call
it, for boats sneaking up in the dark. You've got two there."

"Yes, Strake, and each man has a glass, and those very instructions."

"What a horficer he will make," muttered the boatswain; and then the
watch went on, with the men peering through the transparent darkness at
the waves heaving over the little natural pier, and the bright stars
broken up into spangles on the smooth surface of the sea.

"Rather queer about Terry," said Roylance in a whisper, as Syd joined
him where he was leaning over the rough parapet, watching the surface
for the first sign of the enemy.

"Very," said Syd.

"I can't understand it."

"I can," thought Syd, as he recalled what he had seen; and in the full
belief that his messmate was heartily ashamed of his treacherous conduct
of the previous day, he went softly up to find the lieutenant sleeping
peacefully. He stood looking at him for a few moments, and then went up
to the empty battery, to stand looking down over the precipice, before
gazing up towards the flagstaff.

"All well, Rogers?" he said in a low, distinct voice.

"All well, sir," came back from far on high. "Nothing left the ship.
We could ha' seen by the broken water. It brimes to-night, and we
should have seen their oars stirring the water up."

Note: "brimes" means "is phosphorescent."

Syd went thoughtfully back, feeling so exhausted and drowsy that twice
over he stumbled, and shook his head to get rid of the sleepy feeling,
for it had been a terribly trying and anxious time.

"I'll go and talk to Strake," he said to himself; and pulling out a
biscuit, he began to nibble it to take off the sensation of faintness
from which he suffered, as he began wondering whether the French would
attack them that night, or come prepared the next day with ladders to
scale the natural wall which was their chief defence.

"All well, Strake?" he said, as he reached the place again where the
boatswain was lying down.

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Halt! who goes there?"

"On'y me," cried a hoarse, excited voice, in a whisper, accompanied by a
panting noise. "Where's father?"

"What, Pan-y-mar?" growled the boatswain. "Just you come here, you
ugly-looking young swab."

"Hush, father!" whispered the boy, coming out of the darkness. "Give's
a cutlash; the French is coming."

"What? Where?" said Syd, eagerly. "To your guns, my lads."

"No, no," cried the boy, in a hurried whisper. "Not that way; they're
coming over the top