It was, quite, for the rustling behind seemed to be terribly near, and it was with a feeling of intense relief that the lad felt his arm pressed, and fell into step with his officer, who directly after cried “Haiti” in a low, stern voice, and formed his men in line, before giving the orders: “Make ready! Fire!”

Quite time, for spears and bullets crossed, the former in a curve, the latter direct, and drawing from the enemy yells of mingled defiance, rage and pain.

“That’s give it ’em, sir,” whispered Tom May, who was close to Murray, and he made his rifle hiss as he rammed down a fresh cartridge.

“Any one hurt?” asked the lieutenant, in a low, eager tone.

“I got a spear a-sticking in me, sir,” said one of the men, in the same subdued tone of voice, “but I can’t say as it hurts.”

“Let me see,” said Murray excitedly, and he stepped to where the man was standing tugging at himself instead of following his comrades’ example and reloading.

“Don’t think you can see, sir! it’s so smoky. Would you mind ketching hold here and giving a good pull?”

As the man spoke, the midshipman did as he was requested, so far as to take hold of the shaft of a spear. But there he stopped short, his imagination suggesting consequences to which he gave voice in a strangely unnatural tone.

“I daren’t draw it out,” he said. “It may be wrong to do so.”

“But I can’t march with a thing like that all wibble wobble at every step, sir.”

“Then you must be helped, my lad,” said Murray hastily. “If I draw it out the wound may burst out bleeding.”

“Think so, sir?”

“Yes. You must be helped back till the doctor has seen to you.”

“Here, what is it?” said a familiar voice out of the gloom.

“Titely has a spear through his shoulder, sir.”

“Tut, tut, tut! Here, let me look.”

“Oh, never mind me, sir,” said the injured man; “it don’t hurt much, on’y feels like a scratch; but it’s orfly in the way.”

“Who’s this?” asked the lieutenant.

“Murray, sir.”

“Let me see. Yes: right through, evidently.”

“He wants it drawn out, sir,” said the midshipman, and he was holding up the spear-shaft where he stood facing the injured man; “but it would be dangerous to meddle with it, wouldn’t it, sir?”

“Yes, certainly,” said the lieutenant. “He must be helped back. What’s that?”

“More spears, sir,” growled Tom May, as there was the whizz and thud of the missiles once more.

“Present! Fire!” said the lieutenant sharply; and a fresh volley was fired, with the result of a rush of feet being plainly heard from the enemy, now in full retreat.

“Keep silence, my lads,” said the lieutenant, who had been waiting till the thudding of the ramrods came to an end and denoted that the little party was once more ready to deliver fire.

Silence ensued, save where Murray stood half supporting the wounded man.

“Here, give it a good pull, Mr Murray, sir,” whispered the man. “I’ll hold a couple o’ plugs ready for you to stop the bleeding.”

“No, no, my man; you must be patient,” whispered Murray sympathetically.

“But I can’t be patient, sir. You don’t know what it means.”

“Does it pain you so much?”

“No, sir; not so werry much. I can bear it well enough, but it makes me feel as if I’d got a skewer through me.”

“Silence there,” said the lieutenant.

“It’s all very fine,” muttered the man; and then, leaning towards Murray, “Say, sir, these here niggers on the coast are cannibals, aren’t they?”

“Yes, some of them, I believe,” whispered back the midshipman.

“Don’t leave me behind, then,” said the man softly, and he uttered a low chuckling laugh. “I don’t want ’em to come upon me and find a fellow skewered and trussed ready for cooking.”

“Can’t you keep that man quiet, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant angrily, and he came up to where the pair stood together. “It’s like telling the enemy where to throw again, for they are wonderfully quick of hearing.”

“I am trying, sir,” whispered the midshipman, “but I wish you would place your hand here.”

“Place your hand there, Mr Murray!” said the officer, in a voice full of vexation. “I have no time to feel the poor fellow’s wound.”

