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.