The summons given in hearty English was responded to by a ragged volley
of so many muskets, whose flashes came faintly from the edge of the
amphitheatre, and wondering what it meant, Murray, as he looked round,
was just in time to see the big black giant of a negro spring high in
the air, come down with a crash upon the coffin-shaped chest, roll over,
and writhe for a few moments before lying perfectly still.
As the big negro was seen to fall, the crowd of blacks who were hurrying
here and there as if in dismay, uttered a series of shrieks and yells,
and began to run in confusion towards the end of the woody amphitheatre
farthest from the fire, but only to encounter another ragged volley of
musketry which checked them and drove them back, leaving several of
their number to fall struggling upon the ground, while Murray saw two
more totter and go down as they ran shrieking, half mad with fear,
towards another portion of the lit-up ring of light, for they avoided
the little party of armed seamen as if they took them for one of the
causes of the sudden attack.
"Stand fast, my lads," cried the lieutenant. "Now then, forward!"
He placed himself at the head of his men, who followed him with their
muskets shouldered, but at the end of a few yards their commander
called--
"Halt--I'm not at all sure of our way, gentlemen," he said, addressing
the two midshipmen, "but I think we ought to take that end--yonder where
the blacks are collecting."
"No, sir, I don't think that's right," cried Murray. "You see, every
part of the circus-like place looks like the rest."
"Yes, I see that, Murray, but surely there is the path yonder by which
we came."
But as he spoke, half-a-dozen more musket flashes came from the very
spot to which he had pointed, and what might be called a wave of black
figures came, dotting the earth with as many white cotton-clad wounded
or dead unfortunates as shots had been fired.
"Bah! I'm wrong," cried the lieutenant angrily. "This looks like a
planned massacre of the poor creatures gathered at this meeting. If we
could only find our guide we might have a chance to get out of the
horrible confusion. Here, let's try this way."
"Yes, sir; that is the way, I am sure, for it is just opposite to that
chest out of which that poor fellow took the snake."
"You are right, sir," cried the lieutenant; "and we must retreat in that
direction, for it is of no use to try and make a stand against a hidden
enemy."
"Why don't those poor wretches show fight, sir?" cried Murray excitedly,
as the little party began their march.
"Because they have no one to lead them, my lad."
"Can't we, sir?"
"We could if they knew us, Murray; but we are strangers, and it would be
madness to try and head such a confused mob."
"I suppose so, sir," said Murray sadly, as he marched on beside his
commander, who now gave an order to the men he led, which was heard
plainly above the shouting and yelling of the blacks, who in their fear
and confusion had cast away the heavy machetes with which they had armed
themselves.
"Make ready, my lads, in case the enemy has taken possession of our line
of retreat."
But all seemed perfectly still amongst the trees they approached, and
their lit-up trunks and boughs offered shelter as well as a way of
retreat, when at one and the same moment, just as Mr Anderson called
out, "Forward, my lads! That is the right path," Tom May shouted from
the rear--
"Here's that there Caesar, sir, coming after us full pelt."
"Yes," cried Roberts, "and he's bringing all the blacks with him to this
end."
Then it was that a fresh burst of flashes came from the now plainly seen
opening for which the _Seafowls_ made, checking their advance and laying
two of them low.
"Retreat!" shouted a voice which sounded father strange, and it was
followed by a fierce roar from the lieutenant bidding the men reply.
In an instant a good steady volley was fired at the spots from which the
last shots had come, and then obeying the order that followed, the whole
party, cutlass in hand, with Tom May roaring "Go on, my lads--forrard!"
charged into the heavily-beaten forest path, trampling over three fallen
blacks who lay struggling, faintly seen, upon the earth.
"Why, we're firing upon the wrong men," cried Mr Anderson.
"No, massa," said a familiar voice, hoarse with shouting. "All Massa
Huggin men. Our boys no got gun."
"Then we're all right?"
"Yes, massa."
"And who are these coming on here?"
"All pore boy run away. Massa Huggin men come out of trees long behind,
massa listen."
There was occasion to hearken, for above the murmurs, wails and shouts
of the blacks who were flying from pursuit came the scattered firing of
those who had been busy in the massacre that had been taking place.
"Guide us back along the path to Mr Allen's house," cried the
lieutenant.
"No, massa; boy here do that. Caesar must stop fight."
"Good! Brave fellow!" cried the lieutenant. "Here, I'll give those who
fired upon us a few shots first to clear the way."
"No, massa; all gone," cried the black; "all run away. Massa let poor
black boy come 'long here. Make sailor man shoot Massa Huggin
slave-catch-man. Hark! Um come 'long fast. Shoot, shoot!"
"Do you understand what he means, Mr Murray?" said the lieutenant,
rather breathlessly.
