the little colony, but especially the ladies and children, how fond he
was of them, how devoted to them, and how faithful to them for life and
death, for present, future, and everlasting, made a great impression on
me. If ever a man, Sambo or no Sambo, was trustful and trusted, to what
may be called quite an infantine and sweetly beautiful extent, surely, I
thought that morning when I did at last lie down to rest, it was that
Sambo Pilot, Christian George King.

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.