That dead mask of wood stared at Kit blankly. Had it no eyes? no soul? no understanding? was it not English, heart of oak, its life sucked these centuries from the breast of the same mother? could it not _feel_ his agony? "Piper! Piper! the door's shut!" "_Ay, sir, but it wun't be drackly-minute_," came a straining voice from within; and the boy could hear the rending of torn boards, and the splintering of terrific hatchet-work. The Grenadier with set teeth and blue-black muzzle was launching forward with huge strides. Kit could hear the rattle of his cartridge-pouch flopping as he ran. Would the door open? if so, which would reach it first? "Faster, Blob, faster!" "Oi'd run faaster, if ma legs would," panted Blob, lumbering behind. He was doing his best; but he was no match for the fawn-footed gentleman, who led him. Lumps of ghostly clay, inherited from a long line of furrow-following ancestors, clung to his heels, impeding him. Kit gripped his dirk and ran. His eyes were on the Grenadier, a black and yellow fellow, with a wart between the brows. That wart held Kit's imagination. It sickened him. It was just his luck to have to deal with a warted man, when he had always loathed warts! But for the wart he felt he could have been heroic. At the thought the tide of his humour welled within him; and the Grenadier was amazed to see a smile in the eyes of this boy with the long face, ghastly-pale, racing against him. Taken off his guard, he smiled too. So each ran towards the other, whom he meant to kill, with smiling eyes. II The cottage door began to open slowly, so slowly. The boy could see the old foretop-man in the darkened passage. A hatchet was in his mouth; he was handling the door with one hand, and his chair with the other. So easy for a whole man to open the door, so hard for the disabled seaman! The Grenadier, hounding with huge strides, was already almost there. "Man on your left, Piper!" the boy screamed. "All right, sir!" mumbled the old seaman. "Give me cutlass room--all I ask!" He put both hands to the wheels of his chair, and spun out into the open, hatchet in mouth. As he did so, round the corner of the cottage swooped half a dozen yelling cut-throats. "Take the Frenchman, sir!" roared the old man. "I'll tackle these--" With a wrench, he slewed his chair, spun the wheels furiously, and shocked into the cloud of them. The Grenadier launched at his back, bayonet at the charge. "Coward!" gasped Kit, still five yards away, and flung his dirk. It stuck in the ground at the man's feet, and tripped him. He plunged forward on hands and knees, and gathered himself as a wave about to break. As he rose, Kit leapt on him, naked-handed. The man was hurled through the open door, and brought up against the inner wall with an appalling shock. For a moment man and boy hugged cheek to cheek. Kit's legs were round the other's hips, his arms about the other's neck.