“Tut, tut, tut! Whatever has Mr Murray been about to go astray like that? I did think I could trust him! And now it is quite open to his being taken, boat and men, by these scoundrels before I can get down to him?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the messenger. “I don’t think they’ll be long afore they come up the river after him.”

“Then how could he be so absurd as to send you, when either of the others would have done? He ought to have kept you.”

“Thought I was a bit crippled, sir,” said the man.

“But you didn’t say you were much hurt.”

“No, sir; no good to holloa, as I see.”

“What to do?” muttered the lieutenant; and his first thought was to fire the building, his second to gather his men together and make a start.

He paused for a few moments to glance round in the full expectation of seeing a movement among the trees or some sign of their being watched; but the place was perfectly quiet and apparently deserted.

“Well, May,” he said, as he caught the man’s eyes fixed questioningly upon him, “what is it?”

“Thought perhaps you might be going to give orders to fire the place, sir.”

“What for, man?” said the lieutenant, starting at the sailor’s similarity of idea.

“Keeping ’em from holding it, sir.”

“We may want to hold it ourselves, and there seems to be a want of fortification.”

The next minute the big seaman was ordered to the front to act as guide, and being thoroughly now in an enemy’s country every needful precaution was taken – precautions which soon seemed to be highly necessary, for the little party had not proceeded far before, as Roberts with a couple of men brought up the rear, he became aware of the fact that they were being followed by what seemed to be a strong body of men stealing after them through the plantation.

A halt was called, and the rear-guard faced round, with the effect that those who followed could be seen to retire amongst the long lines of sugar-canes and maize, which offered plenty of cover.

The lieutenant impatiently gave the order again to advance, and this was followed by halt after halt; but the enemy seemed to be content with keeping just in touch, no attack being made; but it was evident that whoever was answerable for the tactics was pretty keen and ready, and the lieutenant thoroughly realised the precariousness of his position and the need for care if he intended to reach the boat.

“Nothing better can be done, Mr Roberts,” he said. “We must let them see that we are ready for them. It seems to check them every time.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the middy; “but doesn’t it mean that they are waiting till we reach some other party hidden between here and the river, and that as soon as we get close up they’ll make a dash for us?”

“Very likely, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant; “but if it does we must make a dash for them. Anyhow we must not let them think we are afraid.”

“Oh no, sir,” replied the middy excitedly. “But what about me letting my fellows give them a volley to drive them back a little faster?”

“A volley of two, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant sarcastically, “and a waste of ammunition that we must husband.”

“Beg pardon, sir; only what I thought,” said the middy.

“Quite right to speak, my lad; but tell me, can you make out what our pursuers are like?”

“Mixed lot, sir. They seem to be sailors and blacks.”

“Humph! Well, we are pretty well surrounded. I don’t like these cowardly-looking tactics, but I must get back to Mr Murray and the boat. We are gaining a knowledge of the country, and when we come again it must be in force. Much farther, May?” said the lieutenant, after pressing on to the front to where the big sailor was trudging steadily on.

“’Bout two hours, sir,” replied the man.

“Two hours? Surely not!”

“Yes, sir; quite that.”

“Are you certain? Surely you have not lost your way?”

“Not this time, sir,” replied the man confidently. “It’s much further than you thought.”

The officer was silent, and always with the signs behind of a party getting ready to close up, the retreat was kept up, till all at once Tom May stopped short, and once more the lieutenant hurried to his side.

“What is it – enemy in front?”

“No, sir. All clear; but that comes from about where the boat lies, sir.”

“Firing?”

The answer came at once in the sound of a distant shot, a faintly heard report which sent a thrill through every man of the party, who needed no incitement to stretch out in a quicker step, one which would have been increased to a trot but for the checking of the officer in command, who kept the sturdy fellows well in hand so that they might come up to their companions with the boat, cool and ready to take action.

But as the pace was increased somewhat, Roberts was made fully aware of the presence of the secretive enemies, who still kept under cover – cover that was fast becoming cane brake and wilderness, as cultivation grew more sparse.

“It means a rush before long,” thought the lad, and he did not fail to utter a few words of warning from time to time as his heart began to beat heavily with excitement, and at the same time he had hard work to control the longing to hurry forward to the help of those who were plainly heard to respond to a steadily-kept-up fire which all felt must come from the enemy.