“But it isn’t quite that, sir,” said the lad. “I can’t help thinking – ”

“Think, then, sir, but don’t bother me.”

“I can’t help it, sir,” whispered the lad excitedly.

“What do you mean, Mr Murray?” said the officer, alarmed by the lad’s excitement. “Don’t say you are wounded too?”

“No, sir, and I don’t think that Titely has got anything worse than a scratch.”

“Eh?”

“Feel here, sir. The spear has gone right through the bandolier and his shirt from the front and gone out through the shirt and bandolier at the back, running all up a bit.”

“Well, but what about the poor fellow’s flesh and bone?” said the officer excitedly.

“I think it’s only gone through the skin, sir.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said the man. “I telled Mr Murray, sir, as I didn’t think I should bleed much if he pulled the skewer out.”

“We must wait for daylight, my lad – till the smoke lifts. Ah, what are you doing?”

“On’y wiggling the spear a little, sir,” replied the man gruffly. “Just give a tug at it. Does hurt a bit. I seem to have teared some’at. There, I knowed it! You try, Mr Murray, sir; you can lift it like now, and – yes, that’s it. I’m a-shoving it back’ards and for’ards, and it moves the cross-belt and my shirt, and nothing else.”

“But, my good fellow – ” began the officer.

“It’s all right, sir. I’ve shoved my hand right under my shirt and over my shoulder. It’s just bleeding a little, but – well, it’s about the humbuggin’est humbug of a wound I ever knowed a chap to have. Here, Mr Murray sir, you ketch hold of my cross-belt fore and aft, and if his honour wouldn’t mind giving the spear a haul through the belt I shall be as right as can be.”

The two officers obeyed the man’s request and stood holding spear and belt, but hesitated to proceed farther.

“That hurt, my lad?” said the lieutenant.

“Hurt, sir? Not a bit. On’y feels preciously in the way.”

“Got hold tightly, Mr Murray?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, now then.”

It took more than one good tug, but after the first tentative trial, which seemed to cause the man no suffering, the first lieutenant pulled hard, and at last drew the spear right through the two pierced portions of the tough buff leather.

“That’s your sort, gentlemen,” said the man. “Here, who’s got my musket?”

“Steady, my lad,” said the lieutenant. “Now, then, do you feel faint?”

“Orfle, sir, inside,” said the man, “but I want a drink o’ water worst.”

“But are you in pain?” asked Murray.

“Smarts a bit, but it don’t hardly bleed at all. I’m all right, sir, only tickles enough to make a chap a bit savage. Here, don’t you worry about me, sir. I’m as fit as a fiddle, gentlemen, and I on’y want now to play the niggers such a toon as’ll make them jump again.”

“Hah!” ejaculated the lieutenant. “Only a bit of a false alarm, Mr Murray.”

“Thankye, sir. Yes, that’s right. Does me good to grip my musket again.”

“Then try and use it, Titely,” said the midshipman, “for here they come again. – Yes, May; we hear them.”

The lieutenant’s command was given directly after, and again a volley rang out, this time to check the enemy’s advance and drive them back so thoroughly that the silence was once more intense; and as the party stood with strained ears, listening, Murray uttered an exclamation.

“What is it, Mr Murray?”

“Firing, sir. I heard shots.”

“Are you sure?”

“I heerd it too, sir,” said the injured man.

“Attention there!” said the lieutenant sharply.

“One, two, and three from the left make ready. Present – Fire!”

The three shots rang out like one, and directly after they were replied to, the reports sounding faintly enough but perfectly distinguishable through the distance.

The lieutenant waited while twenty could be counted, and then ordered the men to fire again. This drew forth a reply, and so evidently from the same direction that the order was given for the party to march; but directly after the lieutenant called Halt, for from behind them and quite plainly from the direction they were leaving, came the deep-toned thud of a heavy gun.

Chapter Eleven.
“The Smoke’s Lifting.”

“Well done, Seafowl!” said the lieutenant, and the men gave a cheer which drew forth a “Silence!” from the officer.

