“Tut! He ought to have put that lantern out,” exclaimed Mr. Chadwick. “Ah! I thought so!”
A red flash from the top of the cliff split the night. A report followed and then the whole top of the cliff blazed fire. The red light vanished, but whether extinguished by a bullet, or by Jameson’s hand, it was impossible to tell.
“Confound it, the rascals keep a good lookout. I hope they haven’t injured Jameson. He ought to have had better sense than to leave that light as a mark for them to aim at.”
A few minutes later, however, anxiety for Jameson was alleviated. A boat drew alongside out of the darkness.
“Are you all right, Jameson?” hailed Mr. Chadwick anxiously.
“Aye, I’ll be bonny, thank ’ee, Mr. Chadwick,” came a voice with a strong tinge of a burr in it; “yon callants thocht they’d finish me the noo, but they dinna ken James Jameson.”
“Well, come on board at once. You must have much to tell me.”
“Oh, aye,” rejoined Jameson, lifting his huge bulk out of the boat. “I hae that; I hae that.”
He clambered on board, securing his boat. His narrative was brief, but succinct. Two days before the rebels had surrounded the mine and were now encamped in great force outside the stockade. Only ten men remained inside the stockade on guard duty.
All the rest had deserted. Provisions were running low, and a spring which supplied water had, in some way, been cut off from the outside.