eet in full retreat; and then once more there
was silence.

"That has done its work, my lads," cried the lieutenant, as the men
reloaded rapidly, the sound of the thudding ramrods as they were driven
down raising a low murmur of excitement through the black fugitives,
among whom, as far as could be made out in the darkness, Caesar was busy
at work, talking loudly, and ending after dragging and thrusting his
compatriots, by getting them well together and then making his way to
where the lieutenant and Murray stood some little distance in advance,
listening and trying to make out when the planter's men were coming on
again.

"Boys say won't run away any more, massa," whispered the black
breathlessly.

"Glad to hear it, my friend," said the officer bitterly.

"Yes, massa; so Caesar. Not frighten now. Ready 'tan' fast. Ready
kill Massa Huggin sailor fellow."

"But I can't trust them, Caesar; can _you_?"

The black was silent for a few moments, and then he said sadly--

"Caesar do um bes', massa."

"So you have, my lad. But the next time the enemy come on your men
shall try what they can do."

"Here they come again, sir," whispered Murray.

"Keep silence then," said the lieutenant. "May, all of you wait and let
them come on till you hear their leaders' orders to fire, and let them
have it first."

Then turning to the black, the speaker bade him head his men, who now
began to be pretty steady, and lead them along the path in the direction
of the planter's cottage.

"No, no, massa. Caesar make boys fight now."

"You do as I tell you, sir," replied the lieutenant sternly. "Go on
back, collecting as many more of your men as you can, and my lads shall
cover the retreat and check the slaves."

"Massa want Caesar do this?" said the black sadly.

"Yes, and I want you to obey my orders."

"Yes, massa," said the black, with a sigh, "only Caesar feel like fight
and die for massa now."

_Crash_!

There was the sound of a volley, so many muskets going off together like
one, while as the sound began to die away, it was mingled with loud
yells and curses, and emphasised as it were by the rattling of the
ramrods in the barrels of the muskets.

"I think that's checked them, sir," said Murray; but almost as he spoke
there came three shots from some of the boldest of the enemy who had
stopped short to snap off their vengeful retreating replies to the
sailors' volley.

"Waste of powder," growled Tom May. "Hea