Scarcely had we closed our eyes and fallen into a restless doze, when a nervous gentleman in the party rose up on his hands and knees, and cautiously uttered these words:
"Friends, don't you think we'd better put out the light. The Spaniards may be armed, and if they come here, the lamp will show them where we are, and they'll be sure to take aim at our heads."
"Sure enough," whispered two or three at once, "we didn't think of that; they can't see us in the dark, however, unless they have eyes like cats. Let us put out the light, by all means."
So with that we were about to put out the light, when the man who had doubts in regard to Robinson Crusoe rose up on his hands and knees likewise, and said,
"Hold on! I think you'd better not do that. It ain't policy. I don't believe in it myself."
"Confound it, sir," cried half a dozen voices, angrily, "you don't believe in any thing. What's the reason you don't believe in it, eh? What's the reason, sir?"
"Well, I'll tell you why. Because, if you put out the light, we can't see where to shoot. Likely as not we'd shoot one another. If I feel certain of any thing, it is, that I'd be the first man shot; it's my luck. I know I'd be a dead man before morning."
There was something in this suggestion not to be laughed at. The most indignant of us felt the full force of it. To shoot our enemies in self-defense seemed reasonable enough, but to shoot any of our own party, even the man who doubted Robinson Crusoe, would be a very serious calamity. At last, after a good deal of talk, we compromised the matter by putting the lamp under an old hat with a hole in the top. This done, we tried to go to sleep.
Brigham went to the mouth of the cave about midnight to take an observation. He was armed with one of the guns.
"What's that?" said he, sharply; "I hear something! Gentlemen, I hear something! Hallo! who goes there?"