Hunting the Skipper

"Hunting the Skipper" (continued 9)

Reading edition

“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.”

Chapter Forty Eight.

“Let ’em have it.”

“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.”

Chapter Fifty.

Caesar finds the Key.

It was at the end of a desperate struggle, during which the brave little party of sailors had again and again driven their assailants back and repaired the defences of the two windows they held by dragging fresh pieces of furniture to their breastwork from other rooms, and they had now thrown themselves down, panting and exhausted, so as to recover what strength they could before another attack was made.

Nothing could have been better done, but as Tom May said, they wanted time.

“’Tain’t wittles and drink, Mr Murray, sir,” he said. “There’s been plenty o’ that, sir. I think we’ve all had too much. What we want is, as I says afore, time, sir, for it all to turn into strength.”

“Yes, Tom,” said the middy bitterly; “we are all completely exhausted—that is to say, you and all our brave fellows are.”

“Well, arn’t you too, sir? Seems to me as you’re much more zausted than we lads is.”

“Oh, don’t talk about me, Tom. I’m as weak as a child now.”

“Nat’rally, sir. Your muscles is done up, and what you ought to do now is to see if you can’t hit on some dodge.”

“Tom,” cried Murray despairingly, “I’ve tried to hit on some plan till my brains refuse to act.”

“Yes, sir; nat’rally, sir; but can’t yer hit on something in the blowing-up-of-the-beggars line?”

“Tom!” cried the lad passionately. “How can I scheme an explosion and blow the wretches up without powder?”

“Zackly so, sir; that’s what I’ve been thinking. You can’t, can yer?”

“No, Tom.”

“Couldn’t make a big pot or kettle so hot that when they come along next time it would bust, could you, sir?”

“No, Tom, I certainly could not,” said the middy decisively.

“Course not, sir,” growled the man, frowning.

“We’re beaten, Tom; we’re absolutely beaten,” said Murray bitterly; “and the next time the wretches come on it will be the last.”

“Oh, I dunno, sir. Never say die! Don’t you be downhearted, sir. There’s a deal o’ fight in us yet, as you’ll see nex’ time the beggars makes a roosh.”

“No, Tom; we’re getting weaker and weaker.”

“Yah! I wonder at you, sir,” said the sailor, moistening his hand, taking a good grip of his cutlass, and then laying it down again. “We’re getting a bit longer rest this time, and jest as like as not, sir, they’ll begin to tire soon.”

“No, Tom; they fight with a desperate energy which is too much for us.”

“Well, they do go it, sir, I must say. You see, it makes a deal o’ differ when a man’s got a noose round his neck. They knows that if they don’t get the best of us they’ll be strung up to the yard-arm, and it sets ’em thinking that they may as well fight it out as that. But there, we’re not licked yet, sir, though I must say as it was a nasty knock for us when the first luff went down, knocked silly as he was by that swivel-eyed Molatter chap—’bout as ugly a ruffian as ever I did see. Then, too, it was a bit o’ hard luck for us when that darkie chap got rooshed off in the muddle. He would ha’ been useful to fetch powder and help load.”

“When there was no powder, Tom?” said the lad bitterly.

“Yes, sir; I meant if there had been any, o’ course. Poor chap, he couldn’t help being a black un, could he, sir? I’ve thought over and over again that if he could ha’ grown white and talked like a Christian, sir, he’d ha’ made quite a man.”

“Lie still, Tom,” cried Murray, laying a hand upon the big sailor’s arm.

“Thought they was coming on agen, sir?”

“No, no! I’ll rouse you up the moment I hear them advancing. Rest all you can.”

“Thankye, sir,” said the man drowsily. “But you won’t go to sleep, sir? You must be dead tired yourself, sir, and it’s so dark it may tempt yer, sir.”

“You may trust me, Tom.”

“Course I may, sir. But I think if I was you I’d give the first luff another drink o’ water, sir.”

“I did a short time ago, Tom.”

“And I been thinking, sir, that if you could tie three or four sheets together and slide down ’em you might get hold o’ that ladder they put up again’ the window to swarm up.”

“I did, Tom, when you told me the last time.”

“Course you did, sir, and I forgot,” said the man drowsily. “But what’s that there?”

“What?” asked Murray, as he sat listening in the darkness, with his exhausted comrades lying about beside the barricaded window.

“That there,” whispered the man, pointing through the gloom over where a dark line was formed by a piece of furniture.

Murray made a snatch at the sailor’s cutlass, took a firm grip of the hilt, and then creeping cautiously over two of the recumbent sailors, made for the opening, now quite satisfied that May’s eyes even now had been sharper than his own, and that one of the enemy was stealing up by means of some bamboo pole or ladder, to guide his companions into the bravely defended room.

