For the most part of that night all thought of sleep had passed away, and a feeling of wonder filled the middy’s brain at the ease with which the black forced his way through the darkness.

“Black as a bat,” thought Murray, “and just like one. It’s wonderful how these fellows can see as they do. It can’t be because they are used to it, for my eyes would never be of any good, I am sure.”

But there it was all the same.

“Come ’long. Massa Huggins man dat way want to find Caesar;” and the black led the way and seemed to put pressure upon his white companion just at the right moment, “steering” him, Murray mentally called it, in and out among tree and cane so that he never came in contact with any obstacle, while the lad’s anxiety about his wounded comrade was always alleviated when a halt was made by the comforting whispered assurance from Caesar after an examination.

“Massa sailor Roberts fas’ ’sleep. No know nothing at all.”

There were times, though, when at one of their many halts Murray’s heart sank very low, for generally when all was silent save for some strange cry of night bird, croak of reptile, or weird whirr of insect that seemed to be magnified in power by the heated misty air, the black’s fingers would tighten upon the lad’s arm with spasmodic suddenness, in company with what seemed to be the piercing humming trumpet of a mosquito. Twice over Murray as he toiled on in the black darkness took it for granted that the black had stopped short to avoid being bitten or stung, but only to find afterwards that the sound came with perfect realism from the black’s lips, being his warning to his big companion to halt while he reconnoitred as to the position of the enemy.

And now a fresh direction would be taken, or more than once it seemed to Murray that they completely retraced their steps; but after a time a feeling of dullness akin to despair came over the lad, and he resigned himself to his fate, satisfying himself that Roberts was being carefully carried, and then plodding on and on, plunging as it seemed to him in a state of torpidity or stupid sleep in which he kept on dreaming about the ship and the boats and going through various adventures at sea.

Then he would start awake with a strange suddenness, feeling as if his conscience had pricked him for his drowsiness and neglect, and he would begin to tremble with anxiety, for he felt that he must have spoken aloud just at a time when they were near their pursuers, and so have betrayed their whereabouts.

Thoroughly wakened then, Murray found that they were motionless with his black companions listening, while Caesar’s fingers were pressing his arm very tightly.

“No speak,” he whispered; and the man’s breath came hot into his ear. “Huggins fellow chap everywhere. No catchee.”

Murray’s brain was closing up again, so it seemed to him, back into a deep sleep, and he remembered afterwards that during the latter part of that night he woke up from time to time when Caesar pinched his arm for him to stop, but directly the journey was continued he dropped asleep again.

Then it seemed to the middy that he must have been asleep an immensely long time, and he started up awake, staring hard at his guide, who had laid one hand over his lips while the other was offering him a ready-opened cocoanut.

“No speak, massa.”

“Why?”

“Huggins man over dah. See sailor officer – see slabe boy – see Caesar – shoot, kill.”

The man pointed over where Roberts lay half hidden by the undergrowth, while beyond him the big black was seated munching away at some half-ripe bananas, and ready to meet his eyes with a pleasant smile.

“It’s morning, then!” whispered Murray, in surprise.

“Yes: to-morrow morning, sah,” said the man, smiling; and it appeared to Murray that he had made a very absurd remark, for it must have been daylight for many hours, the sun being high.

“Whereabout do you think Mr Allen’s cottage is?” he whispered now, as his head seemed to clear.

“Over dah,” was the confident declaration. “Huggins man all round about come to fight.”

“Fight? Who with?”

“Massa officer sailor men.”

“Do you think they have got back to the cottage?”

The black nodded.

“Big very much fight. Sailor kill big lot Huggins man.”

“How do you know that?” said Murray sharply, for it seemed to him now that the last dreamy feeling of exhaustion had passed away.

“Caesar find free dead men. Him tread on two,” was his ready reply, “him” being the big black.

“But not white men!” said the midshipman, with his voice sinking to a whisper that was almost inaudible.

