returned, to seat himself beside his
burden, evidently ready to make a fresh start at any moment.

At last, when Murray felt that he could bear no more, there was a faint
rustle and a whisper to prove that the black had returned, to lay a hand
upon his shoulder.

"Well," whispered the lad excitedly, "have you found a way to get by
them?"

"Caesar get by," said the man sadly, "but big slabe, Murray Frank,
Roberts, not get by."

"Then what do you mean to do?"

"Try," said the man. "Murray Frank ready?"

"Yes, ready for anything," said the lad, springing up eagerly.

Caesar whispered a few words to his big fellow and as Murray strained
his eyes he tried to make out the movements of the black when he caught
hold of the midshipman, swung him round over his shoulder, and followed
closely behind his leader and Murray, who now began to advance
cautiously, hand in hand, pausing to listen from time to time, Caesar
progressing more by thought than touch and evidently conscious that at
any moment he might stumble upon those who were waiting ready to pounce
upon him.

There were moments when hope began to illumine the lad's path, for so
silent did everything remain that it seemed as if the enemy must have
changed his position; and in this hopeful mood he was about to whisper
his belief to his companion when the path was brightened by a totally
different illumination. For there was utter silence one moment, and the
next, flash, flash, from musket after musket, and the enemy's position
was marked out by points of light as he concentrated his fire upon the
cottage hidden amongst the trees.

This went on for a time without reply, and it now seemed to the
midshipman that it must be the little party of his friends who had gone
off. Then crack, crack, the reply began, and plainly mingled with the
reports came the strange whistling whirr of bullets about their ears, in
company with the crackling of cut-down leaves and twigs which now began
to patter upon the earth.

"Come," whispered the black.

"Come where?" asked Murray excitedly.

"Back again," was the reply. "Massa no want sailor shoot massa?"

"No," whispered the lad; "but we were to shout to them that we are
friends."

"Yes, massa," said the man drily, "but sailor man shout so loud um no
hear massa speak, and massa get shoot dead long o' Caesar and big slabe.
No talk; other fellow hear um, and sailor man shoot one side, Massa
Huggin man shoot other side, and no