Murray rose slowly, threw back the heavy sharp blade till the hilt rested against his left ear, and gathering into the effort all his force he was about to deliver his cut upon the unguarded enemy’s head, when there was a quick whisper:

“Massa Murray no hit. Take hold ’fore Caesar tumble down.”

The middy loosened his hold of the cutlass just in time, and catching hold of the black’s hand with both his own, dragged him over the barricade right into the room.

“Hullo, darkie,” whispered Tom May; “it is you, is it?”

“Yes, Massa Big Tom,” replied the black feebly, and as if speaking in weakness and in pain.

“Thought you’d come back to your friends again. Didn’t bring in any more powder, did you?”

“No, Massa Tom,” replied the poor fellow faintly. “Caesar nearly get kill. T’ink nebber see poor Massa Allen again. Couldn’t find um.”

“Did you, blackie? Well, we all began to think something of that kind.”

“Massa Murray Frank and all Bri’sh sailor come ’long o’ Caesar. T’ink take um where Massa Allen must be.”

“No, my man,” said the middy sadly. “I can’t leave my friends here. We must hold this place to the last.”

The black sank back on the littered floor and groaned.

“Poor Massa Allen!” he said.

“Lookye here, darkie,” said the big sailor; “tain’t no use to howl. What do you say to getting a good bunch of palm leaves and waiting till these slaver beggars come again, and then setting fire to the place and burning them all up together?”

“Yes, sah,” said the black sadly. “Caesar go and set fire to sugar-barrel; all burn up.”

“Bah! Take too long, darkie. Now, if you’d got a barrel o’ powder!”

“Big Massa Tom want barrel o’ powder?”

“Do I want a barrel of powder?” growled the big sailor, in a deep-toned voice full of contempt and scorn.

“Not big barrel sugar,” said the black sadly; “lilly barrel black powder, all black like niggah.”

“Here, what are you talking about, you old pitch kettle?” cried the sailor, full of animation now. “You don’t know where there’s a lilly barrel, do you?”

“Yes,” said the man quietly.

“Not a lilly white barrel?”

“No, sah; lilly black barrel. Two—ten—twenty lilly barrel.”

“What!” cried Murray excitedly. “Where is it?”

“Down’tair,” said the black, speaking with more animation now. “Massa Murray Frank wantum?”

“Yes, of course,” cried the lad. “Where do you say it is? Down-stairs?”

“Yes, massa. Down’tair long wi’ Massa Allen bottle of wine. Plenty bottle o’ wine. Two, ten, twenty lilly barrel black powder.”

“Avast there, my lads,” said the big sailor, in a deep, low whisper. “Rouse and bit, my chickens. Here’s corn in Egypt and no mistake.” And then, as the men sprang up ready to meet another attack, even if it might be the last, Tom May turned to Murray. “Beg pardon, sir, but what’s it to be?”

“Get a barrel of powder up directly, Tom,” replied the lad; “that is, if it doesn’t turn out too good to be true. You serve it out to the lads, too, and be ready to give the enemy a surprise when they come on again.”

“Beg pardon, sir, but hadn’t we better make it a mine, sir? Clap a couple o’ barrels just in their way. Lay a train, and one on us be ready to fire it just as they’re scrowging together under the window.”

“Yes, far better, Tom; far better than blazing at the wretches with the muskets. Here, Caesar, show us where the powder is. Is it locked up?”

“Yes, massa; down’tair. Caesar know where key.”

The feeling that he was going to be of some great assistance to those who were the friends of his master seemed to rouse up the black, who staggered at first as he rose, and then seemed to grow stronger as he led the way towards the door, caught at the balustrade, and before he could be seized fell and rolled heavily down the stairs, to lie groaning feebly at the bottom.

“Look at that now!” cried the big sailor, as he helped Murray to raise the poor fellow to his feet. “Why didn’t you speak out about the gunpowder before?”

“Caesar not know,” moaned the shivering black. “Key dah,” he panted. “Key dah.”

“Key dah!” growled the big sailor. “Who’s to know where dah is? Can’t you show us? I believe we shall have the beggars here before we can find it, sir.”

But the black began to recover a little and ended by leading the way in the darkness to a closet in the principal down-stairs room, leaving it open, and then, armed with a key and hurrying his companions back, he opened a door in the wide hall, and holding on by the big sailor, showed the way down into the cellar of the well-vaulted house.

The rest proved to be easy, though every step was taken under a state of intense excitement, while the wounded and worn-out sailors forgot every suffering, inspired as they now were by hope.

