nine along Hog's Back. As
I had no gun, and only one arm in full working order, I might be useful in
carrying any change of orders to the other party.

There was no sound of their coming yet, but the pull round Derrible Pointe
would account for that. So we stole silently along to our appointed places.

The night was very dark and squally, but on this side of the Island we were
sheltered. On the other side the white waves would be roaring and gnashing
up the black cliffs, but here in Dixcart they fell sadly on the shingle and
drew back into the depths with long-drawn growls and hisses.

"V'la!" said Uncle George, as we lay on the cliff; and we heard the oars
below in the bay, and all stood up ready.

They came in as close under the cliff as they dared, so close that we heard
their voices clearly between the falling of the waves. And then, dimly, we
saw the black bulks of their boats in the streaming surf as it ran back to
the sea, and I started, for I could only see three, but could not be
certain.

"Now!" said Uncle George, and our volley caught them full.

They roared curses, and began snapping back at us as each man found his
musket. But a step back took us under cover, for a black cliff two hundred
and fifty feet high, and hidden in the night, offered no mark for them, and
from the face of the opposite hill our other volley crashed into the marks
their own fire offered.

"Again!" said Uncle George, as soon as our men were ready, and our ten guns
spoke once more.

They were sadly discomfited, and furiously angry down below there. But
those who were not wounded had tumbled ashore, and they replied to our
second volley with a more concerted fire. And in the flash Of their guns I,
craning over the scarp of the hill, saw clearly but three boats.

"Only three boats," I whispered in George Hamon's ear. "I'm off to look for
the other," and before he could stop me I was gone. For he needed all his
men, and I believed I could manage alone.

Back across Hog's Back, past the old mill, through the fields by La Forge,
and along the hill-path by Les Laches, and down the hill, slipping and
stumbling, and into the Creux tunnel with only one fear--that I might
arrive too late.

And I was only just in time. As I ran in I heard them on the seaward side
hauling at the timbers of our barricade; and with my chest going like a
pump, and my hands all shaking with excitement, I drew Peter Le Marchant's
cutlass and sent it lancing