"Why not lower ourselves on to the roof of the nave?" I exclaimed.
"The idea seems good," replied Firestone, and we immediately ran round the leads to the opposite side of the tower. Twenty feet below was the ridge of the tiled roof that sloped down on either side to a parapeted gutterway.
"Fools we were not to have thought of this before," exclaimed the colonel. "Quick! Make fast the rope round this piece of stonework. Once we gain the roof, we are safe."
The rope was secured but, just as I was about to clamber over the edge, there was a glimmer of a match on the farthest end of the roof, then a flash, and a loud report, and a bullet whizzed past our heads.
"The rogues have done us!" muttered the colonel. "They have placed musketeers on the roof to shoot us down."
Hastily crouching behind the sheltering stonework, we drew up the rope and waited, in dead silence, for the threatened catastrophe.
In obedience to an order, there was a hasty stampede on the part of the rebels from the church, and, in our anxiety, we imagined we could hear the spluttering of the slow-match.
Regardless of the possibility of being shot at, Colonel Firestone stood erect and defiant, his figure showing clearly against the starlit sky.
"God save the King, and confusion to all his enemies!" he shouted, receiving in reply a chorus of ribald jests and laughter.
"Stand firm, Humphrey," he exclaimed, gripping my hand. "'Tis soon over, if 'tis to be."