Dick lifted his musket and fired through a loophole upon the men rushing forward. There was a cry from below; the effect of the shot could not be seen through the smoke; it was answered by a score of bullets pattering on the shutters. The Squire placed his musket to a second loophole. It was impossible to take aim; he fired at random; and another sharp cry seemed to tell that his slug had gone home. A babel of shouts arose. Peeping through the loopholes they saw that one of the four men bearing the post lay on the ground; he had let fall his end of the battering-ram. At the same moment there came the distant crackle of a fusillade. The sound goaded Delarousse to fury. He rushed forward to lift the dropped end of the post. But just as he was stooping, there was a loud shout from his left. He turned his head, without rising from the ground, and what he saw, in common with the spectators above, was three men half pushing, half dragging a fourth towards the leader of the party. Delarousse remained in his stooping posture, as though transfixed with amazement, while a man might count four. Then, springing to his feet, he rushed headlong towards the approaching group, drawing a pistol as he ran.
"DELAROUSSE RUSHED HEADLONG TOWARDS THE APPROACHING GROUP."
Up to that moment the fourth man had been passive in the hands of the three; but as soon as he caught sight of Delarousse leaping towards him, he jerked himself violently from the grasp of his captors, felled first one, then a second, with sledgehammer blows from right and left, and, slipping from the hands of the third, dashed with extraordinary speed along by the stable wall in the direction of the village. In ten seconds he was out of sight, and the whole band of Frenchmen, yelling fiercely, some discharging their pistols, turned their backs upon the Towers and doubled after the fugitive.
Dick darted from the room, and up the stairs to the roof, Sam hard upon his heels, the Squire following at a pace that belied his melancholy allusion to his old bones. Penwarden also, hearing Sam's jubilant shout at the raising of the siege, left his post at the front, and clambered up after the others, muttering "Dear life! what a mix-up the world is!" Leaning over the parapet, the four watched the strangest chase that ever was seen. The fugitive came to the wicket-gate leading out of the grounds, and took it with a flying leap, with the crowd of Frenchmen in full cry behind him. Some, like Delarousse himself, bore a burden of flesh and forty years; others were younger and slimmer, and these, impelled by the furious cries of their leader, leapt the gate in turn, the last of them catching his foot in the top and coming sprawling to the ground.
Their quarry, crossing a strip of land that still belonged to the Squire, came to the fence recently erected around the grounds of the Dower House. It was six feet high, a formidable obstacle to a man of his bulk and years. He clutched the top of it, heaved himself up, rolled across it sideways, and disappeared on the other side, wrenching the tail of his coat from the hands of the foremost Frenchman. In a trice the pursuer scrambled up after him, threw himself over, and also disappeared. Of the other members of his party, some scaled the obstacle with more or less facility; others, baulked by it, ran to right and left to find a path. Delarousse, whose stature and build forbade any athletic feat, yet disdained to leave the direct course, and called to two of his men to hoist him up. For an instant he sat swaying on the top of the fence; then he too dropped like a falling sack. Of all the thirty odd Frenchmen there were now only two or three to be seen.
But in a minute or two the hunt again came fully into view from the lofty tower. The fugitive sped along with amazing swiftness, making a straight line for the Dower House. Behind him, strung at intervals over two fields, poured the impetuous Frenchmen. One or two were close at his heels; the rest followed, each according to his ability.
"They've catched un!" cried Sam, his eyes dilated with excitement. "No, be-jowned if they have. Got away! Yoick! Yo-hoy! Now then, Frenchy! Ah, I thought ye'd do it, now you've smashed yerself. No, he's up again! Halloo!"
The side door of the Dower House stood half-open. The fugitive drew nearer and nearer to it; the pursuers seemed to make still more violent exertions to overtake him before he reached it. A few yards more! Ah! he was inside: the door was closing. But before it was quite shut, the first pursuer flung himself forward and thrust his musket within. To close the door was now impossible. For a few seconds the Frenchman appeared to be engaged in a fierce trial of strength with the persons inside. Two or three of his companions joined him; they threw themselves together upon the door; it yielded; and they dashed into the house.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND