It now fell very dark, indeed.  I have seldom, if ever, seen it darker, nor yet so dark.  The moon was not due until one in the morning, and it was but a little after nine when our men lay down where they were mustered.  It was pretended that they were to take a nap, but everybody knew that no nap was to be got under the circumstances.  Though all were very quiet, there was a restlessness among the people; much what I have seen among the people on a race-course, when the bell has rung for the saddling for a great race with large stakes on it.

At ten, they put off; only one boat putting off at a time; another following in five minutes; both then lying on their oars until another followed.  Ahead of all, paddling his own outlandish little canoe without a sound, went the Sambo pilot, to take them safely outside the reef.  No light was shown but once, and that was in the commanding officer’s own hand.  I lighted the dark lantern for him, and he took it from me when he embarked.  They had blue lights and such like with them, but kept themselves as dark as Murder.

The expedition got away with wonderful quietness, and Christian George King soon came back dancing with joy.

“Yup, So-Jeer,” says he to myself in a very objectionable kind of convulsions, “Christian George King sar berry glad.  Pirates all be blown a-pieces.  Yup!  Yup!”

My reply to that cannibal was, “However glad you may be, hold your noise, and don’t dance jigs and slap your knees about it, for I can’t abear to see you do it.”

I was on duty then; we twelve who were left being divided into four watches of three each, three hours’ spell.  I was relieved at twelve.  A little before that time, I had challenged, and Miss Maryon and Mrs. Belltott had come in.

“Good Davis,” says Miss Maryon, “what is the matter?  Where is my brother?”

I told her what was the matter, and where her brother was.

“O Heaven help him!” says she, clasping her hands and looking up—­she was close in front of me, and she looked most lovely to be sure; “he is not sufficiently recovered, not strong enough for such strife!”

“If you had seen him, miss,” I told her, “as I saw him when he volunteered, you would have known that his spirit is strong enough for any strife.  It will bear his body, miss, to wherever duty calls him.  It will always bear him to an honourable life, or a brave death.”

“Heaven bless you!” says she, touching my arm.  “I know it.  Heaven bless you!”

Mrs. Belltott surprised me by trembling and saying nothing.  They were still standing looking towards the sea and listening, after the relief had come round.  It continuing very dark, I asked to be allowed to take them back.  Miss Maryon thanked me, and she put her arm in mine, and I did take them back.  I have now got to make a confession that will appear singular.  After I had left them, I laid myself down on my face on the beach, and cried for the first time since I had frightened birds as a boy at Snorridge Bottom, to think what a poor, ignorant, low-placed, private soldier I was.