“Huggins man, massa. Bad fellow. Caesar berry glad.”

“Hah!” sighed Murray, and he crept to where Roberts lay apparently sleeping comfortably now.

“Is it far to Mr Allen’s cottage?” asked the lad, after a pause.

“Over dah, sah,” replied the black, pointing.

“Then why not go on at once?”

The black showed his teeth as his face lit-up in a smile.

“Lots Huggins man all about. Wait shoot white man. Wait shoot massa sailor officer. Shoot big slabe boy and Caesar. ’Top here get dark again and Massa Murray Frank crawl up close to cottage ’long o’ Caesar show de way. Massa Murray Frank put hand to mouf so how, like Caesar and say, Ahoy! No shoot, my boy! Friend!”

“Yes, I understand,” said Murray eagerly.

“Dat’s de way,” said the black, laughing with satisfaction; and he placed his hollowed hand to the side of his mouth and cried very softly again: “Ahoy! No shoot, my boy! Friend! British sailor boy shoot more than Huggins man. Shoot drefful bad. Kill friend in a dark. Kill Murray Frank. Kill Roberts officer. Kill big slabe boy, and kill poor ole Caesar; and dat drefful bad job, eh, sah?”

“Yes,” said Murray, responding to the black’s smile most heartily; “that would be a dreadfully bad job, and no mistake.”

“And no mistake, sah,” cried the black, bringing to bear his natural imitative faculty apparently with a feeling of intense enjoyment, and repeating the expression, “And no mistake, sah. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Hallo! ’Top, ’top!” he added, in an excited whisper. “Caesar make too much noise enough and tell Huggins man where we hide umself. Massa Murray Frank eatum Caesar nut. Do um good and makum fight like sailor man.”

“Yes, I’ll eat it soon,” replied Murray. “But you’re right, Caesar; we must wait till it is dark, for fear that my people should shoot us by mistake.”

“Yes, sah; dat be bad job and no mistake,” whispered the black, bringing in the fresh expression again. “What Massa Allen do widout Caesar? Hey?”

“Mr Allen trusts you, then?” said Murray.

“Yes, sah. Massa Allen berry much trust Caesar. Massa Allen tell Caesar he berry sorry he ebber trust Massa Huggin. Wish um nebber come plantation. Caesar see big tear in Massa Allen eye, and make Caesar berry sorry. Make um fink a deal. Massa Huggins kill poor black niggah, sah, lots o’ times. Massa Huggins got bad brudder come sometime with ship schooner full o’ slabes. Flog um and sell um. Make um die sometime. Massa Huggins’ brudder tell um bad sailor man. Talk like dis way;” and the man as he knelt by Murray’s side gave an exact imitation of the keen Yankee skipper. “Say ‘Chuck um overboard,’ sah.” As the black uttered the command he acted it, and added grimly: “‘Chuck um overboard to de shark?’” and added now a horrible bit of pantomime, dashing and waving his arms about to represent the terrible fish gliding over one another in a wild struggle to seize their prey.

“Don’t! Don’t!” whispered Murray, with a look of horror which proved the realism of the black’s word-painting and gesticulation.

“No, massa,” whispered Caesar solemnly. “Um nebber chuck black niggah overboard. But,” he added, with a fierce look that was even ferocious, “Caesar like chuck Massa Huggins overboard. Like see shark fish bite all a pieces and eat um. So – so – so!”

As he uttered the last words with hideous emphasis he brought his imitative faculty once more into action by laying bare his fine white teeth, throwing his head from side to side, and snapping like a savage animal.

“Horrible!” ejaculated Murray.

“Yes, sah; dreffle horrible see shark bite poor half-dead niggah a pieces.”

“But you have never seen this?”

