“Ah! So there is, my brave fellow,” said my father warmly. “You are teaching me philosophy.”
“Am I, captain?” said the man innocently. “Think they’ll find the silver?”
“I’m watching to see,” said my father; “I don’t know yet. Five minutes will show. I fear they know where to look.”
Bigley was leaning on my shoulder at this time, and he gave me quite a pinch as his hand closed, but he did not speak; and there was no need, for I understood his thoughts, poor fellow! And what he must be feeling.
As the fires at the cottages were beginning to sink, the one the Frenchmen had lit by the counting-house blazed up more brightly. They kept feeding it with furniture, joists, and broken planks, about a dozen men running to and fro tearing out the broken wood-work and clearing the interior till we could see that everything had been swept away; and then there was a buzz of excitement by the ruined building while the hammer and clangour of crowbars could be heard, followed by the tearing up of more boards; and I knew as well as if I could see that the trap-door leading to the cellar was being demolished.
“They know where the silver be, captain,” said our foreman; and once more Bigley started and I felt him spasmodically grip my shoulder.
“Yes,” said my father between his teeth; “they know where the silver is. A planned thing, my man—a planned thing.”
“None o’ us had anything to do with it, captain, I swear,” cried the foreman excitedly. “There wasn’t a lad here as would have put ’em up to where it was hid.”
“Hush, man! What are you saying?” cried my father. “As if it were likely that I should suspect any of the brave fellows who have been ready to give their lives in the defence of my works.”
“But can’t we get the rest together, captain, and stop ’em, or cut ’em off, or sink their boats, or something?”