rray's impressions as he slowly struggled to his feet.
Then as his scattered senses began to return he cried hoarsely--

"Who's here?--Who's hurt?"

There was no reply for a few moments, and then from somewhere up-stairs
as it seemed to Murray, Roberts shouted--

"Do speak, somebody! Are you all killed?"

"No, no," panted Murray, who now began to cough and choke. "Speak,
somebody! Who's hurt?"

"Here, avast there!" now burst forth the hearty tones of the big sailor.
"Let's have it, messmates, only don't all speak at once. Arn't all on
you killed, are you?"

"No, no," cried one.

"Knocked the wind out of us," said another, from the upper room.

"Here, steady there," cried Tom May now, in a voice full of excitement.
"Avast there, what did you do with the rest of that there keg of
powder?"

"Me?" cried Harry Lang, who had handled it. "You, yes! What did you do
with it, messmate?"

"Took it up-stairs. I mean, brought it up here."

"Then 'ware sparks."

The dread of a fresh explosion in the presence of the faint sparks that
could be seen lying here and there for some distance about the front of
the planter's house set every one to work with bucket and water, and it
was not until broad daylight that confidence began to reign, with the
calmness which accompanied the knowledge that the door which had been
blown in had been replaced by a strong barricade to act as a defence
against a renewed attack.

Of this, however, there was no sign, the danger resting only in the
imagination of the wearied-out and wounded men, several of whom had sunk
into a stupor of exhaustion, while Murray, Tom May and the black were
out exploring, and finding here and there at a distance from the front
of the house traces of the havoc which could be produced by the
explosion of a keg of gunpowder.

Not to dwell upon horrors, let it suffice to say that one of the
discoveries made was by Tom May and the black, when the following words
were uttered--

"Well, look ye here, darkie, you needn't shiver like that. Y'arn't
afraid on him now?"

"No; not 'fraid; but he make niggah 'fraid all many years, and Caesar
keep 'fraid still. But nebber any more. He dead now."

"But are you sure this was him?"

"Yes, Caesar quite suah. Only 'fraid now poor Massa Allen dead too."

"Ah, well, messmate--black messmate, I mean--we had nothing to do with
that, and Master Huggins will never make an end of any more poor
fellows; so don't shiver