At last, armed with a couple of fair-sized kegs of powder, held in reserve in case of troubles with the large body of slaves that were always about the plantation and at the so-called barracks, the plan of laying a mine and firing it when next the enemy made an attack was modified at Murray’s suggestion into the preparing of some half-dozen shells, each composed of an ordinary wine bottle or decanter fully charged and rammed down with an easily prepared slow match such as would occur to any lad to contrive ready for lighting from a candle held prepared in the upper chamber, risk being a matter that was quite left out of the question.

“Hah!” ejaculated Murray, as the shells were at last prepared. “Now they may come on as soon as they like. This must be the best plan, Tom—to wait till they begin to attack, and fire from here.”

“Well, it’s the safest, sir; but mightn’t we load every piece we’ve got and give ’em a taste of that wittles as well, sir?”

“Of course,” was the reply; and every piece was loaded; but still the enemy did not come.

“I say, sir, this here arn’t going to end in a big disappyntment, is it, sir?”

“What, do you think they mayn’t come?”

“Yes, sir, that’s it.”

“What could be better, Tom?” replied Murray.

“Oh, I want ’em to come, sir,” grumbled the man. “They’ve made us so savage that we shan’t none of us be happy without we gets a chance to use this here dust.”

“They’ll come; depend upon it, Tom,” said Murray.

“Then how would it be to light a fire out yonder, sir?” suggested the big sailor.

“What, so as to see the enemy?”

“Nay, sir; we shall manage that, and when the shells busts, sir, they’ll light it up a bit; but what I meant was, sir, to start a pretty good fire just at a fair distance in front of the window, sir, just handy for some of us to make up good big charges of powder tied up in the sleeves of our shirts, sir, handy and light ready to heave into the hot parts where the fire’s burning. They’re pretty tough, them slavers, but a few of them charges set off among ’em would be more than they’d care to face. We’ve got plenty o’ powder, sir, to keep it on till to-morrow; so what do you say?”

“I say, certainly, Tom,” replied Murray; “and on thinking again of what we had first planned, I say that we will lay a train from the door under this window to a mine consisting of one of the barrels just hidden.”

“And me fire it, sir?” cried the big sailor eagerly.

“No; I shall do that myself,” said Murray firmly.

“All right, sir; you’re orficer,” said the big sailor, rather sulkily, “and a sailor’s dooty’s to obey orders; but I did think, sir, as a orficer in command was to give orders and let them as was under him do the work. I don’t mean no offence, Mr Murray, sir, but I thought you was in command now that the first luff was down in orspittle, or as we say, in sick bay.”

“Well, we’ll see, Tom,” said Murray. “I don’t want to disappoint you, my lad. What we’ve got to make sure of is that the mine is fired.”

“Ay, ay, sir; but you might trust me, sir.”

“I do trust you, Tom,” replied Murray. “There, let’s have the powder up and take the head out of another keg.”

“Ay, ay, sir. Give the word, sir, and we’ll soon do that.”

“Off with you,” cried Murray; and while the men were gone below, he carefully arranged the so-called shells that had been prepared, so that they were handy for hurling from the window, and once more examined the quick match that had been formed of strips of linen and moistened powder—a fuse that could be depended upon to keep burning when once set alight.

He had hardly satisfied himself as to the arrangement of the terrible weapons that had been prepared, before a sound that floated through the open window drew him close up, and he had hardly stood there in doubt a couple of minutes before his doubt was dispelled, for plainly enough, and apparently from the other side of the island, came the report of a heavy gun, which was answered by another report, evidently from a gun of different calibre.

Just then the men who had been below came hurrying up, bearing the powder as coolly as if it was so much butter.

“I’ve brought two on ’em, sir,” said the big sailor, “and if you’ll just look on, sir, we’ll make all right.”

“Be careful, my lad,” said Murray. “Remember the light’s here.”

“Ay, ay, sir; we’ll be on the lookout for sparks,” replied the man; “but hullo, sir! Hear that?”

“Yes,” said Murray; “firing over there, and the captain at work.”

“Three cheers for ’em, my lads! We shall have the beggars at us here soon.”

Chapter Fifty One.

Laying the Train.

The dangerous preparations were soon made, and Tom May’s and his comrades’ hands were plainly seen trembling as they handled their kegs.

“Look at that now, sir,” said the big sailor. “Did you ever see such a set o’ cowards in your life?”

“Cowards, Tom? Never,” said Murray, who was all of a quiver too.

“More did I, sir. I wouldn’t ha’ believed I could ha’ been in such a shiver and shake. I supposed it’d be for fear we shouldn’t be ready for the warmint; but it don’t look like it, do it?”

