“I reckon the scallywags count on starving us out,” concluded Mr. Jameson.
“But how did you get out to reach the boat? It was kept a mile up the coast.”
“Oh, aye. Well, I climbed over the stockade, d’ye ken, and made me way to the bit boat wi’oot trouble.”
Thus did Jameson describe what must have been an act fraught with peril, for he had had to pass through the rebel lines. Mr. Chadwick felt this.
“I wish you would tell us all, James Jameson,” he said.
“Hoot, toot! I tole ye all. No use wasting words, mon.”
“So that is the situation?” mused Mr. Chadwick. “Well, that’s about as bad as it can be. When do you think they will make the attack?”
“I dinna ken; but I think to-night. They ken there is gold in the safe, for it would be pay day the noo. But then they ken we hae a machine gun, too, and they’re canny afraid of thot, I’m thinkin’.”
“I’m glad of that. But where are the regulars?”
“There are some troops above Santiago, Mr. Chadwick, but not enough to fight their way through that boilin’ of rebels. The callants all hae Remingtons, too, and some of the regular troops haven’t even guns.”