Half a dozen musket balls were now fired at random through the wattles
of the hut, while the lieutenant, who spoke Spanish well, sung out
lustily that we were English officers who had been shipwrecked.

"Pirates!" growled the officer of the party. "Pirates leagued with
Indian bravos; fire the hut, soldiers, and burn the scoundrels!"

There was no time to be lost; Mr. Splinter made a vigorous attempt to
get out, in which I seconded him with all the strength that remained to
me, but they beat us back again with the butts of their muskets.

"Where are your commissions, your uniforms, if you be British officers?"
We had neither, and our fate appeared inevitable.

The doorway was filled with brushwood, fire was set to the hut, and we
heard the crackling of the palm thatch, while thick, stifling white
smoke burst in upon us through the roof.

"Lend a hand, Tom, now or never." We laid our shoulders to the end wall,
and heaved at it with all our might; when we were nearly at our last
gasp it gave way, and we rushed headlong into the middle of the party,
followed by Sneezer, with his shaggy coat, full of clots of tar, blazing
like a torch. He unceremoniously seized, _par le queue_, the soldier who
had throttled me, setting fire to the skirts of his coat, and blowing up
his cartridge-box. I believe, under Providence, that the ludicrousness
of this attack saved us from being bayoneted on the spot. It gave time
for Mr. Splinter to recover his breath, when, being a powerful man, he
shook off the two soldiers who had seized him, and dashed into the
burning hut again. I thought he was mad, especially when I saw him