“Yes, Tom, for your hands are steady enough now you’ve done.”

“Well, I hope so, sir,” said the man, “because it seems such a bad example to the lads, and they’ve all ketched it. Hullo, darkie! What, are you shaking too?”

“Yes, Massa Tom,” replied the black, with his teeth chattering. “Caesar drefful frighten we no get the gunpowder go off when Massa Huggin man come. You let Caesar take lilly barrel now and light um, massa.”

“Why, here’s another awfully cowardly chap, Mr Murray, sir. It’s a rum un, arn’t it?”

“You make has’e, Massa Tom May; not talkee so much palaver,” cried the trembling black, seizing hold of one of the barrels and hoisting it upon his shoulder. “You bring candle; set light.”

“No, no, Caesar,” cried Murray. “Not ready yet. Wait.”

The man parted with the little keg unwillingly, and stood with his hand to his ear straining his neck out of the window, and listened.

“Massa Huggin man come along,” he panted.

“Well, we’re ready for them, my coal-dust messmate.”

“Hush!” whispered Murray. “Who’s that calling?” For a voice reached them from the next room.

“It’s Mr Roberts, sir. Ahoy, there! Coming, sir.”

Murray ran through the opening to where the middy was lying trying to make himself heard.

“Were you calling, Dick?” said Murray, his voice still trembling with excitement.

“Calling? Yes! Shouting till I was hoarse. I could hear. You’ve got powder now. Bring some here, and the fellows’ muskets. I can load if I can’t do anything else.”

“Yes, bring powder,” said another voice, one, however, that sounded very weak and faint. “I think I can reload, too, for the lads.”

“No, no, Mr Anderson,” cried Murray excitedly; “leave it all to us, sir. The enemy are coming on again, and there is no time to make fresh preparations.”

“Ahoy, there, Mr Murray! Now’s your time!”

“Off with you, my lad, and Heaven help you!” groaned the lieutenant. “Roberts, we must bear our lot, and be satisfied with our defenders.”

Murray was already through the door which separated the two rooms, to find the men waiting, as ready and eager as if not one amongst them had been wounded.

“Are they very near?” asked Murray excitedly.

“Quite nigh enough, sir,” growled the man who was hugging one keg, another able-seaman holding another, while the black grasped a couple of the extemporised shells.

“No, no, Caesar,” said Murray sharply. “Put those down here; they are for throwing. You lead the way out through the lower door along the path the enemy will come.”

“Yes sah. You come too?” cried the black.

“Yes; quick! Off with you!”

The man hurried down the staircase, followed by the two sailors, whose comrades had received their orders to stand fast at the upper window to cover the engineering party. The door was thrown open, and Murray led the way out into the darkness, Caesar holding his hand tightly.

“Too late!” said the lad hoarsely; and he drew back.

“No, no, sah; plenty time,” whispered the black. “Come ’long.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” growled Tom May. “Sharp’s the word.”

“But we shall be running into their arms, my lad, and lose the powder.”

“Not us, sir. They can’t see us coming, and we mustn’t let ’em hear us.”

“Forward, then,” whispered Murray. “What! there, Caesar?” he continued, for the black had run forward a few steps and then stopped short in a dark alley leading towards the side of the plantation and the quarters of the black servants.

“Yes, massa. Huggins man mus’ come ’long here.”

There was no time for consideration, for the enemy was evidently approaching cautiously, and before any further order could be given Tom May had plumped down the keg he carried, and his companion was about to follow suit with the other, but Murray checked him.

“No, no,” he whispered; “one first. Is the top quite open, Tom?”

“Open it is, sir,” was the reply.

“Now then, my lad, take the other keg and lay the train. Sprinkle it thickly, walking backward right away along the path here to the door.”

“Right it is, sir,” growled the big sailor. “No, no, messmate; you keep hold o’ the barrel and walk alongside. I’ll ladle it out. Mind, all on you, not to tread in the dust. D’yer hear, darkie? Keep back, I tell you; too many cooks ’ll spoil the broth.”

It was rough work, and clumsily executed, but somehow or other, and in spite of the near approach of the enemy, who seemed to be aware of their proximity, the train was effectively laid, and the engineers regained the doorway, just in front of which the train was made to end.

“Now for the candle, Tom,” whispered Murray. “Here, you, Caesar, where are you going?”

There was no reply, for the black had dashed in and run up the staircase, to seize the light from the upper room where the covering party were standing ready to fire from the window.