“You’re holloaing before you’re out of the wood, my lads,” he said. “Ah, there they go again – nearer too. Those must be Mr Munday’s or Mr Dempsey’s men. Halt, and stand fast, my lads. Let’s give them a chance to join, and then we can retire together. No doubt, Mr Murray, about the direction we ought to take.”

“No, sir,” replied the midshipman, “and we are going to be quite out of our misery soon.”

“What do you mean, my lad?”

“The smoke’s lifting, sir.”

“To be sure, my lad, it is. A cool breeze too – no – yes, that’s from the same direction as the Seafowl’s recall shot. If it had been from the forest we might have been stifled, after all.”

The signals given from time to time resulted in those who had fired coming before long within hail, and the men who now joined proved to be a conjunction of the second lieutenant’s and boatswain’s, who had met after a long estrangement in the smoke, and without the loss of a man. Then, as the smoke was borne back by the now increasing sea breeze, the general retreat became less painful. They could breathe more freely, and see their way through the burned forest in the direction of the anchored sloop.

It was a terribly blackened and parched-up party, though, that struggled on over the still smoking and painfully heated earth. For they had no option, no choice of path. The forest that lay to left and right was too dense to be attempted. There were doubtless paths known to the natives, but they were invisible to the retreating force, which had to keep on its weary way over the widely stretching fire-devastated tract that but a few hours before had been for the most part mangrove thicket interspersed with palms. But the men trudged on with all the steady, stubborn determination of the British sailor, cheered now as they were by the sight of the great river right ahead, with the sloop of war well in view; and in place of bemoaning their fate or heeding their sufferings the scorched and hair-singed men were full of jocular remarks about each other’s state.

One of the first things observable was the fact that to a man all save the officers were bare-headed, the men’s straw hats having suffered early in the struggle against the flames, while the caps of the officers were in such dismal plight that it was questionable as to whether it was worth while to retain them.

Titely, the seaman who had been speared, was the butt of all his messmates, and the requests to him to show his wound were constant and all taken in good part; in fact, he seemed to revel in the joke.

But there was another side which he showed to his young officer as, cheering at intervals, the party began to near the river edge and get glimpses of the boats waiting with a well-armed party to take them off to the sloop.

“It’s all werry fine, Mr Murray, sir,” said Titely, “and I warn’t going to flinch and holloa when one’s poor mates wanted everything one could do to keep ’em in good heart; but I did get a good nick made in my shoulder, and the way it’s been giving it to me all through this here red-hot march has been enough to make me sing out chi-ike like a trod-upon dog.”

“My poor fellow!” whispered Murray sympathetically. “Then you are in great pain?”

“Well, yes, sir; pooty tidy.”

“But – ”

“Oh, don’t you take no notice, sir. I ought to be carried.”

“Yes, of course! Yes, I’ll tell Mr Anderson.”

“That you don’t, sir! If you do I shall break down at once. Can’t you see it’s the boys’ chaff as has kep’ me going? Why, look at ’em, sir. Who’s going to make a party of bearers? It’s as much as the boys can do to carry theirselves. No, no; I shall last out now till I can get a drink of cool, fresh water. All I’ve had lately has been as hot as rum.”

“Hurray!” rang out again and again, and the poor fellows joined in the cheers, for they could see nothing but the welcome waiting for them, and feel nothing but the fact that they had gone to clear out the horrible hornets’ nest with fire, and that the task had been splendidly done.

Chapter Twelve.
After the Lesson

As the suffering party gathered together upon the river shore preparatory to embarking in the boats, Murray’s first care was to see that A.B. Titely was placed where he could lie down and rest, and while looking after the poor fellow, and seeing that he was one of the first to be helped into the stern sheets of the first cutter, Roberts came up.

“Oh, I say!” he cried. “Who’s that wounded?”

“Hallo! Who are you?” said his fellow middy sharply. “Don’t disturb the poor fellow.”

