“Now,” shrieked he, “let me see who dares give in with this voucher for his honesty flying aloft!” I twisted and craned myself out of the window, to get a view of what—was going on elsewhere; however, I could see nothing but Obed’s large schooner from it, all the other craft were out of the range of my eye, being hid by the projecting roof of the shed. The noise continued—the shouting rose higher than ever—the other schooners opened their fire, both cannon and musketry; and from the increasing vehemence of the Spanish exclamations, and the cheering on board Obed’s vessels, I concluded the attacking party were having the worst of it. My dog Sneezer now came jumping and scrambling up the trap stair, his paws slipping between the bars at every step, his mouth wide open, and his tongue hanging out, while he barked, and yelled, and gasped to get at me, as if his life depended on it. After him I could see the round woolly pate of Peter Mangrove, Esquire, as excited apparently as the dog, and as anxious to get up; but they got jammed together in the small hatch, and stuck there, man and beast. At length Peter spoke—
“Now, sir, now! Nancy has run on before to the beach wid two paddles; now for it, now for it.”
Down trundled master, and dog, and pilot. By this time there was no one in the lower part of the shed, which was full of smoke, while the infernal tumult on the water still raged as furiously as ever, the shot of all sorts and sizes hissing, and splashing, and ricochetting along the smooth surface of the harbour, as if there had been a sleet of musket and cannonballs and grape. Peter struck out at the top of his speed, Sneezer and I followed: we soon reached the jungle, dashed through a path that had been recently cleared with a cutlass or billhook, for the twigs were freshly shred, and in about ten minutes reached the high wood. However, no rest for the wicked, although the row seemed lessening now.
“Some one has got the worst of it,” said I.
“Never mind, massa,” quoth Peter, “or we shan’t get de betterest ourshef.”
And away we galloped again, until I had scarcely a rag an inch square on my back, or anywhere else, and my skin was tom in pieces by the prickly bushes and spear grass. The sound of firing now ceased entirely, although there was still loud shouting now and then.
“Push on, massa—dem will soon miss we.”
“True enough, Peter—but what is that?” as we came to a bundle of clouts walloping about in the morass.
“De debil it must be, I tink,” said the pilot. “No, my Nancy it is, sticking in the mud up to her waist; what shall us do? you fink, massa, we hab time for can stop to pick she out?”
“Heaven have mercy, Peter—yes, unquestionably.”