It was a risky proceeding, and Murray stood below in the doorway looking on, but afraid to speak for fear of doing more harm than good, as he saw the faithful black steal rapidly down the stairs, his black fingers enclosing the burning candle like an open lanthorn which threw its glowing fluttering flame upwards over the black weird-looking face with its glistening eyes and white teeth. Every moment the flame threatened to be extinct, but it fluttered and recovered itself as the black tottered down into the hall and then stepped quickly past Murray in the effort to shelter the candle behind the door.

“Dah, massa,” he panted. “Now say when Caesar set fire to de powder.”

“No, my man,” panted Murray. “I must fire the powder myself. You tell me when.”

“Caesar say when, massa?”

“Yes, and I will fire the train. Now then, you stand close behind me when I step out. You, Tom, stand behind the door, and as soon as I have fired the train Caesar and I will dash back into the house, and you clap to and fasten the door. Do you see?”

“No, sir, but I can feel,” growled the man; “but won’t the ’splosion bust it open?”

“Very likely, Tom.”

“Ay, ay, sir; but right it is, sir.”

“Now then, Caesar,” whispered Murray, thrusting one hand behind the door to seize the candle and place it ready in shelter.

“Not yet, massa,” said the black, who stood out a couple of yards from the door. “Dey come ’long close, but all ’top now.”

“Ah, they have found the powder keg,” ejaculated Murray.

“No, sah. Dey all close ’longside and wait for more Massa Huggin man.”

“Then I will not fire yet.”

“No, sah. Caesar fink dey watch see Murray Frank, want know what um do. All talkee palaver. No fire yet.”

“I must fire soon,” whispered the lad, in a strangely excited tone of voice, which sounded as if he were being suffocated.

“No; Murray Frank not fire yet,” whispered the black, in eager tones. “Wait plenty more Huggins man come. Yes,” he whispered, as a burst of voices as of many of the enemy hurrying up could be heard; and then above all came the strangely familiar tones of one who had been leading the newly-arrived party, and Murray started violently as there fell upon his ear in fierce adjuration—

“Wall, why are you waiting? In with you, curse you, and finish them off!”

The black started back to retreat into the house, but Murray extended his left hand and caught him by the shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he whispered.

“Run!” was the reply. “Massa Huggin.”

“Not yet,” whispered Murray. “Is it time now?”

The lad’s calm words had the effect of steadying the trembling black as they listened, and his voice was no longer the same as he said firmly now—

“Yes, massa. Time now. Fire!”

Murray thrust the black from him as he snatched the light from behind the door, took a couple of steps towards the enemy, and stooped down with the candle burning blue and seeming to become extinct as the lad touched the path. Then there was a bright flash as the powder caught, sputtered and began to run, lighting up the figure of the midshipman in the act of dashing in through the doorway, a score of bullets rattling after him in answer to an order; and then the door closed with a heavy bang.

Darkness within and a blaze of light without, where the voice of the Yankee could be heard shouting orders which rose above the buzzing fluttering noise of the running train.

“Hurt, Mr Murray, sir?”

“No! Where’s the black?”

Crash!

A fierce burst as of thunder, and the just-closed door was dashed in, while the hall and staircase were filled with light.

Chapter Fifty Two.

What the Powder did.

The horrible dank odour of exploded gunpowder; a blinding smoke; thick darkness; a strange singing in the ears, and then, in connection with a sensation as of having been struck down and stunned, an awful silence.

These were Murray’s impressions as he slowly struggled to his feet. Then as his scattered senses began to return he cried hoarsely—

“Who’s here?—Who’s hurt?”

There was no reply for a few moments, and then from somewhere up-stairs as it seemed to Murray, Roberts shouted—

“Do speak, somebody! Are you all killed?”

“No, no,” panted Murray, who now began to cough and choke. “Speak, somebody! Who’s hurt?”

“Here, avast there!” now burst forth the hearty tones of the big sailor. “Let’s have it, messmates, only don’t all speak at once. Arn’t all on you killed, are you?”

“No, no,” cried one.

“Knocked the wind out of us,” said another, from the upper room.

“Here, steady there,” cried Tom May now, in a voice full of excitement. “Avast there, what did you do with the rest of that there keg of powder?”

“Me?” cried Harry Lang, who had handled it. “You, yes! What did you do with it, messmate?”

“Took it up-stairs. I mean, brought it up here.”

“Then ’ware sparks.”

The dread of a fresh explosion in the presence of the faint sparks that could be seen lying here and there for some distance about the front of the planter’s house set every one to work with bucket and water, and it was not until broad daylight that confidence began to reign, with the calmness which accompanied the knowledge that the door which had been blown in had been replaced by a strong barricade to act as a defence against a renewed attack.

