scoundrels were sitting grumbling under a sail in the forecastle; ashore we could see the gigs made fast, and a man sitting in each, hard by where the river runs in. One of them was whistling "Lillibullero."1
Waiting was a strain, and it was decided that Hunter and I should go ashore with the jolly-boat, in quest of information.
The gigs had leaned to their right, but Hunter and I pulled straight in, in the direction of the stockade upon the chart. The two who were left guarding their boats seemed in a bustle at our appearance; "Lillibullero" stopped off, and I could see the pair discussing what they ought to do. Had they gone and told Silver, all might have turned out differently; but they had their orders, I suppose, and decided to sit quietly where they were and hark back again to "Lillibullero."
There was a slight bend in the coast, and I steered so as to put it between us. Even before we landed we had thus lost sight of the gigs; 1 jumped out and came as near running as I durst, with a big silk handerchief under my hat for coolness' sake, and a brace of pistols ready primed for safety.
I had not gone a hundred yards when I came on the stockade.
This was how it was: A spring of clear water arose at the top of a knoll. Well on the knoll, and inclosing the spring, they had clapped a stout log house, fit to hold two score people on a pinch, and loop-holed for musketry on every side. All around this they had cleared a wide space, and then the thing was completed
