“Where’s your Despatch?”
“It’s all right, sir,” cried Roberts. “Our lads coming.”
“Well done!” said the lieutenant, with a sense of relief running through him. “Can you see who it is?”
“Tom May, sir.”
“Only May? Well, he brings a message, I suppose.—Where’s your despatch, man?” he cried, as the big sailor came within hearing.
“Not got none, sir; on’y a message from Mr Murray, sir;” and the man related his experience.
“A regular fight, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But no one badly hurt?”
“No, sir.”