Steaming hot it was, and a tearing place to get through. So much the
better for me, since it was something to contend against and do. I cut
off the bend of the river, at a great saving of space, came to the
water's edge again, and hid myself, and waited. I could now hear the dip
of the oars very distinctly; the voices had ceased.
The sound came on in a regular tune, and as I lay hidden, I fancied the
tune so played to be, "Chris'en--George--King! Chris'en--George--King!
Chris'en--George--King!" over and over again, always the same, with the
pauses always at the same places. I had likewise time to make up my mind
that if these were the Pirates, I could and would (barring my being shot)
swim off to my raft, in spite of my wound, the moment I had given the
alarm, and hold my old post by Miss Maryon.
"Chris'en--George--King! Chris'en--George--King! Chris'en--George--King!"
coming up, now, very near.
I took a look at the branches about me, to see where a shower of bullets
would be most likely to do me least hurt; and I took a look back at the
track I had made in forcing my way in; and now I was wholly prepared and
fully ready for them.
"Chris'en--George--King! Chris'en--George--King! Chris'en--George--King!"
Here they are!
Who were they? The barbarous Pirates, scum of all nations, headed by
such men as the hideous little Portuguese monkey, and the one-eyed
English convict with the gash across his face, that ought to have gashed
his wicked head off? The worst men in the world picked out from the
worst, to do the cruellest and most atrocious deeds that ever stained it?
The howling, murdering, black-flag waving, mad, and drunken crowd of
devils that had overcome us by numbers and by treachery? No.
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