"He is an Englishman, Percy," Ralph exclaimed; "he is not a Prussian, at all. Come on!
"Here, Louis, Philippe, help; they are killing an Englishman."
Followed by their cousins--who had just arrived at the spot--the boys made a rush through the crowd; and arrived in another moment by the prostrate man, whom his assailants were kicking savagely. The rush of the four boys--aided by the butt-end of their rifles, which they used freely on the ribs of those who stood in their way--cleared off the assailants for an instant; and the two gendarmes--who had been hustled away--drawing their swords, again took their place by the side of their insensible prisoner.
The mob had only recoiled for a moment; and now, furious at being baulked of their expected prey, prepared to rush upon his defenders; shouting, as they did so:
"Death to the spy!"
The moment's delay had, however, given time to the boys to fix bayonets.
"Keep off," Ralph shouted, "or we run you through! The man is not a spy, I tell you. He is an Englishman."
The noise was too great for the words to be heard and, with cries of "Death to the spy!" the men in front prepared for a rush. The leveled bayonets and drawn swords, however, for a moment checked their ardor; but those behind kept up the cry, and a serious conflict would have ensued, had not a party of five or six of the franc tireurs come along at the moment.