and with a slate on which he seemed to have been taking down signals.

"Now, men!" says Captain Carton; "I have to let you know, for your
satisfaction: Firstly, that there are ten pirate-boats, strongly manned
and armed, lying hidden up a creek yonder on the coast, under the
overhanging branches of the dense trees. Secondly, that they will
certainly come out this night when the moon rises, on a pillaging and
murdering expedition, of which some part of the mainland is the object.
Thirdly--don't cheer, men!--that we will give chace, and, if we can get
at them, rid the world of them, please God!"

Nobody spoke, that I heard, and nobody moved, that I saw. Yet there was
a kind of ring, as if every man answered and approved with the best blood
that was inside of him.

"Sir," says Captain Maryon, "I beg to volunteer on this service, with my
boats. My people volunteer, to the ship's boys."

"In His Majesty's name and service," the other answers, touching his hat,
"I accept your aid with pleasure. Lieutenant Linderwood, how will you
divide your men?"

I was ashamed--I give it out to be written down as large and plain as
possible--I was heart and soul ashamed of my thoughts of those two sick
officers, Captain Maryon and Lieutenant Linderwood, when I saw them, then
and there. The spirit in those two gentlemen beat down their illness
(and very ill I knew them to be) like Saint George beating down the
Dragon. Pain and weakness, want of ease and want of rest, had no more
place in their minds than fear itself. Meaning now to express for my
lady to write down, exactly what I felt then and there, I felt this: "You