“Yes, massa – long time ago. Caesar brought in schooner ship from Caesar own country. Bring lot of poor niggah all shut up down below. Ship quite full, and ebery night some shut um eyes, and to-morrow morning some won’t open eyes again. Gone dead. Sailor chap come along rope, haul niggah up on deck – haul on deck, and Massa Huggins brudder say: ‘Chuck um o’erboard,’ and chap come and take rope off Caesar and make um open um eye like say: ‘What’s de matter?’ Den Massa Huggins’ brudder say, ‘What’s dat, you lubber? Dat one not dead!’”

“Did you hear that?” said Murray, with his lips apart as he listened in horror to the black’s narrative.

“Yes, sah. Caesar no understand den what um mean, but um say – ‘What’s dat, you lubber? Dat one not dead!’ Nebber forget um – nebber! Caesar shut um eye now and see it all again – those niggah chap chuck overboard and shark fish coming up out of water and roll over and over and snap, snap, snap – so. Make Caesar keep eyes open so dat couldn’t go to sleep again for long time. Massa Huggins man come take hold of um by arm and leg and chuck down below. Caesar not dead a bit. Caesar quite ’live now. Go and talk lot o’ time to pore black niggah when Massa Huggins’ brudder bring schooner ship full of niggah. Caesar talk to um, not like um talk to Massa Murray Frank. Talk to um in own way sometime. Sometime poor niggah can’t understand, but berry glad find Caesar sorry for um. Make um happy; laugh again.”

“Poor creatures!” said Murray.

“Yes, massa. Poor creature! Come and talk togedder in de night sometime. Massa Huggins flog um when him find um out, but poor niggah don’t mind dat. Like to talk about de ole country where um come from. Massa Allen find um out too, but um only laugh and say, ‘Poor fellow!’ But Massa Huggin flog um, and some shut eye and nebber open um again. Poor Massa Allen good massa, but won’t do what Caesar say. He berry ill now, and get frighten of Massa Huggins. Tell Caesar one day he wish Massa Huggins die.”

“He told you that!” said Murray, for the black had ceased speaking, and his narrative had so great a fascination for the lad that he wanted to hear more.

“Yes, massa; um say he wish Massa Huggin die so that poor niggah boy be happy again and do um work. Massa Allen say so free time to Caesar, and den Caesar wait till Massa Huggins go out and Caesar go in to Massa Allen in de cottage, where um sit down by de table like dat.” And the black rested his head sidewise upon his elbow and hand. “‘What you want, Caesar, lad?’ he say, and um put um white hand on Caesar black arm. ‘Poor niggah ill and can’t work? Bad time, Caesar, to be sick man.’ ‘Yes, massa,’ I say to um. ‘Berry bad to be sick man.’ ‘Who is it, my lad?’ he say. ‘Caesar, massa,’ I say to um. ‘Caesar berry sick.’ ‘You bad, Caesar!’ him say. ‘Your massa berry sorry, for you de only frien’ I got in de worl’ now, Caesar.’ ‘Yes, massa,’ I say. ‘Caesar know dat.’ ‘What de matter, boy?’ he say. ‘Caesar bad to see massa so berry sick. Caesar ’fraid massa die.’ ‘Ah, dat’s berry good of you, Caesar,’ he say – ‘berry good. Then you no want me to give you doctor ’tuff?’ ‘No, massa,’ I said. ‘Nigger know what to do when niggah ill. Shut um mouf up tight free day, and niggah quite well again.’ ‘Ah, Caesar,’ he say, ‘dat do me no good, dat not do for your massa.’ Then I say to um, ‘No, massa, but you let Caesar do massa good and um quite well again and make all de poor niggah happy over again.’ ‘No, no, my boy,’ um say; ‘nebber again.’ ‘Yes, massa,’ I say; ‘you let Caesar try.’ ‘What wiv?’ um say, laughing; and den I say in um whisper like: ‘Fetish, massa.’”

“What!” cried Murray, half indignantly. “You don’t believe in that nonsense, Caesar?”

“Not nonsense, massa.”

