + + +II + + +The old man wheeled out to the edge of the shadow of the house. + +All about was black and silver in the moon. A faint breeze ruffled the +sycamores upon the knoll. Stars strewed the heavens. Beyond the +shingle-bank the sea glistened like satin. + +It was very still, very cold, very lonely. + +Kit set his teeth to prevent them chattering. The night air kissed him +coldly, and the moon, white above the inky Downs, glistened on his +shoulders. + +"There she lays, in the Channel off the Boulder Bank," whispered the +old man, pointing to the privateer, dull-black against the glitter. +"And it's my belieft there's not a sober man aboard of her. All stow'd +away dead drunk under hatches--that's my belieft, sir. They kep it up +from dark till midnight--dancin, drummin, fightin, and all manner. +More like a cage full? wild beasties from Bedlam than a Christian +ship. And for the last hour she might ha been a hulk full o corpuses." + +He dropped his voice still further. + +"He's in it, sure!" jerking his thumb starward. "Made em blind to the +world for His own good purpose--which is as you should lay em aboard +unbeknownst and knife the blessed lot if so be it was your fancy." + +The boy choked a laugh brimming on the edge of being. The old man's +solemnity, his profound simplicity, touched the springs of mirth +within him. + +"Perhaps," he panted. "I hope so." + +"Ah! I'm certain sure," replied the other with firm confidence. + +Faith, the most infectious quality in the world because the truest, +seized the boy's heart and lifted it. + +"Good-bye, Piper." + +"Good luck, sir." + +The lad plunged into the moonlight. + + +III + + +A moon-clad wisp, he flitted across the greensward, the fringe of the +flag-scarf fluttering behind him. It was a fine thing to do, but he +wished devoutly somebody else had the doing of it. On the Wish in the +sunshine, the Parson at his side, when the idea first struck him, it +had seemed splendid. Now, alone in the dark, with the idea to +translate into reality, he saw it very differently. It gave him no +thrill of glory. He felt exactly as he had felt last March on the way +to the dentist to have a tooth out--a mean sense of his own +mortality, and an earnest desire to run away. + +The turf shaded off into long bents growing out of sand; and that +again ran away into shingle. As he breasted the bank, his hands +succouring his feet, he heard steps behind him. + +"Who's that?" he snarled, crouching. + +Blob was standing at gaze a little way behind him. + +"What ye want?" + +The boy made no answer, staring with round moon-eyes. + +"He's noiked," came a musing voice. "Oi dew loike to see un." + +He shot out a finger, and, flinging back his head, gurgled laughter. + +"Here, boy!" called Kit. "As you are there, you can carry me over +these pebbles." + +He leapt on the other's back, and Blob, sturdy as he looked limp, +crashed down the shingle and across the stretch of wet sand at a +loose-jointed canter. + +"That'll do, my boy, thank you," said Kit, slipping down at the edge +of the tide. "I'd give you a penny, only I've not got one. No, you +can't come any further. It's too dangerous. This is a job for +officers." + +He began to paddle out, the ripples playing about his ankles. + +Blob's presence braced him to his task. It called to his spirit of a +gentleman. He would just show this lout what blood meant. + +Blob followed him with awed eyes. + +"She's aloive," he warned his brother-boy. "She'll swallow ee." + +"No, she won't," Kit replied. "She's an old friend of mine." + + +IV + + +The boy could swim at an age when to most lads walking is still an +accomplishment. Now he waded quietly down a sandy reach between black +rocks. + +The water was warmer than the air. When it clasped his waist, he +trusted himself to it faithfully. + +The sea was his mother, and the mother of his race. Her arms were +about him; her spirit entered into his. How pure she was, how strong, +how good! He kissed her cool brow and dropped his head upon her bosom. +Turning on his back, he saw the wall of the Downs, black beneath +glorious stars. On the top of the wall poised the moon, peeping over +the brim of the world at him. He waved to her, laughing: she too was a +friend. And the moon, wise as innocent, smiled back. + +He swam leisurely, without splash, almost without ripple, quiet as the +tide. + +He had the world to himself, and loved the loneliness. + +Out here, the sea about him, the night above, he could feel the slow +tides of God pushing onwards through the dark of Time. + +Wars and tumults and all the tiny irritations and griefs of life, what +were they to that immense-moving flood? And he was one with that +flood. Stealing through the water with cleaving arms, he was assured +of it. + + +V + + +Something rose shadowy and gaunt before him. It was the privateer. + +The sight tumbled him out of Eternity into Time. His heart began to +clamour, as though it would force its way out of his body. + +No longer one with God, seeing all things with His large eyes, and +loving them--he was a little boy, mortally afraid, alone in the vast +and callous night. + +In his flurry be began to splash about: then recollected himself, and +trod water quietly. + +The moon was deserting him, the sardonic moon he had thought of as a +friend. Her silver rim glimmered behind the Downs and was gone. He +missed her. Cold she was, still she had been company. He thought she +might have stayed--just this one night! He felt aggrieved, and very +much alone. And those stars strewing the night above him were so far, +and had such hard little eyes. + +The water grew dull and dark about him, and of a sudden greatly +colder. The flag hung like a clammy halter about his neck. Verdun was +not far, and death very near. But for the cold he would have cried. He +wished he'd never come. + +It flashed in upon him to hail the ship, and ask them for a cup of +coffee. The thought amused him and saved the situation. He began to +chuckle. + +Squeezing the fear out of his mind, he set himself to the +accomplishment of his task. + +The thought of old Piper, calm invincibly, confirmed him in his +purpose. + +Yet he couldn't help reminding himself with a snigger, that old Piper +was safe in an arm-chair on land, while he was out there in the water +with the work to do. + +Still, now if ever was his time. The moon was gone. In another hour +the dawn would begin to glimmer. Between the two his chance lay. + +Treading water a cable's-length away, he observed the ship intently. + +She lay upon the water like a dead thing. The great dark hull, seen +against the living night, appeared carcass-like. Her stillness was +almost terrible. + +Not a spar creaked, not a match glowed. She was dark as death, and as +silent. + +As he watched, a humming noise, rising and falling, came to him across +the water. He held his breath. Then he recognised it, with a gasp of +relief. + +Somebody was snoring. + +That domestic sound cheered him amazingly. + +At least the ship was not a sepulchre. Her crew were neither dead nor +devils. They were human. They snored. + +He swam round the ship, stealthy as an otter in the Coquet. + +So far as he could see there was not a soul on deck. + +Then, as he came under her stern, he noticed for the first time that +another vessel lay alongside. + +A thought, swift as a dagger, struck at his heart. + +Could it be that the Gentleman had somehow picked up a lugger, and so +won aboard? Was he too late? + +Then with a gasp of thankfulness he remembered. + +It was the _Kite_, of course. + +The tide had set her alongside; and now she lay scraping the side of +the privateer. A handier stepping-stone he could not have asked. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +PIGGY, THE PRIVATEERSMAN + + +I + + +In a minute he had clambered aboard the lugger. + +The privateer had dropped a hawser over her side as buffer. The boy +was up it in a moment, and on to the deck, his heart beating high. + +The deck was empty. + +No! a figure was leaning over the side, his back to Kit. No sailor, +obviously. He was wearing a great bearskin, and Kit caught the glimmer +of a bayonet. A sentinel, and not asleep, nor drunk; for he was +humming _Ça Ira_. + +_La Coquette_ too then carried soldiers! + +Stealthy as a cat, the boy drew away along the deck. Piper, weather- +wise old man, had told him truth. Thin wisps of mists were sweeping +over the sea, veiling the stars. + +How God helps His little children who help Him! + +Up the shrouds of the foremast. The ratlines seared his feet. A little +wind licked his body. The mist was chill as a winding-sheet. + +There was no danger of being seen. He was nearer the stars than the +deck. Between him and it now lay a blanket of mist. + +But what was that in the East? + +It was the whitening of the dawn. + +There was no time to be lost. + +He swarmed up the top-gallant mast, unwound the flag, and made it +fast. + +How it fluttered!--what a rollicking tow-row!--had ever flag rampaged +so boisterously! + +The man below stopped humming. Kit could not see him; so he could not +see the flag. + +Down he slid, the mast scraping his knees as he went; but he scarcely +felt the pain. His heart was swelling. The privateer was flying +British colours. She was his. Single-handed he had taken a French +ship. He was half in tears, half laughing. It seemed so dream-like, so +ridiculous. + +Down the shrouds, and back to the deck. + + +II + + +Not a soul stirred. Forward somewhere a man shouted in his sleep. Aft +the sentinel was whistling now. + +Swift as an eel, the boy flashed to the side, and poised for his +plunge. + +No! the splash would be heard. + +Swiftly along the deck, making for his steppingstone, the lugger. + +His work done, his heart brimming, the boy was ripe for mischief as a +happy girl. + +As he stole along the deck, his eyes never left the soldier's back. +The fellow was leaning over the bulwark, his trousers tight, and their +contents rounded and tempting. Should he, should he spank him? + +A moment the boy struggled with his imp-self, and prevailed. + +Nelson! Duty! + +He slipped over into the lugger. The tide had shifted her position. +Now she bumped under the stern of the privateer. + +The port of the stern-cabin was open, and light poured from it. +Standing on the weather-boarding, Kit peeped in. + +A little fat man was sitting at a table, dead asleep, and snoring +stertorously. His arms were on the table, and his head on his arms. He +was quite bald, and very red. His lips pouted, and the under one +thrust up towards his nose. The little round body rose and fell, +bladder-like. His nose was a snout, short and cocked. A more pig-like +little person Kit thought he had never seen. + +A great bottle stood on the table before him, and beside it a scratch- +wig and guttering candle. On the table a pistol pinned down a chart, +and under the sleeper's head was a sheet of paper and a pen. + +Piggy had fallen asleep writing. + +Flung into a corner was a cocked hat. Beside it lay a much-mounted +sword, and on a chair a blue frock-coat, with tawdry epaulettes. + +The boy lifted his eyes. An obscene print decorated the bulk-head. It +smote him in the face like a handful of filth. He snatched his eyes +away. They fell upon a tarpaulin-bag hung on the door. On the bag was +an eagle, beneath it a large + +N. + +That settled it. + +The boy meant to have that bag. + + +III + + +He was through the port in a twinkling. + +The man was sleeping like the dead, his head askew on his hands, and +lips compressed in pouting content. For the time being the body had +mastered invincibly any soul there might be within. The man was so +much slow-heaving earth. + +The naked boy leaned over the sleeper. The pen had fallen from Piggy's +hand, and left a little scrawl across the letter he had been writing. + +The character was flourishing, self-complacent, and, above all, easy +to read. + +It was written in French, and ran, translated, + +_Sire, + +I have to inform your Majesty that Sunday dawn I was lying off Seaford +Head, waiting to escort the lugger_ Kite, _according to your +Majesty's instructions. As I was on my knees inviting the good God to +shower blessings on the sacred head of you, His so faithful servant, a +sail was seen. + +I bore up for her immediately. She was an English ship of the line. + +I engaged her at once, fearless of the odds, knowing that the good God +is always on your Majesty's side. Desperate valour was displayed by +your Majesty's seamen. We were out-numbered four to one. + +She carried 120 guns in three tiers and was alive with men--all sent +by me to answer before the Great Judge for being in arms against your +anointed Majesty. May He deal with them as they deserve! + +The Englishman was towing the lugger _Kite_. Knowing the vital +importance of the mission on which she was engaged, I cut her out from +under the enemy's stern, leading the boat attack myself, under a +terrific fire from her stern-galleries. + +The _Kite_ had two dead men aboard, one of them, helas! the brave +Monsieur de Diamond, so devoted to your Majesty's interests. He was +sitting upon the despatch-bag, which thus had escaped the vigilance of +his murderers. + +My lord the General was not on board. I am lying off Beachy Head +waiting for him. Should he not appear by tomorrow noon, I shall not +dare to wait longer, but shall make all sail with the despatches I +have captured. + +I permit myself to congratulate your Majesty upon my victory, and sign +myself with effusion, + +Your Majesty's humble and adoring servant, + +EGALITE LAGLOIRE. + +P.S.--I have prepared, and now send, the chart for which your Majesty +asked. As your Majesty's eye will see at a glance all is in order. We +do but wait the last word from my lord the General. The red crosses +mark the stations...._ + +Here the pen had dropped from the writer's hand. + + +IV + + +The boy turned with beating heart: he had struck gold indeed. + +Unshipping the despatch bag, he slung it about his shoulders. + +Lifting the pistol, he snatched the chart, and thrust it under the +flap of the locked bag. + +The action set the candle swaling. It shot out a snake-like flame that +licked the bald pate of the sleeping privateersman. + +He awoke with a start and a _sacre_, clapping his hand to his +singed head. + +Then through drink-and-sleep-blurred eyes, he saw the naked figure by +the door. + +He half rose, little fat man, so pleased. + +"_Mon ange!_" he cried, and fluttered both arms, much as Gwen's +young canaries fluttered their wings when seeking food from their +mother. + +In a flash the boy had turned the key in the lock behind him, and +flung it through the open port. + +Then he swung the despatch-bag. + +Many a pillow-fight with Gwen up and down the twisting passages of +their attic nursery had made him expert. Crash it came down on Piggy's +bald skull. + +"One from your _ange_!" cried the lad, and followed up with a +left-hander between the eyes. + +Down crashed the amorous gentleman, spluttering. + +A foot, planted fair on his mouth, stifled his cry. + +Before he could recover, the boy was through the port, on to the +lugger, and had slipped into the sea, quiet as a water-rat. + +Behind him a dreadful scream woke the ship. + +"_Les depeches! Les depeches!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +THE MAN IN THE BOAT + + +I + + +The ship awoke suddenly from her swoon. + +An appalling clamour boiled up from the still waters. + +Bugle-calls split the air; drums rolled furiously; a carronade went +off with a shattering roar; there was a rush of feet and tumult of +voices. Above the confusion could be heard Piggy thumping at the door +and squealing, + +"_Les depeches! Les depeches!_" + +Kit, sliding through the water, was thankful for the flash of insight +that had made him lock the door, and throw away the key. That action +meant minutes gained; these minutes might mean life. + +The tide was with him now. But for that, and this merciful mist, his +chances would be _nil_. + +His ears behind him, he swam like a hunted otter. + +Aboard the privateer things were moving fast. The confusion abated; +order began to reign; with it the danger grew. Somebody was at work +with an axe on the door. It came down with a crash. There was a shrill +command and the scamper of feet. + +Piggy was on deck. + +"_Feu, imbecile! par la! dans le brouillard!_" + +A bullet plopped into the water wide on the boy's right. + +"_Au bateau!_" + +Again that scamper of feet: then the rattle of blocks and creak of +pulleys. Besides all was swiftness, and fierce silence; and that +silence terrified the lad far more than the preceding tumult. + +"_Depechez vous donc, gredins!_" + +They were lowering a boat; and he was getting done. + +The despatch-bag was heavy between his shoulders. His hold upon +himself was relaxing: dissolution was setting in. The firm mind, which +at all times and in all places means salvation, was dissipating. He +tried not to think. All there was of him he needed for his swimming. +Thought was waste; so was fear. And swim he did, and swim, through +endless water, with sickening brain and failing arms. + +Behind him he heard a splash, as the privateer's boat took the sea. + +They'd be coming soon now. He didn't mind much: he was too tired. And +they couldn't hurt him: he was too far away. + +He heard the splash of oars, and thumping rowlocks. + +Here they came--straight towards him! + +Then with a start he recollected: the privateer's boat would be +pursuing; this was coming to meet him. + +Had he been swimming round and round like a drowning dog? + +No. Behind him he could hear shouts and orders on the privateer as the +crew jumped into the boat. + +This must be some other craft. + +It was coming from the land, and a landsman was rowing it. He could +tell by the uneven splash of the oars, the slish along the surface as +a crab was caught, and the muffled curse as the man recovered himself. + +Could it be the Parson come to his assistance? + +The question answered itself. + +The bows of a boat thrust on him through the mist. He saw a man's +back, giving to his stroke. + +"Hi!" he gasped, the boat's nose hard on top of him. + +The rower glanced round. + +There was no mistaking that falcon-face. + +It was the Gentleman. + + +II + + +"Who's there?" peering suspiciously. + +"Boy Hoad, powder-monkey o the _Dreadnought_." + +"Is that the _Dreadnought_?" sharply. + +"_Dreadnought_, forty-four. Oi'm drownin, sir. Take us in." + +His hand was on the boat's gunwale. + +"What the deuce you doing here?" + +"Desartin, sir. They was for floggin me at sun-up." + +"What for?" + +"For--for fun." + +"_For what_?" + +"For funk, sir," panted the boy, recovering. "Oi don't care for being +shotted. So when the guns begins to bang, Oi goos to bed." + +The Gentleman threw back his head and ran off into laughter. + +"You're the right sort, Mr. Toad. Come on board by all means. But for +you and your likes the world'd be a dull place." + +Kit clambered in. + +"What's that bag?" asked the Gentleman, swift as a sword. + +"Duds," replied the boy as swift. + +The Gentleman, sitting still as death, stared. It was an appalling +moment. The boy could not face those eyes. He looked behind him. As he +did so, the mist above drifted away, and the Union Jack at the foretop +of the privateer floated out. + +"There's her colours!" he panted. + +"By Jove, you're right," cried the Gentleman, and began to row the +boat clumsily about. "Stop that hole in the bottom with your foot, +will you?" + +The boat was water-logged and filling fast. The water was already over +the Gentleman's spurs. + +Down on his knees the boy baled for his life. + +Behind him he heard a word of command: then the splash of oars, and +the regular thump of rowlocks. The privateer's boat was away--a ten- +oared galley from the sound of her, and they were driving her. + +"Row, sir, row!" urged the boy. "They're after us!" + +The Gentleman flung back into his oars. + +Kit could not but admire him. He was rowing, as he believed, against +death. The boat was sodden; he could not row; and the pursuers were +coming up hand over hand. Yet his eyes danced, as he gasped, + +"This is life." + +The boy was looking behind him. He could not see the pursuing boat, +but he could hear the sizzle of foam under her keel as she slipped +through the water, and the rhythmical sweep of oars. + +There was a terrible beauty about it--this swooping of Death on them +out of the fog. He could hear the wings he could not see. She was +close now, the Angel of the Swarthy Pinions. + +On the thwart lay a pistol. He snatched it. + +"Good boy!" panted the Gentleman. + +Kit glanced forward. + +He could see the loom of the land. + +"There's the shore, sir!" he cried. + +"And here are they!" gasped the other. "Pretty thing, by Jove!" + +A boat's bows shot up behind them. A figure was standing in the stern. + +"_Les voila_!" screamed a voice. + +The Gentleman threw up his oars. + +"French!" + +Kit clapped the pistol to his head. + +"Row!" he screamed. "Row!" + +The other tumbled back into his oars. Up sprang his foot. The pistol +was kicked out of the boy's hand, and the Gentleman was on him. + +"O, you are a villain, Little Chap!" chuckled a voice in the lad's +ear. + +For a moment they hugged, the boat rocking beneath them. + +"Can you swim?" came the voice at his ear. + +"Yes," gurgled the lad, and as he felt the boat going sucked in a +breath. + +"Then shift for yourself. I can't." + +As the waters closed about them the arms of the Gentleman loosed their +hold. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +A BLACK BORDERER TO THE RESCUE + + +I + + +A boy was wading shoreward dizzily. As he surged through the water, +his body made long rippling waves. He watched them with dull +fascination, pointing. + +Then he began to whimper peevishly. He was tired, he was cold. The +shore waved up and down before his eyes. He knew he couldn't do it. + +From behind him a yell penetrated his dying mind. + +It stopped him dead. + +He was a little child, nightmare-bound. + +Waving to and fro, the water to his knees, he stretched both arms +shoreward. + +"Mother!" he wailed. + +A shout answered him. + +Some one was crashing down the shingle, racing across the sand, and +plunging through the water towards him. + +The boy began to titter. + +"Come on, Kit! come on!" came a rousing voice. "Don't look behind you! +That's the style! Come on!" + +What was this black splashing figure, sword in hand? Was it the Angel +of Death in full regimentals? Surely he recognised the face beneath +the shako? + +"You aren't mother," the boy giggled, swaying. + +A strong arm was round him; a body, firm and full of life, was pressed +against his dying one; a voice, quickening as the Spring, was in his +ear. + +"Splendid, Kit! Well done indeed! Lean on me. Lots o time." + +"Have the soldiers come?" sobbed the boy, struggling forward. + +"One has," came the sturdy 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 bump 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 shoreward. + +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 bumped ashore. + +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 God'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!" + +Knapp shot by him, his arms working like piston-rods. + +"Come on, Blob, me boy. Slaughder for somebody!" He pranced into +action, throwing his legs like a hackney trotter. "Pray, duckie +darlins, pray!" he called. "I'm a-comin! I'm a-comin! I'm a-comin!" + +The life was bursting out of him. It made him laughing-mad. He was +lusty as a young lion. + +"Here they come!" muttered the Parson, labouring behind. + +And come they did at a hound-slink, bunched together, and babbling. It +was clear they were uncertain of each other and of success. Sin, the +mighty Disintegrator, was at work upon their spirits. A more half- +hearted crew of blackguards never attempted murder. They needed Black +Diamond. He, and he alone, might have held them and swung them, as a +fine horseman holds and swings a refuser at a fence. + +And what dark faces! what dreadful eyes! what voices popping up like +foul bubbles from a sewage pond! + +_"Them three all?" + +"Enough too, ain't it?" + +"I'm for gain back. Look at the face on that buster with the sword!" + +"H'into em!"_ came a shrill treble from the rear. _"Cheerily, +chaps, cheerily!"_ + +A crack from the cottage, the crack of doom. + +The leading ruffian, a lumbering great horse-faced fellow, clapped his +hand to his side. + +_"What's that?"_ he snapped. + +_"That's death!"_ came a solemn voice from across the green. + +The man bowed his head as though in acknowledgement. + +_"I got it,"_ he said, and fell like a falling tower. + +His fellows wavered. This sudden arrow from the quiver of the Great +Bowman, so unexpected expected, pierced the hearts of all. + +Into them, toppling, bowled Knapp like a cannon-ball. + +"_Ow,_ dear! _Ow's_ that? _Ow,_ my pore face!" + +The chirpy Cockney voice popped out from the thick of them like a cork +from a bottle, and a smack from a sledge-hammer fist punctuated each +ow. + +Blob, at a lurching gallop, plunged into the opening his leader had +made, flashing his knife with a gurgling "Ho! ho!" + +Last came the Parson with terrific sword. + +It was all over before it had begun: a scuffle, a squeak, the flicker +and tinkle of steel; and the cloud burst and scattered into its +component drops. + +The smugglers scampered away. + +The Parson was wiping the point of his sword on a man. + +"Dirty skunks!" he panted. "Had their bellyful before I'd begun." + +Blob was laughing to himself. + +"Oi loike killin," he gurgled. "It goos in so plop-loike." + +A figure, tall and black as a winter tree, shot up against the light +on the shingle-bank, and hung a second there. + +The Parson waved. + +"Too late, Monsieur le Poseur," he called mockingly. "Better luck next +time." + +The little party trotted across to the cottage, and entered. + +Piper, awaiting them, slammed the door, and made all fast. + +"Near thing, sir," chuckled the old man. + +"Would have been but for that shot of yours," said the Parson, laying +his burthen on the bed. + +He leaned up against the wall, and panted, his good red face dripping. + +"First round to England--eh?" he grinned. + + + + +BOOK III + +FORT FLINT + + + + +I + +BESIEGED + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + +THE ENGLISHMAN + +All was dark within the kitchen of the cottage. + +Spears of white light piercing the gloom told of day without. + +The cottage was fast as a fortress. Stout planks were nailed across +either door. Heavy shutters darkened the windows. Through a loop-hole +a stream of light poured in on Nelson's old foretop-man. + +Horn spectacles hung on his nose. His eyes were down, the silver head +erect and drawn back. At arm's length beneath him he held a great Book +in a splash of light. + +He was reading aloud, spelling out the words, as does a child, and +following with huge finger. + +Outside a musket cracked; a bullet wanged against the wall; there was +the crisp trickle of dislodged mortar. + +Still muttering, the old man closed his Book, and removed his +spectacles. Then he slewed his chair round to the loop-hole, and felt +for his musket. + +The light poured in upon the moon-washed head, the noble brow, and +calm eyes peering forth. + +Deliberately the old man moved his head to and fro, searching the +offender. Then the musket went to his shoulder, cheek hugged stock, +the face grew set. The mystic had turned man of action. + +There was a flash in the darkness, a smother of white in the room, and +outside a sudden sobbing cry. + +A hand waved in the cloud, and out of it a still voice said, + +"He wun't trouble no more." + +The old man leant his reeking musket against the wall, and took up his +Book tranquilly. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + + +THE PARSON AT HOME + + +I + + +A clap of thunder, followed by a monstrous hissing overhead, awoke Kit +from dreams of blackberrying with Gwen in the dew-white dawn. + +He started up. + +"What's that?" he cried, seeking his mind. + +"The privateer barking good-bye, sir," came old Piper's voice from +across the room. "She's stood in with the tide, and had a slap with +her bow-chaser. Now she's going about." + +The memories swooped back on Kit; Nelson, the despatches, the swim in +the dark. + +In a moment he was at the loop-hole, peering over the old man's +shoulder. + +On these in the sunshine he saw the brown-patched sails of the +privateer lifted ladder-like from behind the shingle-bank, and +strangely close. Then her bows slid into view, and he realised that +she was standing out to sea: + +The boy's heart soared. + +They were free! + +A great hand pulled him gently back from the loop-hole. + +"By your leave, sir. They've a marksman on the knoll keeps on a-peckin +at us." + +The boy's heart sank. + +"Then we _aren't_ free?" + +"Oh, no, sir. All round us, sir--a cord on em, Muster Joy calls it, +soldier-fashion." + +From above the Parson's cheery voice rang out. + +"So she's left you in the lurch, my lord. That comes o trusting to a +Frenchman." + +Piper chuckled. + +"Muster Joy and the Gentleman! Must keep on a-chaffin. At it all day +yesterday they was, atween scrimmages." + +A gay voice came sailing back from the open. + +"Ah, Reverend Father, good morning! Yes, you must excuse her for the +moment. She has an engagement to keep round the corner to-morrow." + +"To-morrow!" echoed Kit, aghast. "Piper! how long have I been asleep?" + +"Why, sir, you've slept round the clock and a bit more. It's nigh noon +of what was to-morrow when you turned in." + +No wonder he was hungry; no wonder he was fresh; no wonder that sound +of hammering, which had disturbed him as he passed from a half-swoon +into sleep, seemed so far off. + +"Wednesday! Then to-morrow's Thursday!" he cried, rushing into his +clothes. "O Nelson!" and he raced up the ladder. + +The loft was full of light, dazzling after the twilight of the +kitchen. + + +II + + +A mattress, stuffed clumsily in the seaward window, half blocked it. +In the dormer looking towards the Downs, two biscuit-boxes crammed +with earth sat on the sill, forming a rough head-cover. + +Behind these Knapp sprawled on his stomach. Beside him was a wooden +porringer full of bullets, and a basin of black powder; in his hand a +musket. + +In a cobweb corner by a barrel, Blob crouched covetously; while beside +the mattress-curtain sat the Parson in his shirt-sleeves, furbishing +Polly, and pausing every now and then to spy out through the bulges. + +As Kit clambered on to the floor, the Parson turned, his blue eyes +merry, and curls a-ripple. + +"Ah, Kit, my boy, how are you?" + +"Alive and well, sir, thanks to you. And you, sir?" + +"I!" laughed the Parson. "I'm another man." A bullet whizzed by. The +Parson listened sentimentally. "That's the music!" raising his face +with a rapt smile. "Always makes me think of angels' wings." + +He seemed to have grown, body and soul. His eyes shone, his cheeks +glowed; he was crisp as a rimy apple. + +Kit felt the change. + +Responsibility, the searcher out of souls, had exhilarated and sobered +the man. He was graver yet gayer, inspiring and inspired. + +"Duck up aloft!" came a sudden roar from beneath. + +The Parson smote Kit a blow on the chest that sent him staggering back +against the wall. + +A bullet whistled in at one window and out at the other. + +The Parson crawled across to Knapp, lying on his face, and dealt him a +tremendous buffet. + +"Dog!" he thundered. "Why don't you shout?" + +The little man's body leapt to the blow, but he made no answer. + +"Go below!" ordered the Parson savagely. "What's the good of you? I +set you there to warn us and all you can do is to grovel on your +stomach and snivel." + +The little Cockney rose without a word and crept away, his tail +between his legs. Kit saw his face. One eye was black; and his face +was so woebegone that but for the misery in it Kit would have smiled. + +"Their shooting is exquisite," said the Parson with professional +delight. "You can't show a finger.... They've nearly had Blob already +--ain't they, Blob?" + +Blob, cuddling in the corner, shook his head cunningly. + +"Oi've had them," he said. "Three pennorth of em," pointing to the +little pile of coppers at his side. + +"I'm giving him a penny apiece for each Gang-er he gets, and twice the +money for a Frenchman," the Parson explained. "It stimulates effort," +he added, prim as a pedagogue, but with twinkling eye. "And now, Kit, +your story." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + + +THE PARSON'S STORY + +Swiftly the boy told his tale. + +"But for you and the soldiers," he ended.... + +"There were no soldiers," answered the Parson curtly. + +"What, sir!--I thought!--some men in shakos behind the bank--the men +Knapp brought." + +The Parson ground his teeth. + +"Knapp brought no men. He got as far as the Lamb in Eastbourne on the +hill yonder, and there he got playing the fool, and sneaked back here +about twenty minutes after you were gone with a pair of black eyes and +a pack of lies and nothing else." + +All the ruddiness had left his face. It was grey as steel and dark. + +"I tried him by drum-head court-martial then and there, for misconduct +in the presence of the enemy. I was the President, Piper the Court. +The Court found him guilty and sentenced him to be shot. I confirmed +the sentence, and proceeded to carry it out." + +He rapped the words out clean and clear. Kit felt himself seeing this +man with new eyes, the eyes of a great respect. The fellow schoolboy +of yesterday had turned into the man of war, stern and terrible. Kit +was afraid of him. + +"There was nothing to wait for," continued the Parson. "So I had him +out and made him dig his own grave against the wall. + +"'It's blanky ard,' said he. + +"'You're a soldier; and this is war,' I answered. 'I'm going to count +two--then fire. Make your peace with your Maker.' + +"I hadn't got to two, when I heard a hubbub on the privateer, and knew +you were either caught or in difficulties. + +"'This can wait,' I said. 'I'll use you first, and shoot you +afterwards!'" + +The blood stole back to the Parson's face. His eyes lifted, twinkling +now. + +"It's resource that makes the soldier, you know, Kit. I slipped into +my old regimentals, gave Knapp his bugle, clapped a shako on Blob's +head, and put the two of them behind the shingle-bank to act as a +skeleton-force.... And you know the rest." + +Kit gazed at the square-set figure before him with respectful +admiration. + +"It must have been a close thing, sir." + +The Parson shrugged. + +"It would have been a mere bagatelle but for the Gap Gang cutting in +on our line of retreat. That added interest, and made a bright little +affair of what would otherwise have been a dull retirement." + +"And how did the Gap Gang come to cut in?" + +"Oh, that's easily explained.... + +"At midnight I went out to beat em up--crept along under the cliff +past Holy Well. When I got to Cow Gap, there were my friends lying on +their backs in a bunch, snoring like so many sows, and the boat +beached beneath em. I believe I could have killed the lot then and +there, and nobody the wiser; but I wasn't going to soil my hands with +the cold blood of those swine. So I just jumped into the boat, and got +to work at once--put my heel through her bottom, and was just tearing +up a plank, when the noise wakes old Red Beard. + +"'Who the blank's that?' he growled, sitting up in the moonlight. + +"'Why,' says I, tearing away, 'the gentleman you're good enough to +call the blankety Parson.' + +"'Then guess we've got you, sir,' says he, and comes down the beach at +me at the double. + +"'Think so?' says I, jumping out to meet him. + +"'Twenty to one, sir!' says he. 