It was, as has been said, a busy time for the Seafowls, for there were the two captured schooners to get afloat and the fired rigging to restore before they were fit to take to a destined port as prizes. There were vile barracks to burn, and plenty of other arrangements to make as to the destination of certain newly-arrived prisoners who had to be saved from their terrible fate.
Briefly, although the sailors called it a good holiday, it was a period of the hardest work, but what with prize money and tasks that paid mentally every lad and man who thought, it was a time of pleasure; and it was not till towards the end of the Seafowl’s stay that Caesar came on board the sloop of war one evening with his face flushing with excitement and showing all his teeth.
“Caesar find um at last, massa,” he cried.
“Find? Find? Not Mr Allen?” said Murray.
“Yes, massa. Find good ole Massa Allen.”
“Then he is not dead?”
“Yes, massa. No massa. Huggins no kill um. Shut um up. Tell um, massa, dat um poor crack looney.”
“What! Lunatick!”
“Yes, massa, looney, mad. Shut um up.”
“Where? And have you seen him?”