“Sep! Here! Quick!” my father shouted, without turning his head, for the enemy kept him occupied parrying their cuts and points.
“I am here, father,” I said, getting close behind him.
“Right. Stand firm, my lads!” said my father. “We’re beaten, but we must retreat in order. Ah, would you?”
This last was to a Frenchman who dashed in at him, but only to have his thrust parried, and to go down with an upward cut which disabled his sword arm.
“Sep,” he whispered then, “open the back door. Be ready. We must now make a dash for the rocks. You lead; I’ll keep the rear. Mind, my lads,” he said to the stanch group about him, “keep together. If you separate you are lost. You’ll be cut down or prisoners before you can raise a hand.”
These words were all said in a jerky way in the midst of plenty of cutting and foining; for, though the Frenchmen did not attempt to pass the doorway, they kept on making fierce thrusts at us, though with little result.
I crept back and unfastened the door silently, so as not to draw the enemy’s attention, and, holding my sword ready, I peered out, the noise going on drowning that I made with the lock and bolts.
To my dismay I saw that there were three of the enemy on guard, and, closing the door softly, I took a couple of steps back, and told my father.
“Only three!” he said coolly. “Oh, that’s nothing. Now, then, to the door! Hold it ready. In a few moments you will see us make a dash and drive these fellows back. Then we shall turn and follow you. Dash out with a good shout, and strike right and left. The men there are sure to run. Then all for the rocks, and don’t look back; we shall follow.”
I obeyed him exactly. Just as I had the door ready to fling open, my father, the foreman, and the others suddenly sprang forward, as if about to drive the Frenchmen out of the counting-house, and they fell back.