“Yes, sir,” said one of the troopers, who with Farmer Raynes was in command of the men; “first shot struck the tower full, and splintered down some stone. Better mind how you cross the gate-way.”
“Yes,” said Roy, quickly; “I will.” And he ran across to the door-way at the foot of the big spiral, reaching it just as a shot came whizzing overhead, and a heavy report followed.
“Third, and not one from us,” muttered Roy, as he hurried up the stairway to reach the platform at the top, and found Ben Martlet and the troop-corporal from his father’s regiment, each busy with one of the guns, arranging wedges under the breeches, and assisted by the men told off to work each piece, while two more now came to the turret door-way, bearing fresh charges ready when wanted.
Ben looked up and smiled grimly as Roy appeared, and the boy cried, excitedly—
“Three shots from them, and you doing nothing.”
Rush!—Boom!
Roy ducked down his head, for the rushing noise seemed to be close over him; and as he raised it again, flushing with shame and glancing sharply round to see what impression his flinching had made on the men around, Ben said, quietly—
“Four, sir; and you see on’y one hit us; the earthwork has thrown all the others upward. That last one was nigh to a hundred foot overhead.”
“A hundred feet! and I flinched,” thought Roy. “But why don’t you fire?” he cried, aloud.
“Thought I’d wait for you, sir, and that you’d like the first shot.”