“Why, eh? Yes – no,” cried Roberts, with a mock display of interest, “I was wondering where – well – it can’t be! Why, Frank, you do look a pretty sweep! Hardly knew you. I say: is it you?”

“Is it I, indeed!” growled Murray. “You’re a pretty fellow to try that on! Go and look at your face in the water if you can find a still pool. I might grin at you.”

“Am I browned, then – scorched?”

“Are you scorched brown! No, you are scorched black! Where are your eyebrows? I say, Dick, those two little patches of hair in front of your ears that you believed were whiskers beginning to shoot – they’re quite gone. No, not quite; there’s a tiny bit left in front of your right ear.”

The conscious lad clapped his hands up to the sides of his face.

“I say, not so bad as that, is it, Frank? No games; tell us the truth.”

“Games? No, I’m too sore to be making game,” cried Murray, and he gazed carefully at both sides of his messmate’s cheeks. “You’re scorched horribly, and the whisker shoots are all gone – No, there’s about half of one left; and you’ll have to shave that off, Dick, so as to balance the other bare place. No, no; it’s all right; that’s not hair, only a smudge of sooty cinder off your burnt cap. I say, you do look a beauty, Dick.”

“Oh, I say!” groaned the youth, patting his tingling cheeks tenderly. – “Here, what are you grinning at, sir?” he cried, turning upon the wounded sailor angrily.

“Beg pardon, sir. Was I grinning?” said the sailor apologetically.

“Yes; and he can’t help it, Dick. Don’t be hard upon the poor fellow; he has had a spear through the top of his shoulder. But you do look an object! Enough to make a cat laugh, as they say.”

“Well, I don’t see that there’s anything to laugh at.”

“No, old fellow, because you can’t see your face; but I say, you can see mine.”

“Humph!” grunted Roberts sulkily, and his fingers stole up to pat the scorched portions of his face.

“Case of pot and kettle, eh, Dick?” said Murray, laughing, then pulling his face straight again as he winced with pain. “Oh, I say, don’t make me grin at you again. It’s just as if my skin was ready to crack all over. There, poor old chap, I’m sorry for you if you feel as bad as I do. But you began it.”

“Beg pardon, then,” grumbled Roberts.

“Granted. But I say, why doesn’t Anderson hurry us all on board?”

“I don’t know. Yes, I do,” cried the midshipman excitedly. “The beggars – they must have quite escaped the fire! They’re gathering together over yonder, hundreds of them, with spears. I believe they’re going to make a rush. Fancy, after destroying the hornets’ nest!”

“Then we shall have to kill the hornets,” said Murray; and the two lads were among the first to answer to the boatswain’s whistle, which now chirruped out loudly.

“Here we are, Mr Murray, sir,” said Tom May, as the midshipman hurried up to his little party. “This is us, sir – your lot.”

“Well, I know that,” said the lad petulantly, as he winced with pain.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the man. “Thought you might take us for the niggers, seeing what colour we are and how our clothes are tumbling off.”

“Yes, we’re black enough, Tom, but I hope you don’t feel as I do,” said his leader.

“Much of a muchness, sir,” said the man, with a grin half of mischievous mirth, half of pain. “The first luff said something about hornets, sir. I don’t know much about them insecks, but we chaps feel as if we’d been among their first cousins the wopses; eh, lads?”

“Ay, ay!” growled another of the men. “But aren’t we soon going to have a chance to use our stings?”

At that moment the preliminary order rang out – an order which sent a thrill through the suffering band, making them forget everything in the opportunity about to be given them for retaliation upon the advancing body of warlike blacks stealing cautiously forward from the shelter of a patch of mangroves away to the left, which had from its nearness to the margin escaped the flames.

“The savage brutes!” muttered Murray, as he drew his sword, and winced with pain.

“Hold your fire, Mr Murray,” shouted the lieutenant. “Wait, my lads, till you see the whites of their eyes, and then let them have it sharply when you hear the word.”

