[figure description] Page 181.[end figure description]

CHARLE continued his flight, making
straight for the coast.

The hunter cleared the earth with long
strides, and promised very soon to distance
all pursuit and reach the strand.

Suddenly he staggered. A sharp stone had
entered his foot, and inflicted a deep wound.
Such was the pain that he was unable to keep
up his great speed; his pace fell off; he limped
terribly; and Earle heard behind him the
shouts of the pursuers, who every moment were
gaining upon him.

He turned and looked over his shoulder;
then through the night mist toward the coast.
From the rear came threatening cries; from the

[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]

front, the long reverberating boom of cannon
from the channel.

Behind that curtain of white mist wrapping
the shores and the great headlands, Earle felt
that a hard combat was going on between his
corvette and an English frigate probably.

The thought drove him to frenzy almost.
He struck the poor animal he rode, with his
clenched fist.

“Faster! faster!” he exclaimed. “I care
not for myself. But she is attacked yonder—
my corvette! They are fighting, and I am not
there!”

With merciless spur, he drove the animal to
full speed, in spite of his wound; and thus pursuers
and pursued swept onward toward the sea.

It was now a race for life. The party commanded
by Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke were
every moment gaining on the sailor. Either
they caught glimpses of him, or heard the sound
of his horse's hoofs. They came closer and
closer, and Earle heard them, and prepared for
the worst.

As his horse went on at full speed nearly, in
spite of the painful limp, the sailor slipped his
belt round, and placed the handle of his pistol
where he could easily grasp it.

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“If they come up, I will fight them all,” he
muttered, with his short, defiant laugh. “That
is not brave; it is the only course! If I am
arrested, I will die on the gallows. Yes, my
good Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke, you play with
edged tools. You may come up with me, but
you come to your death!”

A pistol-shot was heard, and a bullet whistled
by his head. He drew his own weapon, but
did not fire.

“I am too good a sailor to waste my shot,” he
muttered.

And he went on, pursued by cries; they evidently
saw him, and were gaining rapidly on
him.

The mist opening for a moment, gave him all
at once a full glimpse of the party. At their
head rode Sir Murdaugh, and Earle heard him
howl,—

“Shoot him down! Death to him!”

Then the mist enveloped them.

But from this mist came, nearer and nearer,
the hoof-strokes and the cries. Earle's horse
staggered under him, and seemed about to fall.

From the front, as before, came the thunder
of cannon, and with this now mingled the hoarse
dash of the waves.

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“The coast is near. I cannot see, but there
is the sound a sailor knows,” muttered Earle.

The roll of the surf grew louder. With it
came now the confused sound of voices.

Earle's brows were heavily knit.

“I had forgotten that!” he exclaimed.
“While I am followed by this party, bent on
my death, another party awaits me yonder. Between
the two I shall be crushed!”

The wind whirled away the mist, and on the
strand were seen confused shapes,—men running
to and fro.

“I have mistaken my route, and am near
Oldport,” muttered Earle.

Then gazing before him,—

“If these people see me, I am lost!” he exclaimed.

As he spoke, the party behind rushed upon
him, with fierce shouts. From the mist emerged
a whirlwind of furious enemies, pistol in hand.

“Halt! or you are dead!”

Earle replied by firing at the baronet.

The bullet passed through his hat. Only a
moment afterwards a hail-storm of balls whistled
around the sailor.

His horse had struck his wounded foot, and,
half falling, saved the life of his rider.

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The bullets passed over Earle's head, and the
baronet uttered a cry of rage.

“Ride him down! See, his horse will carry
him no farther!”

Earle drove the spur deep into his animal's
side. The only result was that the horse uttered
a groan, and nearly fell.

At the same moment violent hands caught
the bridle, and threw him on his haunches.

“Who be you?” cried a voice—the voice of
the man in front.

Earle recognized that voice. It belonged to
Goliath.

He threw himself from the saddle.

“I am one of the wolves!” he said; “and
they are after me!”

“You!” exclaimed the giant, recognizing
him.

“Yes: listen! Yonder are the men who are
hunting me down!”

The baronet rushed on with his men, who
uttered shouts of triumph.

“Who be these?” said Goliath.

“Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke and the revenue
guard!”

No sooner had Goliath heard Earle's reply,
than he drew a long knife. His next

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proceeding was to utter a shrill and prolonged cry, resembling
the scream of the sea-gull.

At that cry, dusky shapes rushed toward him
from every direction. The wolves had evidently
recognized the signal, which meant, “One of
the wolves is in dauger!”

“You be safe, master,” said Goliath.

Earle drew his second pistol.

“Go on, master; where you be going?”

“I am not going anywhere!”

As he spoke, the pursuers darted upon them.

“Kill him!” exclaimed the baronet, “and all
who resist!”

As he spoke he fired at Earle, and, riding at
him, levelled a blow at him with his pistol,
which was still smoking.

The sailor parried it, and fired on the baronet,
so close that the powder blackened his face. As
the weapon was discharged, the horse ridden by
the baronet took fright and wheeled. He was
not destined to bear off his rider, however, who
had remained uninjured. One of the wolves
caught the baronet by the throat and dragged
him down. Then the fight surged over him.
Quick pistol-shots, cries, the revenue guards
scattering and flying, hotly pursued,—such
were the sounds and sights which greeted Sir

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Murdaugh as he rolled to the earth, and a powerful
wolf placed his knee on him.

“Quick, master,” said Goliath to Earle; “the
fight be over! take care of yourself!”

“Thanks.”

And Earle caught a horse and threw himself
into the saddle.

“Good-by, brother!” he said, grasping the
huge hand of Goliath; “you have saved my
life to-night, and I shall not forget that.”

Goliath shook his head.

“No need of thanking me, master. You be
a wolf, but look out!”

Earle turned in the direction indicated by
the giant's finger.

The sound of cavalry coming on at full gallop
was heard.

“The revenue station people!”

“They are too late!”

And with a last pressure of the hand, Earle
darted off along the shore toward the spot
where the boat awaited him.

In ten minutes he stopped, and threw himself
to the earth.

Then he began to run along the narrow ledge
of rock, and disappeared in the shadow of the
headland.

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Ten minutes afterwards the revenue guard
who had ridden down to the shore, might have
been heard uttering cries.

A boat had darted from the shadow of the
headland, above which suddenly soared the
beacon light. The gigantic torch lit up all.
The ruddy glare turned night into day. The
boat was rowed by four men, and another in
uniform stood erect in the stern.

A shower of bullets from the guard, who
rode down into the surf, greeted the boat.

The reply aroused furious shouts and more
shots.

It was simple.

The man in the stern unfurled a flag, and
waved his hat.

The glare of the beacon fell on the flag.

On its defiant folds were emblazoned the
lilies of France; and, as though, to salute it, a
salvo of cannon roared from the channel.

Earle waved his hat a second time in triumph,
and in ten minutes the boat had disappeared in
the mist.

p517-194

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