'Chuck it up.' + +"'Pardon,' says I, 'nineteen to one, I think,' and downs him with my +left. O, such a beauty! flop in the mug. + +"They were all awake by this of course; and there was a little bit of +trouble. I wasn't going to ask my sweet lady to soil her lips on those +mucky blackguards, so I kept dodging away before them, just doing +enough with my dukes to keep them amused. They were no more good than +a mob of cattle, you see--drunk with sleep and liquor, the lot of em. + +"'Out knives, boys, and finish the blank!' says old Toadie. + +"And pon my soul they came on so hot I don't know what mightn't have +happened, when all of a sudden, + +"'The boat!' screams Fat George from behind. 'Some blankety blank's at +the boat.' + +"And sure enough there was a long-legged chap launching the boat. In +he jumped, shoved her off, and lay on his oars, lookin at em, as they +came running along the edge of the sea." + +The Parson threw back his jolly head. + +"Laugh, Kit!--I never saw a fellow laugh as he did. I roared to see +him. And all the while those chaps were skipping about on the shore, +howling like lunatics. You never heard such a row. Then Fat George, +when he saw it was all up, tried the leary lay. + +"'I know it's just a joke o the Genelman's,' says he in that greasy- +wheazy voice of his. + +"'That's just it, George,' the other calls across the water, 'and the +best joke I've enjoyed since I saw Black Diamond brand you with the +hot iron you'd just branded the lugger's kitten with.' + +"'What I mean,' whines Fat George, 'you wouldn't go for to leave a lot +o pore blokes on a dead foul lee-shore--what got there through trying +to sarve you.' + +"'Sarve me!' says the Gentleman. 'Yes, Garge, my faithful friend-- +sarve me in the back with two fut o carvin-knife, while I was chattin +with Garge's pals.' + +"At that Fat George snatches the musket and pulls. + +"I heard the click of the hammer, but there was never so much as a +flash in a pan. + +"'Thank you, thank you, Fatty, my friend,' says the French feller. +'But you know you'd make better shooting, if I hadn't wetted your +priming.' + +"Then he struck his oars in the water. 'And now good-night all,' says +he. 'Black Diamond was a man, if he was a devil. As to the rest of +you, the best I can wish you is a long drop, and a rope that runs +free. And as for you, Fat George, I won't forget you in this world, +and God won't forget you in the next.' + +"Then he came rowing along inside the barrier of rocks to me. + +"'I don't know who you are, sir,' says he, taking off his hat in his +dandified French way, 'but I'm sure I owe you my best thanks. If it +hadn't been for you, I hardly know how I should have managed.' + +"Well, of course I knew very well who he was, and what he was after. +But I knew the boat was sinking, and I saw he couldn't row. So I never +thought he'd reach the ship. Still the longer I kept him talking, the +better your chance. So-- + +"'You're very welcome, sir,' says I. 'Won't you step ashore and thank +me in person?' + +"'I'm grieved to the heart,' says he, 'but I must postpone that +pleasure till another day. Perhaps we shall meet again. I hope to +return in a few weeks--not alone next time.' + +"'Quite so,' thinks I, 'at the head of the Army of England. No you +don't, my fine fellow, not if I can keep you messing about there a few +minutes longer.' + +"'And perhaps we have met before,' says I, taking off my hat. + +"He peered at me in the moonlight. + +"'What!' he cries--'not my old friend, Black Cock, again?' + +"'The same at your service,' says I, 'still waiting to have his comb +cut.' + +"'This is a great happiness,' says he, very earnest, and paddles in a +bit. + +"'It's mutual,' says I. 'And if you've quite done posing won't you +step ashore and let us consummate our joy? A sweet stretch of sand, +and a lovely light.' + +"Pon my soul for a moment I thought he would. Then, + +"'I can't to-day, bad cess to it,' says he. 'Tell you the truth I'm in +the devil's own hurry. Got an interview with his Sacred Majesty, our +noble Emperor, whom may Heaven preserve, at twelve noon to-morrow. And +if I don't keep it, I stand to lose a lot o little things--my head +among em. I'm in disgrace, you see--always have been from a child!' + +"He lifts his sword to his lips, quite the play-actor. + +"'But here's to our next merry meeting, sir.' + +"'And may it be soon, Monsieur le Poseur,' says I, answering his +salute. + +"And it's proved sooner than either of us expected. There's he: here'm +I. One side this wall the first light cavalryman in Europe, 'tother-- +Harry Joy, ex-Captain of British infantry. Now we've got to see which +is the better man." + +He squared his shoulders. + +Whoever else might find the situation unsatisfactory it was not Parson +Joy. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII + + +THE DESPATCH-BAG + + +I + + +"That is the first part of the story, and the least," said the Parson. +"And while I'm telling you the rest you'd better have some grub." + +He reached up to a rafter. + +"I keep the tackle up here out of Blob's way. The boy's all belly-- +ain't you, you young shark?" + +Blob stroked his waist feelingly. + +"She kips on a-talkin," he purred. "She dawn't get much answer +though." + +"Well, don't eat that candle anyway, you little glutton!" + +"Oi warn't eatin it," said Blob, aggrieved. "Oi were suckin it." + +The Parson arranged what food there was on the floor. + +'"Honour and salt-beef--campaigners' fare!' as Nelson used to say in +Corsica.... + +"And while you're at that, I'll get on with my story." + + +II + + +He went to the gable-end and took down a tarpaulin bag hanging on a +staple. + +"Kit, that was a great haul you made." + +He took a packet from the bag. + +"What d'you think this contains?" stripping the india-rubber from it. + +There crept into his eyes again that steely look. + +"It contains," he continued in the still voice of the man so moved +that he dare hardly trust himself, "a list of all those gentlemen of +Kent and Sussex who are _à nous_, as the paper says." + +The boy dropped his knife. + +"Traitors in fact!" + +"That's the ugly word," said the Parson between set teeth. "And may +God have mercy on them as they deserve!... When I read that list," he +continued, breathing hard, "for the first time in my life I was sick, +_sick_ to call myself an Englishman.... There are men down there +I've dined with, gamed with, chaffed with, may heaven forgive me for +it! true men as I honestly believed, men I've seen drink the King's +health and damnation to the French with three times three, as a +Christian and a gentleman should. There are magistrates, squires, a +peer or two, one sheriff, a deputy-lieutenant, and small fry-- +publicans, carriers, smugglers, and the like--by the score." + +He spread squares of paper on the floor, piecing them. + +"And here's a map in sections of the whole country from Pevensey to +Westminster--farms, inns, cottages, all put down, see!--where guides +can be got; the wells marked, bakers' shops, mills; roads, metalled +and unmetalled; and in the margin here and there a Church or what-not +drawn out pretty as you please for a sign-post." + +The boy looked. Yes, it was the hand that had written the scent-bottle +note. + +"There's enough in that bag to hang some of the best names in +England," continued the Parson with gloating delight. "And I hope to +have that bag in Pitt's hands before many hours are out." + +The colour stole back to his cheeks, and he began to rub his hands +together. + +"Kit, my boy, we'll have such a hanging as was never before seen in +England--God helping us.... That's what we're here for." + +The boy's eyes were raised to his. + +"No, sir, please. What we're here for is to save Nelson." + + +III + + +The Parson staggered. + +"Nelson!" he cried, ghastly. + +His mind clutched in the dark at something it had lost. + +"The plot, sir.... Beachy Head." + +"My _God_!" cried the Parson, and died against the wall. + +The despatch-bag and its contents had so possessed him that Nelson's +need had for the moment slipped his mind. + +"And I call myself a soldier!" + +He leapt to life again. + +"What's to-day?" savagely. + +"Wednesday, sir." + +"Is it to-morrow?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The life faded out of his blue eyes. + +Till that moment he had been hugging the comfortable belief that Time, +the soldier's best ally and worst enemy, was on his side. Sooner or +later relief must come. Cosy in their tiny fortress, they could afford +to wait for it. The Gentleman could not. Now for the first time the +Parson learned that his anticipated ally was his foeman's. + +"Talk of Knapp!--I'm the one ought to be shot." + +"How soon shall we be relieved, sir?" asked the boy feverishly at his +side. "When may we expect the soldiers?" + +The words revived the Parson like a whip-lash. Knapp, a soldier, had +betrayed his trust. He, a soldier, had let slip thirty golden hours. +He was bitterly jealous for his dear Service. + +"We shan't be relieved," he snarled. "How can the soldiers relieve us +when they don't know we want relief? Knapp didn't get through--told +you so already once." + +"But the country-folk, sir! Surely they'll report." + +"No, they won't," stonily. "This is Sussex. We aren't alive in Sussex: +we're dead-alive.... If they did see anything was up they'd only think +it was one of the ordinary rows between the blockade-men and the +gentlemen, as they call the smugglers." + +He looked out of the Downward window. There was little comfort. Tall +men in French uniforms swaggered about England's greensward as though +already it was theirs. He could catch their beastly foreign lingo. The +sight and sound made him mad. Grim old watchdog that he was, he felt +the bristles at the back of his neck rising. What right had these +strange folk in his back-yard?--O to make his teeth meet in their +gaitered legs! + +Besides the Frenchmen, not a soul stirring. + +English rooks cawing over English green, and an English sheepdog +answering them. + +A lonely land at the best of times, it was a desert now. + +Westward in a cloud of beeches, a grey house glimmered--George +Cavendish's--empty. The Seahouses over by Splash Point--empty too. So +was every house of any size for ten miles inland from Fair-light to +Selsea Bill. Everybody bolted who could afford it. The old lady of +Hailsham quite a proverb for pluck in these parts; and they said she +looked under her bed every night to see if the French had come. + +And the luck! where was the luck? + +Ten days since this uttermost corner of England had stirred to the +strange music of men making ready for battle: bugle-calling Cavalry in +the new barracks in Eastbourne on the hill; thundering Artillery in +the Circular Redoubt at Langney Point; Sea-Fencibles in the martello- +towers along Pevensey Levels. Now all was still and dead again. A +concentration in force had taken place at Lewes. The Cavalry had been +withdrawn to the camp there. A case of cholera had emptied Langney +Fort. The Sea-Fencibles had run away. Black Diamond had swept up the +blockademen. + +Darkness, darkness, everywhere. + +Kit stole to his side. + +"We _must_ get a message through to Nelson," he chattered. "We +_must_." + +The boy felt himself at war with destiny, and crushed by it. He +recalled the Man of Despair in the Iron Cage in Pilgrim's Progress. +The fate of the country was in his hands. He alone had the knowledge +that could save her, and he could not use it. He was a dumb thing, +possessed of a vast world-secret, which he could not impart for lack +of voice. + +"If there's no other way, we must cut our way through." + +The Parson met him with a rough, + +"Nonsense." + +"Why?" hotly. + +"Impossible--that's why." + +It was the first time he had thrown that dead-wall word across the +lad's path, and it maddened the boy. + +After all, _he_ was responsible, not this beefy soldier. + +"That's a word we don't know in _our_ Service, sir," he cried +with scornful nostrils. + +The taunt touched the Parson on the raw. + +He swung round savagely. + +"_Your_ Service!" he stormed. "At a time such as this, there is +only one Service for loyal hearts, and that's the Service of his +country." + +The lad quailed before the thunder-and-lightning of the man's wrath. + +"Why can't we sally?" sullenly. + +The Parson shot a hand toward the window. + +The boy followed his pointing finger. + +In the open, behind the wall, was a camp-fire, a group of soldiers +squatting round it, arms piled. To right and left, embracing the +cottage, a chain of sentries ran, tall men all in tall-plumed bear- +skins. + +Old Piper was right. A cordon indeed! + +"Grenadiers of the Guard!" rumbled the Parson in the boy's ear, +rolling his r's like a _feu de joie_. "Marksmen to a man; +veterans all; and half of them decorated." + +Grenadiers of the Guard! the men of the Bridge of Lodi, of the Battle +of the Pyramids and Mount Tabor, of Hochstadt and Hohenlinden. + +Kit recalled the tops of the _Cocotie_ swarming with riflemen, +and old Ding-dong's surprised disgust. + +Now he understood. + +On the success of this venture hung Napoleon's world-projects. +_Coûte que coûte_, he had told Mouche, he must bring off this +coup. So he was employing on it the pick of the first Army the world +had ever seen. + +As he thought of the issues at stake, the boy's soul fainted within +him. + +How could he, Kit Caryll, aged fifteen, and hovering on the brink of +tears, stand up against the Victor of Marengo? + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + + +THE DOXIE'S DAUGHTER + + +I + + +The boy's long face, anxious before, grew haggard now. + +It wore the look of one with the enthusiasms of a saint across whose +path Sin, the Insurmountable, has fallen suddenly. + +"We're done," he said, husky and white. + +His words revived the other. True man that he was, despair in the +boy's heart quickened the courage in his own. + +"Never say die till you're dead," he cried, squaring his shoulders-- +"that's the Englishman's motto." + +His spirit rose to meet the occasion. + +"Our theatrical friend outside there's no fool. But--but--but! there's +just one element he's not reckoned with." + +"What?" cried Kit, hanging on his words. + +The Parson dropped head and voice. + +"Who saved you from the _Tremendous_?" he whispered. "Who handed +you up a cliff a goat couldn't climb?--who brought you to this house? +--who put the flag-idea into your head, and brought it off?" + +The Parson's words made sudden confusion in the lad's mind. It came to +him with a shock of surprise to find such triumphant faith in this +ruddy fighting-man. + +"And why d'you think of all the houses in the world He sent you to +this one?" the other continued. + +"Because of you, sir." + +The Parson frowned, and approached his lips to the lad's ear. + +"_Because it's got a secret passage!_" + +This most matter-of-fact explanation flashed the laughter to the boy's +eyes. + +"I mean it," said the other earnestly. "Ain't you noticed anything +about the floor of the kitchen?" + +"It sounds hollow." + +"It is hollow. It's built over an old decoy-pond." + +In a few words the Parson outlined the history of the secret passage. + +A water-way had led from decoy-pond to sea. The sea had gone back and +left the water-way and pond high and dry. Sixty years back a sly old +sea-dog had built this lonely cottage over the pond. He had covered +the water-way and made a drain of it. Thus he had secured a secret +passage to the sea, and the cottage had become the receiving depôt of +Ruxley's crew. + +"Where does it lead to?" asked the boy, all eyes. + +"Out into the creek we crossed on the way to the Wish." + +"And how many people know about it?" + +"Three. One's you; one's me; one's the son of the man who built the +cottage--and that's old Piper down below there.... It's not been used +for forty years. The sea went back and back, and the creek's been dry +these years past." + +Kit's knees invited him to prayer. This was not chance; it was not +coincidence. + +"You're right, sir," said the boy chokily. "He's in it." + +"And what's more He's going to get us out," replied the Parson, +cheerfully matter-of-fact. + +The boy was slipping off his coat. + +"I'd better start at once. There's not a second to lose. Nelson may +sail this evening." + +The Parson laid a kind hand on the lad's shoulder. + +"The boy's as greedy for glory as Nelson himself," he laughed. "But +the Navy can't do it _all_, you know. Give _us_ a chance.... +When we've got the best pair of legs South of Thames trained to a +tick, and fighting mad for their chance, we may as well use em." + +Kit gasped. + +"Nipper Knapp!" and added in a flash, "May I go with him, sir?" + +"To the mouth of the drain," said the Parson. "No further." + + +II + + +He turned about. + +"Blob, come here. Keep a sharp look-out at this window, and give a +holloa if anything stirs. You can sing em a little song, if you know +one to keep em quiet." + +He slid down into the twilight of the kitchen. There only the old +foretop-man was to be seen, patient at his post of watch. + +"Where's Knapp, Piper?" + +"Why, sir, in the cellar. Wanted to be alone with his trouble, I +reck'n. Tarrabul down-earted, the poor lad be." + +"I'll cheer him up," cried the Parson, and disappeared through an open +trap-door into the night beneath. "Nipper Knapp! Nipper Knapp, my boy!" + +In two minutes he was back. + +Knapp was at his heel, sparring playfully at the back of the other's +head. + +True, for the broken heart there is no such cure as action or the hope +of it. + +As they emerged into the twilight of the kitchen a voice, pure as a +rivulet's, poured down in song upon them from above. + +From outside came a gust of laughter, and then a roaring chorus. + +"By the Lord!" thundered the Parson. "It's The Doxie's Daughter." + +"And the Gap Gang singing choir!" said Piper grimly. "Likely it'll +be the only hymn they knaw." + +"One moment, Master Blob!" muttered the Parson between clenched +teeth. "I'll swab that boy's soul clean if I have to do it with a +scrubbing-brush.... Now, Knapp, ready yourself, while I write a note +to the Commandant." + +Knapp tore off his coat, and began to fight an exhibition battle with +a ghost in the corner. + +"Will ye fight the lot then, Jack?" chuckled old Piper. + +"Ay, and wop em, too!" cried the little man, dodging, ducking. "Ave +a slap at em first, and then go through--that's my idee." + +"It's not mine, though!" roared the Parson, catching him a rousing kick. +"Get on with your undressing, d your eyes!" + +He finished his note and folded it. + +"And now for the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft." + + +III + + +He ran nimbly up the ladder, Kit at his heels. + +The chorister had ceased his song. + +Through the half-stuffed dormer, light streamed in on the white-washed +wall, the cobwebs, rafters, and Polly in the corner, shining demure. + +"Now where the dooce has that boy got?" muttered the Parson, looking +round. + +Kit pointed. + +In the darkest corner, under the slope of the roof, stood an +apple-barrel. Out of it two frog-like legs thrust and kicked with +the action of one swimming. A protuberance crowned the rim of the +barrel. Body, head, and arms were lost. + +The Parson whipped up Polly. + +"One for yourself!" he roared, prodding the boy's bad eminence, +"and one for The Doxie's Daughter!" + +"Hoi! that's Blo-ub!" yelled a muffled voice. Two hands shot out and +plastered themselves over the stimulated part. There was a wriggle. +Then Blob stood before them, touzled, pink, his ears wide, an apple +tight between his teeth. + +"D'you call that keeping a look-out?" thundered the Parson. + +"Oi wur lookin out," said Blob, dogged and sullen. + +"Then you keep your eyes where few of us do." + +"Oi thart oi yerd a Frenchie in the bar'l," said Blob in the slow and +undulating voice of Sussex. "Oi went fur to fetch un out, when a +tarrabul great oarse-fly settled on ma butt-end and stung her." + +"It was no horse-fly," replied the Parson. "It was my dear lady. +Now, don't bother to think of any more lies, my lad, but just take +that lantern from the wall, and go below. We'll join you in a minute." + + +IV + + +The Parson pulled aside the hanging mattress, and peeped seaward. + +"Come here, boy. I want to show you the lie of the land. D'you see +that chap in blue knickers in the shade of the sycamores?--he's the +Gap Gang sentry. They're camped somewhere behind the knoll, the main +of them. That's their smoke you see among the trees." + +That roaring chorus still rang in the boy's ear. + +"The drain runs to the right of the knoll, and out into the creek bang +opposite the Wish. Half-way down it there's a man-hole." + +An icy pang pierced Kit's heart. + +"It's quite small, and a bush grows over it. It's a million to one +they know nothing of it. Still you should--er--watch it." + +The Parson was gnawing his under-lip. + +"I'll watch it," said the boy, the waves breaking white about his +face. + +It must be somewhere just about the man-hole that Fat George and Co. +were camped. Still he wasn't going to let this soldier know he was +afraid. + +But the soldier knew. + +Outwardly calm, his own heart was a whirlpool of doubts. How could he +stop behind a wall and send this lad out into the open to face heaven +knew what? Yet here surely his obvious duty lay. Should the enemy +storm, what could a legless old sailor and a brace of boys do against +them? And unless he was mistaken mischief was brewing. Where was the +Gentleman all this time? Yesterday he had been everywhere all the +time. To-day the Parson had caught but one fleeting glimpse of him. +The old soldier preferred his enemy's activity to his quiet. Was this +the lull before the storm? + +"I only want you to go to the mouth of the drain, and see him off," he +said with calm cheerfulness. "Once away, you'd only hamper him." + +That was truth at all events. Once away, Knapp's chance lay in his +feet. With luck the little man'd be in Lewes in an hour and a half. +With luck a good man on a good horse'd be in Chatham before night, +another at the Admiralty, a third at Merton,--that was, if Beau +Beauchamp would leave his actress for the moment to play the man. With +luck Nelson wouldn't have sailed. + +Lots of luck, true! still, who was it was on their side? + +The fog of his doubts cleared away. + +He turned to the boy with glowing eyes. + +"Kit," he whispered, hugging the lad's arm, "we'll have a Gazette to +ourselves yet." + + + + +THE SALLY + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX + + +MAKING READY + +The kitchen was dim as a sick-room, and strangely hushed. No one spoke +but the Parson and he in whispers, lecturing Knapp, undressing in the +corner. + +The gravity of the enterprise, its certain perils, the issues at +stake, oppressed the room. Death was there already; as yet indeed only +a ghost at each man's elbow, in a few moments maybe to become +incarnate. + +Kit felt it and sickened. + +Perched upon the table, his back to the boarded window, he whetted his +dirk upon his shoe, and wondered if those others, those men, Knapp +most of all, felt as he did. + +Privately he thanked heaven that the dusk hid his face. + +Through chinks and splintered bullet-holes, the light stole in, making +daggers across the darkness. + +It splashed the walls, the great stone-flags, the black mouth of the +cellar, and the dresser in the corner. + +There sat Knapp, a grey ghost spotted here and there with light. The +little rifleman was naked now, save for a pair of fighting drawers. A +heap of clothes sprawled at his feet. + +The little rifleman was like a child. Broken-hearted a minute back, +now he was as a lion in leash. + +There was an adventure forward, and the off chance of a fight: he +brimmed at the thought of it. Without imagination, he knew no fear; +with little experience of pain, he didn't much believe in it. They +wouldn't catch _him_; they wouldn't hit _him_! + +Before him knelt the Parson with low head, swathing his feet with +strips of torn towel, absorbed as a surgeon, careful as a mother. + +"Is that easy?--now how's that?--try your foot down! Another turn +round the ankle?--Remember, it'll be rough going till you strike the +grass." + +At the loop-hole Nelson's old foretop-man watched and waited. A gleam +smote his silver hair and prophetic forehead. Kit watched him +wondering. + +The old man, so tranquil amid the stir and whisper of death, affected +the boy as One years ago had affected other seamen tempest-tossed. + +His chattering heart hushed as a sparrow hushes in the quiet of a +great cathedral. + +Then the world rushed in on him with a shout. + +Again that gust of laughter outside, that roaring chorus. + +The Gap Gang were making merry. + +The contrast revolted the lad. + +The table on which he sat began to rattle. + +Quietly he slipped off it. But the old foretop-man had heard. + +Leaving his post, he came rumbling across the uneven flags. + +"The waitin time's generally always the worst time, sir," he +whispered. "Sooner farty actions than wait for one--I've hard Lard +Nelson say it himsalf." + +"I am a bit--quaky," replied the boy, and would have admitted as much +to no other man, and to few women. + +"And none the worse for that, sir. It's a poor heart that can't feel +fear. If a man's not a bit timersome about facin his Maker, then he +ought to be. Pluck's doin your duty although you are afear'd. You'll +be right enough once you're in it, surely.... And if you're not above +a hint from a man before the mast, sir, you'll take them shoes off. +Boardin-parties bare-fut--that was ollus the word aboard the +_Agamemnon_.... Ah, Knapp, feelin slap?" + +"Ay, fit to run for me life or fight for it," bubbled the little +rifleman, prancing out of his corner. + +The Parson beckoned Kit. + +"You see his sort," he whispered. "The chap's as full of meat and +mischief as a lion-cub." He turned again. "Knapp," he said solemnly, +"this is your officer. He's coming with you to see you off. He carries +the King's commission as truly as I do. You'll obey him as you would +me, and no nonsense, d'you see?" + +"Very good, sir," said the little man, jigging and bobbing. "I'm all +of a pop like. Seems I might go off any moment." + +"Any tomfoolery and you will go off," replied the Parson sternly--"out +of this world into the next--pop! as you say yourself. You've only one +chance against the finest marksmen in the world, and that's to show em +a clean pair of heels. If you don't, you've fought your last fight, my +lad! Ginger Jake's cock of the South." + +The last words went home. The little rifleman became very grave. He +swung round to Piper in his swift bird-like way. + +"Mr. Piper, pop off a prayer for us." + +The common-sense saint lifted his head. + +"God elp and strengthen your legs, Nipper Knapp," he prayed. + +"That's the point, O Lord!--his legs!" punctuated the Parson. + +"Sometimes," continued the old foretop-man solemnly, "I have wondered +why the Lard saw good to take my legs to Himsalf. Rack'n I knaw now." +He reached out a huge hand, gripped the little rifleman and pulled him +closer. "There's nawthin cut to waste in this world," he whispered +huskily. "And it's my belieft He's been savin of em up this ten year +past agin this day--to put the strength of em into your'n, Jack Knapp. +May you make good use o both pairs--your own o the flesh, and mine o +the sperrit!--that's my best prayer for you." + +The little rifleman, as simple as the old sailor, was profoundly +touched. + +"I'll do me best, Mr. Piper, struth I will!" he sniffed. "Never do to +mess it a'ter all His trouble." + +"Give us your hand on it!" said the old man. "And you too, sir, if so +be a common sailor might make so bold." + +The old sailor and the young shook hands feelingly: the two soldiers +followed suit. + +"Don't forget you're a Black Borderer, my boy," said the Parson, one +hand on the rifleman's shoulder. + +"That I'll never, sir!" replied the little man, almost in tears. + +Parson and Kit gripped hands: neither spoke. + +Then the Parson ran up the ladder. + + + + +CHAPTER L + + +IN THE DRAIN + +The little party of adventurers filed down into the dark. + +Blob's lantern shone on the rusty iron door, streaked with damp, which +barred the mouth of the drain. + +It was very chill down there. Knapp was shivering as he played with +the bolts. Blob, impassive as a jellyfish, was still sucking at his +apple. + +Quick and clear Kit gave his orders. + +"Knapp, stop tinkering those bolts about, and stand back till I give +the word! Now, Blob, listen here!--Knapp and I are going through this +door down the drain. You'll stand here with the lantern, and light us, +d'you see?" + +"Ah!" said Blob. + +"You're not to stir, d'you see, boy?" + +"Aw!" said Blob. + +Kit gripped his arm, and looked into his round and dewy eyes. + +"Half-way down the drain there's a hole, where the light comes in." He +was articulating his words with the slow precision of one addressing a +deaf man. _Now if, after we've passed that hole, anybody should get +down through it into the drain, then you're to slam the door--and +bolt!..._ + +"Now repeat my instructions." + +Blob mooned and mowed, his eyes roaming the cellar. + +"Repate moi ructions," he mumbled at last. + +"Ass!" snapped Kit. "Here!--stand so!--the lantern between your feet. +That's right. Now don't stir. Ready, Knapp?" + +"On the boil, sir," bobbing and blowing on his fists. + +"Then come on." + +Kit drew the wheezing bolts, and flung back the door. A chill breeze +entered. + +Before the boy could stop him, the little rifleman was through the +door and away down the drain. + +"Come back!" ordered Kit in a fierce whisper. + +The man, stooping in the drain, turned and grinned. + +"In _my_ Service, sir, Borderers lead." + +"In _my_ Service, officers do.... Come back!" + +The boy had nothing but his dirk; but that he pointed resolutely; and +the lantern-light glimmered in the darkness as on a steel-barrel. + +Knapp crawled back, delighted. + +"You're the sort," he chuckled, patting the lad on the back. "Quite +the little man o war." + +"Get to heel," snarled Kit. "Hold your tongue. Keep your paws to +yourself. And address me respectfully and properly." + +The drain ran away before them, a long black tunnel, focussing in a +remote jewel of light. It was like the Alley of Life, cramped and +dark, and at the far end of it a little door opening on heaven. And +across the door the boy seemed to see written the one word + +_Nelson_. + +He advanced into the breathing darkness, his eye on that guiding +light. Half-way down the drain a dim patch brightened the black floor. +There was the man-hole; there was the danger-point. + +He crept forward with groping hands. The bricks were cold and +sweating, the atmosphere that of the grave. It seemed to smell of dead +men. The boy felt as though a mountain was smothering him. He found +himself breathing deep as though in difficulties. + +Even Knapp, crawling at his heels, appeared affected. + +The man was humming something in a dirge-like monotone. At first Kit +thought it was some sort of a Litany; then he caught the words: + + "Two little corpseses goes for a walk + In a church-yard under the sea, + Says the one to the other-- + 'I'll squeak if you'll squawk + To keep me company.'" + +The humming ceased, and Kit missed it. + +"Are you there, Knapp?" + +"Yes, sir. Smotherified feelin, ain't it?" + +"Do you hear anything?" + +"Only me own teeth chatter." + +"Hush, then." + +They were drawing near the man-hole. + +The boy was sweating, shivering. He was living in death. + +A very little, and he would have had one of his old screaming panics +of the night-nursery. Then that tiny diamond of light, hanging in the +blackness before him, the one word written across it, steadied him. It +was a star, his star. It sang to him the Song of Faith. + +Besides, how could he run away?--he, an officer, a gentleman, a +sailor, run away before a private soldier? No. It is easier to lead +somebody who believes you to be brave than to let him know you are a +coward--especially if he's a soldier. The thought tickled him, and his +heart surged upward. + +They were very near the man-hole now. + +Kit turned and pointed. + +Knapp put out his tongue in reply. + +The patch of light on the floor was dim and chequered. The old bush +then was in its place. The boy thanked heaven for it, and stopped +dead. + +Above the tumult of his heart he could hear a voice: so close too that +had he prodded upwards through the thin crust of earth he would have +stabbed the speaker. + +And how well he knew that ghastly treble! + + + + +CHAPTER LI + + +VOICES OF THE LOST + +_"Where's Bandy?" + +"Where we'll all be afore we're much older--in ell this alf our." + +"What ye mean?" + +"Ave a peep in the creek yonder. You'll see sharp enough what I +mean."_ + +Another voice, dark and brooding, joined in: + +_"Who stuck him?" + +"The Genelman." + +"What for?" + +"Back-answerin him."_ + +A fourth voice, very black and bitter, flared up: + +_"That's im!--bangs you up in the firin line, then sticks you if you +look at him. If it's storm, we got to do it. If it's sally, we got to +meet it. If it's neether, we got to set round and take Piper's pot- +luck, while he and his chaps lay safe out o range and, shoots us if we +bolt." + +"Where's the good in boltin?"_ came the brooding voice. _"Nowhere +to bolt to. Jack Ketch's our only friend this side the water."_ + +There was a stony silence. + +"_How long's this ---- game goin to last?--that's what I want to +know,_" came the black and bitter voice at last. + +The ghastly treble chimed in: + +"_That's what I says to im last night when e come his rounds. 'We're +only poor chaps, my lord,' says I. 'We've lost alf the number of our +mess in your service. And now I'd make bold to ask how long you're +goin to keep us here?'_ + +"'_Why,' says he, suckin his hanky, 'that depends on your sweet +selves. You may go as soon as you've took the cottage_.' + +"'_And what if the sogers come first?' I says. 'There's a camp at +Lewes, you know, my lord.'_ + +"'_Why then,' says he, and I lay he thought he was funny, 'I'll +leave you to the hands of your beloved compatriots. And what can a +good man want more'n that_?' + +"'_We're the Gap Gang, my lord,' says I_. + +"'_Well,' says he, 'if that don't suit you, hurry up and take the +cottage and have done with it. I'm gettin tired o this messin about +business_.' + +"'_Beg pardon, my lord,' says I, 'but what are we to ave for our +trouble, when we ave took it_?' + +"'_Why,' says he, very pleasant, 'if you're good, Friend George, +when the job's done, per-raps,' says he, 'per-raps I'll give you a +lift back to France in my lugger layin on the beach there_.' + +"'Our _lugger, sure-ly, my lord,' says I_. + +"'_No, my friend,' says he, 'it was the late lamented Diamond's. Now +it's our noble Emperor's, Gorblessim!