“A little too late,” said the officer in command of the detachment.
“Too late to save my house, sir, but in time to save our lives,” said Gordon, grasping his hand.
“I wish I had been sooner; but it’s rough work travelling through the bush, and we should not have come, only we heard the shouting, and saw the glow of your burning house.”
No time was lost in trying to extinguish the fire after a guard had been set over the prisoners, the men under the officers’ orders working hard with the few buckets at command; but the place was built of inflammable pine, which flared up fiercely, and after about a quarter of an hour’s effort Gordon protested against further toil.
“It’s of no use, sir,” he said. “All labour in vain. I’ve not lost much, for my furniture was only home made.”
“I’m sorry to give up, but it is useless,” said the officer.
Jem crept close up to his companion.
“I say, Mas’ Don, I thought it was some of our chaps from the sloop at first, but they’re from the Vixen frigate. Think they’ll find us out?”
“I hope not, Jem,” replied Don; “surely they will not press us again.”
“Let’s be off into the bush till they’re gone.”