"Yes, sir. He means let the poor wretches go by us and we hold the path
till the enemy comes up, and give them a volley or two to check the
advance."
"Very good tactics if you are right," said the lieutenant. "At any rate
we'll try it. But what does this mean?"
The light from the fire barely penetrated to where they stood, but there
was enough to show that Caesar was in a confused fashion sorting the
flying blacks into two parties,--those who were unarmed he hurried down
the path in the way of retreat, while those who had maintained enough
courage to keep their machetes, he ranged upon either side of the path,
while, to Murray's wonder and surprise, for they had been forgotten for
the moment, four of the blacks came forward supporting two of the
wounded man-o'-war's men.
"Oh, my poor lads!" cried the lieutenant eagerly.
"You, Mr Roberts, and you, Seddon. Are you badly hurt?"
"No, sir," cried the middy cheerily. "Only two _Seafowls_ winged, sir!"
"Nay, sir, not me!" growled the seaman belonging to the second cutter.
"I arn't winged, sir; I'm hind-legged, and I should have had to hop if
it warn't for these niggers here."
"Mr Murray, I can't spare you. Tom May, you take Mr Murray's place
and help me cover the retreat with all the men. Mr Murray, do the best
you can with the wounded, and then join us here."
"No, no, sir," cried Roberts. "I've got a handkerchief round my arm,
sir; Seddon tied it, and he's done his own leg up himself."
"Bravo!" cried the lieutenant. "Keep together, my lads. Here, you
Caesar, can't you make some of your fellows fight?"
"Caesar try, massa; try berry hard. Much frighten of Massa Huggin."
"Tell them to fight for their lives if they won't for their liberty."
"Yes, sah. Caesar try all he can;" and the black made a rush at one of
his retreating companions whom he saw in the act of throwing away his
rough cutlass; and catching him by the shoulder he gave him a heavy cuff
on the ear and then forced him to pick up the weapon he had discarded
and join a few compatriots who were making something of a stand.
"There's no trusting them, sir," said Murray, who was breathing hard
with excitement.
"And no wonder, Murray; all the courage has been crushed out of them,
poor wretches."
As Mr Anderson spoke there was a burst of startled yells and cries,
following directly upon the reports of several muskets, and what seemed
to be quite a crowd of the retreating blacks came rushing along the path
right upon where the _Seafowl's_ men were making a stand.
"Here, where are you coming to?" roared Tom May, in his deep-toned
voice. "Keep back, or go round, or crawl, or do something, or we'll
give _you_ a blessed good dose of butt-ending.--Who's to fire, do you
think," continued the big sailor, "with you all coming in the way?"
At that moment Caesar made a rush in amongst the shivering retreating
party, striking to right and left with the flat of his machete.
"Here, what are you up to, darkie?" cried the big sailor. "Them's
friends."
"Yes, sah," panted the black. "Caesar know. Make 'em fight."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" growled May, "but I don't see as you will do any
good. They won't fight, and I don't know as I want 'em to; but they
might let us."
"Do what you can to clear the way, man."
There was the sound of more trampling feet, a burst of yells, more
firing, and Tom May shouted in protest--
"Beg pardon, sir; what are we to do? Some more of our fellows will be
down directly, and we can't fire a shot for fear of hitting our friends.
I never see such friends," he growled; "they're worse than enemies."
"Look out, my lads," shouted Murray excitedly. "Fire! Here they come!
No, no--over their heads," he cried. "These are more friends."
In his excitement the middy struck up a couple of presented muskets with
the cutlass he handled, his example being followed by the lieutenant,
doubtless the saving of Caesar's life, for the brave black had dashed in
amongst his companions, thrusting them to the right and left in amongst
the trees, just as several of the sailors fired, fully half of them
firing in the air.
Fortunately the reports were as effective as a volley would have been
aimed right into the advancing enemy, who pulled up short and then began
to retire, giving the poor flying wretches an opportunity to recover
themselves a little, and realise that there was some shelter to be
obtained behind the sturdy English sailors, who stood firm, while Caesar
worked hard at forming them up where they stood, and with such good
effect that about forty of them grasped their rough cutlasses more
firmly and showed some signs of using them against their foes now that
these latter had ceased to advance.
"Well done, my lad," cried the lieutenant; "if you can find a couple of
score like yourself we'll send these black fiends and their white
leaders to the right-about."
"Steady there!" cried Murray, the next minute, for the effect of the
volley had died out, and the enemy advanced again, shouting, and fired
once more.
"Fire!" cried the lieutenant, for there was no sign of the retreating
blacks in front, and the levelled muskets of the sailors poured out a
well-levelled volley, which was received by the slavers with a yell of
surprise and the rush of feet 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_?"