--a derelict picked up on the +igh seas by one of His Majesty's frigates_.'" + +The treble ceased. + +"_Pretty position for the genelmen o the Gap Gang, ain't it_?" +came the black and bitter voice. "_Shot takin the place, or hung if +you don't_." + +"_Ah_," came the treble again, "_it wouldn't take me long to do +somethin to him. See. Sow_!" + +"_Only you'd ave to get somebury to old is ands first_," grumbled +Red Beard. + +"_Scream_!" said the fat man, unheeding. "_I'd make his soul +talk_." + +The brutal Toadie rumbled off into laughter. + + + + +CHAPTER LII + + +HARE AND HOUND + + +I + + +Brutes! + +But--they knew nothing of the man-hole they were clustered round. + +The boy's heart soared. + +He passed on, as quiet as a mole. + +Burrowing beneath the lowest hell, he had heard the voices of those in +torment within hand's touch of him. + +Now heaven opened its far door. He crawled towards the light. It was +no longer a star; it was an eye, the eye of a soul, the Soul of Souls. +And it was loving him. + +The boy crawled on. + +The great earth, warm and dark about him, gave him strength. She was a +friendly great beast, breathing and blowing all round him. He could +hear her, and feel her. On Beachy Head he had been a fly crawling on +her hide; now he was the same fly swallowed. He was creeping along her +gullet towards her mouth. Motherly old thing, she covered him well, +and he was grateful to her. That good thick flesh of hers stood +between him and that which he did not care to contemplate. As he +crawled he kicked her in the ribs to show he recognized that she meant +well. + +The light was growing on him now. The wind blew on his damp forehead. +He could see the round of sky, blue against the black arch of brick. + +Warily he peeped through the screen of tamarisk that veiled the +opening. + +The creek lay a few feet below. Across it, the smooth side of the Wish +flowed upward. + +A sentinel crowned the little hill, but his face was seaward. + +Otherwise the coast was clear. + +No! + +On the slope of the Wish, facing him, a man was lying. + + +II + + +The man was lying on his back half-way up the slope, reading a little +brown book. + +Kit could not see his face; but he had no need. + +Well he knew those buck-skin breeches, those mud-spattered tops, those +tall knees. + +"Who's that bloke?" whispered a voice at his ear. + +"The officer commanding the French. Hush!" + +"Crikey!" whispered Knapp, much impressed, and peering through the +tamarisk. "Ain't he got a pair o legs on him neether?" + +Before Kit could stop him, he had brushed past and dropped into the +creek, light as a feather. + +For a moment he squatted there, monkey-fashion, blinking after the +darkness. + +The sun shone on his naked back, ridged and rippling. A little man, he +was solid as a boulder: thighs tremendous, shin-bones great and bowed. +Such fists too! such feet! + +Kit leaned out. For better or worse, the thing was done now. No good +calling him back, no good cursing him. Better make the best of it. + +"You've got a clear run," whispered the boy. "Hug the far bank, so the +sentry on the Wish can't see you; stick to the creek as far as you +can; and when you leave the shore, take a wide sweep towards the +Downs, to avoid their sentries; and then _run_, man!--_run_ +as you never ran before!" + +"I'll run, man, run fast enough soon as you done talkin," replied the +Cockney cheekily, hopping across the creek to the shelter of the far +bank. "Be in Lewes afore you're back to the guv'nor, I'll lay. Ta-ta." + +He was away down the creek, running like a monkey, finger-tips +touching the ground. + +Kit, thankful to tears, watched the sun on the man's ridged back, as +he stole away. + +Surely, he was through now. + +A sound made him look up. + + +III + + +The Gentleman had not stirred. He was reading aloud, and loving what +he read. + + "Little lamb, who made thee? + Dost thou know who made thee?" + +Heaven send Knapp had not heard; but he had. + +Up bobbed the black shaven pate out of the creek, much as Kit had +often seen the head of a coot bob up in one of the moorland tarns of +his own Northumberland. + +The little man stood listening, the sun on his shoulders, careless of +discovery. + +The voice on the hill, loving and laughing, drew him like a syren's. + +Was the man mad? + +He was climbing up out of the creek on to the grass. + +Kit swept the tamarisk aside, and waved at him furiously. The little +man soothed him with mocking hand, and crept on. + +Kit dared not shout; he could not catch the other. What could he do? +Watch and pray, with sickening heart. + + "Little lamb, I'll tell thee, + Little lamb, I'll tell thee: + He is called by thy name." + +Beautiful as it was, the boy could not listen. His soul was in his +eyes, and his eyes on Knapp. + +The little man was now behind the reader, and stalking him on hands +and knees. + +What on earth was he up to? + +A horrible thought wrenched the boy's heart. + +Would Knapp stab the other as he lay? + +If so, could he stand by and see that little baboon-thing with the +hairy bosom and leg-of-mutton fists murder in cold blood a noble +gentleman to whom he owed his life? + +Then he remembered thankfully that Knapp had no weapons. + + "Little Lamb, God bless thee! + Little Lamb, God bless thee!" + +Knapp had stopped now, and seemed bending over the other. Then he +deliberately thrust his hand into the face beneath him. + +The Gentleman sat up, snatching for his sword. + +"Tweak his conk!" popped a Cockney voice--"the conk of a lord!" And he +was up and away, and down the slope with the merriest spurt of +laughter. + +The Gentleman was on his feet in a second, pursuing, a smear of blood +at his nose. + +Knapp heard him. + +"Chise me!" he called, and came swinging down the slope at his ease, a +smug grin on his face. + +He was the fastest man but one South of Thames that day, and how was +he to know that one was after him? + +If he was not aware of it, Kit, watching with all his eyes, was. + +The Gentleman was hounding at the other's heels, swift, silent, +terrible. + +"Run!" screamed the boy. + +The rifleman glanced over his shoulder. + +"God A'mighty!" he yelled. "E's catchin me." + +The light went out of his face. Fists and knees woke to sudden life +and began to hammer furiously. The long easy swing became a terrific +pitter-patter. Flinging back his head, he set himself to run the race +of his life. + + +IV + + +Knapp was naked, and trained to a tick. + +The Gentleman was the faster, and the slope helped his long legs; but +he was booted and spurred. + +Kit watched the smooth swoop of the one, and the terrific bob-a-bob- +bob of the other. He was reminded of an eagle he had once seen +stooping at a rabbit on the Cheviots. + +Each was running for his all, and each knew it; but the Gentleman was +having the best of it. + +Knapp, running with his head as well as with his heels, was making +straight for the creek. + +On the flat, among the boulders, he, naked-nimble, would be on better +terms with the booted Gentleman. + +But--he would never get there. Kit saw it at a glance. + +Down the hill he came with pounding fists, and great knees going. His +head was flung back, his face screwed tight. + +He had the lion's heart, this naughty little man. Death, swift and +terrible, cast the shadow of its wings over him. He could not see it, +but he could feel it overhead, swooping, swooping. He would not look +back. His mistake made, he would do his desperate best to retrieve it. +At least he would show the world how a Borderer can die. + +Behind him the Gentleman, the wind in his hair, was feeling for his +throat. + +Another moment and that hub-bub of beating heart and running legs +would stop for ever--skewered. + +Kit could not bear it. Casting disguise aside, he leapt into the +creek, and snatched a pebble. + +"Chuck!" screamed the rifleman, and jinked like a hare. + +Kit saw the gleam of a white waistcoat, and flung with all his might. + +The pebble sped true as that which slew Goliath. + +It took effect between the fourth and fifth button. Down went the +Gentleman with a windy groan, as though the soul was being sucked out +of his body. + +Knapp, the pressure relieved, was his Cockney self again in a second. +He swung on at a leisurely trot with the flick of heel, and swagger of +elbow, peculiar to the crack taking his ease. + +"Thank-ye!" he called, pert and patronising. "Lucky shot!" + +"Run, fool, run!" yelled Kit. "The sentry!" + +On the crest of the hill, against the sky-line, the sentry was +kneeling as he took aim. + +"What!--eh!--oh!--im?--blime!" and Knapp buckled to again in earnest. + +The sentinel fired. + +It was a long shot; but the man was a Grenadier of the Guard, and +picked at that. + +Up went Knapp's arms, and down into the creek he stumbled, there to +fall on his face. Up again to run a little further; down once more; +turned head over heels; up again and out of sight. + +Kit's heart rose and fell with the little man. + +What to make of it?--was he hard hit?--or was he at his eternal +fooling once more? + + + + +CHAPTER LII + + +OLD TOADIE + + +I + + +He had no time for further questions. He must see to his own line of +retreat. + +The Gentleman was winded, and nothing more. The opening of the drain +was discovered. No matter. It had done its work, or would have when +once it had seen him home. + +He clambered up the bank, brushed through the tamarisk, back into the +comfortable darkness. + +Thank heaven! Blob, the faithful, was still there. + +He marked the cheerful gleam of the lantern, a tiny red spark in the +darkness. + +As he shuffled rapidly along he saw the patch of light on the floor +beneath the man-hole. + +But--was he mistaken?--or was not that patch, dim and dappled before, +bright now as the moon? + +He stopped. His heart was thumping so that he almost expected the +covering drain to crack, and reveal him to the world. + +Suddenly the patch vanished. All was darkness save the red eye of +Blob's lantern far away. + +Then that too went out. + +The blackness was stifling, horrible. He opened his mouth to draw +breath. + +Then the light at the man-hole appeared again, shining now no longer +on the floor, but on a man's head, bristling, and with huge ears. + +Some one was squatting in the drain. + +His heart that had been racing brought up bump. + +"Any one there, Toadie?" came a voice through the man-hole. + +"Only the boy," rumbled the man in the drain. + +The words woke Kit to his position. With a ghastly effort he confirmed +his mind and faced the situation. + +There was one thing for it--to make for the opening, and trust his +heels. + +Better to be shot down in the open, anyway, than killed in the drain +like a rabbit. + +He turned round. + +As he did so, a hand appeared at the opening, and swept back the +tamarisk. A smiling face showed at the mouth of the drain. + + "Tiger, Tiger, burning bright + In the forest of the night," + +came the voice of a playful ogre. "Did you ever hear of a man called +Blake, Little Chap? One of God's own." + +As he said it, a door slammed violently; a great gust of wind rushed +past the boy down the drain. + +Blob, the faithful, had obeyed his orders. + +The boy was alone in Hell, and the Devil was stalking him. + + +II + + +Kit turned round. + +Under the man-hole squatted old Toadie. The light bathed his hunched +shoulders, his receding forehead, his projecting teeth. + +The horror of it, the darkness, here in the bowels of the earth, +hidden from sun and wind and light of heaven, undid the boy. + +He tried to scream and could not. He battered madly at the bricks, +caging him like an iron destiny, and only hurt his hands. + +Surely, surely God would hear him! + +Toadie began to hop towards him--hop--hop--hop. + +The boy was breathing stertorously through his nose, almost snorting. +The saliva was dribbling down his chin. He sank in a heap against the +bricks and said, + +"Hullo!" + +_"Ello!"_ came a deep voice. _"Feel sick?"_ + +"I don't know," giggled the boy, crouching limp on the brick-floor. + +He knew now what those rabbits he and Gwen had ferreted with glee +felt, old Yellow Jack worming down the burrow after them. + +Yes: it was nicer to ferret than to be ferreted. + +Nicest of all perhaps to be the ferret and suck blood, suck blood, +suck blood, glued between the eyes of your victim. + +Again the boy giggled. + +The horror was passing. It was only a nightmare now, too terrible to +be true, and a familiar nightmare. To be hemmed in thus in darkness, +an ogre creeping in upon him, he just a throbbing heart and breathing +nostrils.... Often before ... in life, in death, in dreams.... He +didn't know, and didn't greatly care.... Time to wake soon.... Mother +or old Nan would knock in a minute.... This sort of dream always ended +in that knock. + +He beckoned to the hopping toad, smiling. They might just as well be +friends. Mother's knock would disturb them soon enough. + +A noise roused him from his waking death. + +It was the shuffling of feet. + +Old Toadie heard it too, and snarled across his shoulder. + +"Who the hell's that?" + +In the darkness there was a falling flash. + +It was Blob; Blob, the brave, who had fulfilled his orders and more. +Loyal to his brother-boy, he had slammed the door as bidden, and, +himself, the wrong side of it, had come to Kit's assistance. + +After all he was a boy, and was not the young gentleman a boy?--and is +not all the world against boys?--Boys that must hold together, or they +will surely all be lost. Kit heard and lived anew. + + +III + + +Before him in the darkness was a muffled tumult. Out of it came Blob's +plaintive squeak, + +_"Give over squeegin"_ + +And the bass reply, + +_"I'll squeege your eart out !" + +"Hullo! hullo! hullo!--what's forrad there?"_ came the Gentleman's +echoing voice, as he crept towards them. + +Kit scuffled down the drain, and tripped over a tumbling mass. It +writhed; it stank; it was hot; it had two voices that growled and +squeaked. + +"Well done, Blob!" he panted. "Which is you?" + +_"Oi'm me,"_ came a smothered treble from the heart of the +tumble. + +The boy's hand felt a shirt, warm and wet. + +"Is that you?" prodding with his dirk. + +_"G-r-r, you young--"_ + +Kit slid the dirk home. He was surprised to find how smoothly the +steel ran in. It was not hard, then, to kill a man, and it was +strangely pleasing. + +The man shivered and relaxed. + +_"Is that old Toadie you've got there?"_ called the Gentleman, +crawling leisurely along. + +"It was." + +_"What you doing to him?"_ + +"Killing him." + +_"Ah, well,"_ said the Gentleman, _"I never cared much for old. +Toadie. We weren't simpatico. If you care to wait a minute I'll--"_ + +"Can't," gasped Kit. "No time. Now, boy, hurry!" + +Blob crawled out from beneath the dead man. + +"Anudder pennorth for Blo-ub!" he gurgled, and added jealously, one +hand on the corpse, "He's moine. Oi killed un first." + +"Never mind about that! This way." + +There was one chance and one only. The door blocked one end; the +Gentleman the other; the only exit was the man-hole. They must risk +it. + +"Here, Blob!--up here!--quick now!--give us a leg!" + +Blob gave him a heave. Up he went into the light, like a cork from a +bottle. Staying himself on his elbows, he hung, half in the hole, half +out of it, the light dazzling him. + +A roar of laughter smote him in the heart. + +Blinking, he looked about him. + +Above waved the sycamores, breeze-stirred and dark, and walling him +round, the Gap Gang. + +Kit's first thought was to drop. + +Two soft arms seized him from behind; a sickening breath was on his +cheek; a smooth face pressed his; and a fawning treble was saying in +his ear with appalling tenderness, + +"Let ole George elp you, Lovey." + + + + +CHAPTER LIV + + +THE PARSON'S AGONY + + +I + + +The Parson stamped up and down the loft, gnawing his thumb. + +Those long shots from the rear had ceased half an hour ago. A tall +Grenadier drooped across the wall. How should he have known there was +one in the cottage could reach out a fatal finger and tap him on the +forehead at two hundred yards? + +The Parson's jolly face was haggard. + +Now and then he peered out of the seaward window, listening. On the +knoll all was still. He could see nothing, could hear nothing. Blue +Knickers had withdrawn; he could mark no prowling figures. Only among +the tree-trunks a pale wisp of smoke meandered upwards, telling of a +camp-fire behind. + +About him was the drowsy buzz-z-z of an August noon. A cabbage +butterfly sailed by. The creature's insufferable airs annoyed him. The +fate of Nelson, the life of a noble lad, these were nothing to it, +curse it for its callousness! + +The minutes passed. The silence was so oppressive that he could hear +it. It stifled him. + +What an age the boy was! Good heavens!--he could have got to the mouth +of the drain and back half-a-hundred times by now! What was the +delay?--Things must have gone awry! Yet how could they?--It was always +the way! There was no trusting any living soul but yourself! Why the +devil couldn't he be in two places at once?--It was _damnable!_ + +He pulled himself together with a jerk. + +Here he was becoming unjust, irritable, womanish; everything he had +always most despised in a man of action. + +A shout came to him from seaward. + +A shot followed. + +The perspiration started to his forehead. He ran to the ladder-head. + +In the dimness below he could see the old foretop-man sitting alert +beside the black square of the open trap. + +Piper was stooping forward, one great hand curved at his ear, +listening intently. + +"Piper!" + +"Sir." + +"All well below there?" + +"Well, sir, I'm not justly sure. A minute back I seemed to feel like a +gush o wind--" + +"Then hail the boy, man!" + +"Boy Hoad! below there!" in stentorian tones. + +The only answer was a rush of air through the open trap, and the +muffled slam of a door, house-shaking. + + +II + + +The Parson ran down into the cellar. + +Blob's lantern glimmered on the floor, but there was no Blob. + +He felt the door, cold to his hands as a corpse. It was shut fast as +death. The catch had snapped; but the bolts were not home. + +His first impulse was to open; his second to refrain. A man with a +musket anywhere in the drain could not miss him. And he once down, the +door open, all was over!--the cottage stormed, the despatches taken, +old man Piper slain, and Nelson lost. + +His ear against the clammy iron, he listened. Yes; outside the door he +could detect the sound of faint breathing. + +A distance away, he could hear the scuffling of feet. + +He saw it all. They had shot Blob, who lay without, breathing his +last. The door, left unguarded, had slammed, and they were nabbing Kit +and Knapp in the drain. + +His hand was upon the catch once more. Should he go?--dared he stay? + +His spirit wrought within him. + +Strong man though he was, he was whimpering in the darkness. + +To slink behind that iron door was eternal shame; to go was inevitable +ruin. Could he save his own old skin at the cost of that boy's? And +yet he could not get away from the remorseless fact that to save his +own skin might be to save his country. + +His agony was short but terrible. The patriot prevailed over the man. +The discipline of twenty years' soldiering had taught him life's +hardest lesson--to sacrifice his feelings to his duty. He made his +choice, and chose the path that has always seemed best to Englishmen +in such case. + +He slammed the bolts home. + +He was up the ramp in a moment, and had banged the trap-door behind +him. + +Old Piper turned from the loop-hole. + +"Seems there's summat up yonder behind the trees, sir. I yeard--Ah! +what'll that be?" + +From behind the knoll came a sudden holloa, then an uproarious burst +of laughter. + +"They've got em, by God!" The old man swung his chair about with lion- +like eyes. "By your leave, sir, you must go to them lads." + +The Parson was tearing off coat and cravat. + +"I'm going.... I'll slip out of the dormer-window so as to leave the +door shut." + +He sped up the ladder, and down again in a twinkling. + +"Here are the despatches! If I go down, it'll take em ten minutes to +rush the place and give you time to burn the papers. Here are my +pistols! one for the first Frenchman, and t'other--well, you're a +better man than I am, Piper, you know what's right, but--" + +"I'll trust my Maker before the Gap Gang," said the old man. "He'll +understand.... Good-bye, sir. God help you." + +"He will," cried the Parson. "It's His battle. Good-bye, Piper. I'm +cut to the heart to leave you. But--" + +He was up the ladder and out of the window in a moment, stealing +across the greensward, Polly in one hand, and Knapp's bugle in the +other. + +No spatter of fire greeted him from the knoll; no flitting figures +retreated before him. All was peace, and the fair breeze ruffling the +sycamores. + +The Gap Gang were at some bloody business behind the trees. + + + + +CHAPTER LV + + +PRETTY POLLY-KISS-ME-QUICK + +Kit's life stopped short. + +"That's one on em. Where's t'other?" growled Beardie. + +"Oi'm here," said Blob, and thrust up, pink and impassive, in his +cheek an obvious slice of apple. + +"That's right," said Fat George in sleek, caressing voice. "Give the +genelman your and, my dear. He'll elp you out. There you are! There's +no call for _you_ to be scared. _You're_ among old friends." + +The Gang had gathered round the hole. + +Beardie on his hands and knees was peering down into the drain. + +Then he threw up his head with a savage roar. + +"My God! they've done old Toadie." + +He burst through the crowd at the boy, eyes and beard ablaze. + +Kit, tight-clutched in Fat George's arms, shut his eyes. + +There flashed before his mind a lonely figure, bound and buffeted in +the palace of a high-priest eighteen hundred years ago. He saw it, +patient among its persecutors, with the eyes of perfect vision, and +grew strangely calm and comforted. + +These evil men appeared to him in a clearer, a purer light. For one +splendid second he was sorry for them. + +"Father, forgive them," he prayed, and added aloud, "Good-bye, Blob." + +The voice at his ear brought him back from heaven. + +"Stidy, Beardie!--You're spiling sport. Ave the Mossoos twigged +anything up?" + +"Nay," said Dingy Joe. "They're a'ter the naked chap." + +"Then we've got this little bit o business all to ourselves, the +Genelmen o the Gap Gang ave. Let's take im up among the trees, and gag +im first." + +Was God in heaven? would He allow it? + +As though in answer, close at hand a bugle sounded. + +The boy had a vision of a winged figure, sword in hand, swooping +wrathfully down upon them. + +Surely he knew it--that swoop, that sword, that splendid rage. + +It was St. Michael, the Archangel, in the famous picture by Guido +Reni, a copy of which hung in the drawing-room at home. + +"Remember the crew o the Curlew, men!" roared a mighty voice. + +The arms about the boy loosened. + +"The sogers!" shrilled Fat George, and bolted with a scream. + +The rest followed in cataract rout. They pelted past the lad, +bellowing, bleating: a tumult of arms, legs, aweful eyes in aweful +faces. Only Beardie had the strength of mind to aim a smashing blow at +the boy's head as he fled, and he missed. + +"Make for the cottage, boys!" thundered the Parson, storming by. "Oh, +Polly, my love and my lady!" and his sword flashed and sang and swept +against the sky. + +"Grenadiers!" rang an imperious voice from out of the ground. + +Kit jumped round. + +The Gentleman's head was thrust through the manhole; his eyes sweeping +the greensward. + +Fighting Fitz had seized the situation in a glance. Could he thrust +his Grenadiers between the boys and the cottage, victory was his. + +Lifting himself on his hands, his head thrown back, he sent the +singing voice that the veterans of the Prussian Guard had heard at +Marengo out of the cloud as Kellerman's Green Brigade roared down on +them--he sent it swinging over grass and knoll, + +"_À la maison, mes enfants!"_ + +Kit did not hesitate. Dirk in hand, he leapt at the head flashing in +the sun. Here, in the heat and hell of battle, he had no thought of +mercy. + +The Gentleman heard the patter of his coming, and swept about. + +"Sold again, Little Chap!" he laughed, and bobbed underground. + +The chance was gone. There was not a second to be lost. + +"This way, Blob!" yelled the boy, and dashed up the knoll, making for +the cottage. + + + + +CHAPTER LVI + + +THE RACE FOR THE COTTAGE + + +I + + +And it was full time. + +As he stormed up the knoll, he heard upon his right the clink of arms, +and the sound of a Frenchman shouting. + +Down through the sheltering sycamores he plunged, and burst out into +the open. + +A tall Grenadier, who had been sentry upon the shingle-bank, was +racing up on his right across the greensward, screaming as he ran. + +His yells were of effect. Half a dozen ragged ruffians bobbed up from +behind the broken wall in the rear, and seeing only the boys, made +fiercely for them. + +It was a race for the cottage; and the door of the cottage was shut. + +That dead mask of wood stared at Kit blankly. Had it no eyes? no soul? +no understanding? was it not English, heart of oak, its life sucked +these centuries from the breast of the same mother? could it not +_feel_ his agony? + +"Piper! Piper! the door's shut!" + +"_Ay, sir, but it wun't be drackly-minute_," came a straining +voice from within; and the boy could hear the rending of torn boards, +and the splintering of terrific hatchet-work. + +The Grenadier with set teeth and blue-black muzzle was launching +forward with huge strides. + +Kit could hear the rattle of his cartridge-pouch flopping as he ran. + +Would the door open? if so, which would reach it first? + +"Faster, Blob, faster!" + +"Oi'd run faaster, if ma legs would," panted Blob, lumbering behind. + +He was doing his best; but he was no match for the fawn-footed +gentleman, who led him. Lumps of ghostly clay, inherited from a long +line of furrow-following ancestors, clung to his heels, impeding him. + +Kit gripped his dirk and ran. + +His eyes were on the Grenadier, a black and yellow fellow, with a wart +between the brows. That wart held Kit's imagination. It sickened him. +It was just his luck to have to deal with a warted man, when he had +always loathed warts! But for the wart he felt he could have been +heroic. + +At the thought the tide of his humour welled within him; and the +Grenadier was amazed to see a smile in the eyes of this boy with the +long face, ghastly-pale, racing against him. + +Taken off his guard, he smiled too. + +So each ran towards the other, whom he meant to kill, with smiling +eyes. + + +II + + +The cottage door began to open slowly, so slowly. + +The boy could see the old foretop-man in the darkened passage. A +hatchet was in his mouth; he was handling the door with one hand, and +his chair with the other. + +So easy for a whole man to open the door, so hard for the disabled +seaman! + +The Grenadier, hounding with huge strides, was already almost there. + +"Man on your left, Piper!" the boy screamed. + +"All right, sir!" mumbled the old seaman. "Give me cutlass room--all I +ask!" + +He put both hands to the wheels of his chair, and spun out into the +open, hatchet in mouth. + +As he did so, round the corner of the cottage swooped half a dozen +yelling cut-throats. + +"Take the Frenchman, sir!" roared the old man. "I'll tackle these--" + +With a wrench, he slewed his chair, spun the wheels furiously, and +shocked into the cloud of them. + +The Grenadier launched at his back, bayonet at the charge. + +"Coward!" gasped Kit, still five yards away, and flung his dirk. + +It stuck in the ground at the man's feet, and tripped him. He plunged +forward on hands and knees, and gathered himself as a wave about to +break. + +As he rose, Kit leapt on him, naked-handed. + +The man was hurled through the open door, and brought up against the +inner wall with an appalling shock. + +For a moment man and boy hugged cheek to cheek. + +Kit's legs were round the other's hips, his arms about the other's +neck. + +"Beast! don't bite!" he gurgled, as the man munched his shoulder; and +the image of Gwen, who when hard-driven used her teeth effectively, +rose before him. + +The image faded. The man had the under-grip, and was squeezing his +soul out. Another moment, and his ribs must go. + +"Blob!" he choked. + +A dark something shot through the door and shocked against the +Frenchman. + +"Where'll Oi kill him?" asked a voice. + +"Where you like," muttered Kit, swooning. + +A hand rose and fell. + +The man relaxed his grip. Kit could feel him fading and fading away, +as the life oozed out of him. He was a-horse on Death. + +"Assez," muttered the Frenchman sleepily, swayed and fell. + +Dazed and dizzy, Kit staggered to his feet. + +A shadow darkened the door; a strange voice cried in horrible triumph: + +"_Our'n!_" + +Two pistols lay on the table. Blindly the boy snatched both. + +"Now!" he said, as one in a dream, and, shoving a pistol against the +man's bare and shaggy bosom, fired. + +Blindly he stepped over the fellow's body, and out into the open. + +A man, on hands and knees, was crawling away round the corner of the +cottage; another lay dead on his face across the way. + +Before him he saw a little cloud of men, and the gleam of a silver +head thrusting out moon-like from among them. + +Blindly he fired into the brown, and blindly followed up. + +One man fell; others slunk away, snarling. + + +III + + +The whole thing was over. + +Buzzing August prevailed again. + +"Are you hurt?" sobbed Kit. + +"No, sir, I'm bravely, thank you. Properly shook up, though." The old +man was heaving like the sea. "They'd no knives nor nothin, only one +on em, and Boy Hoad stuck him as he passed. They hurt emselves more'n +me. I bluv I'm a better man above the waist nor ever I were. All the +juice like goes to my arms now I've no legs--that's how I reck'n it +be." + +"We must get in before they come again. Quick!" + +"Ah, they won't come again, sir. Easy satisfied, the Gap Gang. Got no +guts because they got no God.... Ah, here's Mr. Joy!" + +The Parson was coming across the greensward, high and mighty as a +turkey-cock. + +The Gentleman was standing among the sycamores, laughing. + +He waved his hand to the boy. + +"Congratulations, Little Chap," he called. + +"Don't accept em," snarled the Parson. "Posing impostor!--coxcomb!-- +cad!" + +"What! has he wounded you, sir?" asked old Piper. + +"Pinked me in the calf, the coward!" snapped the Parson. "He's not a +gentleman. I always knew he wasn't!--Frenchified feller!" + +He looked round with grim satisfaction. + +"So you've been busy, too. I reckon they're half a dozen short o what +they were before the sally. And we've got our man through, too!" + +He pointed across the plain. + +From the foot of the Downs a string of Grenadiers were coming back at +the double. + +They had no prisoner. + + + + +III + +THE SHADOW OF THE WOMAN + + + + +CHAPTER LVII + + +THE PARLEY + + +I + + +The door was shut, and all once again darkness in the cottage of the +kitchen. + +Something slithering along the floor caught Kit's ear. + +Then he saw that Blob had by the collar the Grenadier he had killed, +and with groanings and pantings and strange animal noises, was hauling +his victim towards the dark mouth of the cellar. + +"Leave him alone," called Kit sternly. "D'you call that a respectable +way to treat the dead?" He laid a piece of sacking over the corpse, +adding--"That'll do to cover him up till we can bury him properly." + +"But Oi don't want un buried," whined Blob. "Oi be goin to keep un +agin the fifth o Novambur--guy for Bloub!" + +"You're going to do no such thing, you disgusting little beast. You'll +get your tuppence, and you don't deserve that." + +"Ah," said Blob cunningly, "this un'll be worth a little better'n +tuppence surely. You knaw who he be, Maaster Sir?" + +"Who then?" + +Blob dropped his voice to a mysterious whisper. + +"Squoire Nabowlin. Mus. Poiper tall me." + +"Who?" + +"Squoire Nabowlin," reiterated the boy. "Nabowlin Bounabaardie--the +top Frenchie. See the legs on him! red and gold and buttons and all." + + +II + + +The Gentleman was sauntering across the grass towards the cottage, his +hands behind him. + +The Parson brushed aside the mattress, and thrust out, snarling. + +"Keep your distance, sir, or take the consequences." + +The Gentleman strolled forward. + +"Ah, there you are, Padre. I came to have a little chat." + +"Stand fast then, and state your business!--This is war, not play- +acting. I hate your silly swagger." + +"Well, in the first place I thought you might care to know that your +man's through." + +"Thank you for nothing. Knew that already." + +"But you know--there's always a little but in this world--hateful +word, isn't it?--but, but, but--he's too late." + +"What ye mean?" + +"I mean that Nelson reached Dover last night, and sails this +afternoon. The _Medusa_'ll be off here at dawn if this breeze +holds." + +Dover! + +The Parson had forgotten Dover. Chatham, the Admiralty, Merton! in his +note he had urged Beauchamp to send messengers post-haste to all +three; but Dover! + +"That's all right," he called calmly. "I've a galloping express half- +way there by now, thank ye." + +The other shook his head with a grave smile. + +"It's sixty miles in a bee-line from Lewes to Dover, and plenty of +public-houses on the road. No Englishman could do it under eight hours +on a hot day. If your romance-man gets there by midnight, he'll do +well--and still be hours too late." + +The Parson remained unmoved. + +"It makes no odds," he called loftily. "If you want to know, Nelson's +not in England." + +"Is he not? where is he then?" + +"Why, where he ought to be--hammering the Combined Squadron somewhere +St. Vincent way." + +"How d'you know?" + +"He's my cousin on my father's side. I heard from his mother only-- +only--" + +"By last night's mail!" suggested the Gentleman. "May I ask then why +you trouble to send a galloping express to Dover to stop him?" + +The Parson's face darkened. He thrust forward. + +"And may I ask how _you_ know Nelson got to Dover last night?" + +The other shrugged. + +"I have agents." + +The Parson nodded grimly. + +"Yes; I've a list of em." + +"_Your_ countrymen, _my_ friends"--with a malicious little +bow--"the Friends of Freedom." + +The Parson leaned out, black as night. + +"Friends of Freedom be d-----d!" he thundered--"bloody traitors!" + +The other raised a shocked hand. + +"Holy Padre! Reverend Father! _Virginibus puerisque_, if you +please." + +The Parson turned to find Kit at his elbow. + +"I'm only a deacon," he grumbled. And it's only what you French gentry +call a _fashion de polly_." + +"I am not French--or only on my mother's side," replied the other +gently. + +"Well, Frenchified then--it's all the same, ain't it?--all that bowin +and scrapin and humbuggin business--you know what I mean." + +"Yes, yes, I know, my polished friend.... And as to these same +_couleur-de-rose_ gentry I understand your feelings entirely, and +for the very good reason that I share them. And I don't mind telling +you in confidence that as to the bulk of them your description is not +too highly-coloured." + +"And if _they're_ that, what are _you_, I'd like to know?" +shouted the Parson. + +"I am an Irishman. I serve my country--I do not sell her." + +"And are all Irishmen traitors?" + +A gleam came into the other's eyes. He smiled frostily. + +"All who are worthy of the name," he said.... + +"But to return to our sheep. They have served me, these sanguinary +gentlemen, so I can't stand by and see them hanged, when I can save +em. And to put it shortly--I want that despatch-bag, please!" + +He came forward like a child, hand outstretched, and smiling +charmingly. + +The Parson flung out a finger and volleyed laughter. + +"And he thinks he's going to get it! Ask pretty; don't forget to say +please; and he shall have everything he wants, he shall, he shall. +There's a lambkin! there's a little lovey!" He leaned out again. "And +what you going to give us for it?" + +"Why, a free pass-out, with all the honours of war." + +"Thank you for nothing. Seems to me I can have a free pass-out +whenever I like. I've just free-passed out a man. And I'm only a +minute or two back myself from a little stroll with a lady." + + +III + + +The Gentleman sauntered forward. + +"I am sorry to be so importunate," he said gravely, "but I _must_ +have those despatches and I mean to have them." + +He stopped. + +"The position is this: Nelson is _mine_." He brought down his +right fist on his left. "_Nothing_ can save him now--_nothing_. +This time to-morrow, so sure as that sun will rise, he will be +dead or on the way to Verdun. That has been arranged." + +"_How?