“We’re getting pretty close now, sir,” said May, in answer to a question from the lieutenant, who was marching by the guide’s side. “Enemy’s got a boat up the river, sir, I’m sartain, and that’s our Mr Murray and the lads keeping ’em in check. Don’t you think it might be double, sir, now?”

“I’d say yes, my man, but we must get in cool and steady.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” replied the big sailor, and he gave a sidelong glance at his officer as he spoke, shifted his musket from his right shoulder to his left, and passed a hand over his streaming face in a way which made Mr Anderson smile.

Another five minutes, during which the fire on both sides was evidently growing hotter, and then with a cheer which was answered from the river, the party of relief dashed forward, and the firing ceased as if by magic, while the lieutenant, as he reached the water’s edge at the head of his men, looked down the slowly gliding water in vain for signs of the enemy, the long curve of the bend to his right being unoccupied, and no trace of a boat in sight.

Chapter Twenty Nine.
Where is the Slaver’s Lugger?

“Murray!” came from the Seafowl’s boat, as Murray gave orders for the men to let it float down from beneath the trees where he had kept it moored with his men, partly screened by the overhanging boughs, while lying down in the bottom firing from behind the bulwark.

“Thankye, sir,” cried the lad excitedly. “We have been longing for you.”

“But the enemy, my lad?”

“Place four men behind the trees there, sir, ready to fire. You’ll see their boat come stealing out from round the bend, sir, directly. We have driven them back for the moment.”

“A boat attacking from below?”

“Yes, sir; a lugger, full of men. We were quiet for some time;” and the lad hurriedly explained to his chief how that the enemy must have cleared away the tree-trunk with which the river had been dammed, and brought up a boat, from which for quite an hour they had been firing, after making one fierce attack, and being met with a steady fire which drove them back.

“Bravo! Well done, my lad!” said the lieutenant warmly.

“But it was quite time you came, sir. We couldn’t have held out much longer.”

“Nonsense!” said the lieutenant, laughing encouragement. “You would never have given up. Why, you had plenty of water.”

“Yes, sir,” said Murray, with a grim smile; “but the cartridges had nearly run out.”

“Ours have not, Murray,” said the lieutenant, for the men whom he had posted according to the middy’s advice just then opened fire upon a boat, which looked at the first glance uncommonly like the dismasted lugger which had been seen lying in the mouth of the little river when the Seafowl first entered the river.

A shot or two came in reply from the enemy before the lugger drew back round the bend, to be followed by the cutter, which came in sight of the enemy at last in time to see that the lugger’s masts had been stepped and her sails hoisted, to be filled out by the breeze, which sent the boat rapidly gliding down stream.

The men looked sharply at their commander, as if fully expecting to receive orders to row with all their might; and Mr Anderson noticed it, for he turned to the two middies, and by way of answering the silent question —

“No,” he said; “we’re all fagged as it is, and no pulling on our part will bring us alongside of a boat that can sail like that. Pull steadily, my lads, and let the stream do the rest. The chances are that the captain has sent a boat up the river to look after us, and that we shall catch the lugger between two fires, if Mr Munday has not been first.”

A good lookout was kept as the cutter dropped down the stream, and at every bend the men were ready to fire, but they searched with eager eyes in vain, and a general feeling of disappointment had attacked the hungry and exhausted party, while the lieutenant’s countenance was over-clouded by a stern look which betokened the bent of his thoughts in connection with the coming meeting with his chief, when a glimpse was seen through the trees at a sharp curve which sent a thrill of excitement through the boat and made Murray spring to his feet.

“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant.

“The lugger, I think, sir,” whispered the middy. “I just caught sight of one of her masts.”

“Hist! Silence!” said the lieutenant. “Dip as quietly as you can, my lads. Two of you there, Titely and Lang, be ready to fire, and drop the steersman if they don’t lower their sails.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” came back, in a whisper, followed by the clicking of musket locks, and the oars dipped into the water with scarcely a sound.

“I can’t make her out, Mr Murray,” whispered the lieutenant. “Are you sure that you were not deceived?”

“Certain, sir,” was the reply.

“I saw her too, sir,” put in Roberts, “but the trees were very thick and there’s a big bend there.”

“Humph! Yes; the stream winds and doubles upon itself like a snake. You, Tom May, you’ve got a voice like a speaking trumpet; be ready to hail them, and if they don’t lower their sail directly, fire, as I said before, at their steersman.”

