“That’s your sort, my lads! Let ’em have it!” came in the boatswain’s gruff voice, as Murray reached the wide corridor-like landing of the planter’s house; and directly after one of the sailors shouted —

“I’m after you, Tommy, old man. Show the ugly foreign varmint what a British bulldog is.”

The words came from where a struggle was going on in one of the chambers which the midshipman had helped to barricade before he left upon his unfortunate mission to fetch help; and as the lad now crossed the corridor and ran into the room, followed by Caesar, it was to see that several of the enemy had gained a footing by rearing bamboos against the windows, and evidently in their first charge had beaten the English defenders back.

Murray rushed in just at the recoil, when Tom May had been roused to action and with a couple of companions was obeying the admonition of his messmate to show the varmint what British bulldogs might be.

Murray paused just inside the door of the lit-up room, excited and yet amused by the man’s action, for he saw the big sailor in the act of rushing at a couple of the enemy, sticking the cutlass he bore between his teeth, as trusting to his great strength and weight he charged with doubled fists at the first, and in the contact drove him backwards with a heavy thud against the man who followed, with the result that both went down upon the floor and rolled over beneath the open window. Then as if in one movement the great fellow ducked down, avoiding a blow struck at him with a knife, seized the uppermost of the two enemies by the waistbelt, flung him up to the full extent of his reach, and then turning himself as it were into a human catapult, he hurled the fellow at another of his companions and caught him just as he was climbing over the window-sill.

The next instant the window-opening was clear, and the sound of a heavy thud came up from below, along with savage oaths and yells, while Tom May made at once for the man who had first attacked, and who was now struggling to his feet looking as if he had had his neck twisted.

Tom closed with the savage half-breed, Malayan looking sailor, and, to carry out his messmate’s simile, seemed to regularly worry him as he bore him backward.

But there were others of the enemy watching the encounter – one who had previously reached the chamber, and another who had suddenly drawn himself up and sprung over the sill.

This fellow drew back for a few moments to watch the struggle and await his opportunity, before, heavy machete in hand, he sprang forward, to make a savage cut that would have gone hard with Tom May, but Murray saw the impending stroke, parried it with the cutlass he held, and then struck upward with the hilt, catching the assailant full in the nose with the heavy steel guard, staggering him for a moment, and then thrusting home, the man went down, just in time for May’s antagonist to trip over backward, the two fellows yelling as they rolled over and over.

“Come on, messmates,” growled Tom May; and there was a short continuation of the struggle before one after the other the enemy were driven headlong from the window and the room was clear.

“Thankye, Mr Murray, sir,” said the big sailor, taking the cutlass from between his teeth. “You did that fine; didn’t he, lads?”

“Splendid!” said the boatswain; “but what’s the good of a cutlass, mate, if you don’t use it?”

“Hah! That’s just what I was thinking of,” said the big sailor. “I just stuck it atween my tusks so as to tackle that ugly warmint, as I thought it would be easier to chuck overboard, and then you see I was too busy to ketch hold again. But it do seem comic, Mr Murray, sir, don’t it? But it have kep’ it clean.”

“Yes, Tom; and you cleared the deck magnificently.”

“Did I, sir? Well, I’m glad I do’d some good; and fingers was made afore forks, warn’t they, sir? And pretty handy too.”

“Yes, I suppose so, Tom; but look here, my lads,” cried Murray sharply. “Lay hold of that big old bedstead and draw it across the window. It will block it up. Then clap that big wardrobe on the top.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the men, as they seized the heavy framework and ran it across the opening, fastening it directly after in its place by laying the heavy wardrobe across.

“That’s done it tidy,” cried the big sailor; “and that’s the beauty of having your orficer with yer to show yer what to do.”

“None of your banter, Tom,” cried the midshipman sternly.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the man, in protest. “’Twarn’t done for that. I meant it honest, sir. I shouldn’t never have thought on it.”

“All right,” said Murray, smiling in the broad frank face. “Why, Tom, it’s a treat to be with you again.”

“Is it, sir?” cried the man.

“That it is, Tom.”

“But you don’t mean it, sir. I say, ain’t that what you called banter?”

“Banter? No, Tom; I’m only too glad to get back to you. But how are you, Tom? Haven’t you got hurt over these tussles?”

“Hurt, sir?” said the man, beginning to feel himself over. “I dunno, sir. Bit sore like just there, and my shoulder’s just a shade stiff.”

“Yes, and there’s some paint off your nose, Tommy,” said the boatswain, chuckling.

“Is there?” said the man, touching his rather prominent feature tenderly. “Humph! It do feel a bit like it. Never mind; I’ll report mysen to the doctor when I get aboard again, and he’ll put on a patch of his solid black – that as he keeps ready to lay on all at once. But I say, Mr Murray, sir,” he added, closing up to his young officer, “you did me good in saying what you did. I felt real bad without you, sir, and as if I’d not been doing my dooty like to let you get away from me as I did.”

