Suddenly, as they reached the Ship yard, Dick vanished: Blueneck, looking round for further orders, could not see him, and his heart sank. Was it possible that a knife-thrust from behind had killed the Captain? He dismissed that idea almost as soon as it came to him. The Spaniard was too wary to be the victim of such a mishap. The only other alternative was that he had deserted his crew.
Blueneck feared Dick, but he had no love for him, and this last seemed to be the only possible explanation. He spat on the ground contemptuously.
But by this time the Preventative folk were well upon them and Blueneck realized that it was a case of each man for himself, so calling a halt he turned on the oncoming force.
The smugglers were only too glad to obey, and with a redoubled force they turned on their enemy and hewed their way into them.
The Preventative men were not sorry to fight, however, and young Playle threw himself into the thick of the scrap with something very like pleasure.
The smugglers fought like wild beasts, preferring to close in and kill, but the others liked to thrust and parry, pricking and wounding, giving way here and pressing there, and as they had longer weapons than the smugglers they found their method an excellent one.
Back went the smugglers down the Ship yard, Blueneck slashing wildly, Noah Goody defending himself only, and little Habakkuk, his bare chest and shoulders a perfect network of cuts, darting here and there like a robin.
Onward pressed young Playle until he had the smugglers with their backs against the kitchen door, which opened suddenly from the inside.
Blueneck put himself on the step in the way of the excise men and shouted to his mates to get into the kitchen and form a guard. When the last man was in he retired also, but the excise men pressed on; first one of their men fell, on attempting to enter the kitchen, then a second, and a third, but before the fourth was struck down in response to a great crush behind him he broke through the smugglers’ guard and the Preventative men swarmed in.
Hal Grame suddenly darted forward out of the darkness. He carried an old sword which had hung over the kitchen shelf for years, and he now laid about him with great strokes, but a certain recklessness distinguished his fighting, and his red shirt was soon dyed a still deeper shade.