“He said ‘at once,’” answered Bob.
“Oh! very well,” growled Dickinson, “I s’pose we must obey orders. Here you—Tom Poole, Sullivan, Masters”—and he glanced his eye round the room, apparently hesitating whom to choose, but gradually picking out, one after the other, all the men who had cast in their lot with our friends—“muster your kits and then go up to the capstan-house; you’ve got to turn-in aboard the battery to-night, my beauties.”
The men named, taking their cue from Dickinson, and acting up to instructions already received, assumed a sulky unwilling demeanour as they set about the work of packing a small quantity of already carefully selected clothes in their bags, growling and grumbling at having to turn out just when they were thinking of tumbling into their hammocks, and so on, but using the utmost expedition all the same.
In a little over ten minutes from the time of their first being called, the men, sixteen in number, stood in the large loft of the capstan-house. Poole had brought with him the key of the arm-chest, and, opening the case, he rapidly served out to every man a cutlass with its belt and a pair of six-chambered revolvers, every one of which he had himself fully loaded only the day before, in preparation for such an emergency as the present. The chest was then relocked and left, it being too heavy for them to carry away with them, to say nothing of the suspicion which such an act would excite if witnessed, as it would almost certainly be. But Poole slipped the key back into his pocket again, knowing that the strength of the chest and the solidity of the lock were such as to involve the expenditure of a considerable amount of time in the breaking open; and every minute of detention suffered by the pirates would now be almost worth a man’s life to the escaping party.
“Now, lads,” said Dickinson, “are yer all ready? Then march; down to the beach we goes, and seizes the two whale-boats, eight of us to each boat. But mind! there’s to be no getting into the boats or shoving off until the ladies and gentlemen from the hut’s all here. Mayhap we shall have to make a fight of it on the beach yet; so keep dry land under your feet until you has orders contrariwise.”
The men descended the ladder leading from the capstan-house loft, and ranging themselves in a small compact body, two abreast, marched down to the landing-place, being joined on their way by some half-dozen curious idlers who had turned out to see what was in the wind. Dickinson was most anxious to get rid of these unwelcome attendants, and did all he could think of to persuade them to return to the house; but though quite unsuspicious as yet, they were not to be persuaded; they preferred rather to march alongside the other party, keeping up a constant fire of such jests and witticisms as sailors are wont to indulge in.
Bob, from a secluded and shadowy corner, watched this party as long as he could see them, and then began to look out for his own particular friends. He had not long to wait; barely five minutes afterwards he saw them also pass down on their way to the boats.
He allowed these a sufficient time to reach the boats, and then set off at a brisk pace to the “Black Hole.” He soon reached it; and on his approach was promptly challenged by the two guards, who happened to be the same two truculent ruffians who were on guard when Dickinson tried to communicate with the prisoners.
In reply to the challenge, Bob informed them that they were wanted by Ralli, immediately, at the cottage (that being the most distant building), and that he had orders to keep guard until their return.
“What are we wanted for?” was the suspicious question.