“Nonsense, Tom! Who could help it? But it was awkward to be separated like that. I began to be afraid that we should never get together again.”

“Well, sir, that’s just what I got a touch of, sir, but I pulled myself up short, sir, and I says to myself, ‘Mr Murray’s too good an orficer,’ I says, ‘not to find his way out of any hole as these slave-hunting varmint would dig for him.’”

“There you go again, Tom,” cried Murray angrily. “You know how I hate flam.”

“I’m blest, sir!” cried the man, in an ill-used tone. “Oh, you are hard upon me, sir.”

“Then you shouldn’t stoop to flattery.”

“Flattery, sir? Well, if that warn’t honest I’m a Dutchman. I only wish I’d got a witness, sir, as heared me say it, sir; but I only says it to myself, and you don’t believe him.”

“Yes, I do, Tom,” cried Murray.

“Hullo, sir! They’re at it again somewhere else.”

“Pst!” whispered Murray, holding up his hand and stepping on tiptoe towards a door at one end of the room, partly hidden by a thick curtain.

The next moment he was signing to the men to follow him.

They were just in time, for a ladder had been raised against a narrow slit of a window of what was fitted up as a bathroom, and as the lad dashed in, it was to find that one of the slaver’s men was in the act of leaping down into the room, striking at the middy in his bound, and with such force that he drove the lad headlong backwards, half stunning him in his fall.

“Here, what is it?” cried Murray, after a few minutes, in a confused manner. “Who did that?”

“Why, it was this here chap, sir,” said Tom May. “Here, ketch hold of his heels, man, and let’s send him back to his mates; we don’t want him here.”

“Who wounded him – who cut him?” cried Murray excitedly.

“I’m not quite sure, sir,” said Tom May drily, “but I think as it was me, sir. You see, he let himself go at you, sir, and I just give him a tap.”

“You’ve killed him, Tom,” said the lad, in rather an awe-stricken tone.

“Nay, sir. Tap like that wouldn’t take it out of him. I might ha’ hit a bit softer, but I was ’bliged to be sharp, or he’d ha’ finished you off, sir, and of course we didn’t want that. There, let go your end, messmate,” continued the man, and still half dazed, Murray stood staring as he saw one of their fierce-looking, half European, half Lascar-like enemies passed out of the narrow window, bleeding profusely, and disappear, his passing through the opening being followed by the dull sound of a heavy fall.

“You’ve killed him, Tom!” cried Murray again, with his face drawn-looking and strange.

“Nay, sir,” grumbled the sailor, “but ’twouldn’t ha’ been my fault, sir, if I had. Some un had to have it, and it was my dooty to see as it warn’t my orficer, sir. I do know that.”

Murray was silent.

“Why, I say, sir, you’d ha’ tapped one on ’em pretty hard on the head if you’d ha’ seen him coming at me; now wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I should,” said Murray, with something like a sigh. “Look here, Tom,” he added hastily, “we have too many holes to keep closed. I want some of the pieces of furniture crammed into these places. It ought to have been done before.”

“It was done, sir,” grumbled the man. “That’s what the first luff said, sir, and we’ve been doing nothing else; but as fast as we stopped up the beggars kep’ on shoving the stuff out again with bamboos.”

The high narrow window was, however, once more pretty securely blocked, and for many hours to come the defenders of the place had their work cut out to repel the attacks that were made, the two blacks proving invaluable in keeping up a supply of water to drench the woodwork that the enemy attacked with fire, so that pretty well a day had glided by without much change having taken place.

It was evident that the slaving chief had a strong force at his disposal in carrying on a desultory kind of siege of the plantation house, while at the same time it seemed to the besieged that a sort of running fight was being carried on with the Seafowl, whose guns were heard pretty constantly, though during the afternoon that followed Murray’s arrival at the plantation it seemed that the brig must have followed the slaving craft to the opposite side of the island, where firing was still going on.

During a lull in the attack upon the planter’s house, Lieutenant Anderson busily inspected his defences, and, like a prudent officer, saw to his supplies and examined as to whether he could not take further measures for their protection and the setting at defiance of the enemy for some time to come.

“He ought to have driven us out or taken us prisoners hours ago, Mr Murray,” he said, “for he has five times our force.”

“Yes, sir; he seems to have,” replied Murray.

“And yet we have managed to keep him at bay. He has the advantage of being able to set scores of blacks to work fetching fuel to try and burn us out, bringing up provisions, doing everything but fight – they are of no use for that – while we have only two of the dark-skinned fellows; but I must say those two have proved to be invaluable.”

“Yes, sir. That man, Caesar – we have him to thank for showing us how to utilise the water-tanks.”

“Yes, and the underground supplies,” said the lieutenant.

