It brought wild shouts from outside and the rush of many feet, the hurried
clanging of a bell, the beating of a drum, and then everything was drowned
in a furious downpour of rain which beat on the roof like whips and flails.

What was happening I could not tell, but there was confusion without, and
confusion meant chances.

I slipped out of my hammock, unhitched it, and stole across to Le Marchant.

"Come! Bring your hammock!" I whispered, and within a minute we were
outside in the storm, drenched to the skin but full of hope.

One of the long wooden houses on the other side of the enclosure was
ablaze, but whether from the lightning or as cover to some larger attempt
at escape we could not tell. Very likely the latter, I have since thought,
for the soldiers were gathering there in numbers, and the bell still rang
and the drum still beat.

Without a word, for all this we had discussed and arranged long since, we
crept to the palisade nearest to us. I took my place solidly against it. Le
Marchant climbed up onto my shoulders, flung the end of his hammock over
the spiked top till it caught with its cordage, and in a moment he was
sitting among the teeth up above. Another moment, and I was alongside him,
peering down into the danger ring below, while the rain thrashed down upon
us so furiously that it was all we could do to see or hear. We could,
indeed, see nothing save what was right under our hands, for the dead
blackness of the night was a thing to be felt.

There was no sound or sign of wardership. It seemed as though what I had