"So-Jeer!" says he, in a sort of a low
croak. "Yup!"

"Hallo!" says I, starting up. "What?
You are there, are you?"

"Iss," says he. "Christian George King
got news."

"What news has he got?"

"Pirates out!"

I was on my feet in a second. So was
Charker. We were both aware that Captain
Carton, in command of the boats, constantly
watched the main land for a secret signal,
though, of course, it was not known to such
as us what the signal was.

Christian George King had vanished before
we touched the ground. But, the word was
already passing from hut to hut to turn out
quietly, and we knew that the nimble
barbarian had got hold of the truth, or
something near it.

In a space among the trees behind the
encampment of us visitors, naval and military,
was a snugly-screened spot, where we kept
the stores that were in use, and did our
cookery. The word was passed to assemble
here. It was very quickly given, and was
given (so far as we were concerned) by
Serjeant Drooce, who was as good in a
soldier point of view, as he was bad in a
tyrannical one. We were ordered to drop
into this space, quietly, behind the trees, one
by one. As we assembled here, the seamen
assembled too. Within ten minutes, as I
should estimate, we were all here, except the
usual guard upon the beach. The beach (we
could see it through the wood) looked as it
always had done in the hottest time of the
day. The guard were in the shadow of the
sloop's hull, and nothing was moving but the
sea, and that moved very faintly. Work had
always been knocked off at that hour, until
the sun grew less fierce, and the sea-breeze
rose; so that its being holiday with us, made
no difference, just then, in the look of the
place. But, I may mention that it was a
holiday, and the first we had had since our
hard work began. Last night's ball had
been given, on the leak's being repaired, and
the careening done. The worst of the work
was over, and to-morrow we were to begin
to get the sloop afloat again.

We marines were now drawn up here,
under arms. The chace-party were drawn
up separate. The men of the Columbus
were drawn up separate. The officers
stepped out into the midst of the three
parties, and spoke so as all might hear.
Captain Carton was the officer in command,
and he had a spy-glass in his hand. His
coxswain stood by him with another
spyglass, and with a slate on which he seemed
to have been taking down signals.

"Now, men!" says Captain Carton; "I have
to let you know, for your satisfaction: Firstly,
that there are ten pirate-boats, strongly-manned
and armed, lying hidden up a creek yonder
on the coast, under the overhanging branches
of the dense trees. Secondly, that they
will certainly come out this night when the
moon rises, on a pillaging and murdering
expedition, of which some part of the main
land is the object. Thirdly—don't cheer,
men!—that we will give chace, and, if we
can get at them, rid the world of them,
please God!"

Nobody spoke, that I heard, and nobody
moved, that I saw. Yet there was a kind of
ring, as if every man answered and approved
with the best blood that was inside of him.

"Sir," says Captain Maryon, "I beg to
volunteer on this service, with my boats. My
people volunteer, to the ship's boys."

"In His Majesty's name and service," the
other answers, touching his hat, "I accept
your aid with pleasure. Lieutenant Linderwood,
how will you divide your men?"

I was ashamed—I give it out to be written
down as large and plain as possible—I was
heart and soul ashamed of my thoughts of
those two sick officers, Captain Maryon and
Lieutenant Linderwood, when I saw them,
then and there. The spirit in those two
gentlemen beat down their illness (and
very ill I knew them to be) like Saint
George beating down the Dragon. Pain and
weakness, want of ease and want of rest, had
no more place in their minds than fear itself.
Meaning now to express for my lady to write
down, exactly what I felt then and there, I
felt this: " You two brave fellows that I have
been so grudgeful of, I know that if you were
dying you would put it off to get up and do
your best, and then you would be so modest
that in lying down again to die, you would
hardly say, 'I did it!'"

It did me good. It really did me good.

But, to go back to where I broke off. Says
Captain Carton to Lieutenant Linderwood,
"Sir, how will you divide your men? There
is not room for all; and a few men should, in
any case, be left here."

There was some debate about it. At
last, it was resolved to leave eight Marines
and four seamen on the Island, besides
the sloop's two boys. And because it was
considered that the friendly Sambos would
only want to be commanded in case of
any danger (though none at all was
apprehended there), the officers were in favour
of leaving the two non-commissioned
officers, Drooce and Charker. It was a heavy
disappointment to them, just as my being
one of the left was a heavy disappointment to
me—then, but not soon afterwards. We men
drew lots for it, and I drew "Island." So
did Tom Packer. So, of course, did four
more of our rank and file.

When this was settled, verbal instructions
were given to all hands to keep the intended
expedition secret, in order that the women
and children might not be alarmed, or the
expedition put in a difficulty by more
volunteers. The assembly was to be on that
same spot, at sunset. Every man was to keep