_" thundered the Parson. "_How_ has it been arranged?" + +The Gentleman was pacing to and fro before the window; and his eyes +were down. + +"It's enough for you to know," he said at last, "that I--I have +influence with a lady, who--who has influence with Nelson." + +"What _does_ he mean?" whispered Kit. + +The Parson had turned very white. + +He knew that woman, by nature so noble; and he knew something of her +history--the history of the shame of man. + +"D'you mean to tell me _She's_ going to sell _her_ Nelson to +that organ-grinder's monkey from Corsica?" he roared. "Because if +you'll tell me that, I'll tell you you're a liar." + +The Gentleman still paced before the window. + +"I'll tell you nothing of the sort," he said. "She believes herself to +be serving her country." He was speaking very slowly, almost mincing +his words. "She has--has come into possession of information...." + +The man, usually so self-possessed, stuttered and stopped dead. + +"And how did she come into possession of that information, I wonder?" +asked the Parson, slow and white. + +The Gentleman flashed his face up. + +"I'll put it in brutal English so that even _you_ can understand. +_I made a fool of a woman who thought she was making a fool of +me_." + +There was a lengthy silence. + +"And they call him the Gentleman!" came the Parson's voice at last-- +"the _Gentleman_!" + +The other had resumed his pacing. + +"He sneaks himself into the confidence of a lady," continued the +Parson quietly. "He conceals his identity--" + +Again the other flashed his eyes up. + +"I did not!" he shouted, hammering with his hand. "The first words I +ever spoke to her in the drawing-room at Merton were to tell her who I +was. That night she told Pitt over his port. And Pitt told her--but +there!--I needn't go into that.... And when she asked me what brought +me to Merton, I answered truthfully--'Love of adventure and the +fairest face in Europe.'" + +The Parson leaned out. + +"I understand you now. You take advantage of that face of yours; you +worm yourself into the confidence of a woman, a noble woman; and you--" + +The Gentleman blazed appalling eyes up at him. + +"And _you_ have not seen my Ireland suffer!" + +The Parson quailed before the white blast of the other's anger. It was +as though a hail of lightnings had struck him. + +"_His_ Ireland! ass!" was the only retort he could think of. + +"Nelson then let us put aside," continued the other, cold again. +"There remain--you and the despatches. I want the despatches. You want +yourselves. Shall we exchange?" + +"No, we shan't," snapped the Parson. + +"I know your straits," continued the other. "You're short of +provisions--" + +"Short of provisions!" guffawed the Parson. "Why, step this way, and +I'll show you a boy with the bellyache." + +"And short of men," the other continued, quite himself again. "What +does your garrison consist of?--one holy padre, one half an old +sailor, Monsieur Mooncalf, and Little Chap." + +"And what's your own lot?" bellowed the Parson--"one dozen of +sweepings of France, one dozen of the picked scum of our country, and +one conceited young whipper-snapper, who swaggers about in breeches +and boots all day _and was never on a horse in his life to my +certain knowledge!_" + +The Gentleman waved his hand. + +"Take the consequences then," he said. "A rivederci." + +"Take the consequences yourself!" roared the Parson--"you and your +river dirties. I'll see your friends hung high as Haman yet." + +The other shook his head. + +"You won't live to see that, dear man," he said quietly, and turned +away. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII + + +THE PLANK CAPONIER + +Kit was in the cellar stripping his belt and cartridge-pouch from +Blob's Grenadier. + +As he rose from his knees Piper hailed him. + +"Mr. Joy callin you, sir." + +The boy ran up the ramp. The old man, handling his musket, was peering +through the Northward loop-hole. + +"What is it?" + +"Summat up yonder, sir." + +The boy raced up the ladder. + +The Parson was at the dormer looking towards the Downs, shimmering now +in the fair evening. + +"What's the meaning of this?" he said, pointing. + +A great Sussex wain, top-heavy with hay, was drawing out of a farmyard +among trees, a quarter of a mile away. A white horse was in the +shafts, and a black in the lead. Two Grenadiers were at the head of +the black leader, who was giving trouble. Others in shirt-sleeves were +mounting to the top of the load. + +"Old Gander's wain," said the Parson. "That's old mare Jenny in the +shafts, and her three-year-old daughter in the lead. Ha, Miss +Blossom!--That's your sort!--Knock em sprawling!--Teach the Mossoos to +handle an English lady!" + +A tall man ran out of the farmyard, a snow-storm of white-frocked +children pursuing him; and even at that distance Parson and boy could +hear them screaming laughter. The tall man snatched up one and kissed +her. Then he took off his hat with an enormous sweep to the others, +and turned. + +"Humph! posing rather prettily this time!" muttered the Parson, +watching kind-eyed. + +On the top of the wain, clear against the sky, a tall figure now rose, +and gathered the rope-reins in his hand. + +The men at the leader's head jumped aside. + +Up she went, sky-high. + +The coachman handled her as a mother handles a wilful child. The wind +was towards them, and they could hear him singing to her. + +"Hum! he can handle the ribands a bit," muttered the Parson, watching +intently. "Miss Blossom's never tasted a bit before." + +The filly dropped, and flung forward with the shock of a breaking +wave. + +The slope was with them. The old mare, with snarling head and backward +ears, broke into a lumbering trot, snatching at her daughter's tail. +The wain began to gather weigh, creaking, jolting, jerking along. + +The filly was tearing into her collar; the old mare, swept along by +the pursuing wain, broke into a heavy gallop. The Gentleman, holding +them hard, was singing to them as they came. + +"Mean mischief, sir," called Piper from below. + +"Jove, they do!" muttered the Parson, chin forward, and eyes flaming +as he watched. "Like a Horse Artillery battery coming into action." + +The wain leapt and swung and bounced along like a live thing. + +"Ah, I thought so.... Pace too good.... He's dropping his load.... +Ah!--there goes another!" + +A Grenadier was seen to fall with flapping tails, and another, and +another; till the track of the thundering wain was strewn with men, +who picked themselves up and pursued. + +Only the intrepid coachman, his feet set deep, held his place, swaying +to the swing of the wain. + +The Parson gnawed his lip as he watched. + +"What's it all mean, Piper?" + +"Don't justly know what to make of it, sir." + +"You can't get a line on him?" + +"No, sir. He's slewed aside out o my range." + +And indeed the Gentleman had swung his team to the left, as though to +avoid the old man's fire. They were lurching along at a thundering +gallop. It seemed as though the horses were fleeing from the wain. + +The Parson was leaning far out of the window to watch. + +"Round he comes!" + +As he spoke, the Gentleman flung back with all his strength, and +wrenched to the right. + +Round came the leader; the wheeler, slithering, jerking, almost swept +off her legs, as the wain came on top of her. Then the whole came +thundering across the greensward at the gable-end of the cottage. + +"Ca'ant be going to ram us, sir, surely?" shouted Piper. + +The old man could see nothing now, but he could hear the roar of the +approaching wain. + +"I believe he is!" cried the Parson. + +It was the boy's swift mind that first leapt to the Gentleman's plan. + +"No, sir!" he screamed. "Don't you see?--He'll bring the waggon +alongside at a gallop, jam it against the wall, and then----" + +And then! the Parson saw it in a flash:--axemen at work on the door +beneath the wain, and stormers through the dormer-window over the top. + +"By God, you've got it!" + +It must be stopped at all costs. + +But how? + +The wain was coming at the cottage from the flank. A shot from the +left shoulder at an impossible angle at a galloping target--was that +their only hope? + +The Parson glanced wildly round. + +The thunder of the wain and the singing voice of the coachman was in +his ears. + +An old plank was lying in the loft. + +"Plank Caponier!" he yelled, pounced on it, and thrust it out of the +window. "Now, Kit!--You're lightest!--There's your musket--loaded!-- +Blob, sit on this end with me!" + +Kit, musket in hand, ran out on the plank. + +He was standing on air. + +"Steady!" hoarsed the Parson, blue eyes gleaming through the window. +"Don't look down! Aim at her chest! Wait till you can see the roll of +her eye!" + +Kit heard nothing, saw nothing, but a foam-splashed breast, a nodding +head, racing knees, and reaching feet. + +All the world for him was in that black and shining bosom. It grew +upon him as he looked. It was no more a chest. It was a cloud, about +to burst on the world. He fired into the heart of it, sure he could +not miss. + +Up went the filly, fighting the air. + +The boy saw her belly, her thighs, and the swish of her tail between +her hocks. + +Down she came in roaring ruin, the old mare an avalanche of snow +burying her. + +"In, Kit!" screamed the Parson. + +"No, sir!" yelled the boy. + +In a blinding light he saw the thing to do, and flashed to do it. + +"The lynch-pins!" + +Down he jumped, and dirk in hand raced for the tangle of horseflesh, +black and white and heaving like an angry sea. + +Swift as he was, the Gentleman was swifter. + +Before the boy had touched ground, he was down from his perch, +slashing at the tackle with his sword. Now he leapt to the mare's +head, hurling her back into her breeching. + +While Kit was yet twenty yards away, he was up again, standing on the +shafts, reins in hand. + +"Now, my lady!" came the high singing voice. + +The brave old thing answered to it as though to a lover. She flung +forward with a sob. + +"I'll take the mare and the man!" panted the Parson, racing up behind, +his curls almost cracking. "You go for the lynch-pins!" + +He swept past, Polly in hand. + +"Forgive me, Jenny!" he cried; and thrust home. + +A spout of blood seemed to darken the sky, and deluge all. The wain +brought up with a dreadful jerk. + +"Home, sir, if you can!" shouted Piper from his loop-hole. "Here's the +Grannydears!" + +"Kit!" bawled the Parson. "Where are you?" + +The lad crept out from under the wain. + +"Got the lynch-pins?" + +"Yes." + +"Then come on!" + +Under the fore-wheel the Gentleman was lying on his back, with closed +eyes. + +The boy stopped. + +"Are you hurt, sir?" + +The other shook a smiling head. + +"Only shocked. Jerked off my box. Run, Little Chap, run!--or they'll +bottle you." + +"Kit, damn you!" stormed the Parson. "_Will_ you run?" + +Across the greensward half a dozen Grenadiers were hurling. The +nearest dropped on his knee, and took deliberate aim at the boy. + +The loop-hole clouded suddenly. + +Out of it Death spoke. + +The Grenadier toppled over on to his back with flapping hands. A +moment he sat bolt-erect, a foolish-familiar look on his face--Kit +somehow expected him to put his tongue out--then collapsed ghastly. + +The boy made for the cottage. + +Blob, leaning out of the dormer, chewing an apple, watched him with +spiteful amusement. + +"Say, Maaster Sir," he cried, as he spat and slobbered, "reck'n +they'll catch you." + +"Shall I unbolt the door, sir?" shouted Piper. + +"You do, by God!" roared the wrathful Parson. "They're on our heels, +fool!" + +"How'll you manage then, sir?" + +"Leave that to me, and stick to your shooting!" + +A great water-butt stood at the corner, empty now. + +The Parson, man of myriad resource, had trundled it beneath the +dormer, and turned it upside down in a second. + +"Up, boy!" + +Kit was on it, and in through the window in a twinkle. The Parson +followed. + +The leading Grenadier came at him, bayonet at the charge. The Parson +put the steel aside with his blade, and met the man fair in the face +with his heel. + +"Good punch!" he cried cheerily, and kicking the butt away from under +him, scrambled into the loft. + +He stood awhile both hands on his knees, heaving. Then he looked up, +his blue eyes good and grinning. + +"Prettiest thing I ever saw in my life!" he panted. "But, you young +scaramouch! what the deuce d'you mean by stopping to chatter to that +chap?" + +"I thought he was hurt," gasped the boy panting against the wall. +"He's my friend." + + + + +CHAPTER LIX + + +MISS BLOSSOM + +"Pistol, please." + +The Gentleman was standing beneath the dormer, one hand uplifted. + +The Parson looked down at him. + +"Well, you're a calm chap," he said with slow delight. + +Better than anything in the world he loved a brave man. + +"I know my man," replied the other in the same still voice. + +He was far away in April twilight-land. + +The fine face, gay as the morning a few minutes since, had now a +wistful evening look. The shadows had fallen on it: rain was not far. + +Even the Parson, blind-eyed Englishman that he was, noticed it, and +was touched. After all the man was a boy, and a beaten boy. + +"Are you hurt?" he gruffed. + +"No--not hurt." + +The Parson thought he understood. + +"It was the pluckiest attempt I ever saw!" he cried with the +generosity of the victor. "That black filly had never known the feel +of a collar, till twenty minutes since.... I was to have broken her +this autumn." + +"She was the least bit awkward at the start," mused the other. "But +she handled sweetly all the same." + +"We had all the luck," continued the Parson. "But for that plank, +you'd have brought it off. It'll be your turn next time!" + +The other lifted his face swiftly. + +"Ah, no," he cried, "you mistake. _That's_ nothing! It's +_this!_" + +He pointed. + +Fifty yards away the wain lay wrecked on the greensward, the old white +mare crumpled in the shafts. She was stone-dead, and her muzzle, with +its coarse long hairs, was resting on the quarters of her daughter. + +"That's the worst of war," said the Gentleman in that remote voice of +his. "_We_ know; _they_ don't." + +"I expect it's all fairer than it seems," said the Parson huskily. + +The other nodded. + +"Have you a pistol?" + +The filly was not dead. Lying on her side, she was lifting her head +and craning back to gaze at her dead dam. + +Something clutched the Parson by the throat. A veil was rent. For a +moment he seemed to see the tragedy as the man beneath him saw it--the +passion, the pathos of that blind suffering in the cause of another. + +"Here!" he said hoarsely, handing down a pistol. + +The Gentleman took it, and seeing a pale face peering behind the +other's shoulder, + +"She's not suffering, I think. Don't look, Little Chap." + +He walked back to the filly. + +Lying still now, her head along the greensward, she watched him +coming; snorting through full-blown nostrils. + +He knelt at her head, pulling her ear, and caressing her. + +"There, then, there!--It's all over now, little woman. I've come to +comfort you." + + + + +CHAPTER LX + + +THE TWO PRAYERS + + +I + + +The Gentleman was walking away into the sunset. + +The Parson turned from the dormer, and his eyes were wet. + +"And, now, my boy," he cried, "you know what a gentleman is." + +The words loosed the fountains of laughter in the lad's heart. + +"I thought, sir, that you said--" + +"You thought wrong," snapped the Parson. "I said nothing of the sort." + +He swung round on Blob and kicked him. + +"What fur why?" whimpered Blob. + +"Teach you!" cried the Parson. "Want some more, eh? Then behave +yourself. I'm sick o your nonsense." + +He reached up to the rafter. + +"Eat and sleep--that's the whole duty of man just at present. Blob, +take Piper his rations, and ask him to forgive an old soldier who's a +bit short in the temper in action--and do the same yourself, my boy. +Here, Kit." + +They snatched a hasty meal. + +Outside the dusk was falling. + +The Parson brushed the crumbs off his cravat. + +"And now will you take first watch, or shall I?" + +"I will, sir. I don't feel like sleep." + +"Very well. Wake me when the moon dips behind the Downs, or earlier if +there's a sign of the soldiers." + +Kit took his post at the dormer. The other slipped off his coat. + +"I'm not much of a Parson as you may have found out," he muttered, +"still I am an Englishman." And he plumped down on his knees +defiantly. + +His was a very short and simple prayer; the prayer tens of thousands +of Englishmen were praying from their hearts at that time. + +Kneeling in his shirt, Polly shining before him against the wall, he +repeated it most earnestly. + +The whispered words, so simple and heart-felt, reached the ears of the +boy at the dormer. + +"God bless our dear country; and God d--- the French." + +The waters of laughter came roaring up the boy's throat, and surged +over, irresistible. + +The Parson rose from his knees, and scowled at the lad's shaking +shoulders. + +"I suppose they're too proud to pray in _his_ Service," he +sneered. "Pack o pirates!" He took off his coat and folded it with +thumps. "Yet I know one sailor who's not above paying his respects to +his Maker--and that's Lord Nelson, of whom you may have heard. Seen +him myself in the trenches at Calvi. I remember a great buck of a +Dragoon Guardsman asking him, + +"'Why d'you pray, little man?' 'Why,' says Nelson, simple as a child, +'because mother taught me.' Yes, sir," fiercely, "and that's why I +pray--and jolly good reason too." + +"Did she teach you that prayer?" asked Kit demurely. + +"Bah! blurry young tarry-breeks!" muttered the other; and curling on +the floor, his rolled jacket beneath his head, the old campaigner was +off to sleep, Polly fair and faithful beside him. + + +II + + +The boy had the house to himself, and the world too. At last he could +retire once more upon the Love within him. + +He could pray--without words. + +The sea was a plain shining beneath the moon. Against the light, inky +sycamores ruffled, stars entangled in their leaves. On the shingle- +bank the bear-skinn'd sentinel showed black against white waters. + +The plain beauty of the night stole upon his mind. All was jewelled +silence, save for the jar-r-r of the familiar goat-sucker from the +foot of the hills, and the wash of the sea. + +How calm it was, how strong, how radiant! + +He had been far away. Now he was drawing near again. It was his once +more. He possessed it all, all, all, and loved it as his own. + +All day he had been the prisoner of his own distraught senses. And how +comfortable it was, after the darkness of that life which is death, to +resume the large loveliness of Life Unending. + +Space and Time had no more meaning for him. He was again eternal and +infinite. All this beauty of earth and sky and moon-wan water, it was +not outside him, it was himself. He reached out a hand to pluck a +handful of stars, and could not--because they were too close. You +cannot pluck the jewels of your own heart. + +Yet however deep he plunged into Eternity, the ache of Time was still +present to his mind, remote indeed, on the farthest shores of memory, +but always there, an ache that would not still. He felt the pain of +it, and still more the pettiness. To him, sitting at the heart of +things, drinking in the great night, they seemed strangely mean and +tawdry now, the excitements of the past day. + +_Let not your heart be troubled_, came the voice of the Poet of +Truth down the ages. + +Was it worthy of a Son of God so to vex himself with the trivialities +of this world? + +What was war? what victory? what defeat? + +True he must do his best for conscience' sake, but God would swing the +stars across the heaven whether Napoleon landed or not. He would still +march on His great way, though Nelson were lost. + +Smiling to himself, the lad was wondering whether to the Maker of +those stars, this earth, that sea, the issue of this business might be +more than the issue of a squabble between two sparrows would be to +him. + + +III + + +He crossed to the northward window. + +The Downs surged before him like a wave, dull against the brilliant +darkness. Overhead the slow stars trailed by, dipping, one after one, +behind the dark curtain of hills. The moon climbed above the +sycamores. Out on the plain something sparkled frostily. It was the +bayonet of a sentinel, lonely-pacing in the moonlight. + +The sight brought the lad back to earth. + +How would it all end? Were these few bearskinn'd trespassers only the +spray of seas to follow? + +In a little while would England be flooded with them? Aghast, he +peered seaward: and seemed to behold a black tide of men sweeping +across the moon-drift. They deluged England. The fringe of them lapped +about his own northern home. A man in a tree was shooting at Gwen +running for her life, her hair behind her, screaming, "Kit!" + +Something fell on the floor with a sharp tap, and stopped the shriek +on the verge of his lips. + +What was it? + +Another tap. Something was bobbing briskly across the floor. He picked +it up. It was a pebble, and must have come through the window. + +Cocking his pistol, he rose. + +"Down't shoot," said a low voice. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI + + +KNAPP'S RETURN + +Beneath the window stood the little rifleman, white in the shadow of +the house, and grinning up at him. + +"How did you get through?" + +"Slip through em, sir--h'easy as a h'eel." + +"Don't talk so loud," whispered the boy. "Just hop on to the sill of +the lower window. I'll see if I can haul you in." + +"No, sir. I won't come in. I may be more usefuller outside. Keep em on +the Key Whiff as the sayin is." + +"Then keep still! don't jig! hug in here in the shadow of the house! +I'll call Mr. Joy." + +The Parson was at the window in a minute and listening to the man's +story. + +According to his own account Knapp had done the twelve miles to Lewes +under the hour. + +"Went slap away, as your orders was, sir, no foolin nor nothin, just +slap bang through em--you ask Mr. Caryll." + +"Never mind about your feats," said the Parson shortly. "Did you see +the Commandant?" + +"O yes, sir. Ran straight away through the camp to his tent, where the +flag were flyin, never bothered about no sentries nor nothin. Just as +I trot up, a little bit of a butterfly lady like bob out o the tent, +and when she see me--'Beau, boy!' she squeals. 'Beau, boy! ere's a +niked man! _Do_ come and see!' And she jig up and down and tiddle +her fingers at me, please as Punch.... Out come ole Whiskers, sword +and all. 'You something something!' says he, and knocks her back into +the tent. Then he run at me, roarin." + +The little man was sniggering. + +"I see by his eyes he meant it all, so-- + +"'Here, sir,' says I, 'somethin for yourself!' and chucks the note in +his mug." + +The Parson was breathing deep. + +"And what then?" + +"Why, sir, I'd nothin on me ony the dooks me God give me. So I up and +I skip it." + +The Parson leaned out, and smote at the man's shaven skull with the +butt-end of his pistol. + +"Ain't I done right, sir?" squeaked the little man, dodging back. + +"You've sold us!" cursed the Parson, and he was white even in the +moon. + +"Hush, sir! hush!" cried Kit. "For goodness' sake, hush! They'll hear +you." + +"Hullo! hullo! what's all this?" came a voice from across the sward. + +"Excuse me, sir!" whispered Knapp, unabashed. "I'd best be steppin it. +Here are your papers, sir." He flung a packet through the window and +flashed away. + +The Gentleman sat on the wall in the moonlight. + +"So your chap's back," he called in his friendly voice. + +"Yes, sir," replied the Parson harshly, "and the soldiers on his heels +two thousand strong, with a couple of Horse Batteries, and a company +of Sappers to rig up a gallows for conceited young coxcombs who pose +on walls in the moonlight." + +"Very glad to see any friends of yours any time," replied the +Gentleman. "But unless they come soon I'm afraid we shall miss. I'm +off at dawn. But I'll see you again before going. Good-night." + +He sauntered away. + +The Parson turned, grinding his teeth. + +Then he saw the boy's face, and laid a hand on his shoulder. + +"Turn in, boy, and try to get a snooze. What tomorrow brings Heaven +knows, but we do know we shall want all our strength to meet it." + + + + +CHAPTER LXII + + +THE PARSON MUSES + +The Parson opened his packet. + +It contained a batch of newspapers dropped for him daily at Lewes by +the coach, and not called for since last Saturday. + +Ah, here we are! + +_The Times, Monday, August l9_--that was the day before +yesterday. + +_Lord Nelson is arrived at Portsmouth._ + +Then the Gentleman was right! + +He was here, the man his country had believed barring the passage of +the Combined Squadron Vigo way. + +Why had the watch-dog left his post? + +_We may infer from the circumstance of his Lordship's coming home, +that information had reached him of the Combined Squadron having got +into Ferrol._ + +He dared say they had. Where was the man should have stopped them? + +_The Times, August 20._ + +_Lord Nelson arrived at his seat at Merton in Surrey +yesterday...._ + +O, the Gentleman! the Gentleman! It was all true then!... + +_and will most probably attend at the Admiralty this day_. + +Probably attend! + +And this was Nelson! his Nelson! + +_Victory, Spithead, August 18, 1805. + +The Victory, with the fleet under my command, left Gibraltar twenty- +seven days ago.... + +Nelson and Bronté_. + +That's right. Do the thing thoroughly if you're going to do it at all. +Come home yourself, and bring your fleet with you. It might get in the +way of the Combined Squadron if it stopped off Cadiz. Pity to be rude, +you know! + +_As soon as Lord Nelson's flag was descried at Spithead, the +ramparts, and every place which could command a view of the entrance +of the harbour, were crowded with spectators. As he approached the +shore, he was saluted with loud and reiterated huzzas, as enthusiastic +and sincere as if he had returned crowned with a third great naval +victory_. + +That third great victory, where was it now? + +Poor little chap! poor little Nelson! + +And what was this? The _Moniteur_, _Paris_, _August +12_. Boo-woo-woo.... Bob Calder's battle. [Footnote: Sir Robert +Calder had fought an indecisive action with Villeneuve in July.] Bob +Calder ought to be shot. Had em and then wouldn't hammer em. Call +emselves sailors! + +_Vice-Admiral Calder stood off with thirteen ships, and left the +Combined Squadron masters of the sea_. + +Masters of the Sea! + +O good God! good God! + +And what was Nelson doing? + +_The sudden arrival of Lord Nelson in the Metropolis, after so long +an absence, and such arduous service, is a circumstance peculiarly +interesting to the inhabitants, who were yesterday waiting in +thousands about the Admiralty to give him a truly British reception. +Many, of course, were disappointed in their object, and can only wait +for another opportunity; but that, we have reason to believe, will +occur this evening, as it is reported in the Naval circles, that his +Lordship intends to pay a visit to Vauxhall Gardens, in honour of the +birthday of the Duke of Clarence. The report is, in many points of +view, entitled to consideration, for there is no other Gala in the +season which affords such an infinite degree of nautical +attraction._ + +Gala with a big G! + +_No other Gala in the season which affords such an infinite degree +of nautical attraction._ + +Poor England! poor Nelson! + + + + +IV + +THE GENTLEMAN'S LAST CARD + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII + + +NELSON'S TOPSAILS + +Kit awoke with a start. + +The dormer made a patch of diamond light in the dead of the wall, and +the chill of dawn sharpened the air. + +Blob was bending over him. + +"Nelson's a-comin," he announced, much as he might have said breakfast +was in. + +Kit looked up into the round pink face, fresh as a daisy, and dewy- +eyed above him. + +"No!" he cried, and started to his elbow. + +"He is though, lad," said the Parson at the window, very quiet. + +Kit was beside him in a minute. + +The mattress was down, and the Parson, leaning out into the blue, both +hands on the sill, munched his thoughts. + +"There's his tops'ls," said he, nodding east to where far across the +waters a glimmer as of an iceberg hung in the dawn. "Take the glass +and have a peep at her." + +Mists still swathed the waters. Through them the sun peered ghostly, +twinkling on the intripping tide beyond the shingle-bank. + +And--there again! far away, poised between sky and sea, that glimmer +of pearls. + +It was some tall ship standing across the bay, the sun making glory on +her royals. + +"Make her out?" + +"Yes, sir. She's a frigate right enough--can't be anything else with +that height of canvas." + +For in those dark days there was little business on the narrow seas +other than the business of war. For weeks together the Channel waters +were virgin of merchant-men. Trading bottoms dared not venture. +Majestic three-deckers and tall frigates paced the seas alone. Anon a +privateer swooped. Then a black smuggler scuttled from shore to shore +between twilights. Rarely a vast convoy, herded like sheep, drove by, +the dogs of war barking at the laggards. For the rest naked waters, +ship-forsaken. + +"It's the _Medusa_" said the Parson deliberately. "How soon'll +she be off here, think you, sailor-boy?" + +"I hardly know, sir. With this breeze I should think she might be +abreast of us in two hours, and round the Head in four." + +"And into the trap in five," mused the Parson. + +"And Nelson bandaged, his back to the wall, facing a French firing +party--all at about six o'clock of a sweet summer evening, August +22nd, the year of Our Lord, 1805." + +He began to whistle meditatively. + +The fine head, a-ripple with curls, was outlined against the sky. The +face was keener than a few days back; the jolly laughing look was +there no more. The blue eyes were touched to steel; and nose and jowl +thrust forth with ominous grimness. It was the face of the determined +fighter, hard-set and terrible. + +He leaned out into the morning, whistling quietly, as fair a mark as +any sharp-shooter on the knoll might wish, so Kit suddenly recalled, +and plucked at him. + +The other's arm was iron against him. The Parson made no move, seeming +neither to feel, nor understand. A man of marble, he dwelt in the +mind; brooding on that glimmer of pearls in the east. + +Yet after a minute, as though the message had taken just that time to +reach his remote brain, he answered the boy's thought. + +"That's all right, Kit," he said, deliberate as in a dream. "The +Gentleman has changed his dispositions. He's withdrawn from the knoll. +Where the Gang are I don't know, but he has got the main of his +Grenadiers on the landside still." + +Kit peeped out of the Downs-ward window. + +The old picquet on the plain, the old cordon of pacing Grenadiers, the +old camp-fire with the drifting smoke and arms piled beside it; and +further North, from beneath a thorn, the flash of a bayonet told of an +outlying sentry posted there to watch for the relieving force no +doubt. + +Sick at heart, the lad turned and looked out over the Parson's +shoulder. + +On his right front humped the knoll, an islet set in a sea of turf, +now only tenanted by dark sycamores, ruffling it in the dawn-wind. + +Beneath him the greensward ran away to the shingle-bank. Beyond the +crest of it, the mast of the lugger pricked up black against the +sparkling water. + +There was neither stir nor sound, save for the ripple of the tide, and +overhead the eternal chirp of the sparrows, careless that history was +being made about them. + +All was still, all deserted. + +As he looked, the lad's mind flamed to a thought. + +"I say!" he whispered, clutching the Parson's arm. "What about the +lugger?" + +"Well! what about the lugger?" + +"Rush her now! Here's our chance!" + +The Parson turned calm eyes upon the other's splendid ones. + +"Aye, lad, aye," he said, with the crushing calm a man wields so +mightily. "But give the Gentleman his due, he's not quite such a fool +as you'd make him out. He knows our aim as well as he knows his own. +We've got to get to Nelson. There's only one way left--the lugger. If +he's left that way open it's as plain as the nose on your face it's +because he wants us to take it." + +Ugh, these men! the boy worshipped the man's courage and scorned his +caution. He throbbed for the relief of action. Only let him be doing! +anything, anything in the world was better than standing here to watch +Nelson sweep doom-wards. + +"And suppose," he flashed, "suppose the Gentleman makes away in his +lugger now! what shall we do? Twiddle our thumbs and whistle, till the +soldiers come, I suppose! And then," with the crude irony of fifteen, +"then perhaps, if we're very brave, and the Gentleman has got +_well_ away to sea, we'll take a little stroll with a strong +escort to the top of Beachy Head to see Nelson strung up to his own +yard-arm!" + +The boy's fiery insults left the other cold. + +"You're young, my boy, offensively young," he said. "A bad fault, but +one you may hope to grow out of. One thing I'm sure of. You do your +friend a great injustice. He won't leave that despatch-bag in our +hands till he's forced to at the point of the steel." + +"But what can we _do_?" blazed the boy--"do, do, do! There's +Nelson!" with flashing forefinger. "Here are we. He won't come to us. +We _must_ get to him. There's only one way--the lugger. It may be +a poor chance, still if it's the only one! O, sir, sir! surely it's +better to die attempting something, than stand and _rot_ to death +here!" + +The words poured forth in a white-hot torrent, shaking him. + +Anybody in the world but the practical Englishman would have been +moved. + +He only grunted. + +"I wish I knew what was going on behind that shingle-bank," he +grumbled, half to himself. + +The boy's soul quenched, only to flame forth again. + +"I'll be your eyes, sir!" + +The Parson shook a dubious head. + +"Oh let me! O do! sir! sir!" + +He was hopping, trembling at the other's side. + +The Parson with his slow and chewing mind was digesting the situation. + +Beneath his calm, he was mad to know what was going on behind the +shingle-bank. If he went himself, who would be left in garrison?--the +old story. + +Yet if he sent Kit? + +Twice already he had let the boy go forth alone, and each time had +barely plucked him from the jaws of death. Could he send him forth a +third time to face what God should send? + +Could he? + +He locked his jaws. + +Duty, duty, duty! a hard mistress for those who serve her, but the +only one for an Englishman. + +His mind made up, true man that he was, he wasted no time in excusing +himself to himself or to others. + +Somewhat grey about the jaws, he swung about. + +"Very well," shortly. "Just a peep--no more, mind!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV + + +RUMBLINGS OF THUNDER + +The boy slid down the ladder into the gloom of the kitchen. + +There was no familiar silver head at its wonted place of watch by the +loop-hole. + +"Piper!" + +"Sir!" + +The old foretop-man was sitting beside the trapdoor, peering down into +the blackness of the cellar, and listening intently. + +"That you, Master Kit? Would you step this way, sir? There keeps on a +kind of a rumbling like in the drain--a'most as though the gentlemen +be running a cargo. I ca'ant justly make it out." + +The boy came to his side and listened. True, there was a muffled noise +of rolling in the drain, and dull banging against the door. Well, they +might bang till they were blue: they would make as much impression on +that door as the breeze on Beachy Head. + +The old man looked up and saw the lad beside him in shirt-sleeves. + +"Hullo, sir! what's forrad then?" + +"I'm going to take a little trot over to the shingle-bank to have a +look round," said the boy, shivering. "I want you to stand by the door +to let me out and in." + +The old man rolled up his sleeves, snatched his cutlass from the +corner, whetted it with the easy grace of a bird whetting its beak, +and spat on his hands. + +"Then it's stand by to repel boarders! Rithe away, sir, when you are." + +The Parson peered down. + +"All's quiet," he whispered. "Ready, Kit?