Of this, however, there was no sign, the danger resting only in the imagination of the wearied-out and wounded men, several of whom had sunk into a stupor of exhaustion, while Murray, Tom May and the black were out exploring, and finding here and there at a distance from the front of the house traces of the havoc which could be produced by the explosion of a keg of gunpowder.

Not to dwell upon horrors, let it suffice to say that one of the discoveries made was by Tom May and the black, when the following words were uttered—

“Well, look ye here, darkie, you needn’t shiver like that. Y’arn’t afraid on him now?”

“No; not ’fraid; but he make niggah ’fraid all many years, and Caesar keep ’fraid still. But nebber any more. He dead now.”

“But are you sure this was him?”

“Yes, Caesar quite suah. Only ’fraid now poor Massa Allen dead too.”

“Ah, well, messmate—black messmate, I mean—we had nothing to do with that, and Master Huggins will never make an end of any more poor fellows; so don’t shiver like jelly, for I says it’s a blessing that the beggar’s gone.”

“Yes, Massa Tom. No ’fraid no more. All a blessing Massa Huggins gone.”

“And all his men, darkie.”

“Yes, sah, and all his men. They never come back no more.”

“What is it?” said Murray, coming up. “Have you found out anything more?”

Tom May made an announcement which Murray communicated to the wounded lieutenant, and he had hardly finished when the sound of firing began again.

“What’s that?” cried Mr Anderson, raising himself upon one arm. “There, you needn’t tell me, Murray, lad; I know. It’s the captain attacking, or being attacked by, some of the slaving scoundrels, and we are not there to help him.”

“But surely, sir, we have been helping him by what we have done,” said Murray; and the lieutenant stretched out his hand, wincing and groaning as he did so, and clutched the midshipman’s arm.

“Thank you, my dear boy,” he said; “that does me good. We have been helping him, haven’t we?”

“Why, of course, sir. That explosion has ended in killing the chief slaver, the head of the gang, as well as a terrible number of his wretched followers.”

“So it has, Mr Murray; so it has. Your doing too.”

“Oh no, sir; I only played my part. We did,” said Murray, smiling.

“We? Nonsense! You fired the train.”

“Yes, sir, as your deputy, and with your instructions. It was done by us in following out duties that the captain would have wished carried out.”

“Ha! Thank you, Mr Murray. I am weak and faint and troubled by the idea that I have not done my part.”

“Oh, nonsense, sir. There, let me put this wet handkerchief to your head. You’re feverish again.”

“Thank you, Murray,” sighed the lieutenant gratefully. “You are a good fellow. I wish Mr Roberts were as good an officer.”

“Well, you have your wish, sir,” said Murray laughingly. “He’d have done his share if he hadn’t been wounded.”

“Ah, yes; how is he?”

“Getting better, sir, certainly.”

“That’s good, Murray,” said the lieutenant, with a sigh. “I want to make as good a show of the men as I can when I have to face the captain again. I’m afraid, though, that it will be a very bad one, eh?”

“Plenty of wounded, sir, but none very bad. The poor fellows have broken down a bit now that the work’s done, but they’ll soon mend.”

“Then you don’t think, Murray, that the captain will find much fault with me and my men?”

“He’d be very unreasonable if he did, sir.”

“Hah! You think so, Murray? But he can be rather unreasonable sometimes, Murray, eh?”

“Terribly, sir.”

“Hah! That’s comforting, Murray, for I am very weak. I feel, you see, that I ought to be up and doing now, my lad, and I haven’t the power to stir.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Murray, “but now you’re hors de combat am I not leading officer?”

“Certainly, my dear boy, and I tell you that you have done wonders.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Murray, “but I was not fishing for compliments. What I wanted you to say was that I was to take the lead.”

“I say so, then, certainly, my dear sir.”

“Well, then, sir, I say that your duty is to lie still and get better, and that our lads are to do the same.”

“Well, leaving me out, Murray, that’s quite right.”

“Yes, sir, and including you. The best thing is for me to give our lads a rest to recoup a bit. We can’t do better than hold this place in case of a fresh attack.”

“Quite right.”

“And wait until the captain sends help.”

“Excellent, Murray; but the captain may be waiting for help to come from us.”

“Yes, sir, and if he is I am sorry to say that I could not lead four men to his aid.”

“Oh dear, that’s bad,” groaned the lieutenant.

“You couldn’t get up and lead us, sir.”

“Get up? Lead you, Murray? My dear lad, I am as weak as an infant.”

“Ray—ray—hooray!” came loudly.

“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant excitedly. “Quick, lad! My sword. A fresh attack.”

