Joshua knelt to open it. He looked up. “Master, a cloak to hide the light.”
Sir Nicholas swung the cloak from his shoulders and held it round both Joshua and the lamp. Joshua was busy with his tinderbox; a spark flared, and the wick caught.
Dominica felt numb with fatigue still. She sank down on a convenient rock and watched Joshua tending his lamp under cover of the cloak. The wash of the sea sounded like a lullaby; she wondered whether, somewhere to the north in the velvety darkness the Venture lurked. They seemed so alone in the world in this silence of the night that it hardly seemed possible. Down by the huts men might be stirring, but here on the shelving stony ground all was silent, hushed by the sea.
Sir Nicholas looked keenly round, peering through the darkness. For as far as he could see there was no one abroad. Come what might, the signal must be given. He took the lamp from Joshua and held it high above his head. Then he dipped it quickly, and cloaked it while a man might count twenty. Again he showed it, and yet a third time.
There was a pause. “Oh knaves, if ye be not there!” muttered Joshua. “Oh, Master Dangerfield, I do not trust you!”
Away to the north out of the blackness shone a pinpoint of light three times. The Venture had answered the signal.
“Ha, true men!” said Joshua in high fettle. “I would wager young Master Dangerfield against an hundred!”
His wrist was clamped hard. “Silence, man!” hissed Sir Nicholas, and threw up his head to listen.
Joshua stiffened like a dog. To the west of them had come a shout, muffled by the wash of the sea.
“God’s Death, they’ve posted a sentry on the lookout!” muttered Sir Nicholas, and pulled his long dagger from its sheath.
Joshua had his head under the cloak blowing out the lantern. Heavy footsteps were approaching at a jog-trot. Sir Nicholas went forward into the night noiseless and swift.
A man loomed up out of the darkness with a levelled halberd. He was on to Beauvallet before he realized it, and went down with no more than a groan as the dagger struck home.
“Ha, neatly done!” said Joshua, not above a whisper, and with complete satisfaction. He put up his own weapon, which he had snatched out as he ran after his master.
But in the distance another cry sounded, as though a fellow-soldier answered that first call.
Sir Nicholas was back at Dominica’s side wiping his dagger. “More of them,” he said grimly. “The Governor of Santander has my compliments.” He swept Dominica up into his arms. “Lie still, fondling,” he said. “Naught to fear yet awhile. Down to the beach, Joshua, and on your life no sound!”
He was off into the darkness as he spoke. Joshua crept after, murmuring to himself. “Naught to fear, forsooth! Well-a-day, well-a-day! and we with the whole pack like to be on us at any minute now! The fiend seize these stones!”
They were halfway down the steep hillside, skirting rocks, slipping on loose stones. Above, on the higher ground, came the crack of an arquebus fired into the air.
“Ha!” muttered Joshua. “That may be a signal to the rest of the pack, but I warrant it will bring our men on fast! I shall die in my bed yet. Courage, Joshua!” He felt level sands under his feet, and quickened his steps to come up with Sir Nicholas, lost in the darkness. Behind, on the high ground, footsteps were running and voices could be heard calling to one another. From the huts to the west came also a stir. Lights showed bobbing on the path above. The hunt was up.
Dominica was set on her feet by the water’s edge. Sir Nicholas wrenched his fretful sword from the scabbard, watching those moving lights as they came nearer, wobbling down the slope, outlining the forms of armed men.
The soldiers were casting about now from the looks of it. In the glimmer of the few lanterns Beauvallet could see them peering and searching with halberds levelled. There was but a handful of them, but enough to settle the account of two Englishmen; and from the huts, along the path upon the hill, more were coming to their assistance.
Joshua had waded out into the water, striving to catch the sound of oars. He came back and touched Beauvallet’s arm. “To the right, master, I think.”
Sir Nicholas took Dominica’s hand and followed. The faint sound of oars grew more distinct; others beside themselves had heard it. From further up the beach came a shout of command, and a surge of some four or five men towards the water.
“Row, ye devils, row!” groaned Joshua, fairly dancing with impatience.
The soldiers were slipping and stumbling over the shingle; from the dark water came a lusty shout; they could hear Dangerfield’s clear voice raised: “Pull, sluggards, pull!” Then the richer voice of the boatswain came to them, chanting in imitation of a waterman: “Heave and ho! rumbelow!”
It was a race now grimmer than any that had been, a race between that boat cleaving desperately through the water and the soldiers pelting down to cut off the fugitives. Joshua stayed peering out to sea to spy the boat, but Sir Nicholas had his back turned and waited, drawn sword in hand, to check the rush from the land.
The splash of oars was close now; another moment and Joshua saw the boat come nosing shoreward. Behind him the foremost of the soldiers had run on his doom, and Sir Nicholas’ sword was red. But now lusty seamen were wading ashore, jostling each other to be the first to reach land, and the air was rent by solid English oaths. The handful of soldiers on the beach drew back. They had courage enough, but lacked a leader, and it was plain that a sprinkling of soldiers could not hope to stand against this troop of bloodthirsty seamen. They fell back then and sent
