k, and the next for the rear-rank men to
fall out; they were the lucky ones, and in a high state of delight.

With the officers it was more difficult. However, that was soon
settled. Captain Horton said that he should go; and gave the corvette
in charge of Lieutenant Johnson. Major Sandars followed his example by
appointing Captain Smithers to the task of taking command of the fort;
and to his great disgust Tom Long found that he was not to be of the
select.

The resident had not intended to go, but so pressing a request that he
would come had arrived from the sultan, that he felt bound to make one
of the party. On the eve of the start the principal talk was of the
qualities and powers of the various rifles and shot guns that had been
brought out to be cleaned and oiled.

Tom Long was solacing himself out in the open air with a strong rank
cigar that had been given him by a brother officer, and very poorly it
made him feel. But he put that all down to the major's account for
depriving him of his treat.

"I'll be even with him, though," he said, breaking out into the habit of
talking aloud. "I won't forget it."

The night was very dark and starless, and he stood leaning up against a
tree, when he heard the splash of oars from the landing-place, a short
sharp order, and then the rattling of a ring-bolt.

"Some one from the steamer, I suppose," he growled. "Gun borrowing,
I'll be bound. They don't have mine, whoever wants it."

"Here you, sir," said a familiar voice, as a figure came up through the
darkness. "Where's Major Sandars--at the officers' quarters or the
residency? Do you hear? Why don't you speak?"

"That path leads to the officers' quarters, Mr Robert Roberts, and the
other leads, as you well know, to the residency. Now go and find out
for yourself, and don't air your salt-junk bluster on shore."

"Salt-junk bluster be bothered," said Bob sharply. "How the dickens was
I to know it was you standing stuck-up against that tree like two tent
poles in a roll of canvass? Here, I've come from the skipper to see if
the major's got any spare leggings, for fear of the noble captain
getting any thorns in his legs."

"Hang the captain!" growled Tom.

"Hang the major, then!" said Bob sharply.

"You may hang them both, if you like," said Tom.

"I should like to kris them all over, till they looked like skewered
chickens ready for the spit," said Bob. "I say, ain't it an awful
shame?"

"Shame,