But the little volley from the midshipman’s party of reserve was held longer, for the lieutenant’s words had little more than passed his lips when there was a flash, followed by what resembled a ball of grey smoke from the Seafowl where she lay at anchor. Then almost instantaneously came the roar of one of the sloop’s bow guns and her charge of canister shot tore through the sheltering bush-like trees, while a cheer burst from the shore party, discipline being forgotten in the excitement caused by what came as a surprise.

The heartily given cheer was followed by another puff of grey smoke, and the crack of shot through the sheltered trees, the effect being that the advancing party of the enemy was turned into a running crowd of fugitives scattering and running for their lives, leaving the boats’ crews to embark quite unmolested, this last example of the white man’s power proving a quite sufficient lesson for the native king.

Chapter Thirteen.
A Visit from the Hornets

“Upon my word, Mr Anderson,” said the captain, as he had the men drawn up before him as soon as they reached the Seafowl– “Upon my word, sir, I am delighted. I entrust you with a couple of boats’ crews to carry out a necessary duty, and you bring me back a scorched-up detachment only fit to go into hospital.”

“I beg pardon, sir,” said the chief officer shortly; “only one man wounded, and his injury is very slight.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, sir!” cried the captain. “Look at them, sir – look at them!”

“I have been looking at them, sir, for long enough – poor fellows – and I am truly sorry to have brought them back in such a state.”

“I should think you are, sir! Upon my word of honour I should think you are! But what have you been about?”

“Burning out the hornets’ nest, sir,” said the lieutenant bluffly.

“Well, I suppose you have done that thoroughly, Mr Anderson: but at what a cost! Is there to be no end to these misfortunes? First you allow yourself to be deluded by a slave-trading American and bring the Seafowl up here to be run aground, with the chance of becoming a total wreck – ”

“I beg your pardon, sir!”

“Well, not total – perhaps not total, Mr Anderson; but she is in a terribly bad position.”

“One from which you will easily set her at liberty.”

“Fortunately for you, Mr Anderson; and that is to my credit, I think, not yours.”

“Granted, sir,” said the lieutenant; “but do you give me the credit of being tricked by the slave skipper?”

“Well, I suppose I must take my share, Mr Anderson; but don’t you think it would be more creditable to dismiss these poor fellows at once and have them overhauled by the surgeon?”

“I do, sir, certainly,” said the chief officer.

“Have them below, then, at once, and let Mr Reston do his best with them. Only one seriously wounded, you said?”

“No, sir; slightly.”

“Good. But to think of the Seafowl being turned at one stroke into a hospital hulk. – You thoroughly destroyed the town and the slave barracks?”

“We completely burned out the wretched collection of palm and bamboo huts, sir, and the horrible barn and shambles where they keep their wretched captives. It was a place of horror, sir,” said the lieutenant angrily. “If you had seen what we saw, sir, you would have felt that no punishment could be too great for the wretches.”

“Humph! I suppose not, Mr Anderson. And that iniquitous Yankee scoundrel who has slipped through my fingers. But look here, Mr Anderson, I am going to find that wretch; and when I do – yes, when I do! He has had the laugh of me, and I was too easily deceived, Anderson; but I’m going to follow that fellow across the Atlantic to where he disposes of his unfortunate cargo. It’s thousands of miles, perhaps, and a long pursuit maybe, but we’re going to do it, sir, no matter what it costs, and I hope and believe that my officers and my poor brave fellows who have suffered what they have to-day will back me up and strain every nerve to bring the Seafowl alongside his schooner, going or coming. Hang him, Mr Anderson! – Ah, I did not mean to say that, sir; but hang him by all means if you can catch him. We’ll give him the mercy he has dealt out to these poor unhappy creatures, and for the way in which my brave fellows have been scorched and singed I’m going to burn that schooner – or – well, no, I can’t do that, for it must be a smart vessel, and my sturdy lads must have something in the way of prize money. Look at them, Mr Anderson; and look at those two! You don’t mean to tell me that those are officers?”

