``Give way,'' he shouted as he fell.
``Pull,'' Clay yelled, ``pull, all of you.''
He threw himself against the stern of the boat, and Langham and MacWilliams clutched its sides, and with their shoulders against it and their bodies half sunk in the water, shoved it off, free of the shore.
The shots continued fiercely, and two of the crew cried out and fell back upon the oars of the men behind them.
Madame Alvarez sprang to her feet and stood swaying unsteadily as the boat leaped forward.
``Take me back.Stop, I command you,'' she cried, ``I will not leave those men.Do you hear?''
King caught her by the waist and dragged her down, but she struggled to free herself.``I will not leave them to be murdered,'' she cried.``You cowards, put me back.''
``Hold her, King,'' Clay shouted.``We're all right.They're not firing at us.''
His voice was drowned in the noise of the oars beating in the rowlocks, and the reports of the rifles.The boat disappeared in a mist of spray and moonlight, and Clay turned and faced about him.Langham and MacWilliams were crouching behind a rock and firing at the flashes in the woods.
``You can't stay there,'' Clay cried.``We must get back to Hope.''
He ran forward, dodging from side to side and firing as he ran.
He heard shots from the water, and looking back saw that the men in the longboat had ceased rowing, and were returning the fire from the shore.
``Come back, Hope is all right,'' her brother called to him.``Ihaven't seen a shot within a hundred yards of her yet, they're firing from the Custom-house and below.I think Mac's hit.''
``I'm not,'' MacWilliams's voice answered from behind a rock, ``but I'd like to see something to shoot at.''
A hot tremor of rage swept over Clay at the thought of a possibly fatal termination to the night's adventure.He groaned at the mockery of having found his life only to lose it now, when it was more precious to him than it had ever been, and to lose it in a silly brawl with semi-savages.He cursed himself impotently and rebelliously for a senseless fool.
``Keep back, can't you?'' he heard Langham calling to him from the shore.``You're only drawing the fire toward Hope.She's got away by now.She had both the horses.''
Langham and MacWilliams started forward to Clay's side, but the instant they left the shadow of the rock, the bullets threw up the sand at their feet and they stopped irresolutely.The moon showed the three men outlined against the white sand of the beach as clearly as though a searchlight had been turned upon them, even while its shadows sheltered and protected their assailants.
At their backs the open sea cut off retreat, and the line of fire in front held them in check.They were as helpless as chessmen upon a board.
``I'm not going to stand still to be shot at,'' cried MacWilliams.``Let's hide or let's run.This isn't doing anybody any good.'' But no one moved.They could hear the singing of the bullets as they passed them whining in the air like a banjo-string that is being tightened, and they knew they were in equal danger from those who were firing from the boat.
``They're shooting better,'' said MacWilliams.``They'll reach us in a minute.''
``They've reached me already, I think,'' Langham answered, with suppressed satisfaction, ``in the shoulder.It's nothing.'' His unconcern was quite sincere; to a young man who had galloped through two long halves of a football match on a strained tendon, a scratched shoulder was not important, except as an unsought honor.
But it was of the most importance to MacWilliams.He raised his voice against the men in the woods in impotent fury.``Come out, you cowards, where we can see you,'' he cried.``Come out where I can shoot your black heads off.''
Clay had fired the last cartridge in his rifle, and throwing it away drew his revolver.
``We must either swim or hide,'' he said.``Put your heads down and run.''
But as he spoke, they saw the carriage plunging out of the shadow of the woods and the horses galloping toward them down the beach.MacWilliams gave a cheer of welcome.``Hurrah!'' he shouted, ``it's Jose' coming for us.He's a good man.Well done, Jose'!'' he called.
``That's not Jose','' Langham cried, doubtfully, peering through the moonlight.``Good God! It's Hope,'' he exclaimed.
He waved his hands frantically above his head.``Go back, Hope,'' he cried, ``go back!''
But the carriage did not swerve on its way toward them.They all saw her now distinctly.She was on the driver's box and alone, leaning forward and lashing the horses' backs with the whip and reins, and bending over to avoid the bullets that passed above her head.As she came down upon them, she stood up, her woman's figure outlined clearly in the riding habit she still wore.
``Jump in when I turn,'' she cried.``I'm going to turn slowly, run and jump in.''