“Well, my good fellow,” said Murray, rather coldly, “I’m not going to argue with you now, but some other time, I hope. Now tell me, what did Mr Allen say?”

“Um say, ‘No, my lad, no; I’ll hab none of dat.’”

“Of course; but surely he does not believe in it?”

“Yes, massa; um believe for sure. Massa Allen know what niggah know and bring from own country. But Massa Allen say, ‘Nebber, nebber, Caesar. Your massa done too much bad in dis worl’, and he nebber do no more now.’”

“Well, that’s very good of him, Caesar, but I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“No, massa? Dat Huggins bad man do bad things to everybody. Make Massa Allen ill and go die. Massa Allen say not fit to live.”

“And quite right too, Caesar.”

“Yes, sah. Massa Allen quite right, and Caesar come one night and bring niggah Obeah and put in bad Massa Huggin rum. Den Massa Huggin drinkum, drinkum, and go drefful bad and nebber flog no more poor niggah. Nebber. Poor niggah dance and sing, and Massa Allen get well.”

“But – what – here – I say, Caesar!” cried Murray, staring hard at the black – “You don’t mean to say that you mean you would poison the wretch!”

“Yes, massa,” said the black, in the most innocent way. “Gib um Obeah snake poison. Gib um manchineel in um rum. Make um curl up and go dead.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t do at all, Caesar,” cried Murray earnestly. “He’s a horribly bad wretch, of course.”

“Yes, massa; ollible bad wretch, and ought to be killed dead; but Massa Allen say no, he won’t do any more wicked thing.”

“And he is quite right, Caesar.”

“No, sah,” said the black, shaking his head. “Not do no wicked thing. Caesar do it, and it not wicked thing. All good.”

“No, no; it would be murder, Caesar,” cried the middy.

“What murder, massa?”

“Eh? What is murder? Why, to kill innocent people.”

“What innocent people, massa?”

“What are innocent people, my man? Why, those who have done no harm.”

“Massa Huggin not no innocent people, Murray Frank. Massa Huggin bad man; kill poor niggah. Try kill poor Massa Allen, take um plantation.”

“Yes, that’s all very bad,” said Murray thoughtfully.

“Yes, sah; berry bad. What British captain do Massa Huggin?”

“Well, I hardly know, Caesar,” said Murray thoughtfully. “I should say that if he catches him fighting against the king and setting those blackguards of his to murder the poor creatures he has been dealing in – throwing them overboard so as to escape – the captain will have him hung at the yard-arm.”

“Yes, sah,” cried the man, with his eyes flashing. “Dat what Massa Allen tell um. Massa Allen say he desarve be hung at um yard-arm for kill an’ murder poor black niggah, and Massa Huggin laugh and say Massa Allen hang too. Dat right, sah?”

“No, no; that wouldn’t be right, Caesar.”

“Bri’sh captain not kill Massa Allen?”

“Certainly not, my man,” said Murray earnestly. “No, sah. Much a bes’ way for Caesar gib Massa Huggin Obeah.”

“No, no, and that would not do either. Hallo! what do you mean by that?”

The black had suddenly thrown himself down upon his face and dragged the midshipman beside him, a movement instantly imitated by the big slave who was seated among the bushes beside Roberts, who lay motionless as if asleep.

“Massa see?” whispered Caesar.

“See what?” asked Murray excitedly.

The black slowly and cautiously extended his right hand while he placed the fingers of his left to his lips.

Murray gazed with wonder in the direction indicated, but for some minutes he could make out nothing more than the closely-packed canes that commenced before the patch of jungle in which they were concealed. Everything seemed to be dim, and in the distance it was as though the thick growth was formed into a soft twilight, but as the lad strained his eyesight, he fancied that in one part the canes were swaying slightly here and there, as if the wind was pressing them on one side. Then as he turned his head a little he started and his heart began to beat with excitement, for what had been for a time indistinct now grew plainer and plainer and shaped itself into what looked to be quite a strong body of men, evidently rough sailors, creeping slowly through a plantation of sugar-cane and making for some definite place. One minute they would be quite indistinct and faint; the next they would stand out quite clearly; and it soon became plain that they were well-armed, for from time to time there was a faint gleam that Murray made out to be shed from the barrel of some musket.