He pointed at the two midshipmen so suddenly that they both started and turned to look at each other, then stared at the captain again, and once more gazed at each other, puzzled, confused, angry and annoyed at their aspect, looking so comical that the captain’s manner completely altered. He had been gazing at his young officers with an air of commiseration, and his tones spoke of the anger and annoyance he felt to see the state they were in; and then all was changed; he turned to the first lieutenant, whose eyes met his, and, unable to maintain his seriousness, he burst into a fit of laughter, in which he was joined by the chief officer. Then, pulling himself together, he snatched out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

“Bah!” he ejaculated. “Most unbecoming! I did not mean this, gentlemen; the matter is too serious. But for goodness’ sake get below and make yourselves presentable. Mr Anderson, you ought not to have laughed. See to all the poor fellows, sir. The men must have fresh clothes served out, and all who are unfit for duty go into the sick bay.”

Then, frowning severely, he turned sharply upon his heels and marched to the cabin door.

“Well,” exclaimed the first lieutenant, “of all – ‘Mr Anderson, you ought not to have laughed!’ Well, gentlemen,” he cried angrily, as he turned upon the two young officers, “pray what do you find to laugh at? Is my face black?”

“No, sir,” cried Murray, in a half-choking voice. “I beg your pardon, sir. It seemed so comic for the captain to turn upon you like that.”

“Eh? Humph! Well, I suppose it was. I laughed too. Well, better laugh than cry over spilt milk. It’s the excitement, I suppose, and what we have gone through. Now then, we had better go below and interview the doctor; but he will be busy over the lads for a long time before our turn comes.”

“I believe the skipper’s half-cracked,” said Roberts, as the two lads went below to their quarters.

“Then I’d keep my opinions to myself, old fellow,” grumbled Murray; and then as he seated himself upon a locker he uttered a low hissing sound suggestive of pain.

“Pooh! This is a free country – no, I don’t mean that,” cried Roberts, pulling himself up short. “I mean, every man has a right to his own opinions.”

“Yes, but not to give them aboard a man-o’-war.”

“Bah! We’re not slaves. Haven’t we come to suppress slavery?”

“I dare say we have,” said Murray, “but you’d better not let the skipper know that you said he was a bit of a lunatic.”

“Shall if I like. You won’t be a sneak and tell. Why, it was ghastly to see him turn as he did. One minute he was speaking feelingly and letting us all see that he meant to spare no efforts about pursuing and punishing that Yankee skipper, and the next he was laughing like a hysterical school-girl.”

“He couldn’t help it, poor old boy,” said Murray. “Old Anderson was just as bad, and we caught the infection and laughed too, and so did the men.”

“Well, I can’t see what there was to laugh at.”

“That’s the fun of it. But it is all through every one being so overstrung, I suppose. There, do leave off riddling about your cheeks.”

“Who’s fiddling, as you call it, about one’s cheeks?”

“You were, and it’s of no use; the miserable little bits of down are gone, and there’s nothing for it but to wait till the hairs begin to grow again.”

“Er-r-r!” growled Roberts angrily; and he raised his fingers to the singed spots involuntarily, and then snatched them down again, enraged by the smile which was beginning to pucker up his companion’s face. “There you go again. You’re worse than the skipper.”

“Then don’t make me laugh, for it hurts horribly.”

“I’ll make you laugh on the other side of your face directly.”

“No don’t – pray don’t,” sighed Murray; “for the skin there’s stiffer, and I’m sure it will crack.”

“You’re cracked already.”

“I think we must all have been, to get ourselves in such a mess, old fellow. But it was very brave, I suppose, and I don’t believe any one but English sailors would have done what we did.”

“Pooh! Any fools could have started those fires.”

“Perhaps so. But what’s the matter now?” For Roberts had raised his face from the water he was beginning to use, with an angry hiss.

“Try and bathe your face, and you’ll soon know.”

“Feel as if the skin was coming off? Well, we can’t help it. Must get rid of the black. The skin will grow again. But I’m thinking of one’s uniform. My jacket’s like so much tinder.”

