"If you had seen him, miss," I told her, "as
I saw him when he volunteered, you would
have known that his spirit is strong enough
for any strife. It will bear his body, miss, to
wherever duty calls him. It will always bear
him to an honorable life, or a brave death."

"Heaven bless you!" says she, touching
my arm. "I know it. Heaven bless you!"

Mrs. Belltott surprised me by trembling
and saying nothing. They were still standing
looking towards the sea and listening,
after the relief had come round. It
continuing very dark, I asked to be allowed to
take them back. Miss Maryon thanked me,
and she put her arm in mine, and I did take
them back. I have now got to make a
confession that will appear singular. After I had
left them, I laid myself down on my face on
the beach, and cried, for the first time since I
had frightened birds as a boy at Snorridge
Bottom, to think what a poor, ignorant, low-
placed, private soldier I was.

It was only for half a minute or so. A
man can't at all times be quite master of
himself, and it was only for half a minute or
so. Then I up and went to my hut, and
turned into my hammock, and fell asleep with
wet eyelashes, and a sore, sore heart. Just
as I had often done when I was a child, and
had been worse used than usual.

I slept (as a child under those circumstances
might) very sound, and yet very sore
at heart all through my sleep. I was awoke
by the words, "He is a determined man." I
had sprung out of my hammock, and had
seized my firelock, and was standing on the
ground, saying the words myself. "He is a
determined man." But, the curiosity of my
state was, that I seemed to be repeating
them after somebody, and to have been
wonderfully startled by hearing them.

As soon as I came to myself, I went out of
the hut, and away to where the guard was.
Charker challenged: "Who goes there?" "A
friend." "Not Gill?" says he, as he shouldered
his piece. "Gill," says I. "Why, what
the deuce do you do out of your hammock?"
says he. "Too hot for sleep," says I; "is all
right?" "Right!" says Charker, "yes,
yes; all's right enough here; what should
be wrong here? It's the boats that we want
to know of. Except for fire-flies twinkling
about, and the lonesome splashes of great
creatures as they drop into the water, there's
nothing going on here to ease a man's mind
from the boats."

The moon was above the sea, and had
risen, I should say, some half-an-hour. As
Charker spoke, with his face towards the
sea, I, looking landward, suddenly laid my
right hand on his breast, and said, "Don't
move. Don't turn. Don't raise your voice!
You never saw a Maltese face here?"

"No. What do you mean?" he asks,
staring at me.

"Nor yet an English face, with one eye and
a patch across the nose?"

"No. What ails you? What do you
mean? '''

I had seen both, looking at us round the
stem of a cocoa-nut tree, where the moon
struck them. I had seen that Sambo Pilot,
with one hand laid on the stem of the tree,
drawing them back into the heavy shadow.
I had seen their naked cutlasses twinkle
and shine, like bits of the moonshine in
the water that had got blown ashore
among the trees by the light wind. I had
seen it all, in a moment. And I saw in a
moment (as any man would), that the
signalled move of the pirates on the main-land
was a plot and a feint; that the leak had
been made to disable the sloop; that the
boats had been tempted away, to leave the
Island unprotected; that the pirates had
landed by some secreted way at the back;
and that Christian George King was a
double-dyed traitor, and a most infernal
villain.

I considered, still all in one and the same
moment, that Charker was a brave man, but
not quick with his head; and that Serjeant
Drooce, with a much better head, was close
by. All I said to Charker was, "I am afraid
we are betrayed. Turn your back full to the
moonlight on the sea, and cover the stem of
the cocoa-nut tree which will then be right
before you, at the height of a man's heart.
Are you right?"

"I am right," says Charker, turning
instantly, and falling into the position with
a nerve of iron; "and right a'nt left. Is
it Gill?"

A few seconds brought me to Serjeant
Drooce's hut. He was fast asleep, and being
a heavy sleeper, I had to lay my hand upon
him to rouse him. The instant I touched
him he came rolling out of his hammock, and
upon me like a tiger. And a tiger he was,
except that he knew what he was up to, in
his utmost heat, as well as any man.

I had to struggle with him pretty hard to
bring him to his senses, panting all the while
(for he gave me a breather), "Serjeant, I
am Gill Davis! Treachery! Pirates on the
Island!"

The last words brought him round, and he
took his hands off. "I have seen two of
them within this minute," said I. And so I
told him what I had told Harry Charker.

His soldierly, though tyrannical, head was
clear in an instant. He didn't waste one
word, even of surprise. "Order the guard,"
says he, "to draw off quietly into the Fort."
(They called the enclosure I have before
mentioned, the Fort, though it was not much
of that.) "Then get you to the Fort as
quick as you can, rouse up every soul
there, and fasten the gate. I will bring in
all those who are up at the Signal Hill. If
we are surrounded before we can join you,
you must make a sally and cut us out if you
can. The word among our men is, 'Women
and children!'"