This may account for my dreaming of him. He stuck in my sleep,
cornerwise, and I couldn't get him out. He was always flitting about me,
dancing round me, and peeping in over my hammock, though I woke and dozed
off again fifty times. At last, when I opened my eyes, there he really
was, looking in at the open side of the little dark hut; which was made
of leaves, and had Charker's hammock slung in it as well as mine.
"So-Jeer!" says he, in a sort of a low croak. "Yup!"
"Hallo!" says I, starting up. "What? You _are_ there, are you?"
"Iss," says he. "Christian George King got news."
"What news has he got?"
"Pirates out!"
I was on my feet in a second. So was Charker. We were both aware that
Captain Carton, in command of the boats, constantly watched the mainland
for a secret signal, though, of course, it was not known to such as us
what the signal was.
Christian George King had vanished before we touched the ground. But,
the word was already passing from hut to hut to turn out quietly, and we
knew that the nimble barbarian had got hold of the truth, or something
near it.
In a space among the trees behind the encampment of us visitors, naval
and military, was a snugly-screened spot, where we kept the stores that
were in use, and did our cookery.
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