“Now then, my lad, take the other keg and lay the train. Sprinkle it thickly, walking backward right away along the path here to the door.”
“Right it is, sir,” growled the big sailor. “No, no, messmate; you keep hold o’ the barrel and walk alongside. I’ll ladle it out. Mind, all on you, not to tread in the dust. D’yer hear, darkie? Keep back, I tell you; too many cooks ’ll spoil the broth.”
It was rough work, and clumsily executed, but somehow or other, and in spite of the near approach of the enemy, who seemed to be aware of their proximity, the train was effectively laid, and the engineers regained the doorway, just in front of which the train was made to end.
“Now for the candle, Tom,” whispered Murray. “Here, you, Caesar, where are you going?”
There was no reply, for the black had dashed in and run up the staircase, to seize the light from the upper room where the covering party were standing ready to fire from the window.
It was a risky proceeding, and Murray stood below in the doorway looking on, but afraid to speak for fear of doing more harm than good, as he saw the faithful black steal rapidly down the stairs, his black fingers enclosing the burning candle like an open lanthorn which threw its glowing fluttering flame upwards over the black weird-looking face with its glistening eyes and white teeth. Every moment the flame threatened to be extinct, but it fluttered and recovered itself as the black tottered down into the hall and then stepped quickly past Murray in the effort to shelter the candle behind the door.
“Dah, massa,” he panted. “Now say when Caesar set fire to de powder.”
“No, my man,” panted Murray. “I must fire the powder myself. You tell me when.”
“Caesar say when, massa?”
“Yes, and I will fire the train. Now then, you stand close behind me when I step out. You, Tom, stand behind the door, and as soon as I have fired the train Caesar and I will dash back into the house, and you clap to and fasten the door. Do you see?”