“Massa Murray Frank see um?” whispered the black.

“Yes, quite plainly,” replied the lad.

“Dat Massa Huggin man go creep round plantation.”

“What plantation is that?” asked Murray excitedly.

“Massa Allen plantation, sah. Massa Allen plantation cottage over dah, sah.”

“And is he back there now?”

“No say dat where Caesar tink de lieutenant massa wait long o’ Bri’sh sailor. Fink um wait till Massa Huggin bring all a men from two, free schooner. Wait kill all a Bri’sh sailor, sah.”

“And if he doesn’t look out, my man, he’ll be killed instead.”

“Caesar hope so, sah.”

“When do you mean to go on and join Mr Anderson, then?” asked the midshipman.

“Caesar wait till come dark, sah. No go yet. Massa Huggins men watch all round and take – kill – Murray Frank if um go now.”

“But can’t you go and warn our people that they are in danger?”

“Massa Anderson know,” said the black coolly. “Bri’sh sailor officer keep eye wide open. Dah!”

He uttered the last word in a low, excited fashion, for just then there was the distant smothered report of a musket, and Murray pressed the growth before him a little on one side.

“Was that one of the slavers’ crew?” he whispered.

“No, sah. Dat sailor shoot. Look now.”

The lad pressed forward again, but nothing was visible, for the densely packed party of sailors who the minute before had been seen to be in motion had quite disappeared, though Murray could grasp the fact that they must still be there.

Chapter Forty Seven.
“Wait till Dark.”

Long hours of weary waiting and expectation of being discovered, for at intervals movements could be detected amongst the tall swaying canes and patches of maize that could be made out beyond the wilderness of undergrowth that lay between the little party of fugitives and the cottage whose presence the black insisted upon as being in the direction he pointed out.

But Murray had the satisfaction of noting that his brother midshipman was slowly recovering his senses. Twice over he had opened his eyes to gaze wonderingly in the face that looked down at him, and once when Murray whispered a few encouraging words he shook his head and seemed to sink back into a deep sleep again.

“What’s to be done, Caesar?” said Murray softly.

“Do nothing, sah. Wait till come dark. Then creep, creep, creep froo trees and tell massa officer not to shoot. Then run fas’, get in cottage.”

Night at last, and with every nerve throbbing from excitement Murray started up in readiness, for the black had bent over to whisper to him that he was going to try and find a way past the several parties of the enemy who were beleaguering the holders of the little cottage, whom it was their aim now to rejoin.

“Massa stop now,” said the man. “Wait till Caesar see.”

The next minute there was a faint rustling sound, and Murray was alone with the big black and his companion, both silent, the former watchful and alert, and the latter as motionless as if plunged in the deepest sleep.

This silence was to the midshipman the most painful part of the task which he had been called upon to bear. His imagination began to set to work at once and surrounded him with perils that were ever on the increase. He knew from what he had seen that a strong body of the enemy must be lying between him and his friends, but directly Caesar had passed out of hearing it appeared to him that the crews of the slaver’s schooners had started into motion and were creeping round behind him to cut him off, and twice over this was enforced by the great black beginning to creep away and leaving him alone with Roberts.

Then when he was beside himself with anxiety as to what he had better do, and more and more certain that he was completely left, he started to find that the great fellow had returned, to seat himself beside his burden, evidently ready to make a fresh start at any moment.

At last, when Murray felt that he could bear no more, there was a faint rustle and a whisper to prove that the black had returned, to lay a hand upon his shoulder.