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The boy stood up pale in the gloom. + +"Then ease those bolts away. Gently, Piper!" + +The old man opened quietly. + +A sweet wind stole in, and with it a flood of light. + +Kit peeped out. + +How naked it looked, how terrible! + +"One moment." + +He bent, untied his shoe-lace, and tied it up again. + +Upstairs it had seemed such an easy thing to dare this deed, so full +of the poetry and romance of war. Down here, face to face with the +bare fact, it was a different matter. A plank, as it were, had been +thrust out from solid earth over Eternity; it was his to walk that +plank; and he didn't like the job. + +Piper held the door, waiting respectfully. The old man's sleeves were +rolled to the arm-pit. On one hairy fore-arm a dancing-girl was +tattooed, record of the days, now forty years since, before, in his +own simple phrase, he had larned Christ. + +He knew no fear himself: for he knew that he was impregnable. But his +heart went out to this slip of a lad, who had to face Eternity alone, +and found it terrible. + +The twilight of love, always in all faces the same, which comes when +at a call the Christ rises from the deeps of the heart, darkened his +eyes. + +He gave a shy little cough. + +"There's one bower-anchor'll weather any storm, by your leave, sir," +he said, the sailor and the Christian quaintly commingled. + +The boy felt the other's strength flow into his. + +"I know," he panted, and plunged. + + + + +CHAPTER LXV + + +THE DOINGS IN THE CREEK + + +I + + +As he ran he seemed to himself to be a body of lead borne on watery +dream-legs. + +In the sally of yesterday at least he had Knapp with him. Now he was +alone. And to dare alone is to be revealed to yourself, naked as you +are. + +A visible danger would have strengthened him. It was the horror of he- +knew-not-what coming from he-knew-not-where that made his heart +hammer. + +The boy's body screamed to go back. His will thrust it forward. The +shock and struggle of the two charged him as with electricity. A +touch, he felt, and he might go off in a flash of lightning. + +As he held on, and nothing happened, mind began to ride body more +masterfully. The flesh, beaten, gave and gave; till in despair, +abandoning its backward pull, it threw forward into the work. + +What was death? was it what the parsons seemed to think--a foreign +land, millions of miles away, with an old man in a temper waiting +somewhere in the middle to be nasty to him? + +Heaven and earth, this world and the next! Were there indeed two? a +great gulf between them. Or were both one and everlasting? Was he, +believing himself in Time, dwelling in Eternity now? Was he immortal +now? + +His heart answered, _Now or never_. + +What then to fear? + +The thought whirled him forward. + +The grass felt goodly beneath his feet. The sun, still pale in mist, +blessed him. A fresh wind flowed about him, flustering hair and shirt. +His heart eased. + +After all his rear was fairly safe, and his flank unthreatened. As to +his front--well, he had his eyes and his dirk. + +Gripping himself together, every hair alert, he ran. + +He was nearly across the sward now. Tall grass-blades pricked sparsely +through the sand. The shingle-bank, roan against the sparkle of the +sea, surged before him, and behind it--what? + +He was living in his eyes. + +The knoll lay now to his right rear. Behind it, across the creek, rose +the Wish; and on the crest a Grenadier gazing seawards. + +Opposite the little hill, standing on the bank somewhere just above +the entrance to the sluice, stood the Gentleman. + + +II + + +Kit dropped to his hands and knees. + +The other had not seen him: for he was standing, back turned, and a +short black-snouted pistol in the hand behind him; directing +operations in the creek. + +What did it all mean? what was that banging and business in the creek? + +It was to find this out that he had come. + +A sound close at hand drew his mind to his ears. + +The crest of the shingle-bank was some twenty yards away. From the +reverse slope came the crunch and scream of disturbed pebbles. + +Somebody was scrambling up the bank towards him, the pebbles pouring +noisily away beneath his feet. + +What to do?--turn and bolt? He could be back across the grass before +the slow-foot Frenchman had sworn himself to the crest. Lie there out +in the open, to be made prisoner, or potted at thirty yards? + +No, no, no! To retreat was shame: to stay death. But one course +remained--the riskiest, which, as he had heard the Parson say, in a +tight place is often the safest. That course was forward. Take the man +unawares as he crested the rise; dirk him; one swift glimpse at the +lugger and the doings in the creek; and then pelting home before the +enemy had realised the situation and begun to shout. + +"_François! François!_" came an irritable voice. + +The climber stopped. + +"_Qu'as-tu donc, mon Caporal?_" + +"_Nom d'un chien!_" snapped the other. "_Faut il me faire +matelot? Aidez moi un peu avec ces satanées cordes!_" + +The climber slithered down on his heels, a cataract of shingle +streaming behind him. + +Swift to seize his chance, Kit rushed the crest, the crash of the +Frenchman's retreat drowning his approach. + +There, flat on his face, he peeped. + +Beneath him, on the run of the shingle, lay the lugger. Her jib was +flapping; the mainsail set for the hoisting; every stick and stay in +place. Half a dozen burly Grenadiers, black-muzzled with a week's +beard, were busy about her, stowing their kits, laughing and +chattering. + +A sprightly little Corporal, balancing on the stern, was spitting +forth orders. + +The foreign language, there on his native shore, made a discord in the +boy's heart. + +"_Quand partirons-nous?_" asked François, wading down the +shingle, pack on back. + +"_Aussitôt que tout sera prêt la-bas,_" answered the corporal, +casting a glance over his shoulder. "_Bah! ces gueux d'Anglais! +Monsieur le Général en a par dessus les yeux._" + +Kit followed the man's eyes. + + +III + + +A track of feet led from the lugger to the creek across the wet sand. +Along it a tail of smugglers were trundling barrels gingerly. At the +entrance to the sluice others were hoisting and heaving. Above them +stood that slight figure against the sky-line, the ominous pistol +lurking behind him. + +And it was clear the ruffians were smouldering to mutiny. Their heads +were over their shoulders as they worked, and their eyes on the +lugger. The soldiers were coming! they felt the halter tightening +round their necks; and they were mad to be away. + +Only one man in the world could have held them there at all, Kit felt, +and he had all his work cut out. That slight figure against the sky- +line, so calm, so terrible, seemed compact of power. + +Kit had seen his friend in many moods; now he saw him in another. And +the boy thought he loved him in this last rôle best, because in it he +feared him most. This was not the man of poetry, charming as April, +gay-hearted as a boy; this was the remorseless leader, iron for his +cause, brutal, if you will, as a man who deals with brutes must be. + +There was a sultry silence--the silence and horror before the storm +breaks. Kit felt it and was appalled. He could almost hear the flames +of mutiny roaring in those dull and darkened hearts. + +For one moment the boy forgot himself and his cause. He was a play- +goer, watching a drama. This man was the hero, valiant, lonely, a +miracle of strength. The boy felt for him a passionate sympathy. Could +he hold them?--Would they break? + +Even as he watched, a man shot out of the ruck and away, scampering +furiously with the shrugged shoulders and ducked head of one expecting +a blow. + +It came sure as fate, and as deliberate. + +Out shot the Gentleman's pistol hand. + +A crack, a stab of flame, and the man was flopping on the sand like a +landed fish. + +As the Gentleman fired, another from below stormed up the bank at him. +A flash of lightning darted at him, and struck him in the chest. The +fellow collapsed in a heap. + +The boy had half risen to his elbow. + +"Well done!" he cried with blazing enthusiasm. Then he remembered +where he was, and dropped. + +No man had heard. The Grenadiers like himself were busy watching the +doings in the creek. A murmur of applause rose from among them. + +"_Bravo, Monsieur le Général! Hein! Canaille_!" + +In the creek all was quiet again now. The flame of mutiny was +quenched; the Gang had resumed their work; and the Gentleman was +wiping his blade upon his sleeve. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI + + +BUGLES + + +I + + +In the loft the Parson was patting the shoulder of the lad now panting +beside him. + +"Another notch to the Navy," he said.... "What news, boy?" + +Kit told of the lugger, ready to sail; of the business of the barrels +in the creek; of the rumbling in the drain. + +The Parson listened with nodding head. + +"I feel like a mouse that knows it's going to have a cat jump on its +back, but don't know quite when or just how," he muttered. + +"Meantime there's Nelson, sir!" cried the boy, great-eyed and anxious. + +"I know, my boy, I know. But while there's the lugger, there's hope." + +He leaned out of the window. A sentry was now on the shingle-bank; and +he could see the tall-plumed bearskins of the Grenadiers busy about +the lugger. + +The boy took up the telescope. + +The mists were lifting, and the sun shone white upon the water. He +could see the frigate, faint indeed and far, stately-pacing towards +her doom; he could see the mast of the lugger, Grenadier-guarded, and +those leagues of shining waste between the two. + +Where was help? + +An awful darkness drowned his heart. + +He shut the telescope with a snap. + +"We're beat," he sobbed. + +The other gripped his arm. + +"If we're beat, England's beat. If England's beat, the Devil's won, +and the world's lost--which is absurd." + +The man's stern enthusiasm fired the boy afresh. + +"If you'll tell me what to do I'll do it," he said a little +tremulously. "But I don't see the way." + +"There is a way, Kit. There must be. And we shall find it." + +The man was indomitable. There seemed no ghost of a chance; still no +shadow of despair clouded that clear spirit. As the sea of +difficulties rose about him, his soul rose to meet it on triumphant +wings. + +Yet the problem before him seemed insoluble. + +Nelson there: they here: one boat between, and that boat guarded by +the pick of the Army of England. + +He turned those good blue eyes of his upon the boy with a drolling +baffled look. + +"How's it to be done?--what says the Commodore?" + +The light had fled from the boy's face. Pale and still, he looked like +a young saint about to be martyred. + +"There's only one way I can think of, sir." + +"What's that?" + +The lad lifted the eyes of a woman. + +"Pray." + +A darkness drove across the Parson's face. + +"You pray," he growled. "I'll sharpen my sword." + +Turning to the corner he bowed to Polly shining among the cobwebs. + +"A sweet morning, my lady," he cried. "And promise of a fair day's +work." + +The boy turned his face to the wall. + + +II + + +"Mr. Joy, sir!" + +"Well, Piper." + +"There's a man on a horse." + +"Where?" + +"Rithe away oop a-top o th' hill over Willingdon--on the old drove- +road from Lewes." + +The Parson sprang to his feet. + +"Sharp work!" he said with a grin at Kit's back. + +"Well done you, boy!" + +Kit leapt to the window. + +"Theer!" said Blob, pointing. + +Far away on the rim of the world stood a tiny horseman. + +What was he, that little speck of blackness on the horse without +legs?--ploughboy or dragoon?--alone or the leader of a troop? + +"Wave!" cried the Parson at his elbow. + +Sobbing and frantic, the lad fluttered his handkerchief. + +As though in answer a bugle-call rang echoing down to them. + +"The soldiers!" gasped Kit, his knees fainting beneath him. "O, thank +God!" + +Close at hand another bugle rang out merrily. + +"Nipper Knapp!" cried Piper. "Butter my wig, if it ain't!" + +A shoal of silver minnows flashed and twinkled above the crest. + +"Bayonets, by God!" roared the Parson. "Here they come, the little +darlings!" as a black trickle of figures poured over the crest. + +Others too had seen and heard. + +A shot rang out in the stillness: the Grenadier under the thorn came +back on his picquet at the double. The shot was answered ironically +from the hill-side by the English Last Post. Here in the dawn France +and England challenged each other tauntingly. + +It was splendid. Kit's blood danced to it. He thought of old-time +tournays, the champion riding into the ring at the last moment. He was +half sob, half song. The wine of glory flushed his veins as at the +moment when he stormed with the crew of the _Tremendous_ at the +heels of Lushy. His eyes ran; his voice broke. Now it was a shrill +treble, now a hoarse bass. + +The Parson was chewing his lip. + +"Horse or foot, I wonder?" + +"Foot," cried Kit, stamping up and down. + +"Damnation!" grumbled the Parson. "Are they doubling?" + +"Not they!" cried Kit, mad to insolence--"doing the goose-step by +numbers so far as I can see. Good old leather-stocks!" + +Knapp might have heard him: for the bugle close at hand blew the +charge furiously. + +"Now they've broken into a double. Come on, you chaps! come on!" + +"Well done, Knapp!" muttered the Parson, swallowing his excitement. +"Good little boy! Good little b-o-y! If he lives through this, he +shall have a pint o beer to his breakfast to-morrow, by God he shall. +Piper! how long'll they take getting here?" + +"Why, sir, a little better'n half an hour, I reckon. Drop down by +Motcombe, through Upperton, and down along Water Lane." + +The Parson turned to Kit. + +"How long will it be before the tide will float the lugger, think +you?" + +"Twenty minutes, sir." + +The Parson grunted. + +"Pot begins to boil," he said, and took off his coat. + +"O, if they're too late!" cried Kit in swift agony, and turned to +glance at the far frigate. + +"God's never too late, my boy," answered the Parson, folding his coat +carefully. + + +III + + +Rolling up his sleeves, he was looking through the seaward window. + +The Gang were streaming across the greensward, and round the cottage, +pointing, shouting. + +Behind them came the Gentleman. He was swinging his sword, and +chopping at the daisies. Whoever else was disturbed, it was not he. + +Last the Grenadiers who formed the lugger-guard came toppling over the +shingle-bank. + +The Gentleman stayed them with imperious hand. + +The Parson saw it and grinned. The chap, for all his high-faluting +ways, was a soldier through and through. He missed no point, not the +smallest. The Parson respected him. + +The other, crossing the sward, raised his head and saw the man at the +window. The eyes of the two met. Each smiled. Each knew the other's +heart. + +"No, no," cried the Gentleman with a little wave. "I give nothing +away. I can't afford to. I know my opponent." + +The Parson bowed, tightening his belt. And after all it was a pretty +compliment from the first light cavalry-man in Europe. + +The Gentleman passed round the cottage and out of sight. + +"What shall you do?" asked Kit hoarsely at the Parson's elbow. + +"Why, the only thing there is to be done--and that's nothing." + +He sat down on a broken box, took out a handkerchief and began to +furbish his blade with the delicate tenderness of a woman bathing a +child. + +Kit, fretted almost to tears, watched him with angry admiration. The +crisis had come, and this curly grey-head sat, calm as a village +Solomon in his door of summer evenings, and talked baby to his sword. + +"I don't see _that_ helps much," sneered the boy--"cleaning the +plate!" + +"Nor does fussing for that matter," retorted the other tranquilly. "In +war, as in the world, you must do as you're done by. That mayn't be +parson's truth; but it is soldier's. And I'm a soldier for the time +being. The cards lie with the Gentleman. We shall have to follow suit +--or trump. If he's got a card up his sleeve he must play it--now or +never." + +The boy turned to the window. + +The Gentleman was standing upon the broken wall, hand over his eyes, +taking in the situation. + +He flung a finger here, an order there. + +The Grenadiers threw forward across the plain in skirmishing order. + +"Looks like business," muttered the Parson, tucking in his shirt. +"What's it going to be?" + +He had not long to wait. + +The Gentleman vaulted the wall, and came swiftly across the grass +towards them. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII + + +THE ACE OF TRUMPS + + +I + + +He came rapidly across the lawn, the sun upon him. + +Kit thought him the fairest figure of a man he had ever seen. + +The Parson was comely with the comeliness of an apple, this man was +beautiful with the beauty of sun and sword in one. + +But the boy noticed that there was more of the sword and less of the +sun than of old about him. + +Was the strain telling on him too? + +"Forgive me for disturbing you so early," called the gay voice. "The +Reverend Father was at his devotions doubtless!" + +"No, sir," retorted the Parson. "The Reverend Father was watching the +Horse, Foot, and Artillery, pelting down the hill on top o you." + +"I've been watching em too," replied the other. "And sorry I am I +shan't be here to entertain em--I've a soft place for the soldiers +myself. But I'm just off for a day on the water. A pretty morning!" + +"Yes; as pretty a morning to hang a play-actor on as ever I saw." + +The other waved a hand. + +"Ah, but I'm not going to hang you, dear Padre. I have other views for +you." + +He was fascinating, but somehow he was fearful too. He was the python: +they were the rabbits. He had power: and that power was none the less +terrible because it was mysterious. + +The Parson leaned out, bold and bluffing. + +"I take you. The game's up. And you've come to surrender, eh?" + +The other shook his head. + +"No. I just stepped across to say good-bye, and see if I couldn't +perhaps persuade you to come with me." + +"No, sir, thank you all the same. I'm a land-animal myself. Besides +I'm too cosy here." + +The other stood silent a full minute, nodding a slow head. + +"Alas, poor ghost!" he said at length half to himself, and made as +though to turn. + +The Parson was staggered. + +Had he no card then? was he merely bluffing? + +"What's it mean?" he whispered fiercely to Kit. + +"It means he's going--and Nelson's last chance with him!" panted the +boy. "O, _make_ him stay!" + +The Parson leaned out again. + +"I hope you'll come back to see your friends hung, my lord!" he +bawled. + +The Gentleman turned again. + +"Friends?" + +"Well, aren't they your friends?--Lord Alfiriston, Sir Harry Dene, and +the rest. I gathered they were from the despatch-bag you're so good as +to leave in my hands." + +"I'm leaving no despatch-bag in your hands." + +The Parson jumped round. + +What did the fellow mean? Had he somehow?... + +No, there it was on the staple, the tarpaulin bag stamped with the +Imperial Eagle. + +He took it down. + +"This is the boy I meant. Won't you leave this with us?" + +The Gentleman shook his head. + +"What you going to do with it?" mockingly. + +"What I'm going to do with you." + +Man and boy, hugging close in the window, each felt the other tauten. + +"What's that?" + +The other rolled his eyes heavenward. + +The Parson was breathing through his nose. + +"What ye mean?" + +A tiny smile broke about the Gentleman's lips. He raised a finger, and +drew nearer on his toes, stealthy as a child about to reveal a secret +to its mother; and there was a horror about him. + +"_Hush, and I'll whisper you!_" + +The horror grew upon the man. The Parson shivered. + +The very air was listening. + +"_Powder-mine._" + +"_A what?_" + +"_A powder-mine._" + +The laughter bubbled up in his eyes, and rippled about his face. He +was a child, a cruel child, who springs a carefully-prepared surprise +on a comrade, and dwells wantonly on the effect. + +"Not vairy nice, is it?" he bantered. "I _do_ feel for you." + +He stood beneath the window, hands clasped before him, chin down, the +little maiden, demure yet malicious: the little maiden and yet--the +Devil. + +"So sorray. But I do not want those despatches to fall into the hands +of bad men. You forgive?" winningly. + +The Parson drew a great breath. It was so sudden, so aweful, so utter. + +It was Piper who broke the silence from below. + +"We're settin on a powder-mine, sir. Is that it?" + +"That's it." + +"Ah, well," came the philosophic voice. "Short and sweet--bless God. +Better'n lingerin on it out." + +Kit panted, + +"Nelson!" and swooned. + + +II + + +When he came round the Gentleman was approaching slowly across the +grass. + +He bantered no more. Maiden and Devil were dead. He was man, and grey +as dew. + +"Captain Joy," he was saying quietly. "Let us face facts. Samson is +bound. Over there," pointing to Beachy Head, "are the liers in wait. +That frigate's the _Medusa_. Nelson's aboard of her. She can't +escape." + +The words stung Kit to new life. + +"She can't escape perhaps," he shouted. "But can't she fight?" + +The other shook his head. + +"Why?" persisted Kit, hot for the honour of his Service. "Why can't +she fight?" + +"She can't fight," said the Gentleman slowly, "because her powder's +wet." + +"What!" bellowed the Parson--"more traitors!" + +"The Gunner is mine," replied the Gentleman briefly. + +"Oh, the Navy! the Navy!" cried the Parson, rocking. + +"But, I don't believe it!" screamed Kit. "Let him prove it! Let him +tell us how he's worked it." + +The Gentleman walked slowly up and down before the window. + +"We needn't enter into that," he said, cold as death. + +The Parson launched a slow laughing sneer, terrible to hear. + +"What! more gentlemanliness from our Gentleman!" + +The words whipped the other's face white. + +He stopped in his walk, and lifted slow eyes. + +"It may be that I have loved my country better than my God," he said. +A smile flashed across his face--"_But what a country to be damned +for!_" + +Slowly he came towards the cottage. + +"To return to the point. Nelson is lost. No power on earth can save +him now." + +"I do not look to any power on earth for help," replied the Parson +solemnly. + +"Let us talk as men," answered the other as solemn. "You have nothing +to gain by holding out, and everything to lose. All that an honourable +soldier could do you have done. Is it not now the part of true courage +to accept the inevitable? For the last time, will you surrender?" + +The great veins started on the Parson's forehead. + +"Never!" he bawled. "Do your d'dest!" + +The Gentleman turned and turned again. + +"The blood of those boys be on your head, Mr. Joy!" + +"Let the boys answer for themselves," retorted the Parson, short and +sullen. + +The Gentleman paused. + +"Little Chap," he called, "will you come?--France is a fair country. +You shall have Monsieur Moon-calf there for squire. Myself I will see +to it that you are happy." + +"I would rather be dead in England than alive in France," the boy +answered passionately. "What about you, Blob?" + +"Here Oi be and here Oi boide," replied Blob doggedly, and dulled the +romance of the statement by adding--"Oi aren't got ma money yet." + +"Think twice, Little Chap!" called the Gentleman. "You are young. You +are happy. The day is before you. The night is not yet. It is early to +draw down the blinds." + +The Parson had turned his back to the window. + +"Ask the ass for time," he whispered. "We must have time." + +The boy leaned out. + +"May I have ten minutes to think it over, sir?" + +"Two, my boy." + +"Oh, sir!" pitiful, appealing. + +The Gentleman glanced across his shoulder, and turned again. + +"Ah, well! five be it." + +He took out his watch, and sat on the wall with dangling legs. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII + + +THE BLESSING + + +I + + +"I must have a word with Piper." + +The Parson was down the ladder in a flash. + +The old foretop-man, humming his hymn in the eternal twilight, turned. + +"Well, sir?" + +"You've heard, Piper?" + +"I've hard, sir. And if so be a common seaman might make so bold, +there's but one thing for it, and that's the cold steel." + +He laid his Bible aside and took up his cutlass. + +"It's a forlorn hope, Piper." + +"It's the only one, sir." + +The Parson swung round. + +"And there's another thing," he cried in terrible agony. "What about +you, Piper? We shall take it in the open; but _you_, you'll have +to wait for it. I _can't_ leave you to fall alive into the hands +of those--those--O my God! my God!" stamping up and down. + +There was quiet thrill in the voice that answered, + +"They ca'an't touch me, sir. I'm safe in Jesus." The old man seemed to +shine in the darkness. + +"It's not death I fear for you!" cried the Parson. "No Christian fears +that for his friend. It's--it's the old game--the Gap Gang." + +"Ah, they won't have no time for no larks," interposed the other with +a comfortable chuckle. "They can do their muckiest. It won't last +long. The soldiers'll stop that." + +The words, and the way of saying them, quickened the Parson to +tremendous life. + +"You're right, old friend," he cried, his voice naming in the gloom. +"Death to face, but nothing to fear." + +"Death to face," echoed the old man, "and Christ to follow." + + +II + + +"I'm distressed to disturb you," came a cold voice from without. "But +time's nearly up." + +"You said five minutes, sir!" called Kit. + +"You've had three, my boy. You've got two." + +"And we'll make good use of em," gasped the Parson, and raced up the +ladder. + +Snatching the despatch-bag from the staple, he tumbled the contents on +the floor, and set the whole ablaze. The papers curled and crackled; +and their dreadful secret escaped joyfully in merry little flames. + +"May God deal so with all traitors in his own good time!" prayed the +Parson. + +He trod out the flames, and turned to the boys. + +"I'm goin for em." + +"So'm I, sir--and Blob." + +"So be it!" said the Parson, short and fierce. "Out knives. Off coats. +Tighten belly-bands." + +He was on his knees, stuffing his coat into the empty despatch-bag, +working in a white fury. + +"Now ask no questions, but listen, and obey! I'm going to undo the +back door _noisily_. You'll undo the front door _quietly_. I +shall sally, the despatch-bag slung across my shoulders--so--see?-- +Give me a good start. Choose your moment. Then follow." + +The words came swift as hail. The Parson was at his best--the +Englishman in action, back to the door, face to Eternity. The shock +and storm of circumstance made lightning in the dark of his mind. He +saw all before him clear as a landscape at night in the flashes of a +thunderstorm. + +"Directly they begin to close on you, you'll get a panic--a screaming +panic. Bolt back for the cottage; slam the door; lock and bar; through +the house, out at the front, and make for the lugger! You may not be +seen--the cottage'll cover you: and I'll keep em occupied as long as I +can. If all goes as I hope, you'll find the lugger unguarded. The rest +I must leave to you and the Almighty. It's a poor chance, but the only +one." + +"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" came the warning voice from without. + + +III + + +The Parson slid down into the darkness. + +"Piper," he cried, hoarse and dry. "I believe--I believe these lads +will win through. It's God's battle. He _must_ help." + +"He will, sir," replied the old man, firm as faith. + +"I'm a clergyman. You're a good man. This is a desperate business. +Will you give us your blessing?" + +He was down on his knees, in his white shirt, his sword a gleam of +silver on the slabs before him. + +"Kit." + +The boy, swift to grasp his meaning, knelt beside him, pulling Blob +after him. + +An arm stole round him; his stole round Blob. + +So they knelt in the twilight, hugging close in that aweful sense of +loneliness that comes to men when the Gates of Death are seen to swing +back to let them through. + +Kit thought of his Confirmation six months ago. + +Now the end was come--so soon. + +Well, well, he had often died before. And how clearly it all came back +to him, this final stage in the little pilgrimage, these last few +steps, solemn, beautiful, and slow, up to the familiar threshold; then +the old door, the old smile, and--the old forgetfulness. + +He had no regrets, and was strangely calm, strangely uplifted. He +could look back without shame, and forward without fear. Now he was +thankful that in these days of his ordeal he had been true to himself +and to his trust. He had done his best. There was little more to do. +That little should be done as became the son of his father. + + +IV + + +In the gloom they knelt before this unanointed Priest of Jehovah. + +His office sat upon that white old man, native to him as his soul. + +He spread his great-knuckled hands above them, a patriarch, a prophet, +an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God. + +"God bless you, sir--and you, Master Kit--and you, Boy Hoad." He drew +his hand across his mouth. + +"So be. Amen," he added solemnly. + +"Amen," said they all. + +The Parson rose. + +He gripped the old man's hand. + +Blob he patted on the back. + +"Kit," he said, and, drawing the boy towards him, kissed him. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX + + +THE PARSON'S SORTIE + + +I + + +"Time!" came the stern voice from without. + +The Parson slammed back the last bolt with a clang, and whipped up his +sword. + +"_Ready?_" + +The man was in a white flame, roaring for battle. + +"_Yes_." + +Time had stopped: Eternity was there. + +"_Then God help us all to die!_" + +He flung back the door and plunged. + +It was a venture of despair; but there was no despair in that heart of +oak. + +Swift as a flood, and as silent, he made for the wall, the despatch- +bag flopping in the small of his back. And his silence added to the +terror of his coming. + +The white-hearted crew huddling behind the wall felt it. Here and +there a scared head dodged up only to duck again. + +One man alone left cover and went out to meet the solitary swordsman. + +The Gentleman vaulted the wall, and came across the sward with steady +eyes, twisting his sword-knot about his wrist. + +There was a rimy look about his face, and a snarl in the voice that +shouted to the crew behind him, + +"Come! close in there! You've got to finish this job before you go. +The soldiers are on your heels, remember." + +Close at hand a sudden drum rolled. + +It smote the guilty hearts of the Gang like a summons to the Last +Judgment. + +"_What's that?_" + +They rose up like dead men and looked behind them. It was not much +they saw, but it was sufficient. + +Close in their rear, on a rise of the ground, a man stood against the +sky, thundering fatally on a monster drum. + +He wore a red coat; he was a soldier. + +And as they gazed, he beat a furious rat-a-tan-tan and charged. + +That was enough. The Gang broke. + + +II + + +The Gentleman flashed round to meet the new danger. + +He saw a pair of twinkling legs, a huge drum, belly-borne, and two +drum-sticks, brandished vaingloriously, driving a rout of men before +them. + +The humour of the thing seized him. + +"Well done, Soldier!" he laughed, and was back over the wall in a +trice, attempting to stop the rout. + +He might as well have attempted to stay the tide. A torrent of men +tumbled past him in howling tumult. + +He stood like a lighthouse in the tide-way. + +"What! one man lick the lot o you!" came the whipping voice. "O, good +God!" with a passion of scorn--"you sweeps! you swine!" + +His blade flashed and fell. + +"Pretty stroke!" shouted the Parson, flying the wall. "At em again, +sir!" He cut in fiercely on the flank. "Come on, Knapp!--That's the +style! Bellyful for once! Bellyful for the boy!" + +"I'm there, sir!" cried Knapp, very brisk and bright. + +He had flung aside his drum, and was tearing up, wielding his drum- +sticks like battle-axes. + +"Into em!" bellowed the Parson. "Give em the glory o God! Give em the +Lord's own delight!" + +He was hounding at the heels of the last smuggler, and the Gentleman +was hounding at his. + +"Ow's that-a-tat-tat? ow's that?" cried Knapp, racing up from behind, +and came down with a flourish and a thump on the swordsman's head as +he thrust. + +Down went the Gentleman in sprawling ruin. + +"That's a little bit o better, ain't it?" chirped the Cockney, and +skipping over the fallen man, he was at the Parson's side, in the +thick and fury of it, bringing down his drum-sticks to the battle-cry +of, + +"Ow's that-a-tat-tat? ow's that?" + + +III + + +The old man and the boys watched from the cottage. The door was ajar. +They huddled behind it, peering. Beside them lay the table, a musket +across it. In the silence they could hear each other's hearts. + +"Say, Maaster Sir!" whispered Blob. "Be you fear'd?" + +"Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies," replied Kit. "Be you?" + +"Oi dun knaw," replied the cautious lad. "Moi insoide seems koind o +swimmy loike." + +"Then stand by to lend a hand with this table when I give the word," +was all Kit's answer. + +He was watching with all his eyes. + +Parson and Gentleman were about to clash. + +Then a little figure rose out of the earth, and sullen thunder smote +on the silence. + +Piper drew a deep breath. + +"I thart so," he said, comfortably. + +"Who is it?" asked Kit. + +"Jack Knapp, sir," said the old man, picking his teeth. "Sneaked a +drum from a travellin showman by the look on it, and tow-rowin like a +rigiment. See him thump it. Ho! ho! That's joy to Jack, I knaw. Now +he's for chargin em, drum and all. Ha! ha!" + +Whoever else might escape there was no hope for that wingless old man. +His fate was certain, his end was already come. Within five minutes at +most the great doors would have slammed on him for ever. And here he +sat chuckling like a boy at a fair. + +It is something to be a saint, thought Kit, something to be as sure as +that. This old man had built his house upon the Rock indeed. + +They watched the stampede, and the Gentleman's vain attempt to stay +it. Their hearts surged to the Parson's battle-cry, and sank to the +Gentleman's thrust, to surge again as Knapp felled his man. + +"Knapp'd him a nice un," chuckled the old man, not above a pun at +death's door. "Reglar revellin in it is Knapp, I knaw." + +"Our time's coming!" panted Kit. "Stand by, Blob!" + +The Gentleman was down, the Gang upon the run. "Now, sir!" cried +Piper. "Now's your chance." + + +IV + + +"Now, Blob!--nippy with the table there!" + +Out they rushed, and dumped the table down on the left of the door. + +"That'll do, sir, thank you," said the old man, trundling out after +them. "That'll cover my flank nicely.... Butter-my-wig!" with kindling +eyes on the battle, "but Mr. Joy's busy." + +"Come on, Blob!" yelled Kit. + +"Come along, boys!" roared the Parson. "Pretty work forrad, and plenty +for all!" + +The Gentleman rose white-faced from his knees. + +"A moil a moil" he shouted, waving. + +Behind him Kit heard a yell, and the crash and scatter of men storming +down the shingle-bank. + +Then silence as they took the grass. + +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 Général!_" 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 côté de la chaumière. 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 François, his friend of the dawn. + +"Tiens! c'est toi, mon gars!" cried the man, with a quick smile. + +A simple countryman, this François, 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 François' face. + +"_Dâme!_" 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 snatched his cutlass. + +"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 cutlass +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, cutlass bloody 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 cutlass-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. + +Kit's eye was at a crack. + +The Parson had broken away from the rout, and was making for the +hills, the despatch-bag flopping in his back. + +The Gentleman, leading the charge at the cottage, turned. + +"_Abattez moi eel homme là!