“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.”