The minutes which followed were full of excitement, and then a low murmur arose, for one of the men forward turned to draw the attention of the officers in the stern sheets to the head of a mast which was seen for a few moments passing along above the bushes apparently at the edge of the river, and only some five hundred yards from where the cutter was gliding swiftly down.

“We shall do it, my lads,” whispered the lieutenant to the middies.

“But they’ve altered their course, sir,” said Roberts softly. “They’re coming to attack.”

“No, no; that’s only because the stream winds so; or else – yes, that’s it. They’ve caught sight of one of our boats coming up, and, bravo! we shall take the scoundrels, as I expected, between two fires.”

The lieutenant sprang to his feet and clapped his hand to his sword, for a clean white lug sail came fully into sight. But he thrust his sword back into its sheath before dropping into his seat, for Tom May growled out in his siren-like voice —

“Second cutter, sir, and yon’s Mr Munday, sir, in the starn sheets.”

“Then where’s the slaver’s lugger?” cried the first lieutenant, and a voice from the man-o’-war boat which was coming up stream under oars and a couple of lug sails shouted —

“Seafowls ahoy!”

“Bah!” cried Mr Anderson. “Then we must have passed some branch of the river; and I’m sure we kept a sharp lookout. How stupidly blind!”

“Perhaps Mr Munday’s lads passed a branch, sir,” cried Murray eagerly.

“Thank you, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant, clapping the lad on the shoulder. “I hope you’re right, for I could never have forgiven myself if we had been met by this fresh misfortune.”

Chapter Thirty.
Better Luck Next Time

“Why, where have you been?” cried the second lieutenant, as the two boats ran alongside. “The captain’s been nearly mad with excitement and anxiety.”

“Oh, don’t ask me,” cried Mr Anderson. “But tell me this, has the stream forked anywhere as you came up?”

“Yes, once: about a mile lower down; but the river was very shallow and insignificant, and I did not think it was worth while to explore there. But why?”

“Shallow – insignificant!” said the lieutenant bitterly. “It was big and important enough to float a large lugger – the one we are pursuing.”

“The one that we saw at the mouth of the river when we entered the bay? I was wondering where that had gone as we came up.”

“No doubt the same,” replied Mr Anderson. “Well, you’ve let the enemy slip, Munday.”

“Nonsense! You don’t mean that, man?”

“There’s no mistake,” said the lieutenant; “and it means this, that you will have to share the captain’s anger and disappointment over my failure.”

“I? But why?”

“For not catching the gang of scoundrels I was driving down before me. Oh, Munday, you ought to have taken that boat!”

“But how was I to know, man?”

“Don’t stop to talk. Run on back and find the lugger if you can, while I keep on down the main stream. We may overtake the wretches after all, and if either of us sees the enemy in the offing of course we must pursue, even if it’s right out to sea.”

“But the captain – the Seafowl? We must report what has happened.”

“I will, of course, in passing. You, if you come up first, need only say that there is a nest of slavers up the river, and that I have had a sharp fight. If the captain has seen the lugger, tell him it is full of a gang of scoundrels who have fired upon us, and that the vessel ought to be sunk.”

“You had better tell him all this yourself, Anderson,” said the second lieutenant, in a whisper that the men could not hear, “and I wouldn’t say a word about my missing the lugger on the way, for he’s in a towering rage, and will only be too glad to drop on to me for what I really could not help.”

“No, I suppose not,” said the first lieutenant good-humouredly; “but you might take your share of his ill-humour.”

“But it is all on account of your being so long away.”

“Well, that was not my fault, man. We’ve had a rough time of it; but be off sharply, and as to the missing business, follow and catch the scoundrels, and I won’t say a word.”

“Oh, I say, Anderson!” protested the second lieutenant.

“Well, there, be off and I’ll see.” The second cutter’s sails were sheeted home, and she glided off without more being said, while at little more than half the rate the first cutter went on under oars, but well helped by the current; and they had not gone far down the winding river before the silence of the cane brake was broken by a dull report which made the two middies half rise from their seats by their leader.

“That means the Seafowl firing at the lugger to heave to, sir,” said Murray.

“May you be right, my lad,” replied Mr Anderson. “Step the masts, my lads, and hoist sail.”

The orders were obeyed, and sometimes catching the light breeze and at others helped by the sturdy pulling at the oars, the cutter sped on, her occupants hearing shots fired from time to time, and reading clearly enough that the occupants of the lugger, if it was she who was being summoned to heave to, had not obeyed, but were racing on and trying to make their escape.

