"The bloodthirsty old termigant!"
"'Twas the way of us all in the year 'seventy-nine," the old man admitted modestly. "A few throats up or down—Lord bless 'ee!—we talked of it as calm as William Oke might talk of killin' a pig! And, after all, what's our trade here to-night but battery and murder?"
"But 'tisn' the French we'm expectin'," urged Oke, whose mind moved slowly.
"'Tis the same argyment with these billies from Troy. Troy an' Looe. What's between the two in an ordinary way? A few miles; which to a thoughtful mind is but mud and stones, with two-three churches and a turnpike to keep us in mind of Adam's fall. Why, my own brother married a maid from there!"
"'Tis the Almighty's doin'," said Sergeant Pengelly; "He's hand-in-glove with King George, and, while that lasts, us poor subject fellows have got to hate Bonyparty with all our heart and with all our mind and with all our soul and with all our strength, for richer for poorer, till death us do part, and not to be afraid with any amazement. To my mind, that's half the fun of being a sojer; the pay's small and the life's hard, and you keep ungodly hours; but 'tis a consolation to sit out here 'pon a rock and know you'm a man of blood and breaking every mother's son of the Ten Commandments wi' the Lord's leave."
"What's that!" Gunner Oke gripped the Sergeant's arm of a sudden and leaned forward, straining his ears.
Someone was crossing the track towards them with wary footsteps, picking his way upon the light shingle by the water's edge. Presently a voice, hoarse and low, spoke up to them out of the darkness.
"Hist, there! Silence in the ranks!" The speaker was Captain Pond himself. "A man can hear that old fool Spettigew's cackle half-way across the Cove. They're coming, I tell you!"
"Where, Cap'n? Where?"
"Bare half-a-mile t'other side of Downend Point. Is the first rocket ready?"