“Come on, I say,” cried the boy again. “We have only got muskets, but we are riflemen all the same, and our dooty is to go right in front skirmishing to clear the way.”
“Our orders were,” said Pen, “to wait here till our captain fetched us to the front and did what he told us.”
“But he ain’t come,” protested Punch.
“Not yet,” replied Pen. “Do you want him to come and find that we have broken faith with him and are not here?”
“Course I don’t,” cried the boy, speaking now excitedly. “But suppose he ain’t coming? How do we know that he aren’t got a bullet in him and has gone down? He can’t come then.” Pen was silent.
“And look here,” continued Punch; “when he gave us those orders he told that other lot—the Spaniel reserve, you may call them—to stop yonder till he come. Well, that’s the King, ain’t it? He’s ordered an advance, and he’s leading it hisself. Where’s his cloud of riflemen feeling the way for him? Are we to stop in the rear? I thought you did know better than that, comrade. I do. This comes of you only being a year in the regiment and me going on learning for years and years. I say our place is in the front; so come on.”
“Yes, Punch; you must be right,” said Pen unwillingly, “Forwards then. Double!”
“That’s your sort!” And falling into step and carrying their muskets at the trail, the two lads ran forward, their steps drowned for the moment by the heavy firing going on away beyond the entrance; and they were nearly close up to the little Spanish party before their advance was observed, and then one of the Spaniards shouted a command which resulted in his fellows of the King’s bodyguard of friends turning suddenly upon them to form a chevaux-de-frise of sword-blades for the protection of their Sovereign.
For the moment, in the excitement, the two lads’ lives were in peril; but Pen did not flinch, and, though suffering acute pain from his wound, ran on, his left arm almost brushing the little hedge of sword-points, and only slackening his speed when he was a dozen yards in front and came right upon the smuggler-leader, pistol in one hand, long Spanish knife in the other.
Instead of angrily denouncing them for their disobedience to his order, he signed to them to stop, and ran on to meet the King’s party, holding up his hand; and then, taking the lead, he turned off a little way to his left toward a huge pile of stones and mine-refuse, where he placed them, as it were, behind a bank which would act as a defence if a rush upon them were made from the front.