_" he sang. + +A Grenadier dropped to his knee. + +Outside the door a musket cracked. + +The Grenadier leapt to his feet, whirled round with floating tails, +bowed to his executioner in absurdest doll-fashion, and subsided +languidly into death. + +The Parson was away, the Gentleman after him with sleuth-hound +strides. + +The bunch of Grenadiers stormed on for the cottage. + +Kit shot the bolts. + +He was banging the door of life on that maimed old man, and he would +as soon have slammed the gate of heaven in his mother's face. + +"Good-bye, _dear_ old Piper!" he whispered. + +"Good-bye, sir," cheerily. "And if I might make so bold my sarvice to +Lard Nelson--Ralph Piper, old _Agamemnon_." + +There was silence: then the patter of feet and deep breathing of men +racing to kill. + +Kit could see the back of the old man's head on a level with his eye, +and just beyond, growing hugely on his gaze, the face of the leading +Grenadier, livid beneath his bearskin. + +Kit shut his eyes as he rammed the last bolt home. Close to his ear, +he heard a voice, low as the sea and as deep. It was humming + + Soldiers of Christ arise. + +That too ceased. + +Old Faithful was spitting on his hands. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI + + +ON THE SHINGLE-BANK + +A crash and grunt covered the noise of the front door opening. + +Kit peeped out. The way was clear. + +"Now, Blob! for your life." + +Out the boys sped. + +How still it was on this side after the other! + +There was a fury of fighting in the distance and a dreadful smothered +worry against the back door; here a tranquil sward, trees bowing, and +the shingle-bank a roan breast-work against a background of silver. + +"Run quietly, boy! On your toes like me. You run like a walrus." + +"Tidn't me," gasped Blob. "It's ma legs. They keep on a-creakin." + +Swiftly they fled across the grass. + +Was there anybody at the lugger?--were they free? + +The boy was sick with hope. + +Behind him he could hear far yells and the occasional clash of steel. +Kit guessed what had happened. The Parson, wary old man of war, his +ruse successful, the enemy drawn off, had flung back into the fight. + +So far his plan had worked to a miracle. + +The boy recalled Piper's last words. + +His sarvice to Lard Nelson! + +Piper never doubted then. Piper had been sure. + +And Piper was right. The Lord was on their side. He felt it, and his +spirit began to sing. + +Then the song died, and his soul with it. + +He could hear voices behind the shingle-bank. A double-sentry at the +least had been left over the lugger. + +Well, they must go through with it now. + +"Knife ready?" he croaked. + +"Ye'." + +The grass was growing sparse about them. He began to hear his feet. So +did the men beyond the bank. There was the click of a cocking musket. +The fellow was ready: the fellow would pot them at twenty yards as +they came over the crest. + +Thought was lost in lightning action. + +"Holà, l'ami!" he yelled. + +"_Qui vive?_" came the unseen voice. + +"Ami! à moi!" + +Feet crashed up the shingle. As he topped the crest, a Grenadier, all +eyes and bayonet and bristling chin, was plunging up the steep, +another at his heels. The first flashed his eyes up in the boy's. + +"_Sapristi!_" he cried, and tried to come down to the ready. The +shingle roared away beneath his feet. Back he slithered. And as he did +so, Kit launched down on him. + +"_Sacré nom!_" the fellow screamed, and toppled back on the +bayonet of his mate. + +Kit ran over his falling body into the arms of the other. + +"Take the man behind!" he yelled back. + +Arms wound about him: a stertorous breathing was at his ear: for a +moment the two rocked, then fell. + +The boy was buried alive. A stifling carcase blotted out the sun. His +arms were pinioned, but his hands remained free. + +Short-handling his dirk, he turned it in. + +"_Assassin!_" muttered the man, in his ear. + +Kit pressed and slowly pressed. The man writhed and tried to rise. The +boy's lithe young arms, though they could not squeeze to death, could +hold; and hold they did. The man saw it, ceased to struggle, and +hugged. + +Thank God the boy had the under-grip. His arms protected him. Else he +must have burst. + +A groan was squeezed out of him. + +"_Quittez donc!_" in his ear. + +"Jamais," faintly. + +He pressed and pressed. The man hugged and hugged. One must give. +Which should it be? Not he, not he, not he, though he fainted. Piper +had been _sure_. + +A warm gush spouted out upon his fingers, and trickled down his fore- +arm. + +It was horrible. He felt it to be murder, not war. Yet that python- +embrace was squeezing the heart out of his mouth. + +Great heavens!--was the man made of iron?--would he never have enough? + +Then he felt a prick in his own flesh. Perforce he stayed his hand. + +Well, he had done his best. And even at that moment, his brain +swimming to a death-swoon, his humour flashed out of the darkness to +his succour. + +If that didn't stop the chap, hang it! he deserved victory. + +But it did. + +Gently, very gently, the arms relaxed. He could feel the man fading +away and away in his embrace. All that power and stress of life was +pouring out into infinity. The man was dying at his ear. Lying his +length upon the boy, he shuddered from head to heel. + +"_Marie_," he sighed. + +There was a last ripple of life, and the boy knew he was holding +earth. + +He wriggled out into the light with throbbing temples. + +His hand and shirt-cuff caught his eye. He started back. They followed +him. He tried to fling his hand away. It would not be flung. He +stared, breathing like a frightened horse. + +His jaw dropping, he looked at his handiwork. + +The fellow was lying on his face, long legs wide. But for the hilt of +the dirk sticking out of his loins, he looked much as other men. Yet-- +he was not. Think! A minute ago--and now! How wonderful it all was, +and how terrible! The mystery of it made chaos in his brain. + +He was frightened at himself, even more than at the dead man, or his +deed. + +Leaning back on his hands, the man he had killed at his feet, those +instant questions which oppress us all in the rare moments when we +stand still and are compelled by the shock of circumstance to look +inward on ourselves, drummed at his brain. + +What was he?--where was he?--why was he? + +He staggered to his feet, pressing his hands to his eyes, to try to +recollect his meaning. + +He failed, only recalling his mission of the moment. + +Shutting his eyes, he grasped the dirk. + +"Awful sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I must," and plucked it forth +with a shudder. + +Then he looked up. + +The first Grenadier lay spread-eagled on the slope above him. + +Blob was crawling out from beneath him, his pink muzzle thrust up with +an air of grave and innocent amazement. + +Kit pointed a finger. + +"Ha! ha! you do look funny!" he laughed madly. "You're like one of +Magic's puppies poking out to have a first peep at the world." + +"Oi loike killin better'n bein kill'd," Blob announced solemnly, and +crept out on hands and knees, a tip of pink tongue travelling about +his lips. Then he turned to his dead. + +Kit wound up again. + +"Never mind about him," he said, staggering to his feet. "He'll keep. +This way. Bring his musket along. Quick!" + +He picked up the musket of his own dead, and swayed blindly down +towards the lugger. + +Blob followed at first reluctantly. Then some memory amused him, and +he began to brim slow mirth. + +"Er says--'Dear! dear!' and Oi says--'Theer! theer!' and plops it in, +and plops it in." + +Still adrift on the sea of his emotions, Kit paid no heed. + +He was swimming down the shingle-bank, aware of nothing but the tip of +his nose and vague bad dreams at the back of his heart. + +The lugger was lying on the steep of the shingle, poised as though for +launching. + +The swarthy jib was bellying seaward. She was yearning for the water. + +Kit rallied. + +The slope was with them; the wind was with them; the very boat was +with them. And the tide, running in with a splash, already flopped +about her keel. + +How soon would she float? + +Two minutes might do it--or twenty. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII + + +THE RACE FOR THE LUGGER + + +I + + +There was not a moment to be lost. + +"Throw your musket aboard her!" cried Kit, bringing up against the +lugger. "Now put your shoulder to and heave with a will! heave!" + +They might as well have tried to move a mountain. Yet even as the boy +strained, a wave shot up and sluiced his feet. And how that cold clasp +warmed his heart! + +The tide was tumbling in, the Lord God thrusting it. A minute, a +little minute, and they would be away. + +"Aboard her, Blob!" he panted. "That's right, clumsy! Noisy does it! +Now chuck every single thing you can lay hands on, overboard--except +the muskets, idiot!" + +Fiercely the boys set to work. Kits and cans, ballast and blocks, +spare spars and tackle, higgledy-piggledy overboard they went, some on +the shingle, some splashing into the tide, to be snatched and tumbled +and ducked. + +As yet they were not discovered. Kit working madly in the belly of the +boat could see nothing; but afar he could hear the Parson's terrible +roar, and Knapp's crisp, + +"_Ow's that-a-tat, ow's that?_" + +Somehow, only the Lord knew how, those two inspired warriors still +kept the ring. + +It was great, but it could not last. The end must come, and it must +come soon. + +Anxiously the boy peeped over the side. The tide seemed to mock them. +With what a swoop it rushed to their rescue, and with what a scream of +derision it withdrew again! Kit compared it unconsciously to the to +and fro of the emotions in his heart, now surging him heaven-high, now +leaving him stranded. + +Then he spied a greased bat for launching lying on the slope. In a +trice he was overboard, had seized it, and racing down the streaming +shingle as a wave withdrew, thrust the bat beneath the keel. The wave +curled, stemmed by the advancing water, and swept about him to the +knee. + +As it clasped the lugger, a puff of wind leapt from the land, and +skirmished across the sea. + +The jib filled to it, and strained seaward. + +Was he wrong?--or did she stir and tremble, like a girl to her lover? + +How to help her? + +If they could hoist the main-sail! + +He was back over the side in a moment. + +The boat was clean-swept now of everything but the muskets and a mess +of shingle for ballast at the bottom. The anchor had gone over the +stern and trailed on the slope. Even Blob had disappeared. + +Kit pushed at the boom to thrust it over. + +"Blob! Blob! where are you?" + +"Here Oi be!" panted a voice forward. + +Kit turned to see Blob, his shoulders rounded, and arms taut, heaving +at the main-mast. + +"She wun't budge!" he cried, his face crimson with honest effort. +"Seems she's grow'd in loike." + +"Fool!" he cried. "Lend a hand with the boom here! Shove, boy, shove! +--Now on to the main-brace! No, fool, no!--Here--on to this! Now all +together--heave! heave! heave!" + +The great sail rose, groaning terribly. + +Heaven send the smugglers hadn't heard! + +But they had. + + +II + + +So much a far scream told them. + +"We're seen!" panted Kit. "Now whistle for the wind, my boy, and hand +me that musket." + +The water was slopping all about the lugger. Empty as a barrel she +began to rock to the rocking of the tide. A puff would launch her. + +The boy glanced seaward. + +Over there was that white glimmer, clearer now. It was like the arm of +a drowning woman flinging up for help. The glimpse of it inspired the +boy. + +"I'm coming, sir," he called across the waters. "One more fight +first." + +He hitched his belt. Now he had no doubt of the issue. Here his +friend, the sea, was beside him, whispering to him, loving him, +taunting him. She was his hope, his heart, his strength. And for the +first time it flashed upon the lad what the fight was really for. It +was for her, the World's Woman. She went to the Victor, and she was on +his side: for he was England, and England had won her first, and, true +woman that she was, she clove to her first conqueror. + + +III + + +They were coming. + +He thrilled to them. + +"Now, Blob! you take that side. I'll take this. Pick off a man as he +comes over the crest. Then out knives, and do your best!" + +He leapt on to the taffrail, balancing by the mizzen. Tiptoeing so, he +could just see over the crest of the shingle-bank. + +And he was never to forget the sight he then saw. + +Towards him across the greensward, a torrent of men streamed like a +tide-race, silent all. + +A huge Grenadier led them. Behind in a bunch came the smugglers, Fat +George shambling along in the midst with a fury of arm-work. As his +swifter comrades passed him, he clutched at them covetously. + +"_Ands off!_" screamed a lanky lad. + +The fat man's knife flashed. The lad fell. + +The others raced on. What was it to them? + +As they came, they tossed up tormented faces. Their eyes were peep- +holes. Through them he stared into the bottomless pit, and there +beheld things not meant for human vision. + +His eyes passed with relief to the wholesome ugliness of the little +Englishman pounding at the smugglers' heels. + +Knapp had dropped his drumsticks, and was limping along now naked- +fisted. His eyes were shut, and his running drawers red in patches as +his tunic. He was merry no more, his head on one shoulder, labouring +painfully in his stride. It was clear that he was hard-hit, and just +as clear that he meant going through to the finish. + +Behind him three Grenadiers, one behind the other, strung out across +the green. The Parson coursed the last of them; the Gentleman coursed +the Parson. + +They were all running swiftly, but the last two were the swiftest. + +The Parson was gaining on the Grenadier, and the Gentleman on the +Parson. + +It was such a race as Kit had never seen before. + +Which would reach his man first? + +On that, it seemed to his prophetic vision, hung all. + +He tried to yell, + +"Come on, sir!" + +But his voice stuck as in a nightmare, and seemed to suffocate him. + +A blade soared and swooped. + +"_One!_" came the Parson's voice, clear across the green, as he +took the falling man in his stride. + +The Gentleman, hard at his heels, tripped over the dead man. + +Collected as always, he snatched the fellow's musket, and sprawling on +his face, fired at the Parson's back. + +A smuggler fell. + +"_Thank ye!_" gasped the Parson. "_Two!_" as the second +Grenadier went down. + +Then the flight of men, pursuer and pursued, dipped out of sight; but +Kit could hear the stampede of feet behind the bank racing towards +him, then a hiss and stumbling fall. + +"_Three!_" panted the Parson's voice, and in a dying roar, +"_Mind yourselves, boys! They're on you_." + + +IV + + +"Ready, Blob!" + +The boy was white as steel. + +He had no body. He was not afraid. + +Nelson was calling him, and he should not call in vain. + +Over the crest stormed the leading Grenadier, monstrous-seeming +against the sky. + +Kit fired at the man's cross-belts. + +Down the shingle the fellow sprawled, whether dead or alive, wounded +or whole, Kit knew not till he splashed into the water, and lay still +in the flop of the tide. + +Behind him came the smugglers. + +As they topped the crest a star hung above their heads, then fell, +flashing. + +"_Four--and--five!_" came the Parson's voice. + +"He's on us!" screamed Dingy Joe. "Sword and all!" + +They broke away to right and left along the ridge like a covey of +partridges when the hawk swoops. + +Anything to get away from that avenging voice roaring out of a +whirlwind of lightnings! + +"After em, Knapp!" + +Slung along by his own impetus, the Parson hurled down the steep. + +"Warm work!" he panted, grinning luridly at the boy, and he brought up +with a bang against the lugger. + +As he shocked against the boat, the great tan sail filled. Shock and +wind together gave the necessary impulse. The lugger, light as a +bubble, swayed, slithered, crunched down the shingle, felt the greased +bat, and took the water with a dip and lovely curtsey. + +"We're through!" roared the Parson, sprawling upon the side. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII + + +NOBLESSE OBLIGE + + +I + + +The anchor was trailing down the shingle-bank after them. + +The Gentleman had picked it up, and came walking down the slope, +leaning back a little as he came. + +He was smiling the brave man's wistful smile. + +He had lost and he knew it. + +Blob snatched a musket and aimed at his waistcoat. + +The Parson struck up the barrel. + +"Your friends are safe, sir," he called, hoarse and quiet. "I've burnt +the despatches." + +"They don't deserve to be, but thank you all the same," replied the +other as quiet. + +He let the anchor go. It fell with a splash into the water. + +"I salute a gallant soldier, a gallant sailor, and my friend Monsieur +Moon-calf!" he said, and stood, the water to his ankles, and hilt to +his lips. + + +II + + +On the ridge the man-pack was at the worry. + +Suddenly a face gleamed up through the thick of them. + +"_Sir!_" screamed a voice. + +The Parson started round. + +"Knapp!" he cried, with sickening face. "Put back!" + +A hand was on his shoulder. It was Kit. + +The boy did not speak; he did not weep; he pointed seaward to where a +topsail flashed white on the horizon. + +The Parson looked at the green waters swinging by. + +"And I can't swim!" he groaned. "God forgive me!" + +An inspiration seized him. + +He leapt on to the taffrail. + +"Sir," he shouted, pointing, "that's a brave man!" + +The Gentleman turned and saw the bloody business going on behind him. + +"I am the servant of the brave," he cried, and stormed back. + +The Parson sat down, and broke into tears. + + + + +BOOK IV + +_NELSON_ + + + + +I + +H.M.S. _MEDUSA_ + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV + + +NATURE, THE COMFORTER + + +I + + +The crash of the waves on the shingle grew faint behind. + +The lugger began to prattle, as she took the water bobbingly. Overhead +the sky was blue, with wisps of snow. Kit hugged the tiller, shivering in +spasms. + +On his right Beachy Head, rusty of hide, waded white-footed into the +deep. Before him opened the sea, a plain of palest blue, blurred with +wind and patched here and there with silver. Eastward a road of twinkling +light ran across the water. Pevensey Levels lay behind him, brown beyond +the shingle. At back of them a range of dim hills rose and launched into +the sea; and Northward a vague gloom in the sky told of man's great +camping-place by the Thames. + +The great sea lolled about the boy, breathing in sleep. + +How soothing was the slow large life of the waters after the hubbub and +horror of those last few minutes, already so remote! + +Above him a kittiwake dreamed. The boy let himself drift, his mind +rocking to the rock of the sea. + +The waters swung by, singing to themselves. They poured peace upon his +troubled spirit. Their strong life entered into his, a resistless tide. +Feebly he tried to stay it. He wanted to go back to his distress, to +dwell upon it, to worry it, as a young dog frets to go back to the kill. + +Nature, the Comforter, would have none of it. She loved her ailing little +one over well to let him have his way. She had him in her arms, and would +not let him go. She sang in his ear; she rocked his spirit to sleep. The +floodgates were open; and that tide of healing stole in upon his being. +In his mind it made religious music. He could not resist it. Half +reluctant he let himself drift on those sweet waters. + +The sea roamed blindly by. He watched her as a sick child watches his +mother. Sense was alive; self was dead. His body was the eye of his soul, +the avenue of spirit. It had no life of its own to cloud his clear +vision. + +The tide of healing swept forward, smoothing the rough surfaces, washing +away the jagged edges of pain. As it flowed on, that squabble on the +beach a few minutes back receded, ultimately to be lost to view. It had +been drowned by the incoming waters. + +He was walking backwards on himself towards the centre that some call +Christ; withdrawing from the Circumference, where the winds of the World +moan always. And in that Centre, always for all men the same, there was +Peace and Love and Life Eternal, as on that Circumference there had been +War and Darkness and Discord. + +Lying on the bosom of the mother-deep, watching her breathe, the boy +smiled. + + +II + + +The Parson at his side was stroking his calves. + +The boy watched him with dreamy eyes. + +"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked in a far-away voice. + +It came from the depths of no-where. It seemed no longer his. He listened +to it with awe. + +"Nothing that matters," replied the Parson. "Thank God for His great +mercies, and my dear lady here." + +Lifting his sword, he kissed the hilt. + +"She was inspired," he said in reverent whisper. "I never saw the like +and never shall again." He wiped the blade upon his knee-breeches. "Their +beastly hairs stick yet--see!" + +The boy heard no word. He sat quite still, his eyes on that twinkling +waste beneath the boom. The sun, which had been shining through mist, now +blazed hot upon his face. He eased the boat away, and the shadow of the +great brown lug fell upon him comfortably. + +"It's all very wonderful," he said, his eyes on the musing waters. + +"It's a miracle--nothing less," replied the Parson, unslinging the +despatch-bag. "This bag did me yeoman service. Look!" It was slashed to +ribands, the rolled coat within gashed through and through; and as he +shook it a bullet fell out of the folds. "I owe my life to it and Piper's +shooting. The old man dropped a chap dead at two hundred yards as he was +braining me." + +The boy woke at last. + +"What of him--old Piper?" + +"Ah, what?" said the Parson, grey and grave beneath the sweat. + +Neither spoke again. + + +III + + +Beyond the Boulder Bank the wind freshened. The lugger began to breast +the water merrily, plumping into the swells with a delicious shock, +shooting the water aside in spurts of foam, and ploughing a furrow white +behind her. + +The Parson stared about him with startled eyes. + +"Good Lord!" he said, breathing deep, as one just awaking to a new and +terrible danger. + +Kit looked at him, and was shocked at the change that had come over him. +He could scarcely recognise in this grey-green spectre the roaring +swordsman of the shingle-bank. + +"I'm tired," said the Parson suddenly, "very tired." + +He flopped forward on his knees. + +"My sins have found me out," he moaned. "May mother forgive me!" + +His courage had faded with his colour. + +Collapsing, he lay like a dead thing in a slop of sand and water at the +bottom of the boat. + +Kit heard his voice as in a dream. + +The boy was sitting quite still, the smell of the sea in his nostrils, +the wind in his hair, the hiss and flop of the waters in his ears. + +The life of the body was coming back to him. The good salt breeze flushed +his veins. The tiller began to pull at his hand. The lugger swung and +curtseyed, graceful as a dancing girl. She was alive. She was careering +over the swells, snatching for her head. She knew her mission, and +revelled in it. + +Nelson, Nelson, Nelson! she whispered, hissed, and sang the word. + +The boy began to hand her over the seas, as a man hands his lady down a +ball-room. She was so swift so strong: throbbing-full of life. He loved +her, and began to live again. + +Blob was sitting cocked up in the bows, pink as ever and as impassive. + +At the sight of the boy Kit felt a certain resentment, and, with the +swift self-knowledge peculiar to him, was glad to feel it, for it told +him he was coming round. He wished the boy to collapse alongside the +Parson. Why didn't he, the silly little land-lubber? Kit, the one sailor +aboard, here on his own element, wished to lord it out alone. + +"How d'you feel, Blob?" he called, hoping for the best. + +"Whoy," said Blob, the breeze in his teeth, "Oi'm that empty Oi can hear +me innuds rollin. Oi could just fancy a loomp o porruk--fatty-loike." + +The Parson raised himself. + +"Swine," he moaned, "have you no soul?" + +He turned on his elbow. + +"Can't you take her where it's flatter?" he snarled. + +"I like a bit of a bobble myself, sir," answered Kit. + +"Calls himself a sailor!" sneered the other, and collapsed again. + + +IV + + +The frigate was drawing near, the lily flag of a Vice-Admiral of the +White at her foretop-gallant mast-head. + +A tide of delicious tears surged up in the lad's heart as he beheld her. +She was England; she was his own. He possessed her, and was she not +beautiful? + +Stately lady, she walked the waters, swaying them, her breasts splendid +in the sunshine. Her head was in the heavens, a stir of snow at her feet. +She was mistress of the seas, and mother of them. And with what noble +mirth she lorded it in this her nursery! The turbulent little folks +swarmed to clutch her skirts as she swept by. She moved among them, their +play-fellow and yet their sovereign lady: here a mocking bow, there a +laughing curtsey; anon a stoop, a swift kiss, and she rose, an armful of +blossom-babies smothering her. + +The boy's heart went out to her in a passion of worship. + +She was a tall Princess, stone-blind and beautiful, walking to her doom; +and he a boy-knight bucketing across the moor on his pony to save her and +the burthen she bore so preciously in her arms--her little son. + +And he _would_ save her. Nay, he _had_ saved her. + +He was so proud he could have shouted; he was so moved he could almost +have wept. + +The lugger thumped through the seas, tugging at her tiller, eager as +himself. She reminded him of the scuttling haste with which old Trumps, +his pony, bustled along, head set for home; and he laughed merrily. The +fuss and fury of the little thing contrasted so ludicrously with the +majestic calm of the swan-lady sweeping towards him. + +The frigate was close on him now. + +As the lugger topped the ridges, Kit, peering beneath the boom, could see +the black and yellow of the Nelson chequer on her sides. + +Clouds of canvas, tier on tier, towered above him. + +He could see the shine of her bows as she lifted, dripping. The water +spurted from her foot in foaming cataracts as she plunged. + +He steered as though to cross her bows. When he heard the swish of the +green waters cleaving before her keel, he put his helm hard down. + +"Hail them, Blob!" he screamed, and scrambling forward brought the +lug-sail down with a rattle. + +"Boat ahoy_" a voice from the frigate "_who are you_?" + +Blob stood in the bows, one hand on the flapping jib. "Oi'm Blob Oad what +killed Nabowlin Bownabaardie," he yelled. + +The frigate, standing stately on, swung up alongside. Kit, rushing to the +side, fended her off, as she slid past, huge above him. + +"Heave to!" he screamed, bumping against the sliding side. "Heave to!" + +A deep voice above him spoke. + +Kit looked up. A man, leaning over the side, was watching him bump +stern-wards with a sardonic grin. + +"Bye-bye," he murmured deeply. "My love to the little gurls." + +Was he mad? was he mocking? + +Kit thought he had never seen so striking a face. The man was a giant +with moon-splendid eyes. There was a power about the face, the power of +darkness. The sun never shone upon it--only the moon, the moon. But for +her wan glimmer it was without light. Kit thought of a wild night at sea, +the moon gleaming fitfully on savage waters. The moon, always the moon! + +"Despatches for Nelson!" screamed the boy--"for Nelson, Nelson, Nelson!" + +The moon went out. There was one flash of lightning, then horror of +darkness. The man's life had shocked to a halt. He did not stir, he did +not wink, he did not breathe. + +Then the blackness lifted, and the moon shone out once more between dark +scuds. + +"Nelson ain't a-board," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV + + +ON THE DECK OF THE _MEDUSA_ + + +I + + +The man folded his arms and gazed down at the boy, mildly amused. + +"Not on board?" gasped Kit faintly. "Where is he, then?" + +The moon was out again and shining serenely. + +"Why, where I'd like to be--with his best gurl." + +He took out a tooth-pick, and began to clean his teeth with gusto. + +Kit hardly heard. Desperately he clutched the sliding side. It seemed to +him as though the world was slipping away from him. If he let go all was +lost. + +_"Mr. Dark!"_ twanged a nasal voice from the deck. + +The giant leapt round. + +_"My lord."_ + +_"What's that boat doing under my quarter?"_ + +_"A Deal hovel, my lord, asking for brandy."_ + +Feet came towards the side. + +_"First time I ever heard of a hovel stopping a King's ship to ask for +brandy."_ + +_"That's what I told him, my lord,"_ came the firm reply. + +"You didn't!" screamed Kit from far below. "You didn't. Heave to! Heave +to! or--" + +"You'll sink me, I suppose, young gentleman!" + +Kit looked up. + +A one-eyed little man was twinkling down at him. + + +II + + +The boy came over the side. + +He was without hat and in his shirt, a pale stripling, gaunt of cheek, +and with flaming eyes. + +"Liar!" he cried, and transfixed the giant with a finger. + +The one-eyed little man, one-armed too, four stars on his breast, turned +on the boy in a cold blaze. + +"Remember in whose presence you stand!" he said. "I am Lord Nelson." + +"He said you weren't on board, sir," cried the boy stubbornly. + +"I said nothing of the sort, my lord," replied the giant calmly. "I said +I wasn't going to stop the way of your lordship's frigate to let a +smuggler's brat liquor up." + +"And quite right too," said Nelson. "What is it the boy wants?" + +"I understood him to ask for brandy, my lord--for the corpse in the +boat." + +"What! is there a corpse in the boat?" + +"O yes, my lord--a nice little bit of a corpse. But whether the two young +gents killed him and are bringing him off to your lordship for a present, +as I ave known done in the Caribbees, or whether they dug him up and took +him aboard for ballast, only the young gents know." + +Those strange eyes dwelt upon the lad sardonically. One thing was plain. +Mr. Dark was amusing himself. + +Nelson seemed not to hear him. + +"Who are you?" rounding on the boy. + +"I'm of the same Service as yourself, my lord," replied Kit, white as +ice. "A midshipman. My name is Caryll." + +"What ship?" + +"The _Tremendous_, my lord." + +"The _Tremendous_! let's see. What do I know of the _Tremendous_?" + +"Gone where we've all got to go some day, my lord--down, down, down," +said the giant. "Posted missing Tuesday night." He had folded his arms +and was leaning up against the side, moody as the devil. "For some it +makes a change; for others it don't. I'm one of the last sort. It's all +stale to me. I live there--down, down, down." He yawned with creaking +jaws. + +Nelson stared at him, then turned to the boy. + +"And may I ask what you're doing here, Mr. Carvell?" + +"He said he had despatches for you, my lord," interrupted the giant +languidly. "Don't see em myself." + +Kit's swift mind leapt at the fellow's mistake. + +Swift as he was, there was one present swifter--the man who in a flashing +moment had won the day at St. Vincent. + +Nelson swept round on the giant. + +_"He said--he had--despatches--for me?_ You just told me he wanted +brandy. How d'you account for that?" + +The stillness before the storm was never so appalling as that calm. In +all the world only the giant's slow eyelids seemed to stir. The boy felt +lightning in the air: he felt it in his heart. + +Dark remained unmoved. He lolled against the bulwark, legs crossed. It +was scarcely respectful to the great seaman who stood before him; but the +man seemed a law to himself. His chin dropped, his arms folded, those +glimmering eyes of his never lifted from his feet. + +"I don't account for it, my lord," came the deep voice. "I can't account +for myself--much less for my lies." + +Far down in those strange eyes Kit caught a gleam. Was it humour?--was it +anguish?--what was it? He did not know. The man baffled him. He was +groping in the dark and finding--darkness. He was at war with this man, +war to the death; and yet, yet, yet, he felt they had something in +common. What was it?--a kindred soul?--who should say? + +For a long minute Nelson gazed gravely at the other. + +"You're mighty strange, Mr. Dark," he said at last. + +The man nodded and nodded. + +"I'm mighty dark, Mr. Strange," he said--"mighty dark." + + +III + + +Nelson turned to the boy. + +"Come below," he said. + +"_My lord_," came a voice as out of a fog. + +Nelson turned. + +The giant was following them at a panther-prowl. + +As Kit saw him a phrase from the Old Book flashed to his mind--_the Body +of this Death_. + +Only the eyes lived; abysms through which the boy gazed down to behold +the last nicker of a drowning soul. + +It was not quite out, that gallant little light. Down there in the tumult +of dark waters it fought for life despairingly. + +Without, the man was black and white and strangely still. Within, God and +Devil were at battle. And the Devil was winning. + +The giant prowled across the deck, kneading his hands. + +"_Can I have a word with your lordship?_" + +The voice was clogged and husky as the voice of one dead for centuries. + +"By all means," briskly. + +"_Alone, my lord?_" + +"Certainly. Here?" + +The man rolled his eyes up at Kit. The boy's knees gave. He almost +fainted. The soul flickered its last before his eyes. The man was dark +forever. + +"_Over here, my lord. By the side, if you please_." + +His words came stifled as out of the grave. + +Kit heard them remotely. + +His voice tried to burst through iron blackness and failed. + +His soul yelled, + +"_Murder_!" but no sound came. Feet and tongue stuck fast. The Powers of +Darkness had prevailed over him also. + +The two were walking away across the deck, side by side, the big man and +the little. + +Nightmare-bound, the boy watched their backs, the one huge-shouldered, +slouching, the other sprightly and slight as a lad's. + +In the one there was no light. He was a vast black body, unlit now even +by the moon. The other was radiant beside him. The Angel of Darkness was +about to swallow the Child of Light. The boy saw what was going to happen +and could not stay it. + +Then he heard a sound. + +The man was moaning as he walked. + +Nelson stopped. + +"Aren't you well, Dark?" he asked, so quietly, so kindly. + +The giant swayed. Head and eyes were down, arms swinging. He was as a man +asleep preparing for a plunge. And his light was out. + +Nelson laid a hand upon his shoulder. + +"Can I help you?" he asked, with the shy tenderness of a woman. + +The groan sighed itself away. Just so must Lazarus have sighed when the +life first began to trickle back along disused veins. Slowly the giant +pulled himself together, squaring vast shoulders. Then he drew a +tremendous breath. In the darkness a tiny star began to glow. + +"You have helped me, my lord," he said, and his voice was clear again. + +Then they turned and came back across the deck. