"There," said Absalom, pointing, "is our cave of refuge to command the steep,—and there again, scarce a hundred yards where the cliff edge breaks, is path down to the sea and a headland, with your ships just beyond, yet no way of reaching 'em save by swimming."
And now, speedily as might be, they built a rampart across the mouth of this deep cave with such rocks and boulders as lay to hand. This done, Adam took count of their arms:
"Eighteen swords," quoth he.
"Nineteen!" said Antonia.
"Twenty!" shrieked Smy. "Though light as puling babe and mewling piccaninny, I'm yet man enough to smite for the Lord, I that was baptized 'Smite-the-Devil'! So give me sword, one o' ye, or, better yet, firelock or pistol, for I can, with vasty effort, pull a trigger."
"And," said Adam, cheerily, "so thou shalt, Smy!"
"We've but eleven muskets, sir," said Tregenza.
"Yet twenty-three pistols and good store of powder and shot."
"And—a boarding axe!" quoth Ned.
"And I still ha' my knife, sir!" cried Smidge.
"No, lad, you and Moa, with Tom and Matt, will be re-charging our pieces,—ha, see yonder!"
Flash and flicker of steel in the dark forest below, with growing stir and rustle,—then an ominous hush....
Adam glanced to left and right at the grim faces of his companions showing pale yet resolute in the now radiant moonlight, and spoke them cheerily:
"Dreadnoughts all, here shall be notable good fight and our method this, to wit—and mark me well! We shall let them charge within close pistol-shot ere we give fire, aiming low, then—down muskets and meet 'em with steel whiles our second rank shall reload and fire as chance offers. Is this understood?"
"Ay, ay, sir!" they answered, in hearty chorus. And thus they waited, the few against the many, for what must be.
CHAPTER XLVI
WHICH IS CHAPTER OF PARTING AND FAREWELL
None were they, some faint with wounds and all weary, who crouched behind bullet-starred, blood-smeared barricade, with a sinking moon to show the trampled plateau strewn with stark shapes that lay still and silent or writhed, groaning.
"Smidge, are you there, boy,—and Moa?"
"Ay, sir."
"How are we for powder and shot?"
"Nigh all spent, sir."
"Ay," quoth Ned, "enough for another volley or thereabouts,—and then——"
"Steel!" said Adam. "Who died last, Ned?"
"Farren, sir,—here, poor lad, of a pike-thrust. And yonder lies Nick Cobb, and here abaft o' me, Tom Ash. And poor Cap'n Smy's a-slipping his cable, a musket ball just as we beat off the last attack, Cap'n Absalom have carried him aft into the cave. But now I rackon the dons has their bellyful, see how thick they lie afore our rampire! We've discouraged 'em at last—I hope!"
"Have we ... beat 'em off ... for good, sir?" gasped Giles Tregenza, wiping blood from his face.
"Ay, they'm done, Giles, by cock!"
"Or muster for another attempt, so be wary!" sighed Adam. "Howbeit we must get word to the ships ... the cliff path yonder. I want a volunteer."
"Well, here am I!" said Absalom. "I know the path and 'tis easy swim to the ships. Smy's pains are over, he died cursing me, but just at the end ... kissed me! Well now, I'm ready—yet first ... Tony, Anthony, I beg word with thee."
Slowly Antonia rose and went where her husband waited in dimness of the cave and there for a brief while they spoke together. Then coming where Adam watched, musket in hand, Absalom loosed off belt and sword, saying as he did so:
"I, old messmate, that would have won so much, have lost all. And the lady Joanna is dead, or worse, and her child, her little, pretty daughter Joanna that was my playfellow ... God knoweth——? A sorry business! And now, Adam, if this should be our final good-bye—wilt give thy hand to the man hath wrought such misfortune on himself—and others?"
"Ay, truly, Absalom! God keep thee now and bring thee to happiness at last."
"Spoke like my Old Adam! And if there be true happiness in this world—God grant it to thee."
Then, watched anxiously by all, Absalom climbed the barricade and began to walk and then to run as, from the shadowy woods, death flamed and roared at him. They saw him reel, steady himself and run on and on until suddenly, as if cut down by Death's unseen, remorseless scythe, he swayed and plunged headlong.... Yet, even then, he crawled painfully a yard or so, lifted hand feebly as if in farewell and moved no more.
"So now—I go!" cried Jimbo, leaping afoot. "Me berry good runner extremious fast and swim like de fish—only better—look now!" So saying he cleared the rampart with mighty leap and was away at speed wonderful to see, but not in direct line, for, as the woods blazed death at him, he leapt, he ducked, bounding from side to side and, reaching the cliff-end, uttered triumphant howl and was gone.
And now for the weary seven was season of alternate hope and despair, of fierce onfall and desperate defence, with long periods of tense waiting and anxious watching for the next assault, till the moon, sinking lower, began to pale her splendour.
So they fought and watched, while the shadows deepened upon them and the moon's rim touched ocean, making a glory soon to fade, and in the air a chill that was the dawn.... And then, vague at first but waxing louder, a sound from seaward, the steady oncoming tramp of feet, a hoarse, familiar bellow, a rousing cheer.... At which glad, right welcome sound, Adam rose to hail in answer, was clasped in two arms, covered by a soft body, as, from the stealthy shadows, muskets flamed and roared again ... and he was looking down into Antonia's stricken face.
"My dear one," she whispered, brokenly, "they would have ... killed thee."
Heedless of all else, he bore her into the cave and laying her there, fumbled with shaking hands to come at her wound.
"See, Adam ... beloved ... the dawn!"
But looking on the red horror that marred the white beauty of her bosom, Adam knew he looked on death, and his heart failing at last, seemed to die within him.
"Antonia!" he groaned.
"My Adam!" she murmured. "Day breaks ... and I am ... on thy heart ... my home and resting place ... at last ... God's angel hath ... united us ... forever! Now ... husband ... kiss thy ... bride...."
So Adam kissed her and, nestling to him, she murmured faintly, "I ... shall be ... waiting——" The rest was a sigh.
She was dead and his heart with her ... the world an emptiness, a desolation wherein he must walk, a solitary man all his days ... Antonia was dead!
He was aware of stir and movement about him, of voices that called, of hands that touched him gently, but he heeded only the lovely, placid face upon his breast, the eyes uplift to his, the lips faint-smiling.
So must he remember her all his life,—placid and beautiful and smiling upon him through death....
Rising at last, he walked stiffly to the barricade and saw the sky all flushed with the splendour of sunrise, and stood trying to imagine the pure soul of her shining somewhere in that infinity of glory ... waiting for him ... waiting! And he was alive and she must wait, and he yearn, through how many more weary years...?
A hand touched him, an arm clasped and led him, the hand and arm of Sir Benjamin, his ruddy face haggard and streaked with tears.
"Dear Adam," said he, hoarsely, "she loved ... and died for thee ... as I hear. And now ... a last look——?"
Then Adam was gazing into an open grave wherein mid green leaves to make a bed, she lay, the faint, sweet smile yet upon her lips. Kneeling, he kissed her for the last time and strove to pray, but finding this vain, rose at a touch and went between Sir Benjamin and Sir George D'Arcy, stumbling like a blind man....
"Wer't wounded, George?" said he suddenly.