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?"