“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.