“I don’t know,” said Bigley in a low whisper; “but I feel horribly frightened.”
“So do I,” I whispered back; “but don’t let’s show it, Big.”
“I won’t,” he said sturdily.
Just then the man who had approached slowly made a dash in close to the house, and I was thinking that somebody ought to have shot him down when he dashed back again, and his friends received him with a loud shrill cheer.
As the cheer died away there was a low hissing noise from outside, and I knew it was the fuse burning, and then we all shrank together to the farthest corner of the room, waiting in the most painful suspense for the explosion, which we knew must follow, but which seemed as if it would never come.
It was only a matter of so many seconds, but they seemed to be minutes of terrible suspense, before there was a flash, the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, and then, in the midst of a terrific roar, the floor was lifted up, and one end then fell, so that we all slid down into the room below in the midst of splinters, plaster, dust, and broken joists, just as the Frenchmen uttered a yell, and came dashing towards the open door.
What followed was one scene of wild confusion. It seemed that my father and his men came dashing out of the back room, and we were seized and dragged over the heap of broken wood-work and plaster, to be placed behind it, where we struggled to our feet, and then, in the midst of the clouds of blinding dust and choking gunpowder smoke, everybody made a breast-work of the damaged wood, and received the charge of the French sailors with pistol-shots and blows from the cutlasses.
This proved so effective that they fell back, running out as fast as they came in, and my father took advantage of the lull to have a few pieces of furniture dragged forward, and laid upon the heap of refuse so as to give us a better breast-work to fight behind.
“Hurt, Sep?” cried my father.
“No,” I replied, “only shaken.”