“And the whereabouts of the warehouses; otherwise we should have been starved out.”

“Yes, Mr Murray; we have been pretty fortunate, and I think we should have been able to hold out if it were not for one thing.”

“Should have been, sir?”

“Yes, of course, my lad. You see, I should have contented myself with having remained standing upon the defensive until the captain came to our help, though I should strongly have advocated a sally and the cutting of the way to the sloop so as to receive the help of the doctor for poor Mr Roberts – Eh? What were you going to observe?”

“That I venture to think that it would be the wisest plan in any case, sir.”

“No, not in any case, Mr Murray. You see, our position is a very serious one.”

“I don’t think the men think so, sir.”

“Eh? Do you think that they take a rosy view of it?”

“I’m sure they do, sir.”

“Humph! Well, I mustn’t damp them till the last extremity.”

“But surely, sir – ” began Murray.

“I surely see that you do not know what I know, Mr Murray.”

“I suppose not, sir,” said the lad.

“But I do not see why you as a youth growing into manhood, and who are sharing with me the responsibilities of this position, should not know everything.”

“I think I do know everything, sir,” said Murray, smiling, “and see fully how precarious our position is.”

“Indeed, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant sadly.

“Yes, sir; I think I see all, and it makes me feel very proud to know how brave and contented the men are, poor fellows! If I were in command, sir, I should be delighted to see the confidence the men have in their leader.”

“Hah! Yes, my dear boy,” said the lieutenant, smiling more sadly than before. “Well, I think that perhaps I shall tell you all.”

“All, sir? Is there a graver peril than I know of?”

“Yes, my lad, and I think that you ought to know – that is, if you would rather share my knowledge than remain in ignorance.”

“I would rather share the knowledge, sir, and try to help you,” said the lad firmly.

“Good! Then you shall; Mr Murray, we have a strong little fort here, and provisions enough to last us a month.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But we shall be driven to cut our way somehow to the sloop.”

“Why not attack one of the schooners, sir – board her – for there are evidently more than one.”

“Because we want the sinews of war, Mr Murray.”

“Money, sir?” cried Murray.

“Tchah! Nonsense! Powder, my boy – powder.”

“Why, sir, I thought – ” began Murray.

“So did I, my lad; but unfortunately those blacks in supplying us with water to saturate that last fire – ”

“Threw it over the powder-supply, sir!” cried Murray, in horror.

“Yes, my lad; that is our position, and we have only a few charges left.”

“Hah! Well, sir,” said Murray drawing a deep breath, “then we must use the edges of our cutlasses.”

“Good!” said the lieutenant, clapping the lad upon the shoulder. “I am glad I told you, Mr Murray, for it has taught me that I have a brave lad upon whom I can depend. Yes, my lad, we have edges to our cutlasses, and when it comes to the last we must use them too.”

Chapter Forty Nine.
“Caesar don’t know.”

It was a little later on that, during a quiet interval and while in obedience to his officer Murray had been seeing to the men and taking care they were well refreshed ready for the next attack that might be delivered, the lieutenant joined the lad.

“Are the men satisfied?” he said quietly.

“Yes, sir; any one would think that we were out upon an excursion.”

“Poor lads!” said the lieutenant. “I’m afraid it is going to be a sad excursion for them.”

“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said Murray cheerily. “Who knows, sir, but what the captain may come and cut us out at any time, and call upon us to help him rout out the horrible wasps’ nest?”

“That’s a good, bright, boyish way of looking upon things, my boy,” said the lieutenant, “and we shall see. There, come and let’s look at our wounded ones. Have you had a chat with your messmate lately?”

“I’ve been to see him three times to-day, but he is very weak yet. You have been with him too, sir. He told me. I wish you would speak to Titely, sir. He wants to get up and fight, and he is not fit.”

“I’ve already forbidden it, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant; “and the poor fellow looked quite cut up, so I promised him a double allowance as soon as he got well enough.”

The lieutenant was silent for a few minutes, and stood as if listening so intently that Murray grew uneasy.

“Do you hear anything, sir?” he asked.

“No, my lad; I wish I could. I am getting anxious.”

“The men are keeping a very sharp lookout, sir.”

“Oh yes; I am not afraid of that, my lad. My anxiety is for the Seafowl. It is so long since I have heard her guns, and then they were apparently a long distance away.”

“Yes, sir,” said Murray cheerfully; “but then it is a long while since we heard the slaver’s guns, and that seems to mean that the captain has silenced and perhaps – ”

“Perhaps what, Mr Murray?”

“I was going to say sunk the schooner, sir; but I hope he has not done that, for the men’s sake.”

“What, on account of prize money?” replied the lieutenant. “Oh, by the way, Mr Murray, I suppose you still believe in that black fellow, Caesar?”

“Oh yes, sir, thoroughly. I’m sure he saved my life.”