This grew more and more certain as the time glided on, and Roberts went so far as to assert that he could tell the difference between the unshotted and the shotted guns which followed.

Then, to the delight of the two lads, the firing ceased, and as they sat anxious and excited, they compared notes and passed opinions, while the lieutenant sat sombre and silent, looking straight out before him, only uttering an ejaculation of impatience from time to time as the wind dropped in some bend of the river, or filled the sails again upon a fresh tack.

Only once did the lieutenant rouse himself a little, and that was when they came in sight of the place where the river forked and down which the second cutter had long passed. Murray pointed it out, while Roberts exclaimed —

“Of course! I remember that well now; but I had forgotten all about it before.”

“Yes; I can recollect it now,” said the lieutenant bitterly; and he relapsed into silence again, though he was listening to the conversation of the two middies all the same, as he proved before long.

“You may be right or you may be wrong,” said Murray, after a time. “I think you are wrong and haven’t told the difference between the shotted and the unshotted guns; but the firing has quite ceased now, and that means that the lugger has given up, and lowered her sails.”

“Maybe,” said Roberts, “but more likely after holding on so long she has had an unlucky shot and been sunk.”

“Lucky shot,” said Murray grimly.

“Ah, that depends upon which side you take. I believe that our lads have grown pretty savage, and sunk her.”

A low murmur of satisfaction arose from amongst the men who overheard the conversation, and then there was silence again, till the lieutenant suddenly spoke out.

“You’ve only provided for two alternatives, gentlemen,” he said.

“Do you mean about the lugger, sir?” asked Murray.

“Of course. You settled that she had lowered her sails or been sunk.”

“Yes, sir; there is no other way.”

“Indeed, Mr Roberts?” said the lieutenant. “It seems to me that there is another alternative.”

“I don’t understand you, sir,” said the lad.

“Perhaps Mr Murray does,” said the lieutenant sadly. “What do you say, my lad?”

“I’m afraid so, sir, but I hope not,” cried the lad; “but we shall soon know, for the river is opening out fast.”

“Yes, that will soon be proved,” said the first lieutenant; and he relapsed into silence.

“I say,” whispered Roberts, giving his companion a nudge, “what do you mean by your alternatives? The lugger must either have lowered her sails or been sunk.”

“What about the coast here?” replied Murray.

“Well, what about it?”

“Isn’t it all wooded and covered with jungle?”

“Of course: don’t we know it well!”

“Yes, and don’t the slaving people know it well?”

“Of course they must.”

“Then isn’t it possible for them to have held on, sailing all they knew, and made for some other river or creek running into the shore right up perhaps into some lagoon or lake known only to themselves, and where we could not follow, knowing so little as we do of the country?”

“Oh, I say,” cried Roberts, “what a miserable old prophet of ill you are, Frank! You shouldn’t go on like that. Haven’t we been disappointed enough, without coming in for worse things still? You might as well stick to it that the lugger has been sunk.”

“I can’t, old fellow,” said Murray, “for I honestly believe – ”

“Oh, bother your honest beliefs!” cried Roberts pettishly. “Be dishonest for once in a way. You might give us a bit of sunshine to freshen us up. Haven’t we got enough to go through yet, with the captain fuming over our failure and being ready to bully us till all’s blue?”

“Can’t help it, old fellow; I must say what I feel. But there, we needn’t talk, for we shall soon know now.”

The lieutenant was of the same opinion, for he suddenly rose from where he was seated, and pressing the sheets on one side as he went forward he made for the bows, where he stood looking out where the mouth of the river became a wide estuary, and then came back to his place in the stern sheets, and as he sat down he pointed past the sails.

“There, gentlemen,” he said; “there lies the Seafowl, in quite a different position; but there is no lugger.”

“No, sir, but there lies the second cutter,” cried Roberts; and he pointed to where their fellow boat was sailing far away and close in shore. “That means she had been chasing the lugger until a lucky shot from the sloop sunk her.”

“No, my lad,” said the officer gravely. “I hold to Mr Murray’s idea – that the second cutter chased the scoundrels till they dodged into one of their lairs, and they have by this time penetrated far up the country, perhaps been able to get round by some back way through some forest labyrinth to where the plantation house is.”

“Well, sir, we know our way better now,” said Murray, “and we must go again. Better luck next time.”

“Thank you, Mr Murray. Better luck next time. Now to hear what the captain has to say!”