“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.”