A wash, a change, and a visit to the doctor ended with the sufferers being in comparative comfort, and the two lads stood and looked at each other.

“Hasn’t improved our appearance, Dick,” said Murray.

“No; but you must get the barber to touch you up. One side of your curly wig is singed right off, and the other’s fairly long.”

“I don’t care,” cried Murray carelessly. “I’m not going to bother about anything. Let’s go on deck and see what they’re about.”

Roberts was quite willing, and the first man they encountered was the able-seaman Titely.

“Why, hallo!” cried Murray. “I expected you’d be in hospital.”

“Me, sir! What for?”

“Your wound.”

“That warn’t a wound, sir; only a snick. The doctor put a couple o’ stitches in it, and then he made a sorter star with strips o’ stick-jack plaister. My belt got the worst of it, and jest look at my hair, sir. Sam Mason scissored off one side; the fire did the other. Looks nice and cool, don’t it?”

The man took off his new straw hat and held his head first on one side and then the other for inspection.

“Why, you look like a Turk, Titely,” said Murray.

“Yes, I do, sir, don’t I? Old Sam Mason’s clipping away still. The other chaps liked mine so that they wanted theirs done the same. It’s prime, sir, for this here climate.”

“But your wound?” said Roberts.

“Don’t talk about it, sir, or I shall be put upon the sick list, and it’s quite hot enough without a fellow being shut up below. Noo canvas trousis, sir. Look prime, don’t they?”

“But, Titely,” cried Murray, “surely you ought to be on the sick list?”

“I say, please don’t say such a word,” whispered the man, looking sharply round. “You’ll be having the skipper and Mr Anderson hearing on you. I ain’t no wuss than my messmates.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Roberts, “but – why, they seem to be all on deck.”

“Course they are, sir,” said the man, grinning. “There’s nowt the matter with them but noo shirts and trousis, and they allers do chafe a bit.”

Murray laughed.

“But you ought to be on the sick list.”

“Oh, I say, sir, please don’t! How would you young gentlemen like to be laid aside?”

“But what does the doctor say? Didn’t he tell you that you ought to go into the sick bay?”

“Yes, sir,” said the man, grinning; “but I gammoned him a bit.”

“You cheated the doctor, sir!” said Roberts sternly.

“Well, sir, I didn’t mean no harm,” said the man, puckering up his face a little and wincing – “I only put it to him like this: said I should only fret if I went on the sick list, and lie there chewing more than was good for me.”

“Well, and what did he say?”

“Told me I was a himpident scoundrel, sir, and that I was to go and see him every morning, and keep my left arm easy and not try to haul.”

In fact, singeing, some ugly blisters, a certain number of hands that were bound up by the doctor, and a few orders as to their use – orders which proved to be forgotten at once – and a certain awkwardness of gait set down to the stiffness of the newly issued garments – those were all that were noticeable at the first glance round by the midshipmen, and apparently the whole crew were ready and fit to help in the efforts being made to get the sloop out of her unpleasant position in the mud of the giant river.

As for the men themselves, they were in the highest of spirits, and worked away hauling at cables and hoisting sail to such an extent that when the night wind came sweeping along the lower reaches of the river, the sloop careened over till it seemed as if she would dip her canvas in the swiftly flowing tide, but recovered almost to float upon an even keel. Twice more she lay over again, and then a hearty cheer rang out, for she rose after the last careen and then began to glide slowly out into deeper water, just as the captain gave orders for one of the bow guns to be fired.

“Why was that?” said Murray, who had been busy at his duties right aft. “Didn’t you see?”

“No. Not to cheer up the men because we were out of the mud?”

“Tchah! No. The niggers were beginning to collect again ashore there by that patch of unburned forest.”

“I didn’t see.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Roberts sourly; “but the blacks did, and felt too, I expect. Anyhow, they sloped off, and now I suppose we shall do the same while our shoes are good, for the skipper won’t be happy till we’re out to sea again.”