“No, sir,” cried Murray, who had run to the window as the cheering was responded to loudly. “It’s Mr Munday with over a dozen men coming up at the double. Do you hear, sir?—‘Seafowls ahoy!’”

“Ah!” sighed the lieutenant, sinking back upon the now stained pillow which had been taken from one of the planter’s beds.

“Mr Murray, that you?” came from the front.

“Yes, sir,” cried Murray, who was looking from the window.

“Well, I shouldn’t have known you. You’re as black as a sweep.”

“Yes, sir,” said the middy, clapping his hand to his face.

“Seen anything of Mr Anderson?”

“Yes, he’s lying up here, wounded.”

“What! Not badly?”

“Got a nasty wound, sir, but it will soon be better,” replied the middy, glancing back at the half-fainting officer.

“Come up, Munday,” cried the latter; and in a few minutes the second lieutenant had forced his way over the barricaded entrance and reached the rooms that now formed the temporary infirmary.

“Very, very glad to have found you at last,” said Mr Munday, shaking hands warmly. “My word, sir, you have had a tremendous fight here!”

“You can report to the captain that I have done my best, Munday, and our lads have fought like heroes.”

“That’s good, sir. I’m sure they have. I wish, though, we had been here.”

“And now you will either get us aboard or send for Mr Reston.”

“I’m sorry to say that I can’t do either,” said the second lieutenant.

“What!” cried the chief officer.

“It has been like this; the captain sent me ashore with a boat’s crew to find you and the rest, and as soon as we were out of sight he was attacked by a couple of schooners.”

“How did you know that?” asked Murray, who had laid his hand upon the chief officer’s lips to keep him from speaking.

“From the two boat-keepers; and one of these schooners our lads report as being commanded by that scoundrel who tricked us with his lugger. He was the real owner of the schooner that escaped.”

“Ah! Go on,” said Mr Anderson faintly. “Tell Murray, and let me lie and listen.”

“Well, then,” continued the officer, “these two schooners attacked the skipper just when he was shorthanded, and before I could get back to my cutter they had been there, driven the two boat-keepers ashore, and scuttled her. Of course my two men could do nothing but make for me. So there I was ashore, listening to the firing, while the skipper had to keep on a running fight, and that’s been going on ever since, for they’ve been a bit too many for the Seafowl, it seems to me.”

“How unfortunate!” said Murray.

“Horribly, sir,” said the second lieutenant. “Here have I been hunting you ever since, though I’ve had a few skirmishes with the scoundrels, who have seemed to swarm.”

“Yes,” said Murray, nodding his head. “White, black and mongrel scum of the earth.”

“Exactly, my lad. Well, to make a long story short, the place is such a maze that I’m sure I should never have found you if we hadn’t seen the flash of this explosion. Of course we heard the roar far enough away, but that would not have guided us without we had seen the direction.”

“No, sir, I suppose not. Well, sir, what’s to be done now?” said Murray.

“Let’s hear what Mr Anderson says.”

“Hush! He has fallen asleep,” whispered Murray. “Poor fellow! He is very weak.”

“And ought to have Reston to him. We’re in a nice hole, Murray, upon my word! Have you got a morsel of prog? My lads are starving.”

“We’ve plenty, sir.”

“Hah! Then feed us, dear lad, and then we shall be ready to fight or do anything you like. But hullo! What about Dick Roberts?”

“Wounded, but getting better. He’s in the next room, doing nothing but sleep.”

“Next room! Upon my word you middies are pretty sybarites! Well, let us have this prog.”

“Come down to the dining-room,” said Murray. “Mr Anderson cannot do better than sleep.”

“Dining-room!” said the second lieutenant in a whisper, as they left the chamber. “What next? You haven’t got such a thing as a cellar of wine on the premises, have you, my lad?”

“Yes, sir,” said Murray, laughing; “but that’s where we have our powder magazine.”

“Give us something to eat, then, my dear fellow, and then let’s see if we can’t use the powder to blow up the two schooners which are pounding the Seafowl. Hark! They’re at it still.”

“No,” said Murray, listening; “those must be the Seafowl’s guns.”

Chapter Fifty Three.

The Captain’s last blow up.

Murray proved to be right, for the distant reports which came from somewhere on the far side of the island proved to be the last fired by the man-o’-war, which, shorthanded though she was, and desperately attacked by the powerful well-manned schooners, had kept up a continuous fight, so cleverly carried on that it had at last ended by the running ashore of one of the big slaving craft, and the pounding of the other till in desperation the skipper, who proved to be the cunning Yankee hero of the lugger trick,—the twin brother of the scoundrel Huggins who had met his fate in the explosion,—set his swift craft on fire before taking, with the remnants of the crew, to the woods.

