There was a dead silence.

"I would light the candles," said my father in a low firm voice, "but it
would be helping the enemy, if enemy they are. Who's that?"

"It is I, sir, Bigley," said a familiar voice.

"I had forgotten you. What is it?"

"I have no weapons, sir."

"No, of course not. Boy, you cannot fight."

"Why not, sir?"

"Because--because--" I was close to them, and they were speaking in a
low tone; "because--" said my father again.

"Because you think I should be fighting against my father," said Bigley
sharply; "but I'm sure, sir, that it is not so."

"How do I know that?" said my father.

_Rap, rap, rap_, came now at the door, and a voice with a decided French
accent, a voice that sounded familiar to me, said:

"Ees any boady here?"

"There, sir, it is the French."

"I don't know that," said my father. Then: "Stand fast, my lads."

"Ees any boady here?" said the same voice.

"Yes. Who's there?" said my father.

"Aha, it is good," came from outside. "My friends and bruders have make
great meestakes and lose our vays. Can you show us to ze Ripplemouts
towns?"

"Straight down to the sea and along by the cliff path east," said my
father shortly.

"Open ze doors; I cannot make myselfs to hear."

My father repeated his instructions; there was a low murmur outside; and
then there was a sharp beating on the door, as if from the hilt of a
sword.

"What now?" cried my father.

"Le Capitaine Dooncane," cried a sharp fierce voice.

"Well?" said my father. "I am Captain Duncan."

"Open this door," said the same voice, speaking in French.

"What if I refuse?" said my father in the same tongue.

"If you refuse it will be broken down--directly."

"Is it the war?" said my father mockingly.

"It is the war," was the reply. "Open, and no harm will be done to you.
Resist, and there will be no quarter. Is it surrender?"

"Monsieur forgets that he is talking to an English officer," said my
father. "Stand back, sir; we are well-armed and prepared."

There was a low murmur of voices outside, and my father exclaimed:

"Sep, Bigley, upstairs with you and six men. Two of you to each window,
and beat down with your cutlasses all who try to board. Well keep the
doors here. Now, my lads, tables and chairs against the doors. You'll
find the wickets handy. I thought so; they're at the back door
already."

He darted to the back room, helped place a table against the door,
mounte