The boy was in an agony of doubt and dread, for the right thing to do in such an emergency would not come to his inexperienced brain. He divined that Ben had gone for assistance, but he felt that before he could be back, the brave fellows who were trying to come to their aid would be surrounded by the enemy and taken prisoners.
To add to his horror and excitement, he plainly heard from the enemy’s line the word given to dismount. This was followed by the jingle of accoutrements as the men sprang from their horses, and a loud bang—evidently of a steel headpiece falling to the ground.
To speak to the unarmed men from the farm was to obtain an answer and proclaim their whereabouts to the enemy; so Roy was baffled there; and, at his wit’s end, he was about to order them to make their way to the bridge, when the man on the tower above challenged again:
“Stand, or I fire!”
“Draw swords! Forward, quick!” came from out of the darkness.
The sharp rattle and noise told that the party must be large, and like a call just then a horse uttered a tremendous neigh.
Involuntarily, at the first order from beyond the moat, Roy had half drawn his own sword, but thrust it angrily back as he realised his impotence, and reached forward to try and make out what was going on below him; for there was a loud splashing noise in the water as if the men were lowering themselves into the moat, the reeds and rushes crackled and whispered, and there was a panting sound and a low ejaculation or two.
“Now, every one his man,” said some one, sharply.
Bang, bang! and a couple of flashes of light from the top of the tower just above Roy’s head; and as the splashing went on, there was a loud trampling of feet.
“On with you!” roared the same voice. “They’ll be an hour loading, and it’s too dark to hit.”