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI + + +IN THE CABIN OF THE _MEDUSA_ + + +I + + +Admiral and midshipman were alone in the cabin. + +Kit was taking in his hero's face. + +It was the face--the boy saw it with amazement--of a _disappointed_ man! + +The hero of St. Vincent, the victor of the Nile, the conqueror of +Copenhagen, a disappointed man! + +"Tell your story." + +Standing by the door Kit told his tale. + +By the port the great seaman listened in chill silence. + +His face was turned away. Kit dwelt anxiously on the keen, pale profile, +the ruined eye, the lopped arm. Was his listener incredulous? He could +not say, and Nelson did not speak. + +The boy stumbled on his way. + +Alone in that quiet cabin, his own voice shrill and small the only sound, +face to face with the man who had saved Europe once, and must again, a +confused and silly story he made of it. + +Out on the uncritical sea he had almost thought himself a hero: in here, +eye to eye with Nelson, he knew himself just a pinch-beck boy. + +The silence grew upon him. He found himself listening to his own voice, +and half wondering whether he was not dreaming. This almighty little man, +so careless, so terrible, chilled him to the core. + +He stumbled, sought his mind like a schoolboy posed for a word, sought in +vain, and stopped dead. + +Nelson drummed upon the table. + +"Is that all?" + +"All, sir?" + +The other strummed impatiently. + +"I'm _Lord_ Nelson." + +The boy was dumb, his heart flaring. + +And this was the man the nation worshipped! + +Nelson turned his eye upon the boy. There was a sardonic droop about his +lips. + +"Mr. Carvell," he said slowly, "I have been a midshipman myself. Is this +a joke?" + +Kit flamed. He had given himself freely for this man, had died a hundred +deaths for him--for this! + +"If it's a joke, my lord," white-hot and thrilling, "it's a joke for +which a good many men have died." + +He saw once more the lower deck of the _Tremendous_. He recalled the man +in the powder-magazine, and old Ding-dong dying beneath the cliff. He +thought of Piper outside that door. + +Nelson turned on the boy in a white blast. + +"I am Admiral Lord Nelson. You're Mr. Midshipman Carvell. And I'll +trouble you not to forget it." + +He held out his hand. + +"Your papers." + +"There are none, sir--my lord. All burnt." + +"Pah!" cried Nelson, and turned with a stamp. + +On the table was a chart, a pistol at the corner of it acting as +paper-weight. + +He bent over it. + +Kit, with bleeding heart, gazed at his back, blue-coated and +white-breeched. + +A darn in the seat of the breeches held his gaze. It seemed so odd +somehow that Nelson's breeches should be darned. It was the last thing he +should have suspected of the hero of Aboukir Bay. He longed to put out +his finger and feel it, that darn in Nelson's breeches. Was it real?--or +was it a dream-darn? It was real; he could swear it. And it helped him. +There was something comfortably human about it. After all, then, a hero +was only flesh and blood: he wore darned breeches. + +Sometimes the boy wore darned breeches himself, his mother compelling +him. There was something in common, then, between him and his hero. + +Nelson turned suddenly to find the boy's eyes brimming with laughter. + +Across his face swept a great white anger. + +"This is scarcely a matter for giggling, Mr. Carvell," he cried terribly. +"It seems to me that you by no means realise the _astounding_ nature of +the charge you bring. If it prove true, it means the hanging of a +brother-officer before the Fleet. If not--His Majesty will have no +further need of your services." + +"The powder-magazine will tell its own story," replied Kit, curt as an +insulted girl. "Ask it." + +Nelson's eye flashed. + +"I'm not in the habit of receiving suggestions from my midshipmen, Mr. +Carvell." + +"You doubt my word!" with a sob. + +"I doubt your story, sir. And I've good reason to. My officers are not in +the habit of selling me. But we can soon have the truth." + +He opened the door. + +"Desire Mr. Dark to be good enough to step this way," he called to the +sentry outside, and shut the door again. + +"Mr. Dark is my Gunner and the officer against whom you bring your +charge--a charge of such a nature as _never_, never in all the years of +my service, have I known one officer to bring against another." + +He was pacing rapidly up and down the cabin, his stump flapping. + +"I have tried to serve you, sir," said Kit in twilight voice, and said no +more. + +His face was a thought paler than before; his eyes a shade darker. He was +bracing himself for a last fight. + +Something about the boy, his twilight voice, his pallor, those dark and +hunted eyes, struck Nelson. + +He stopped his pacing. + +"You've nothing to fear, Mr. Carvell," he said less sternly--"if your +story prove true." + +"It is true, my lord," replied the boy steadfastly. + +"God forbid," shuddered the great seaman, and resumed his walk. + + +II + + +There was a knock. + +Dark entered, sombrely magnificent. + +He stood by the door, splendid with that strange splendour of moonlight. + +His head, massive as a mountain, was splashed with silver; and from under +great and gloomy brows those vast eyes gleamed, unfathomable. + +Over by the port stood Nelson, high and white. + +"Mr. Dark," he began in chill and formal voice, "I've sent for you upon +the most unpleasant business it's ever been my lot to be mixed up in. Had +I only to consider myself, what I have to say would be left unsaid. But I +have to think of other and larger issues. If a mischance England might be +lost." + +The other listened immovable. He was like a smouldering volcano. Every +moment Kit expected to see flames leap from his eyes. + +Nelson cleared his throat, and continued. + +"This young gentleman, Mr. Carvell, has been telling me a strange and +terrible tale that affects you." + +He turned his eye full-blaze upon the other. + +"It is this, Mr. Dark--that you have been paid to sell me to the French." + +The giant was stone. Not a muscle twitched. Then the tip of his tongue +journeyed round his lips. The lips moved. Kit read the words on them, +though no sound came. + +They were, + +"_Not paid_." + +Nelson waited, breathing deep. Receiving no answer, he went on, + +"The story so far as I can make it out is this." + +Calm and twanging, he stood by the port-hole, and outlined to his alleged +murderer-to-be the story of his plot. That mighty man could have crumpled +him in one hand, and tossed him through the port-hole. And the giant knew +it--so much his eyes betrayed. And the boy, watching from his corner, +knew it too. Only the little lopped man talking through his nose across +the cabin seemed unaware of it. + +The shrill voice ceased. There was silence in the cabin. + +"That's the story, Mr. Dark. And I may say I don't believe _one_ word of +it." + +"Thank you, my lord," came the other's voice, deep and rumbling. + +"And if you'll give me your word that it's all moonshine," continued +Nelson, "why, I'll ask you to shake my hand and forgive me. And that's an +end of the dirtiest bit of business I ever had to handle." + +The other's voice stuck in his throat. Out it came at last like muffled +drums. + +"My lord, you're a gentleman." + +Nelson came to him with outstretched hand and a wonderful smile. + +"Forgive me," he said. + +The darkness drifted from the saint's face, leaving behind it evening +calm, the stars beginning to shine. + +Folding his arms, he bowed deliberately. + +Nelson's hand dropped. He stopped short, and his smile died. In a flash +the man of action, brisk and curt, had taken the place of the comrade +chivalrously admitting a mistake. + +"Then I must trouble you to fetch the key of the powder-magazine, and to +follow me." He clapped on his cocked hat. + +The great man turned swiftly. + +"One moment, my lord," and he was gone. + + +III + + +There was a rush up the companion-ladder, and the noise of running feet +on the deck overhead. + +"Great God!" groaned Nelson, ghastly, and flung open the port. + +A dark mass with straggling legs shot past. + +There was the plump of a body striking the sea, and crash of showering +waters. + +"_Man overboard!_" roared a voice from the deck. "_Back tops'ls. Here, +sir!_" + +A rope coiled out and splashed the water. + +Nelson's head was through the port. + +The man came up beneath him, and turned to face the ship and his Admiral. + +"O, Dark! Dark! Dark!" cried Nelson, and there was agony in his voice. + +Dark looked up, the hair plastered about his forehead. + +"Nelson," he shouted. "I ask your pardon." + +"It's yours, Dark," choked the other. "But O! I thought--I thought you +loved me!--every man of you." + +"Often and often I could have killed you," gasped the other, bobbing to +the seas. + +"Rather that than this!" sobbed the great seaman. "Murder's the braver +deed." + +"I was mad!" groaned the other. "She was in my blood. She was my soul. +She _is_ my soul--the Christ be kind to her! O, if any man in the world +can understand, that man should be Lord Nelson." + +"No! no! no!" raved Nelson, tossing with his head, stamping with his +feet, thumping the port with his fists. "Myself! my wife! my friend!--but +_not_ my country! _Not_ that, Dark! _never_ that!" + +"_Lively there!_" roared the voice from the deck. "_Lower away_." + +There was the splash of a boat. + +Dark flung aside the rope to which he had been holding. + +There was silence in the cabin. + +Through it came a despairing voice from the water. + +"I can't sink!--My God, my God!--I can't sink!" + +Nelson swept the pistol off the table and thrust through the port. + +"Catch!" he gasped, and threw. + +The man rose to it like a leaping fish, flung a high hand, and caught it. +Then he sank back. + +"Thank you, my lord," he cried, terrible joy in his voice. "May God +forgive me as you have done." + +Kit had a vision of a black mouth open, a thrusting barrel ringed with +teeth, two screwed eyes, and then-- + +"Don't look, boy!" screamed Nelson, and plucked him away. + +The slamming port drowned another sound. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII + + +THE _MEDUSA_ GOES ABOUT + + +I + + +Nelson rocked on the table. His hands were to his eyes, pressing, +pressing, as though he would blind himself. + +"And this is what comes of it!" he moaned. + +Then he rose, and crossed the cabin, walking uncertainly as a little +child. + +Kit thought he would have fallen, and stepped forward. The great captain +waved him back with his stump. Then he passed out alone. + +A minute later the boy heard a door open and shut, and peeped out. + +Nelson was coming out of the powder-magazine. + +Down the gangway he came pale and uplifted. He was quite calm, and about +his face there was the rain-washed look the boy had seen on his mother's +as she came out of the room where Uncle Jacko lay dead. + +"You were right, Mr. Carvell," he said quietly. "Forgive me." + +"Caryll, my lord," ventured the lad--"Kit Caryll." + +Nelson's eye leapt. + +"Kit Caryll!" he cried. "Kit Caryll! Kit Caryll!" He held the boy's hand, +and a beautiful smile broke all about his face. "Have I been blind? +You're your father over again." + +He dwelt on the boy's face, flooding it with tenderness. + +"D'you know," he continued quietly, "d'you know you come to me as a +friend risen from the dead?--a friend of my best days, come back to +remind me of the years--the happy years--before ... I won the Nile." + +Kit heard him, amazed. + +He was not happy, then, this man who had won all the world has to give! + +He looked _back_ for his best days. + +They were not now: they were the days before fame had come; fame, the +Betrayer, that like a roaring breaker lifts a man heavenwards, and before +he can clutch his star, has smashed him on the beach. + +The boy recalled his first indelible impression--that the hero was a +_disappointed_ man. + +Disappointed of what?--he, young still, crowned with glory, queens at his +feet, nations worshipping him. + +Could it be of happiness? + +"I have a message for you from another friend of those days, my lord." + +"Who's that?" + +"Commander Harding." + +A darkness chilled the other's face. + +"Well." + +The boy gave old Ding-dong's dying message. + +"I thank you," said Nelson coldly. "Commander Harding always did what he +believed to be his duty." + +Then the tenderness returned, and he put his hand on the boy's shoulder. + +"Come on deck," he said. + + +II + + +The boy's throat was surging as he followed Nelson on deck. Now he would +have died for the man whom twenty minutes before he could have knifed +with joy. + +Up there in the sunlight and wind all was noise and bustle. + +A little lap-dog officer trotted up in a fuss. + +"Mr. Dark gone mad, my lord, mad, and jumped overboard. We lowered a +boat, but he shot himself, shot himself, before we could get to him." + +"Call the boat away," said Nelson briefly. "And be so good as to make +your course back for Dover." + +"For Dover, my lord, Dover?" blankly. + +"And don't let me have to repeat my orders." + +"Very good indeed, my lord. Very good indeed." He trotted forward, +barking fussily. + +Nelson climbed on to the poop, Kit at his heels, and leaned over the side +listlessly. + +"What's that boat under my starn?" + +"The boat I came off in, my lord." + +"Ah, I forgot.... Is that a dead man in the starn-sheets?" + +"No, my lord. That's Mr. Joy, who commanded us in the cottage. He used to +know you, my lord. Joy, Captain in the Black Borderers." + +A wave of colour swept across the other's white cheek. He flashed his eye +on Kit. + +"Joy!" he cried. "Old Peg-top Timbers! Hi! below there!" He leaned far +over. "Joy! Joy of Battle!" + + +III + + +The Parson came up the side. + +The crispness was out of his curls; his cheek was mottled; and the brave +blue eyes seemed old, hollow, and faded. Even Polly hung somewhat limply +from his wrist. + +The two men, standing hand in hand, looked into each other's eyes. + +"Old friend," said Nelson. + +"Colonel," said the Parson, and with the word his life began to flow +again. + +Nelson's eye twinkled. He laid his hand on the other's shoulder. + +"The same old Joy, I see," he said, and added gravely, "Harry, you've +saved my life." + +"Then I've saved England," replied the Parson, and dwelt upon his friend +with the simple love of one brave man for another. + +"Yes, yes," said Nelson, with that naive vanity of his so beautiful in +its innocence. "England can trust her Nelson. And but for you, Harry, +Nelson would be lost." + +"You owe a little to me," answered the Parson, "more to Kit here, and +most, if I may say so, to my sweet lady." + +"Polly!" cried Nelson--"Pretty Miss Kiss-me-quick!" + +"Ah," said the Parson, touched. "You don't forget old friends, Nelson. +Nor does she. My love," he murmured, bending, "you remember Captain +Nelson of the _Agamemnon_, who was good enough to second us in some of +our little affairs in Corsica? Lord Nelson--Miss Kiss-me-quick. She +says," he continued, drawing himself up, "that she'll permit the Victor +of the Nile to salute her on the cheek." + +He held the blade before him with a bow. + +Nelson swept off his cocked hat. + +"I am honoured indeed," he said, and, standing on the poop before them +all, kissed the point. + +Kit looked on with tender eyes. He was touched, and not at all surprised, +to find that great men too loved solemn make-believe. The vision of the +Eternal Child rose before his eyes once more: that Child who is never far +in any of us, and least of all in the world's mighty ones. + +Nelson turned to the Parson anxiously. + +"But, Harry, are you wounded?" + +"Mortally," the other answered--"by your beastly sea. But this is +better," stamping the deck. "This is more like land." + +"Come below," said the great captain. "Here, take my arm.... Only one +now, you know." + +"One's good enough for the French," laughed the Parson. "But, Nelson! +what in the name of goodness are you doing here?" + +"Why," said Nelson, stumping away, the other's arm tucked beneath his, "I +heard from a--a private source--" + +He brought up suddenly. A moment he stood with snoring nostrils, staring +before him. + +Hell had opened at his feet, and he was looking into it. + +"She--" + +It was the sigh of a dying soul. + +"She--" + +Each word was a gasp. + +"She--" + +He lifted his face, and a glimmer as of dawn broke over it. + +"--can explain." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII + + +NELSON'S HEART + +In the quiet cabin they looked into each other's eyes, these two old +friends. + +It was ten years since they had met. + +The one was now the world's hero, the other a retired Captain of the +Line. + +Nelson was thinking as his eyes dwelt upon his friend, + +"Just the same." + +The Parson, + +"What a change!" + +It was the old Nelson he saw, and yet only the wraith of the old Nelson. +There was a grey and ghastly darkness about him that made the Parson +afraid. It was the grey of snow at dusk, the darkness of a pool which was +haunted. + +The Parson knew the tale, as all Europe knew it. Once he had doubted: now +he could doubt no longer. Nelson's story was graven on his face--the +story of the man who has betrayed himself. It was writ large there--the +struggle, the surrender, the quenching of his ideal in the cataract of +passion. He had run away from his best self, as many a man has run. He +had slammed a door behind him, hoping to shut out his soul. And now the +door had burst open. The ghost of himself, his old self, that had haunted +him so long, rapping at the door, refusing in God's name to be laid, had +rushed in upon him with a shriek. + +He was wrestling with it now. + +No wonder he was changed. + +The Parson, almost in tears, recalled the Nelson with whom he had chewed +ships' biscuits and exchanged dreams in the trenches at Calvi--the Nelson +of Corsican days with a face like the morning and a school-boy's heart, +his eyes forward into the future. Now he had realised his dreams and +more. The young post-captain had become Lord Nelson, Duke of Bronté: St. +Vincent, the Nile, Copenhagen behind him. + +And, and, and.... + +Suddenly, as though divining the thoughts of his old friend, Nelson fell +forward. + +"O Joy!" he cried, "I have sinned." + +He clutched the Parson's shoulder, hugging it. + +"Ten minutes since I saw it all." He lifted a dreadful eye. "It was +_BLAZED_ upon me in a flash of lightning." His voice had the hollow +muffled sound of a man in a nightmare. "I saw myself: not the man the +world is looking to, but plain Horatio Nelson--the sinner." + +The confession, shuddering forth from the lips of the great seaman, +sprang the horror in the other's heart. + +"There, there!" he croaked. "There, there, Nelson!" + +"Honours, Orders, Westminster Abbey, and the world's cheers are nothing," +came the nightmare voice. "_That_ remains." + +The Parson collected himself and cleared his throat. + +"We all make mistakes, Nelson," he said gruffly. "Everybody stumbles, but +no man need lie in the mud." + +"I must," cried the other hoarsely. "I must--in honour. Honour!" +he cried, throwing back his head with terrible laughter. "Nelson's +honour!--O, Joy, you knew me as I was: you see me as I am. _You_ can +judge. Is it not _hideous_ that it should come to this?--that men should +_snigger_ when Nelson and honour are coupled together." + +The tears rolled down the Parson's face. + +"Ah, my dear fellow," he kept on saying, patting the other's back, "my +dear, dear fellow." + +"I have been hiding from my God all these years--and to-day He found me!" +sobbed the voice upon his shoulder. "O, He is just--terribly just. He +knows no mercy--none." + +"None _here_" murmured the Parson. "_There_ there's plenty for all." + +Nelson lifted a blurred face. + +"You think that?" + +"I'm sure of it," sturdily. "And I know all about that sort of thing now, +you know. I'm a parson." + +Nelson held the other off. + +"Are you a parson?" + +"Yes, sir," a thought defiantly. "And why not?" + +His heat brought no twinkle to the other's one wet eye. + +The nightmare was passing: Nelson was drifting away into dreams. + +"My father's a parson," he mused, as one talking to himself. "If I +hadn't gone to sea at twelve, I think I should have been. Nelson and +religion!--it sounds strange. Yet I always wished to give all to God." + +"You have," cried the Parson fiercely. "Who dares say you've not?" + +"I do," said Nelson, dreaming. + +"And what would have come to God's world but for you?" shouted the +Parson. "Why, swamped by a pack of rackety French atheists." + +Nelson seemed not to hear. + +"_What is a man advantaged if he gain the whole world, and lose +himself_?" he whispered. + +The Parson gathered the other in his arms. + +"Nelson," he said with tender sternness, "if you've wronged the Almighty, +you must make Him amends." + +"How, Harry?" came the voice from his shoulder. + +"Why," said the Parson with a grave smile, "you must arise and smite His +enemies." + +Slowly Nelson composed himself. A great calm swept over him. + +"You're right," he said at last, the light breaking about his face. "I am +England's David. It is for me to slay Goliath. Sinner as I am, He has +chosen me to do this work for Him, and I will do it. Yes, I will do it." + +He turned to the port and gazed out. + +To the Parson it seemed an hour before he turned again. + +The nightmare madness had passed. His face was altogether changed. It was +that of a child who wakes from sleep in a panic. There was a startled +little smile about it. + +"Harry," he said in shy waking voice, "have I been dreaming?--or have I +been talking a lot of nonsense?" + +The Parson, for all his simplicity, was something of a man of the world. + +"Why," he cried heartily, "you've been standing with your back to me, +mumbling and grumbling, and being damned rude." + +Nelson laughed. + +Was the Parson wrong?--or was there in that laugh a note of almost +hysterical relief? + +"I'll make it up to you, Harry. I'll make it up to you, my boy." He +thrust his hand into his bosom, and produced a miniature. "Look here!" in +reverent voice--"my Guardian Angel." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX + + +IN THE CABIN AGAIN + +Kit was in the gun-room, the centre of a group of rosy-faced lads, +eagerly questioning. + +He could not eat; he could not answer. + +"Caryll, the Admiral wants you." + +The boy rose and went, trembling. + +In the door of the cabin stood the Parson, his blue eyes very kind. + +He put a hand on the boy's shoulder, and drew him in. + +"Lord Nelson," he said, "I believe this is the most gallant lad in either +Service." + +The great captain came towards him. The boy saw him through a mist. + +"Kit," said Nelson, with that wonderful smile of his--"I may call you +Kit? Your father was always Kit to me--will you shake the hand of a +brother-officer, who's proud to call himself such?" He added, gazing into +the boy's eyes--"Your father was my friend. I hope his son will be." + +Kit's heart surged. His knees began to give. He felt himself fading away. + +Then the arm that was wont to encircle another waist was round his. His +head sank where another head, beloved of Romney, often cushioned. + +He began to whimper. + +They supported him to a chair, the white head and the curly dark one +mingling over his. And no woman could have been more tender than those +two men of war, each in his own way so great. + +"That's all right, my boy," said the Parson, "my dear boy. Don't be +afraid to cry. All men cry--only we don't let the ladies know it." + +"We won't tell the midshipmen," murmured Nelson at the other ear. "I'm +safe--I weep myself sometimes in confidence. You must just think of me as +of a father." + +"Paws off, if you please, my lord," replied the Parson. "I'm his adopted +father and mother and all; aren't I, Kit?--old friends first, you know." + +"Well," gasped Kit between sobs and laughter, "you see I've got a mother, +thank you." + +"Have you?" cried Nelson, rising from his knees. "Is she like mine, I +wonder? If so, I love her already. But there! I love her for her son's +sake. And I'm going to write to her to tell her she has a son she can be +proud of." + +He sat down at his desk. + +"Ah, what would England be without her mothers?" he said, taking up a +pen. + + * * * * * + +The quill pen ceased to squeak. + +Nelson thumped the letter with characteristic zeal, rose and gave it to +the boy. + +Kit pocketed it, his eyes looking thanks through tears. + +"Your father'd be proud of you," said Nelson. "He was a true seaman--as +his son will be." + +"He's thinking of turning soldier, ain't you, Kit?" cut in the Parson. +"He's like me--got no use for the sea except as an emetic." + +"No, no," said Nelson, smiling. "The Navy claims her cubs." + +"Well, well," replied the other, "I won't dispute the point. But like +another young seaman I used to know perhaps some day he'll rise to be +Colonel of Marines, and win great victories at sea as the result of what +we've taught him on land." + +"Soldier and sailor too, eh?" said Nelson, and added in a stage-whisper +to Kit--"He can never quite forgive us being the Senior Service." + +A clock struck two. + +"Come, Kit," said the Parson. "What d'you say? Shouldn't we be getting +back?" + +"I'm ready, sir." + +"What!" cried Nelson. "You're never going back?" + +"The soldier is," said the Parson. "The sailor can speak for himself. In +_my_ Service a job half done is a job not done. _We_ like to see things +through.... Besides, there's Knapp, and old Piper." + +"Ah, yes," said Nelson gravely. "I was forgetting. Dear old Piper!" + +"He sent a message to you, my lord," said Kit, and gave it. + +"Thank you," said Nelson quietly. "Old Agamemnons never forget each +other.... If by any mercy of God my old friend should be alive," he +continued, "give him my love--Nelson's love; and say his old captain's +proud to have sailed with such a man." + +"We will indeed," said the Parson thickly. "Come, Kit." + +"No, no," cried Nelson, staying him. "You'll leave me my midshipman. I +want all my best men by me now." + +The Parson turned. + +"What say you, Kit?" + +The boy looked at Nelson. + +"Take your choice, my boy." + +"I should like to see the thing through, my lord." + +Nelson patted him on the shoulder. + +"There spoke the seaman," he said. "Never be satisfied with nearly. +Always go for quite." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXX + + +THE _MEDUSA_ DIPS HER ENSIGN + + +I + + +The _Medusa_ had gone about and was rocking lazily home, the land misty +on her larboard. + +Forward a knot of tars were gathered, Blob's cherub-face for +centre-piece. + +The lad was telling his tale in his slow, musical way. + +A hoary old sea-dog with unlaughing eyes was putting leading questions. +The men crowded round with grins and thrusting heads. They spat; they +chewed; they nudged each other. Here and there a ripple rose to a roar. +One man turned his back, and hands deep in his pockets, laughed silently +in the face of heaven. Another was stuffing his pig-tail into his mouth +to stifle his merriment. + +Blob held on his ghastly way unheeding. + +His eyes, fresh as dew, had the round and staring look of a new-born +babe; the tulip face lolled forward on slender stalk; and a tip of pink +tongue played about a mouth, beautiful as a bud. + +"And what did er say then?" + +"Whoy," came the pure voice, "er said--'Dear! dear!' and Oi says--Theer! +theer!' and plops it in, and plops it in, and plops it in." + +The Parson hailed him from the poop. + +The little group broke up. Blob came through them, calm as the moon, and +as unconscious. + +"Who is the lad?" whispered Nelson, as the boy lolloped up in laceless +boots, hands deep in his waistband. + +"One of the garrison," replied the Parson. "Simple Sussex--with the face +of a cherub and the soul of a stoat." + +"Ah," said Nelson, "another of the heroes." + +He took a step towards the advancing boy. + +"I don't know your name," said the Victor of the Nile with grave +courtesy. "But I may shake you by the hand?" + +"Ye'," said Blob, mouth and eyes round. + +"Thank you," said the hero, taking the other's limp paw. "I am Lord +Nelson." + +"Ah," said Blob. "O'im Blob Oad what killed Nabowlin Bownabaardie." + +"You've saved me a lot o trouble," replied Nelson, grave but for his +twinkling eye. + +Blob stared, breathing like a beast. + +"Don't you ave two arms on you?" he asked at last curiously. + +"I get along very well with one, thank you." + +"Mus. Poiper, he've got no legs--only ends loike," pursued Blob. + +The Parson hailed him. + +"Hi! are you coming ashore with us, or will you stay with this gentleman +to fight the French?" + +The boy wagged his head cunningly. + +"Oi'll goo with Maaster Sir. Oi'm his lad." + +"He's coming with me later," said Nelson. "Won't you too?" + +"Maybe," said Blob. "When Oi got ma money." + +"Plenty o killing, you know, Blob," said the Parson slyly. + +Blob rippled off into roguish laughter. + +"Oi'll coom," he said. "Mate, pudden and killin--that's what Oi loike." + + +II + + +Nelson stood at the gangway. + +"Good-bye, Kit. I shall hope to have the pleasure of your company aboard +the _Victory_ when I sail." + +Kit tried to thank him, failed, and went over the side. + +"Good-bye, Harry." + +The two old friends stood eye to eye, hand to hand, the great sea wide +about them and the lugger bobbing beneath. + +"Good-bye, Nelson," said the Parson, and added, "Good luck." + +The other smiled. + +"Trust Nelson," he said. + + +III + + +They cast off. + +The slow and stately frigate began to draw away. + +As she slid past, the boys fending her off, and the Parson already +composing himself at the bottom of the boat, Nelson leaned over the side. + +"Thank you," he said, and swept off his cocked hat. + +Then he turned. + +The boys could see him no more. But that shrill voice, so familiar now, +twanged above them. + +_"Now, my lads! I'll ask you to give three cheers for the crew of the +Kite. Hip! hip!--" + +"Hooray!"_ + +A roaring cheer leapt from the silence. In a moment the shrouds were +black with waving men. The great hurrahing vessel drew away, curtseying +as she went. + +Even the Parson lifted a languid head and peered. + +"He's dipping his ensign to you, Kit. Take the salute." + +Kit looked through swimming eyes. + +The old sense of experience renewed was strong on him--the battle won, +the return home in the evening, the cheers of the saved, and his heart +drowned in love and glory. + +Could it be true? + +Yes. The Victor of the Nile had dipped his flag to a ten days' +midshipman. + +"Ah," said the Parson, "there's Nelson!--God bless him!" + +At the stern of the great ship, an empty sleeve pinned to his breast, +stood the greatest seaman of all time, one hand to his cocked hat. + + + + +II + +KNAPP'S STORY + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI + + +THE RETURN + + +I + + +A mile from shore, under the lee of the land, the wind fell away. + +The lugger, with lolling mainsail, flowed down a path of gold. The shore +was dark and still before them, and the sun poised above the Downs, blue +at the back. + +As they neared the land, the calm grew. Save for the lap of waters at the +bow, all was hushed in the gracious evening. + +Kit, steering, peered under the swaying boom at the shore. + +The Parson, Polly in hand, stood in the bows, viking-like. + +The lugger was about to beach at the very spot where they had started +twelve hours since. + +The tide was much as then; but otherwise what a change! + +Then in the cold sunshine men had been busy with each other's lives; now +all was sunset peace and waters kissing the shore. + +But for one grim reminder of what had been, they might have been +returning from a pleasure trip. + +The Grenadier Kit had stabbed lay on the slope of the shingle, ghastly to +greet them. Just out of reach of the tide he sprawled as he had fallen. +No man had touched him. He lay then as now spread-eagled on his face, +with wide gaitered legs, and hands flung before him. His chin dug into +the shingle; and his shako had fallen askew over staring eyes. It was +almost as though he was making faces at them. + +Kit saw it and sickened. + +Beside the dead man there was none to greet them. + +A wood-pigeon crooned itself to sleep among the sycamores on the knoll; +the sea fell with a lazy swish upon the shore; behind the orange-lichened +roof of the cottage, the Downs loomed black in the glow of sunset The +rest was silence and terror. + +The lugger grounded, and crashed to a halt in the white fringe of the +tide. + +The Parson leaped ashore, Polly twinkling in his hand. + +"Stand by the boat, Blob!" he ordered, feeling the land with his feet. +"Kit, got your dirk? Then follow me." + + +II + + +Light and alert, he ran up the slope. + +Kit followed with lagging feet. + +Never a greedy fighter, for the time the lad had drunk his fill of +battle. He tired of hearing his own heart; and that heart tired of its +thumping. After twelve hours of the sea's large peace, here he was back +again on the evil earth, where the soul is always sick, amid dangers and +darkness, beastly men lurking to murder him. + +Is it always so on land? he wondered. Is there no heaven on earth except +at sea?--where God is because man is not. + +He longed to have the waters wide about him again. + +Not so the Parson. The feel of the land, firm beneath his feet, thrilled +him to new life. He was on his element once more and in it: earth on +earth, the warrior at war. A natural fighter, loving it whole-heartedly +for its own sake, he was ready for a thousand, almost hoping for them. + +Keen of eye, tight-curled, he took the slope at a brisk trot. + +A path of stepping-stones led across the green towards the house; each +stepping-stone a dead man sprawling face down in a swirl of green. + +Kit saw it all as he had seen it then: the tail of Grenadiers, the +pursuing Parson, the hounding Gentleman. + +Then it had possessed him; now he only wanted to get away. Home, mother, +Gwen, and an apple in the loft; soft cheeks, kind eyes, the voices of +women loving him, chaffing him--these he longed for. He was tired of +being a man for the time being: he wanted to be a little boy again, to be +cuddled, to be loved. + +And for him it was no new experience, this battle-sickness on the return +to the field at evening. He had been there before. When? Where? He could +not recall, yet somehow he remembered. + +"One--two--three--four--five!" counted the Parson. "I thought I should +never catch the last. How he ran! When I was on him he snarled back like +a beaten wolf. Then he got it--whish-h-h!" + +Kit trailed blindly at his heels. + +That stink of dead men, would he never again get it out of his nostrils? + + +III + + +The cottage lay before them, just as they had left it. It was barricaded +still, and curiously dark. + +"Ha!" muttered the Parson. "I don't like the look of this. Left incline, +Kit. Make for cover." + +The old soldier, wary as a fox, sheered off for the sycamore knoll. + +There was a touch of death and of autumn in the air. Already the leaves +on the sycamores were shrivelled; and a rusting chestnut was hung with +nuts prickly as sea-urchins. As they passed among the trees a robin +lifted its winter-sweet song. + +The Parson peered out. + +The cottage faced them, grey and grinning. There was no sign or stir of +life about it; but manifold evidence of death. On the greensward, all +about dead men lay crumpled, faces downwards, killed clearly in flight. + +Kit's heart turned white. + +Dead men as dung upon the grass here in the holiness of evening, and a +robin singing in the sycamores overhead. + +Song and slaughter! God's work and man's! O, would the day never come +when men would _understand_? + +"Pretty work," said the Parson, with the zeal of a professional, as he +stepped off the knoll. "Cavalry! See here!--a beautiful stroke. A big man +on a big horse, I should say, and putting _lots_ o beef into it Yes, yes, +yes," with the gusto of an expert. "They've used the edge--see! Got em on +the run, then cut em in collops--and all over my bowling-green, tool" +treading at the offending horse-hooves. + +Kit gave a little cough. + +He had seen the lower deck of the _Tremendous_ awash with blood; he had +dirked men, and shot them. But this was different. That was death in +battle: this was death in life. + +The Parson looked up and saw the lad white as a woman in such +circumstance. He remembered himself. + +"I forgot," he muttered. "You're not used to it. War ain't beautiful as +seen in the after-glow." + +"It's the quiet," whispered Kit, ghastly. "Like a churchyard--the dead +unburied." + +"Shut your eyes," said the Parson in steadying voice. "Take my arm. Don't +think. Repeat a hymn to yourself." + +He walked delicately among the dead, Kit stumbling on his arm. + +At the garden-gate they stayed. + +The Parson hailed, and Kit started dreadfully. + +A wood-pigeon with loud wings splashed out of the sycamores. The kitchen +clock within ticked. Other answer there was none. + +"I must try the door," whispered the Parson. "Will you come?