“Well,” whispered the lad excitedly, “have you found a way to get by them?”

“Caesar get by,” said the man sadly, “but big slabe, Murray Frank, Roberts, not get by.”

“Then what do you mean to do?”

“Try,” said the man. “Murray Frank ready?”

“Yes, ready for anything,” said the lad, springing up eagerly.

Caesar whispered a few words to his big fellow and as Murray strained his eyes he tried to make out the movements of the black when he caught hold of the midshipman, swung him round over his shoulder, and followed closely behind his leader and Murray, who now began to advance cautiously, hand in hand, pausing to listen from time to time, Caesar progressing more by thought than touch and evidently conscious that at any moment he might stumble upon those who were waiting ready to pounce upon him.

There were moments when hope began to illumine the lad’s path, for so silent did everything remain that it seemed as if the enemy must have changed his position; and in this hopeful mood he was about to whisper his belief to his companion when the path was brightened by a totally different illumination. For there was utter silence one moment, and the next, flash, flash, from musket after musket, and the enemy’s position was marked out by points of light as he concentrated his fire upon the cottage hidden amongst the trees.

This went on for a time without reply, and it now seemed to the midshipman that it must be the little party of his friends who had gone off. Then crack, crack, the reply began, and plainly mingled with the reports came the strange whistling whirr of bullets about their ears, in company with the crackling of cut-down leaves and twigs which now began to patter upon the earth.

“Come,” whispered the black.

“Come where?” asked Murray excitedly.

“Back again,” was the reply. “Massa no want sailor shoot massa?”

“No,” whispered the lad; “but we were to shout to them that we are friends.”

“Yes, massa,” said the man drily, “but sailor man shout so loud um no hear massa speak, and massa get shoot dead long o’ Caesar and big slabe. No talk; other fellow hear um, and sailor man shoot one side, Massa Huggin man shoot other side, and no get to cottage at all. Come back.”

The lad submitted without a word, though it seemed to him maddening to give up when they were so near that every flash was quite plain, and he fully expected to hear himself hailed.

They seemed to him then to have crept exactly into the centre of the firing, and every whizzing whistle sounded as if it must be coming straight for its billet that would end one of their careers; but the moments passed on with the marvel growing more strange that they escaped being laid low; and then the excitement came suddenly to an end, when Caesar literally snatched the lad to earth and the big slave subsided with a low sigh of relief which indicated that he had sunk down too with his silent burden, to lie listening to the cross fire which still went on above their heads, till all at once a familiar voice shouted —

“Now, my lads, all together, forward! Let them have it!”

The order thrilled through Murray’s breast, and seemed to rouse Roberts, helpless as he was, to action.

“Hurrah!” cried the midshipman, as he sprang to his feet, followed by his wounded comrade, who staggered for a moment or two, and then fell, clutching at Murray, dragging him down upon his less active comrade, just as there was a rush of feet, the crackling of wood, and the minute later a fierce yell of raging voices, and the sailors who had responded to the first lieutenant’s call were borne back again by four times their number and driven as far as the entrance to the cottage, where they stood fast and delivered a little volley, which sent their enemies to the right-about, giving them time to barricade themselves again and hold the entrance fast.

“Answer to your names there,” panted the lieutenant, who was breathless with his exertions. “What’s that?” he cried directly after. “Prisoners! Two of them?”

“Four, sir,” growled a deep voice. “Two black fellows, sir, and here’s two youngsters, sir, as far as I can make out. One of ’em’s wounded, sir.”

“Well, we don’t want prisoners,” cried the lieutenant, “but we must take them. See that you bind them fast.”

“We don’t want binding, sir,” gasped Murray. “We’ve got away from the enemy and reached you at last.”

“Mr Murray! This is grand!” cried the chief officer. “But have you seen anything of poor Roberts?”

“I’ve got him here, sir, but he’s badly wounded.”

“And we’ve no doctor with us.”

