"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!