“Be careful, that’s powder,” he cautioned; “send the end back for me. Hurry,” he added, casting a fearsome look into the shadows behind him.
With the end of the rope in his hand he stooped down to tie it about the body of his captive; when, without a moment’s warning, he felt a stinging blow in the face, that sent him reeling to the wall. He clutched wildly at the offender, now on his feet and struggling madly to free himself from the terrifying embrace of the midshipman. The fully recovered celestial fought with the strength of despair, uttering piercing shrieks which seemed to be answered from the surrounding darkness.
Suddenly Phil was wrenched nearly off his feet, and then fell backward against the wall, the torn coat of the man in his hands, while the escaping prisoner melted into the night.
Hand over hand, up the rope, it was but the work of a second to the top of the wall, and there he found an anxious group of officers and men who had watched, with bated breath, the struggle below them.
Phil explained the circumstances at once to Lieutenant Wilson.
“I feel sure they’re concealed all about here,” he ended excitedly. “I heard answers to the man’s cries.”
Lieutenant Wilson turned to Langdon, who had been an eager listener.
“Is it an attack, Langdon?” he asked anxiously.
Langdon shook his head, much mystified, then the garment in Phil’s hand caught his eye. He took it from the lad in silence and carried it down from the wall, entering the small gate-house inside the compound.
“Keep a strict watch, Mr. Monroe,” the lieutenant ordered, motioning Phil to follow him, and together they entered the room where Langdon was carefully examining the garment.