It was not until a couple of days later that, after extinguishing the fire on board the second schooner and setting sail with her for the harbour, Captain Kingsberry commenced firing signal guns to recall his scattered crew, and communication was made by the help of Caesar.

“Yes, Massa Murray Frank,” he said eagerly; “Caesar soon show um way to where big gun go off.”

He, too, it was who gave signals which resulted in the collection of as many of the plantation slaves as were wanted to bear the wounded men in palanquins through the maze-like cane brakes and down to the shore, where a shady hospital was started in which Dr Reston could rule supreme, his patients chuckling to one another as they luxuriated in the plantation coffee, sugar, molasses, fruit and tobacco, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves—so they said—in the jolliest quarters that had ever fallen to their lot.

Caesar, too, in his actions was certainly one of the greatest of the Caesars, for in spite of a terribly scorched face, and burned and wounded arms and hands, he worked almost without ceasing. Scores of his fellow-slaves flocked to help, and under his guidance the captain and crew of the Seafowl were perfectly astounded by the extent of the plantation buildings, and the arrangements that existed for carrying on the horrible trade and keeping up the supply from the far-off African coast.

It was a busy time for the Seafowls, as they called themselves, but they had the prisoners to deal with, for those left alive of the crews of the two schooners had managed to reach the familiar shelter of the dense shores, from which they did not wait to be hunted out, but utilised some of the light boats of whose existence they were well aware, and sickened by the terrible lesson they had received, made sail for one of the neighbouring bays.

It was, as has been said, a busy time for the Seafowls, for there were the two captured schooners to get afloat and the fired rigging to restore before they were fit to take to a destined port as prizes. There were vile barracks to burn, and plenty of other arrangements to make as to the destination of certain newly-arrived prisoners who had to be saved from their terrible fate.

Briefly, although the sailors called it a good holiday, it was a period of the hardest work, but what with prize money and tasks that paid mentally every lad and man who thought, it was a time of pleasure; and it was not till towards the end of the Seafowl’s stay that Caesar came on board the sloop of war one evening with his face flushing with excitement and showing all his teeth.

“Caesar find um at last, massa,” he cried.

“Find? Find? Not Mr Allen?” said Murray.

“Yes, massa. Find good ole Massa Allen.”

“Then he is not dead?”

“Yes, massa. No massa. Huggins no kill um. Shut um up. Tell um, massa, dat um poor crack looney.”

“What! Lunatick!”

“Yes, massa, looney, mad. Shut um up.”

“Where? And have you seen him?”

“Yes, massa. Tullus find um in niggah hut shut up, and take me dah.”

“Then that Huggins has not killed him?”

“No, massa; shut um up. Say um mad man. Berry bad. Get more bad ebbery day till Tullus find um. Black slabe woman ’top wiv him. Massa Huggins say kill her if she let um go.”

“Poor creature!” said Murray, wrinkling up his brow.

“Yes, sah; berry poor creature, sah. Caesar berry sorry. Massa Allen good massa, and Caesar lub um.”

“But where is he now? Not dead?”

“Yes, massa been die berry much all um time. Couldn’t quite go die till poor Caesar come, and den he shake hand. Say ‘Good-bye, Caesar, lad. Tell Massa Murray Frank. Tell um t’ink de bes’ ob a poor weak man.’”

“Mr Allen said that, Caesar?” said Murray.

“Yes, sah. Caesar cry bofe eyes. Tullus cry and slabe woman cry when we put um in de groun’ fas’ asleep. Everybody lub poor Massa Allen, sah. Gone dead. Say go to sleep happy now. No more slabe trade now. No more poor niggah leap overboard now Massa Murray Frank and Bri’sh sailor come.”

“Well, Mr Murray,” said the captain, about an hour later, “I hope you are ready to return to your duties.”

“Yes, sir, certainly,” said the lad, staring.

“I’m glad of it. And, by the way, this is a very favourable opportunity for saying a few words in season to you. Let me tell you that I am not at all satisfied with the way in which your duties have been carried out, any more, I may say, than I have been with the way in which I have been served by your brother officers. I look for something better in the future, sir, something decidedly better in the future, I may say;” and he stalked aft and went below.

“Did you hear what Captain Kingsberry said, sir?” said Murray to the chief officer, who just then came limping up with his spy-glass beneath his feeble arm.

“Yes, Murray, every word. My dear boy, it is a way he has. There, there, my lad, I think amongst us we’ve given the slave-trade its heaviest blow.”

The End.