--or stop +here?" + +"Come." + +The Parson walked down the tiny path between trampled beds, Kit shivering +on his arm, and Polly leading him. + +The cottage was blind; the windows shuttered; the glass in them +shattered. + +It seemed more like a mortuary than a human habitation. + +The Parson tried the door--in vain. + +He laid his ear to it, and listened. + +"There's some one there, I'll swear," he whispered, and knocked. + +A chair rolled and rolled. + +"Piper!" + +"No," muttered Kit, with his truer instincts. + +Somebody groaned. Broken feet dragged to the door. + +The Parson edged off along the wall, hugging it with his shoulder. + +"This'll do," he whispered. "Keep behind me. If it's a trick we shall do +very well here--flank covered, play for Polly, and the attack with us." + +"I don't want any more fighting," whimpered Kit. "I--I want mother." + +Bolts groaned, somebody groaning with them. + +"Who's there?" husked a ghostly voice. + +"Friend," called the Parson. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII + + +BACK TO THE DOOR + + +I + + +The lock creaked; the door opened. + +A face of yellow clay, bandaged about, peered forth. + +"That you, Mr. Joy?" came the ghostly voice, terrible in its remoteness. + +The Parson dropped his point. + +"Knapp?" + +The little bandaged figure, in grey shirt and bloody drawers, wrapped +about with an old horse-blanket, looked at him with stagnant eyes. + +"What's left o me." + +There was no gladness in his voice, no light of welcome in his eyes. + +The merry little fighter of the morning, then cockiest of men, was now no +more than a yellow shadow; dead, you would have said, but for that ghost +of a voice, dribbling dreadfully out of his corpse. + +The Parson went towards him. + +"I never thought to see you alive again, Knapp." + +"I'm a little alive," said the man wearily. "They done me--all but." + +The Cockney snap was out of his voice. His words came like a drunkard's: +he was slurring them, running them together, skipping hard consonants. + +"I'll never be a man no more, I won't," he added with a dry sob. + +The Parson gripped his hand. + +A look of beastly rage darted into the other's eyes. + +"Blast ye!" he screamed, and struck at the Parson's face with his elbow. +"I'm one--great wownd, you--." He spewed out a torrent of hideous names. +"And yet you must go for to wring my and!" + +He lifted his foot to stamp it. His wounds twitched at him. He lowered it +gingerly and with a groan. + +"I ain't a man," he sobbed. "I'm one--great wownd." + +"My poor chap," choked the Parson. + +The other turned, body, legs, neck, and head moving all of a piece, and +shuffled into the cottage on his heels. + +The Parson followed. + +"Don't touch me!" screamed the other, striking back with his elbows. +"Don't come anigh me, my God! or I'll--" + +He hobbled in, muffled to the feet in bandages. + + +II + + +He led into the parlour. + +It was much the same, save that now a great clothes-horse, hung with +soldiers' cloaks, made as it were a Sanctuary at one end of the room. + +Piper's wheel-chair stood empty in the twilight Knapp let himself down in +it with screwed face. + +For a time he whimpered tearlessly. He was too weak to weep, and not +strong enough to contain himself. + +The Parson bent over him. + +"Your heroism has not been in vain, my brave fellow," he said. "But for +you Lord Nelson would be now in the hands of the French." + +"Blast Nelson!" snarled the little rifleman. "What's Nelson to me? Blame +fool that I were." + +The heroic soul was quenched for the moment. He was flesh distraught--no +more. + +A flask of brandy was on the window-sill. The Parson poured from it into +a glass and gave it him. + +Knapp revived. + +The Parson took down the shutters, and the evening light streamed in, +calm and healing. + +"Take your time," said the Parson gently. "Tell us what you can when you +can." + +Knapp sipped his brandy. + +"It was the knives--when they closed. That done me up. Ow, my God!" He +shuddered. "If it hadn't been for the Genelman." + +"Yes?" said Kit eagerly. + +A glow lit the man's eye. The yellow of his cheek flushed ever so +faintly. + +"I'd die for im," he said, "only he's died for me--what pull his nose and +all." + +"Is he dead then?" asked Kit. + +"Who's tellin this tale?--you or me?" + +He put down his glass. + +"That there's a genelman." + +His eyes were down, and his hands upon his knees. He began to tell the +story over in his own mind, but only here and there his tongue took fire +and flashed a light upon the tale for the outsider to read by. + +"Drew em off o me.... I couldn't tell you.... Cursin em and killin em.... +Down on his knees, aside o me.... Give me his arm same as I might ha +been a lady.... + +"So we goes back to the cottage, me no better nor dead meat on his +arm.... I can't tell you.... I don't know.... I'll never forget it." + +He drew the back of his hand across his eyes. + +"They kep doggin on him--unduds on em.... Sich faces on em.... Ow, my +God!--I sees em now." He shivered and glanced behind him. "And he talkin +back at em, easy as you please, chaffin em like.... Seem they dursn't go +for to touch him.... Round to the back door.... Old Piper." + +Parson and boy were hanging over him. + +"Slipp'd out of his chair ... layin on the ground ... all anyhow ... no +legs and all. + +"'Ullo, Sailor!' says the Genelman. 'Ow are ye?' + +"'I'm done, sir,' says pore old Pipes, smotherified. He were layin on his +face. + +"'Done, be d'd!' says the Genelman, and whips round sudden with his +sword. + +"Course they run,--curs! + +"Round he come again, quick as light, catches old Piper under the +arm-pits, and pops him in his chair. + +"'Run him in, Soldier!' says he. 'Sharp's the word. I'll keep em off.' + +"So I run him in best I could. I weren't stiff yet, so every twitch tears +you." + +"'Don't bother about me,' says old Pipes. 'Back to the door, Knapp. +They're all on to him.' + +"Back I obbles all I knoo.... Ah, I'll never forget it." + +He lifted his face to the Parson. + +"They used to say in the rigimint you was the best sword in Europe, +sir." He laid a finger on the other's arm. "This mornin you was the +second-best." + +"I'm sure of it," says the Parson quietly. + +Knapp stumbled on. + +"He stood just outside the door.... I did a bit behind him with the +baynit, when they got inside his guard.... He kep on killin em.... It was +like the Lord Amighty makin lightnins out of His eyes and blastin em.... +I never see the like--blessed if I did!" + +The long-lost tears poured down his cheek. He was living again. + +"They couldn't make nothing of it, and drew back a bit. + +"'What!' cries the Genelman, laughin. 'A round dozen of you, and wopp'd +by one! I wonder what Black Diamond'd think o you?' + +"At that Fat George truss Dingy Joe by the arms. + +"'Ow's this?' he squeals, and runs him on the Genelman's blade, dodgin +back himself into Red Beard's arms. + +"'Good idee!' kughs old Red Beard, and he throws his arms round the fat +chap. + +"'This'll smother him!' he roars. 'Now, boys, follow up!' + +"And down he charge on the Genelman, Fat George in his arms." + +For a moment the ghost of the old Knapp walked. + +"Fat George weren't for avin it, Fat George weren't," he sniggered, +shaking his head. "And I don't blame Fat George neether. Talk!--talk o +talkin!--and the face on him!" + +He lifted one hand and tittered. + +"Old Red Beard stagger in along--just his beard, and his eyes, and his +legs beneath, and them hairy arms of is'n like ropes round the fat chap's +belly. + +"'Your turn now, ole pal,' says he. 'How d'ye like it yourself?' And +somehow I fancies he and Fat George hadn't been best friends. + +"Well, I see it was all up then, and the Genelman see it too. + +"'Shut the door, Soldier,' says he, very calm, 'and yourself inside of +it.' + +"'What, sir?' says I, 'and leave--' + +"'Do what you're told!' says he, sharp-like." + +The little rifleman looked up into the face of his old company commander. + +"Well, sir, I'm a soldier. I know my officer. In I goes!" + + +III + + +The Parson was stamping up and down like a man in mortal pain. + +"And I wasn't there," he moaned. "I left him to do my dirty work--and +ran!" + +Opening the back-door, he gazed out on the encircling Downs, the light +white now behind their blackness. + +Outside the door was a fairy circle--just such a circle as a long-armed +man with a sweeping sword would make--and round it not twinkling fairies +but dead men. It was as though this was a magic ring, fatal to all who +crossed it. + +In the centre of the ring he could detect heel-marks, where the Gentleman +had stood. + +Fitting his own heels to the dents, he stood with crouching knees, making +play with Polly among the ghosts of the smugglers. + +He saw it all: the swarming satyrs, the closing door, the white-faced +rifleman at the crack, and the Gentleman, back to the door, face to the +Downs, his blade leaping out to scorch intruders within the pale. + +"O Polly!" he cried. "We three--we three could have held the door against +ten thousand." + +The tears flowed down his face. The thought of this young man spending +himself for a legless sailor, and a wounded rifleman, his enemies, who +half-an-hour before had stood between him and his life's success, touched +him to the quick. + +"What a man!" he cried. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII + + +PIPER PRAYS + + +I + + +He turned back into the kitchen. + +Knapp was continuing his tale. + +"'Pull em off,' says one, black and bitter. 'Don't spoil your own sport.' + +"'The sogers are comin,' says another. + +"'It's only the foot,' says the first. 'We've ten minutes afore we need +slip it. Roll him on his back,' says he." + +The Parson turned to Kit listening with dreadful-eyed fascination. + +"Kit, go and tell Blob to come here." + +The boy went giddily. + +"'Then Fat George chime in, + +"'Let him be, boys,' says he, in a fainty kind of a voice. 'He only done +what he ought.' And he goes off in a sort of a croak, + +"'It ain't been all my fault, my God,' says he. 'You made me that way, +only You knows why.' + +"And Red Beard chime in usky from underneath somewhere, + +"'That's it, ole pal,' he says. 'It's for Him as made, us to explain us.' + +"And I reck'n he pop off and the fat chap too.'" + + +II + + +"Then he groan, does the Genelman." + +The Parson groaned too. + +Knapp lifted his face. + +"Ah," said he. "And fancy me layin there listenin, just the thick of the +door a-tween us." + +He stared at the hands upon his knees. + +"I made shift to get on my legs, but lor bless you! I couldn't stir. It +was all, 'O my God, send a thunder-bolt and put him out of his pain!' + +"Then he groan again. + +"At that old Pipes--I'd thought he were gone--layin back in his chair, +ead all anyhow:-- + +"'Jack,' he says usky, 'is that the Genelman?' + +"'May the Lord ave mercy on im!' I cries. 'It's im. He's dyin for us, Mr. +Piper--dyin slow.' + +"'So did Jesus,' says he, calm as you please. + +"'But can't we do nothin, my God?' I cries. + +"'Nothin,' says he, sleepy-like. 'I'm dyin; you're done. God is our ope +and strength.' + +"'Can't you pray, Mr. Piper?' I begs him. 'You're a good un at that. Ave +a go at em,' I says. 'Maybe they'd listen to you. Sure-ly they can't set +by and see a genelman like that chaw'd up in cold blood.' + +"He didn't answer. But I could see his head pitch forward a bit. And I +hears a kind of a mutter. + +"Then he stops, and I could see he were listenin, + +"'Go it, Mr. Piper,' I says. 'Go it. Pitch it in. You're workin em. Pray! +pray! pray!' + +"'I ave prayed,' says he. 'Here's the answer.' + +"Then I sat up. And well I might. I could hear it comin meself--low and +far, and all the while a-growin like a mutter o thunder. It made me shake +to hear it--not being brought up religious like. + +"Then there was a rushin and a roarin, and the earth shook, and h'all of +a sudden h'out of the whirlwind a great voice ollaed:-- + +"'Tally-ho! forrad!--mush em up, boys, and no Woody quarter!' + +"'Your prayer is eard, Mr. Piper,' says I. 'It's a Jedgement on em.' + +"'My prayer is eard,' says pore old Pipea. 'It's the orse-dragoons.' + +"Then his ead loll sideways, and he was h'off again." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV + + +THE COTTAGE + + +I + + +Knapp was leaning forward, his chin on his hands. + +"Yes, it was a sweet cop. They was expectin the foot, and they got the +orse, and got em ot." + +He chuckled faintly. + +"I couldn't see much, but I eard enough to make my eart glad. Scream!--I +tell ye.... It were better'n beer to me. + +"Then I faints for loss o blood." + +He paused, staring at the ground. + +"When I come to, the foot--soldiers were carrying the Genelman through +the door--them long legs of is'n and all." + +His voice began to jerk. + +"Just the same--only more paler-like." + +He was jigging with his knees, and the words joggled as they came out. + +"Then he see me. + +"'Hullo, Soldier,' says he. 'No, no, don't get up,' me trying to rise to +me officer. 'We're both a bit dicky, I expect. How are you?' + +"'Nicely thank you, sir,' says I, choky. 'And you, sir?' + +"He smiles that way of his. + +"'I'll be better soon,' says he. But I knoo from the way of his voice +he'd got his marchin orders all right; and I knoo e knoo'd it too." + +The little man was sniffing; and the tears were flowing down his nose. + +"'Take me to Sailor,' says he to the chaps. + +"So they took him to where pore old Pipes lay in his chair, his head +lollin back, somethin dreadful to see. + +"The Genelman bends over him, and takes one of his hands. + +"That stirs the old man. + +"'That you, sir?' says he, usky-like. + +"'Ah, friend,' says the Genelman, 'how goes it?' + +"'Tarrabul ornary,' says pore old Pipes. + +"'You'll be better soon,' says the Genelman, strokin his hand. 'It's a +rough passage,' says he, 'but it's Ome right enough once you're there.' + +"'Ome it is,' says Pipes, and back goes his head, and he was h'off again. + +"Then the Genelman turn to one of the chaps. + +"'Just spread your coat on that dresser, my man, will you?' he says. 'Now +lift him gently. Don't wake him. He's set his course for the Old +Country.... Now just lay me on the floor, and prop me up against the +wall--same as Soldier there.'" + +Knapp was sobbing now. + +'"Same as Soldier there,' he repeated. 'There weren't to be no difference +a-tween us. O no! 'Same as Soldier there,' he says--and me pull his nose +only yesterday! And strike me dead!"--he lifted a streaming face--"if it +didn't come over me all of a pop what Mr. Piper said about him and +Jesus." + + +II + + +He pulled himself together and went on. + +"Then up come the orse-captain, great black charger in a lather. + +"'What luck?' says he. + +"'Why none,' says the foot-captain, little black and red chap, plumpy. +'The Grenadier chaps in the farm-buildings surrendered at discretion. +Plucky fine sportsmen, these French beggars, ain't they?' + +"'Well, you was about a thousand to one, Chollie, so I don't know as I +blames em,' says the orse-captain, laughin. + +"'All very well for _you_,' grumbles Plumpy, mighty bitter. 'I suppose +you bagged all _your_ lot.' + +"'Every mother's son on em,' says t'other, chuckin himself off. 'Rare +sport. Look there !' and he shows the edge of his sword. + +"'Just your luck, Bill,' says Chollie. 'I sweats my soul out to get up in +time, and just when I'm there, up you larrups on them blame ole camels o +your'n, and dashes the cup from my lips. Who'd be a--foot-slogger?' says +he; and he takes the other by the arm; 'Now tell us all about it.' + +"'Why that's soon told,' says the orse-captain. 'Them we didn't cut up in +the open, we run to earth in a drain, and pots em pretty from the mouth.' + +"'Any prisoners?' says Plumpy, mighty keen. + +"'There _was_ two,' says, the orse-captain, sniggerin. + +"Plumpy turns on his heel. + +"'Damme you might ha left me the prisoners, Bill,' says he. 'Given my +chaps a taste o the stuff after all their trouble.' And he says it so ot +and uffy like that the Genelman, leanin against the wall, laughs. + +"The orse-captain heard him, and pokes in. + +"'Who's that?' he says. + +"Then when he saw the Genelman agin the wall, he offs his helmet--he knoo +what was what did the orse-captain, I will say that. + +"'Can we do anything for you, sir?' says he, hushed like. + +"'Nothing for Sailor and me, thank you,' says the Genelman. 'I don't know +about Soldier there.' + +"'I'll send a man back to Lewes for a doctor at once,' says the +orse-captain. 'We must be going on. There's a scare all over the country +that Fighting Fitz has landed at Pevensey at the head of a Cavalry +Division.' + +"The Genelman laughed a bit. + +"'A wild-goose chase, believe me,' says he. + +"'I think so too, sir,' says the orse-captain. 'Still General Beauchamp +got an express from Pitt to that effect last night. Some chap swore he'd +seen him. And we all know if there's any man in the world'd do it, it's +Fighting Fitz.' + +"'I am Fighting Fitz,' says the Genelman. 'There's no landing except what +has took place.'" + +Knapp dried his eyes. + +"Yes; he was a--General all right, and he give his life for Private +Knapp." + + + + +III + +THE WISH AT EVENING + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV + + +THE SANCTUARY + + +I + + +"Where is Piper?" asked the Parson. + +The little rifleman pointed to the tall clothes--horse hung about with +cloaks, which made a Sanctuary of the far end of the kitchen. + +"Is he dead?" whispering. + +"I fancies so, sir. Lingered it out wunnerful, chattin to the Genelman, +ummin an ymn and that. But he's not to say spoke these hours past." + +The door opened and Kit entered on tip-toe. + +The Parson beckoned him, and drawing aside the clothes-horse, entered the +Sanctuary. + +Kit followed reverently. + +Within stood the kitchen dresser. On it, in the religious light, lay the +old foretop-man. + +Somebody had flung a horse-blanket about his lower body that, lying so, +the horror of what was not might be concealed. + +Yet even so Kit found himself shuddering. + +The terror of that lopped trunk, flat on its back, shocked his heart. + +Childlike he felt in the dimness for the Parson's fingers, and was made +glad by their grip. + +"I think he's gone," whispered the Parson. + + +II + + +The old man's head, moon-white in the dusk, lay on a soldier's knapsack. +An officer's short cloak, buttoned about his throat, was flung back from +his body. The great hands, fingers so touching in their thick-jointed +awkwardness, were folded on his bare and shaggy breast. His wounds were +hidden, but tattooed upon his chest was something that Kit at first +mistook for a cross. Then he saw it was an anchor. + +And as he looked the anchor seemed to glow and grow. No longer a blue +smudge on the skin, it was an anchor in the heart, shining through the +flesh--the anchor on which this brave old battleship had ridden out the +gale of life. + +The old man lay calm as marble. The cheeks were hollowed, and the fringe +of stiff white hair uplifted. + +A more beautiful picture of an Englishman, faithful unto death, it was +impossible to conceive. + +Kit thought of Sir Geoffrey Blount, the old Crusader with chipped +nose--mailed hands folded just so, casqued head tilted just so--asleep on +the stone-slab in the lady-chapel at home. + +But how far more beautiful than that broken-nosed old warrior was this +Crusader of the Sea! + + +III + + +The Parson bent. + +_"Piper!"_ he called low. _"Piper!"_ The old man stirred. + +_"D'you know who I am?"_ + +One great forefinger uplifted and fell. + +_"We won through,"_ choked the Parson. _"Nelson's safe."_ + +The old man's lips parted. + +_"Mr. Caryll's brought a message for you from Nelson,"_ continued the +Parson. "Kit!" + +The boy bent his lips to the ear of the dying sailor. + +_"Piper!"_ he cried, his pure boy's voice ringing out fearlessly. +_"Nelson--sent--his--love--to--you--his--love."_ + +"He can't hear," choked the Parson. "It's no good." + +"Hush," said the boy. + +He knew the message would take minutes travelling along the dying +passages to the brain. + +At last, at last it reached. + +The old man's face broke into a smile, fair as a winter sunset. + +_"Love"_ he whispered, nodded deliberately, and died. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI + + +TWILIGHT + + +I + + +The Parson turned to the window, weeping. + +Kit crossed to comfort him. + +"It's all right, sir," he said tenderly, taking the other by the arm. + +A hand plucked at his ankle. + +"Little Chap," whispered a voice. + +The boy looked down. + +At his feet, propped on a straw-stuffed haversack against the wall, lay +the Gentleman. + +Kit was kneeling beside him in an instant. + +"O, sir!" he cried, with sobbing heart. + +The other tweaked his nose with tender fingers. + +"Cela ne fait rien." + +"But are you hurt, sir?" + +"Pas trop.... Not quite what I was at dawn; and not quite what I shall +be at dark." + +He was sitting strangely huddled. + +"May I see?" begged Kit, fingers at his breast. + +"Certainly not," the other replied with his faint chuckle. + +"But have they made you comfortable?" + +"Quite.... So kind, you English--once you've got your own way. I've been +lying here, dreaming and drifting, while the flies buzzed and Sailor on +the table there muttered about his Saviour." + +The Parson bent over him. + +"Sir," he said, "what you must think of me--" + +His voice came in gusts. + +The other lifted his face. + +"Comfort yourself, my friend. In your place I should have done the same." + +"I swear to you--" gasped the Parson, broken and blubbering. + +The other took his fingers. + +"Friend," he said, "you won; but I didn't lose." + +The old flicker of swords was in his eyes. + +"Defeat can't touch the man who won't admit it. Look at Sailor there! He +was impregnable. So am I." + + +II + + +A robin sang outside. + +The trill fell sweetly on the silence. + +The Parson bent above the dying man. + +"Is there anything we can do for you, sir?" + +The other raised wistful eyes, mischievous a little. + +"I should like to pose my last under the stars." + +The Parson's mouth twitched. He gathered the other in his arms, easily as +a reaper gathers his sheaves. + +They left the Sanctuary. + +"Come along, Little Chap." + +He held out his finger for the boy. + +Kit grasped it. + +So they passed out into the holy evening. + +The light streamed from behind dark hills in floods. + +As he felt the evening sweet about him, the Gentleman drew a delicious +breath. + +"The peace of God that passeth all understanding," he murmured, and +saluted with languid hand. + + +III + + +Blob was coming across the greensward towards them. + +He was lolling along, both hands tucked in his waist-band, whistling. + +Then he looked up, and saw the limp figure with the dangling legs being +carried towards him. + +He stopped dead, gaping. + +The colour left his cheek; his face puckered like a child's making ready +to cry. + +That helpless man, borne as he had seen babies borne, flashed a light on +his twilight mind. For one swift second he saw, as others see, the pathos +of things human. A rumour of the world's tragedy pierced to his remote +soul; and the pity of it staggered him. + +Flinging back his head he thrust out a questioning finger. + +"Why?" he wailed. + +"That," said the Gentleman as he was carried by, "is the question which +Life asks and Death answers. Good-night, Monsieur Moon-calf. Beautiful +dreams." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVII + + +HIS CAUSE + +Half-way up the Wish, in the hollow where yesterday Knapp had stolen upon +him, the Parson laid him down. + +He lay long-legged, gazing towards the hills, whence came the light. + +Beneath him the flint cottage, against which he had broken his strength +in vain, rose sturdily. + +"A nice fight, eh, Parson?" + +"I shall get no better--this side of heaven," replied the Parson simply. + +"There's only one thing," continued the other. "I think you should +have a peep at those powder-barrels in the sluice. Powder's a funny +thing--especially when it don't go off." + +"I will, sir," said the Parson. "Thank you. I ought to have thought of it +myself." + +He started down the slope. + +A few steps away he paused and plucked a blade of grass. Then he climbed +slowly back, the square face very grave. + +At the feet of the dying man he halted, and took the grass-blade from his +mouth. + +"Sir," he said, "are you a Christian?" + +At that moment, in that light, sudden though it was, the question seemed +beautifully fitting. + +"All men are when they are dying," came the quiet reply. "They must be. +As the world-tide ebbs, the Christ-tide flows. That is the Law." + +"I ask," continued the Parson in labouring voice, "for this reason: +I've no doubt you're a better man than I am. Still I'm a clergyman, +though I'm not much good at it. And if you've got anything on your +conscience--anything you care to tell me--I'll--I'll--in duty-bound +I'll--" + +Kit made a move to rise. + +The dying fingers closed round his own. + +"I forget nothing," said the Gentleman simply. "I regret nothing." + +"Nothing?" asked the Parson, stubborn to do his duty. + +The other closed his eyes. + +"One thing perhaps." + +"What?" + +There was a sighing silence. + +"Ireland," came the quivering reply. + +"Sir," cried Kit, with flashing intuition, "you are dying for her." + +The other squeezed his fingers. + +"Ah, thank you, thank you! how generous! How kind! how most un-English!" + +"We mean well anyway," grunted the Parson. + +"Yes," said the other slowly. "You did her to death: but you did it for +the best. That's England to the core!" + +The man's white bitterness struck like a sword. It was something new; it +was something terrible. + +"Drogheda in the name of God!" + +"What's done can't be undone," growled the Parson, all the Englishman +coming out in him. "I believe we're trying now." + +He bent over his fading enemy. + +A thousand dim emotions troubled his heart. Words surged up like waves in +the fog of his mind and were gone again, unuttered. + +"Good-bye," he said at last gruffly, and made a stiff little bob. + +A hand sought his. + +The Parson hugged it between both his own, and turned, dumb still. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVIII + + +THE ADVENTURER + +The dusk began to shroud them. + +Beneath them the Parson was climbing out of the creek, making for the +mouth of the drain. + +"That's a dear man," said the Gentleman. "He's so English--true as steel, +and thick as mud." + +He rolled his head round. Kit caught the ghost of the old gay twinkle in +his eyes. + +"Shall I tell you a secret?" + +"Yes." + +"What d'you think was in those powder-barrels?" + +"Beer," flashed the boy. + +"Sand, Little Chap--best Eastbourne sand." + +The boy rippled off into low laughter. + +The Parson, on hands and knees at the mouth of the drain, heard him and +looked back. It was not quite his notion of how a dying should be +conducted: still, they were both a bit mad, those two on the hill-side, +both the poet-y kind, and so must be excused. + +"Yes," said the Gentleman, "I think I had the best of you there." + +"I think you had." + +His comrade's courage warmed the boy's heart. + +He had always associated a death-bed with drawn blinds, hushed voices, +sniffling women on their knees and the like. + +And here lay this long-limbed man on the grass in the evening, the night +bending to kiss him, the sea hushed behind, making ready for the plunge +with the high heart and twinkling humour of the lad running down the +sands to bathe. + +A little wind breathed on them chilly. + +The Gentleman began to shudder. + +The boy brooded over his dim outline. + +A sudden burning curiosity kindled his heart. + +"Is it--very aweful?" he ventured at last. + +"Not a bit," whispered the other. "It's as easy as living, once you know +how." + +The boy rippled. + +"Have you ever done it before?" + +"Every hour of every day since the beginning." + +The boy hugged his hand. He then too had the sense of reiterated life, +eternal here on earth. + +"Ah, you feel that," he said comfortably. "Then I know you're not +afraid." + +"Not a bit," sleepily. "I'm too interested--the undiscovered +country, you know." His chest was sinking in upon his voice. "What's it +going to be?" + +Piper's last word leapt to the lad's tongue. + +"Love," he said, before he knew that he had said it. + +The Gentleman nodded. + +"I believe you," he whispered. "Yes, yes, yes. + +"_The face familiar smiling through His tears--_ + +"I can see it." + +Kit was crying, he knew not why. + +Unable now to see the other's face, he stretched a hand and stroked it. + +"Are you there, sir?" + +"Always there, Little Chap." + +The voice was far, and getting further. + +"How--how d'you feel?" + +"Why, as I never felt before," chuckling still. + +For long he lay still, the night gathering about him. Then the voice came +again out of the darkness. + +"Ah! there's the first star!" + +He lay with hands folded, and face starward. He was drinking in the dark +as it began to people, and humming to himself. Kit, listening with all +his heart, heard as it were the voice of one singing in Eternity. And +whether his ear heard words, or whether only his heart heard the song the +other's heart was singing, he never knew. + + + "Hark to her, hark to the Voice of the Beautiful Spring, + Calling to come, + Calling to come, + + Over the moon-whitened wave on a kittiwake's wing, + Over the foam, + Furrow and foam, + + Leap to her, leap, O my heart, when thou hearest her sing, + Home to her, home, + Home to her, home." + + +The song ceased. + +There was an age-long silence. + +Then out of the darkness from millions of miles away a whisper, + +"Kiss me, Little Chap." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIX + + +THE LAST POST + +The Parson bore the dead man down the hill beneath the stars, Kit still +holding the cold hand. + +Here yesterday this same limp and lolling figure had chased Knapp with +rousing limbs. Now not all the trumpets of his own Brigade could stir his +little finger. + +Over the greensward the Parson bore his burthen, past the hushed +sycamores, into the kitchen. + +They entered the Sanctuary. + +One candle there showed a Union Jack shrouding a still something on the +dresser. + +Beside it the Parson laid his dead. + +Knapp, bloody-bandaged, crept through the curtain and joined them, Blob +at his heels. + +So they gathered in the half-light: the garrison who had held the Fort, +and the man who had stormed it. + +It was but the kitchen of a cottage; yet no soul there but felt that he +was standing upon hallowed ground. + +Kit bent above the dead. + +Beautiful as he had been in life, the Gentleman was yet lovelier in +death. + +Reverently Kit crossed the dead man's hands and laid his sword beside +him. + +As he raised his head, one standing at the foot of the dresser bent. It +was Blob. Kit shot out a hand, fearing some irreverence. Then he saw and +stayed. + +Something in the spirit of the occasion, the stillness, the hallowed +light, had waked in the boy some inherited memory of noble death-beds, +brave as they were beautiful. + +The soul of the past, quickening the dull present, stirred him to lovely +action. + +He kissed the dead man's feet, and withdrew weeping. + +Across the dresser Knapp was blubbering. + +"E were a genelman," he repeated over and over again. "E were a +genelman." + +From the head of the table the Parson echoed him. + +"He was a soldier and a gentleman; and he lies beside the bravest man and +truest Christian who ever trod a deck." + +He paused and they could hear the flutter of his breath. + +"And now I am going to honour him as never foreigner was honoured yet." + +He flung back the flag that shrouded the old fore-top-man, and spread it +over both. + +"In death we are all friends," he said, arranging it with tender fingers. +"Let us pray." + +And in the dusk the living knelt beside the dead. + +It was high noon. + +The _Victory's_ barge lay on Southsea Beach. + +A midshipman, with keen long face and anxious eyes, was standing by it, a +curly-haired parson at his side. + +"Listen here, Kit," the latter was saying, "this is the _Times_ of a week +ago:-- + +"_The intelligence which we announced yesterday, respecting the breaking +up of the camp at Boulogne, has been confirmed by the crew of a gun-boat, +which was captured on its way from that port to Havre_." + +He laid his hand on the boy's arm. + +"Nap's given it up," he said. "And we know why." + +"Hark!" cried Kit. "Here comes Nelson." + +And come he did, the man for whom they had fought and conquered. + +They could see nothing for the swell of the beach; but they could hear. + +And what they heard was the Voice of England marching shorewards to see +her hero off. + +A roaring flood of sound made the stillness tremble. It was stupendous. + +The vanguard of the mob trickled over the bank with tossing arms and +backward faces. Behind them a vast black tide of people brimmed, welled +over, and rippled down towards the watchers; and aloft on their shoulders +was a figure, dark against the light. + +How small he looked, that battered little man, shorn of an arm, and one +eye bashed; yet riding the flood, and ruling it! + +His cocked hat was in his hand, his white hair bare to heaven. + +He looked what he was--the man on whom the world's eyes were set, and +aware of it. + +It was an inspiration to behold him. + +Kit was moved to dumb madness. His heart was all tears and triumph. He +was a flood in flames. A glory was looking through his eyes. The veil of +flesh was fading. + +Nelson was far the calmest there. He was radiant indeed, but with the +radiance of the moon, steering its way amid droves of clouds. That high +pale look hid the blazing heart. + +So he came, shoulder-borne: here a hand to an old stumping sailor; there +a smile to a woman; anon a wave to a familiar face. + +Grimy navvies wept, roared, stamped, as they bore him. They fought for a +grip of his hand. They jostled for a look. They sang hymns and bawdy +ballads, the tears rolling down their faces. Women, drunk with ecstasy, +screamed and tossed their babies. Urchins howled and tumbled. Young men +lurched, laughed, and fought. In front a tiny boy in a blue jersey +marched manfully, thumping a toy drum. + +A grey virago, locks a-flutter, fell on her knees in the path of the mob. + +"Save us, Lard Nelson, save us!" she screamed. + +In a lull of the tempest, the clear voice, somewhat shrill, made answer, + +"Yes, I'll save you." + +There was a second's quiet, one of those tremendous seconds such as must +have been before the world was: then a roar to shatter hearts. + +A hand gripped Kit's. + +The boy looked up into the Parson's blue and brimming eyes. + +"It was worth it," those eyes said. + +Then the crowd broke all about them. The boy was carried off his feet. It +was like swimming amid breakers. + +He caught a tumbling glimpse of Nelson stretching a hand over many heads +to the Parson; and his eye read the words, + +"But for you, old friend!" + +Then dimly, as in a dream, he was butting his way towards the boat, he +and the Parson, Nelson between them. + +A hand touched his--a touch, no more; but it was the Nelson-touch. + +Then he would have liked to die. + +Earth contained no more for him; and he was sure of heaven. + +[_ I will answer no questions about this book_--A. O.] + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gentleman, by Alfred Ollivant + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GENTLEMAN *** + +This file should be named 8396-8.txt or 8396-8.zip + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, William Flis, Jerry Fairbanks, Mary Musser, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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