ment, as Murray ran his eyes along the faces of
the men, there was no sign of dismay--just the cheery, contented look of
Seaman Jack Tar ready for the worst, and the deep threatening tones of
the beaten-back enemy were pretty well deadened by a hearty cheer.

But an hour later, the enemy were back in stronger force, to be driven
off once more, but at a terrible expenditure of force, for as Murray and
Tom May came back from the sheltered room where they had laid their
gallant leader, badly wounded, by the side of Roberts, it was to find
the members of their sadly diminished force sitting wearily together
discussing another loss which Harry Lang unwillingly communicated to the
young officer.

"But have you looked round well? Perhaps he's lying somewhere among the
trees."

"Oh yes, sir, we've looked, and he arn't there. We've been talking it
over, sir, and we all think the same: he's had enough of it, sir, and
gone."

"Who has?" said Tom May gruffly.

"That there nigger, Caesar, Tom."

"Dunnot believe it," said Tom May fiercely, for he was very sore.

"Well, messmate," said Harry Lang, "he arn't here."

CHAPTER FIFTY.

CAESAR FINDS THE KEY.

It was at the end of a desperate struggle, during which the brave little
party of sailors had again and again driven their assailants back and
repaired the defences of the two windows they held by dragging fresh
pieces of furniture to their breastwork from other rooms, and they had
now thrown themselves down, panting and exhausted, so as to recover what
strength they could before another attack was made.

Nothing could have been better done, but as Tom May said, they wanted
time.

"'Tain't wittles and drink, Mr Murray, sir," he said. "There's been
plenty o' that, sir. I think we've all had too much. What we want is,
as I says afore, time, sir, for it all to turn into strength."

"Yes, Tom," said the middy bitterly; "we are all completely exhausted--
that is to say, you and all our brave fellows are."

"Well, arn't you too, sir? Seems to me as you're much more zausted than
we lads is."

"Oh, don't talk about me, Tom. I'm as weak as a child now."

"Nat'rally, sir. Your muscles is done up, and what you ought to do now
is to see if you can't hit on some dodge."

"Tom," cried Murray despairingly, "I've tried to hit on some plan till
my brains refuse to act."

"Yes, sir; nat'rally, sir; but can't yer hit on something in the
blowing-up-of-the-beggars line?"