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Updated: June 27, 2025
As they reached the summit of the shingle-bank, they could see in front of them the black line of the sea, and on the beach, where the white of the snow and the white of the roaring surf merged together, a group of men.
Tiptoeing so, he could just see over the crest of the shingle-bank. And he was never to forget the sight he then saw. Towards him across the greensward, a torrent of men streamed like a tide-race, silent all. A huge Grenadier led them. Behind in a bunch came the smugglers, Fat George shambling along in the midst with a fury of arm-work.
"'This can wait, I said. 'I'll use you first, and shoot you afterwards!" The blood stole back to the Parson's face. His eyes lifted, twinkling now. "It's resource that makes the soldier, you know, Kit. I slipped into my old regimentals, gave Knapp his bugle, clapped a shako on Blob's head, and put the two of them behind the shingle-bank to act as a skeleton-force.... And you know the rest."
On his right front humped the knoll, an islet set in a sea of turf, now only tenanted by dark sycamores, ruffling it in the dawn-wind. Beneath him the greensward ran away to the shingle-bank. Beyond the crest of it, the mast of the lugger pricked up black against the sparkling water.
O, sir, sir! surely it's better to die attempting something, than stand and rot to death here!" The words poured forth in a white-hot torrent, shaking him. Anybody in the world but the practical Englishman would have been moved. He only grunted. "I wish I knew what was going on behind that shingle-bank," he grumbled, half to himself. The boy's soul quenched, only to flame forth again.
In a few minutes the squall was past, and by the light of the moon, now thinly covered by clouds, the black forms of the first to reach the other shore could be seen straggling across the marsh toward the great shingle-bank that lies between the river and the sea. Two boats were moored at the far side, another was just making the jetty, while a fourth was returning toward the quay.
As he stormed up the knoll, he heard upon his right the clink of arms, and the sound of a Frenchman shouting. Down through the sheltering sycamores he plunged, and burst out into the open. A tall Grenadier, who had been sentry upon the shingle-bank, was racing up on his right across the greensward, screaming as he ran. His yells were of effect.
"Dirty skunks!" he panted. "Had their bellyful before I'd begun." Blob was laughing to himself. "Oi loike killin," he gurgled. "It goos in so plop-loike." A figure, tall and black as a winter tree, shot up against the light on the shingle-bank, and hung a second there. The Parson waved. "Too late, Monsieur le Poseur," he called mockingly. "Better luck next time."
A crash and grunt covered the noise of the front door opening. Kit peeped out. The way was clear. "Now, Blob! for your life." Out the boys sped. How still it was on this side after the other! There was a fury of fighting in the distance and a dreadful smothered worry against the back door; here a tranquil sward, trees bowing, and the shingle-bank a roan breast-work against a background of silver.
"Laches!" cried the Gentleman, smote the man on the foremost thwart a buffet, and leaping overboard floundered through the water. The man in the bows fired. There was no reply from the shingle-bank. The men of the galley took courage. The boat swished through the shallows, and bumped ashore. Out tumbled her crew, and stormed across the sand at the heels of the Gentleman.
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