“I don’t think it’s dangerous, sir; but have you had any news of May and Titely?”

“Tom May is with us, my lad.”

“Hurt, sir?”

“Here, answer for yourself, my lad,” cried the lieutenant.

“Hurt, sir? Yes, sir; pretty tidy, sir,” growled the big sailor. “One of them slavers fetched me a crack on the head as knocked all the sense out on it; but I shall get a chance at ’em again one o’ these times. But is it really you, Mr Murray, here and all right, sir?”

“It’s your turn to answer, Mr Murray,” replied the chief officer.

“Yes, sir; and yes, Tom May; I’ve got back safely. Where’s Titely?”

“In the plantation house, sir – in hospital – sick bay, sir; doing pretty tidy. But they’re coming on again, I think, sir, and we’ve them two blacks with us, sir. Where shall we put them?”

“They’re not prisoners, sir,” cried Murray. “They’re friends, and have helped us to escape.”

“Do you think we can trust them?” asked the lieutenant.

“Trust them, sir? Yes, and they’ll fight for us to the end.”

“You answer for them, my lad?”

“Yes, sir,” cried Murray. “They’re staunch enough.”

“Here they come, sir!” cried Tom May.

For with a fierce yelling mingled with an imitation of the hearty cheering of a body of seamen, a strong party dashed up to the hastily barricaded entrance, and sent a volley crashing through the panels of the door and the window.

“You were ready for that, my lads?” cried the lieutenant. “No one hurt?”

“Nay, sir; we’re used to that bit o’ business,” growled the big sailor.

“Then give it them back, my lads.”

The words had hardly passed the officer’s lips before a dozen muskets bellowed out their reply, lighting up so many roughly-made portholes, and as the volley was responded to by a fiercer yelling than before, mingled with the hurried footsteps of the repulsed attacking party, Murray turned in the darkness to his leader.

“I can’t understand it, sir,” he said. “I thought Caesar, the black, was retreating with us to the cottage by the lagoon.”

“No, no, my lad; this is the plantation house where we came first. I only wish we could have reached the cottage by the water-side. We should have had help from the captain before now if we could have got there.”

“Then we are right in the middle of the cane fields, sir?”

“Yes, Murray, and very glad I was to come upon it, for it has been strong enough to hold. Here: your black fellow who guided the expedition – where is he?”

“Here somewhere, sir.”

“Ask him then if he can lead us by some path to the water-side.”

“Do you hear this, Caesar?” asked Murray. “Is there any path down to the water-side without using a boat along the river?”

“Yes, sah, but Massa Huggin men all dah, and um think they come ’long again to burn Massa Allen house up. Murray Frank look! All de window burn fire.”

“Yes, they’re trying another way of attack,” said the chief officer – “one that I have been wondering that they did not try before. Up-stairs with you, my lad. You go too, Mr Murray. You must pick off those who come up with their firebrands. You’ll be able to see the scoundrels now. This is better than that horrible darkness. Ah, the business is warming up. Give them a cheer, my lads, as soon as you are up at the windows. The captain will hear our response, and it will let him know where we are.”

“But is that the Seafowl, sir?” cried Murray excitedly.

“Without doubt, my lad; but she sounds a long way off.”

For the steady fire of big guns had begun, but as the chief officer had said, sounding some distance away.

“Dat Massa Huggin big schooner, sah,” said Caesar sharply; and he had hardly spoken when the heavy but sharp brassy sound of a big gun came from quite another direction. “And dat Massa Huggin oder schooner, sah. Dat um Long Tom.”

“Confound the scoundrel!” cried the lieutenant excitedly. “Up with you, Mr Murray. Here they come to the attack again. Take May with you, or we shall be burnt out before help can come. Well, what’s that then?” he shouted excitedly, as Murray rushed up the stairs towards the rooms he had helped before to put in a state of defence. “Surely that is one of our brig’s carronades. It was time she began to speak.”