CHAPTER IV.
THE PRIEST’S PEEP-HOLE.
As Nancy and I puffed and panted in as noiseless a manner as possible up the steep hill from Brestgarn, we saw, or, more strictly speaking, we heard all around us, foraging parties of the enemy, who were making off with everything they could lay their hands upon. The screeching of poultry, the quacking of ducks, the cackling of geese, the grunting and squealing of pigs (I might go on as long as some foreign Delectus, but that I fear to weary the reader) together with the oaths and laughter of the Frenchmen, formed a medley of sound that might have been pleasing to the ears of a musician composing a symphony on rural sounds, but that to a more ordinary listener formed a hubbub of noise that was bewildering and extremely distasteful; while poor Nancy’s vexation at the fate of the dwellers in the farm-yard equalled her indignation at the use made of her well-scrubbed pans.
Not a single inhabitant of this district seemed to be left, every cottage was deserted; all had fled for the present, in order to turn again with greater force and rend the intruder—as one may draw back for a space so as to gain the necessary impetus for a spring.
We had reached the village of Llanunda, when we heard a considerable body of the enemy marching along the road near us, on their way to take possession of our rocky nest on the top of Carnunda. This very strong position formed the enemy’s outpost, and it ought to have been a matter of no small difficulty to oust them therefrom, had they but planted themselves firmly in it.
To our great dismay we now heard voices approaching us from the other side; these proved to be some of the foraging parties making themselves acquainted with the larders and cellars of all the neighbouring houses. We crouched down lower among the gorse bushes, and I at least knew precisely the sensations experienced by a hunted and hiding hare. When this danger, too, was happily overpast, at all events for the moment, Nancy whispered to me—
“Dan, they are a deal too near us here, and there’s more coming. I know a better hiding-place than this. Let’s make for the church.”
I assented willingly; and we made as fast as we could for the church. It was a small but ancient building, full of queer holes and corners, with the which Nancy was better acquainted than I was, it being her parish church. The door was happily unfastened, but no Frenchmen had as yet invaded the sacred building, for we took the precaution of looking through the “leper’s hole” as soon as we had entered the porch. The leper’s hole is a little square window, the sides of which are so sloped as to command a view of the interior of the church, more especially of the chancel; so that in the old times even these miserable wretches—set apart in the porch—might still behold the high altar.
We then looked with eagerness through this orifice, and perceived gladly that the building was dark and empty. So pushing open the door, we entered our sanctuary as though it had been a veritable city of refuge. Our first care was to secure the door as well as we could on the inside; then Nancy sat down in order to fetch her breath, while I reviewed the place and the situation. Neither were to my mind when I came to think of it.
“What have you come here for, Nan?” I inquired. “I don’t like it—we’ll be caught here like rats in a trap. We can’t hide in the pulpit. I’d rather a gorse-bush in the open, now.”
“Wait a bit, Dan, till I fetch my breath—and don’t talk; they may hear you,” said Nancy, not considering that she was talking herself.