“But they’ve altered their course, sir,” said Roberts softly. “They’re coming to attack.”
“No, no; that’s only because the stream winds so; or else—yes, that’s it. They’ve caught sight of one of our boats coming up, and, bravo! we shall take the scoundrels, as I expected, between two fires.”
The lieutenant sprang to his feet and clapped his hand to his sword, for a clean white lug sail came fully into sight. But he thrust his sword back into its sheath before dropping into his seat, for Tom May growled out in his siren-like voice—
“Second cutter, sir, and yon’s Mr Munday, sir, in the starn sheets.”
“Then where’s the slaver’s lugger?” cried the first lieutenant, and a voice from the man-o’-war boat which was coming up stream under oars and a couple of lug sails shouted—
“Seafowls ahoy!”
“Bah!” cried Mr Anderson. “Then we must have passed some branch of the river; and I’m sure we kept a sharp lookout. How stupidly blind!”
“Perhaps Mr Munday’s lads passed a branch, sir,” cried Murray eagerly.
“Thank you, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant, clapping the lad on the shoulder. “I hope you’re right, for I could never have forgiven myself if we had been met by this fresh misfortune.”