“Humph! Well, I want to have faith in him, but it is hard work to trust in people sometimes. Then I get thinking a great deal about that Mr Allen. I suppose he is sincere.”

“Oh, I feel sure he is, sir. The thorough reverence the black Caesar has for him is sufficient to prove that his master is good to his people.”

“Well, after the ill these slave-owners have done the poor creatures they owe them something in the way of recompense. Humph! How strange! We begin talking of the black, and here he is. He wants to speak to you, seemingly. Call him up.”

Caesar had come peering in at one of the doors, and as soon as Murray signed to him he hurried eagerly into the room, when the lieutenant looked at him searchingly and said —

“What about your master, my man? Where do you think he is now?”

Caesar started violently, and his lips quivered as he said huskily —

“Caesar don’t know, sah. Berry much frighten.”

“What, about the slavers and their schooners?”

“No, massa. Caesar ’fraid Massa Huggin take um and kill um.”

“What for? Why should he kill one who is his master?”

“Bad man, massa. ’Fraid Massa Allen talk to Bri’sh cap’en and set all a black free. ’Fraid Massa Huggin kill um.”

“Not so bad as that, I hope,” said the lieutenant.

“Caesar berry much ’fraid Massa Allen no let Caesar kill Massa Huggin.”

“I should think not!” said the lieutenant; and Caesar looked at him curiously.

“Massa Huggin bad man, sah. Caesar kill, sua. Him take away and kill um. Caesar t’ink so first time. T’ink so now.”

“Where would he take them?”

“Caesar know, sah. Show Bri’sh officer where. Oder side island where slabe barracks and slabe ship come.”

“You could take us there, my man?” said the lieutenant.

“Yes, massa. Caesar show way when Bri’sh cap’en come wif plenty men. Not ’nough now. All get kill. Show Bri’sh officer all um slabes. All Massa Huggin strong men, berry strong men.”

“Good. You shall, my man,” said the lieutenant; “and as you say this Huggins’s men are so strong we will wait for reinforcements, so as to make sure of taking them.”

“Massa try,” said the black. “Try sabe Massa Allen. Try quick.”

“But what are you fidgeting about?” said Murray sharply.

“Caesar t’ink Massa Huggin man come and fight soon.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Murray.

“Caesar don’t know, massa. Caesar feel Massa Huggin man come soon. Look, massa. Big Tom May come ’long.”

The black turned excitedly to point in the direction of the head of the open staircase, where the big sailor had suddenly appeared.

“Rocks ahead, sir,” he said, in a low gruff whisper.

“Something wrong to report, my lad?”

“Ay, ay, sir. They arn’t come out yet, but three lookouts report seeing the enemy just inside the edge of the plantation, sir.”

“Off with you then, Mr Murray,” cried the lieutenant, “and take your old station. Use your ammunition carefully,” he added, with a meaning intonation and a peculiar look which made the lad nod his head quickly. “Keep the sharpest lookout for fire. They must not get hold of us there.”

Murray hurried off with Tom May, followed by the black, and before many minutes had elapsed the expected attack had developed so rapidly, and was delivered with such energy, that but for the brave resistance, the enemy must have carried all before them. As it was the little party of defenders met them with so fierce a fire that the savage-looking mongrel crew were sent staggering back, followed by the triumphant cheers of the Seafowls, who were still cheering when Mr Anderson made a gesture and called for silence.

“Up on to the head of the staircase, my lads,” he cried. “We must make our stand there.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” growled Tom May, with the look of an angry lion, “but will you have some cartridges sarved out, for me and my messmates have fired our last.”

“Yes, my lads,” said the lieutenant, “that is a bitter fact. We have fired our last shots, and we must fall back now upon our cutlasses.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” said the big fellow coolly. “D’yer hear, my lads? Cutlashes it is.”

And at that crucial moment, as Murray ran his eyes along the faces of the men, there was no sign of dismay – just the cheery, contented look of Seaman Jack Tar ready for the worst, and the deep threatening tones of the beaten-back enemy were pretty well deadened by a hearty cheer.

But an hour later, the enemy were back in stronger force, to be driven off once more, but at a terrible expenditure of force, for as Murray and Tom May came back from the sheltered room where they had laid their gallant leader, badly wounded, by the side of Roberts, it was to find the members of their sadly diminished force sitting wearily together discussing another loss which Harry Lang unwillingly communicated to the young officer.

“But have you looked round well? Perhaps he’s lying somewhere among the trees.”

“Oh yes, sir, we’ve looked, and he arn’t there. We’ve been talking it over, sir, and we all think the same: he’s had enough of it, sir, and gone.”

“Who has?” said Tom May gruffly.

“That there nigger, Caesar, Tom.”

“Dunnot believe it,” said Tom May fiercely, for he was very sore.

“Well, messmate,” said Harry Lang, “he arn’t here.”