Late in the evening, when the song and joke had ceased and lights out, the paddles of a canoe were heard and hailed by each of our boats in succession, to which they replied, “We belong to your party.” And it was not until we heard the yell of triumph given by six or eight voices that we found how we had been imposed upon. The beating of gongs and firing of guns went on all night. We weighed at daylight. Our rapid advance with a strong tide must have been seen from the various hills which now rose to our view. Brooke had rejoined me in the gig. [Sidenote: June 11.] We were somewhat ahead of the boats, tide sweeping us up; had we been inclined to retreat, we should have found it difficult. A sharp turn brought us into a straight and widened river, at the end of which was a cleared hill surmounted by a battery of brass guns. Halfway between the battery and ourselves, in 9 feet of water, was a freshly-made barrier, formed of long poles driven in--4 feet apart--one in front of the other. The ends above water were made to cross, so as to form a crutch, on which trees were laid horizontally, firmly secured by _rôtans_. It took our boats, assisted by the native followers, some minutes to cut a couple of openings, Greenhill battery meanwhile playing on them. D’Aeth, in the cutter, was the first to get through. Just before what I have attempted to describe, we observed a small gap in the barrier under some overhanging branches. Having a strong tide with us, Brooke and I thought we could dash through. We hung for a few seconds, when we were covered with leaves and small boughs. The piratical gunner on the Greenhill battery, although the line was good, had given too much elevation, and I believe the tide brought us up earlier than they expected, as the pirates came swarming down, but too late for their spears to reach before we had got out clear into the open space, with D’Aeth, in the cutter, on same side with ourselves. He was at once off to the Greenhill. However smart these piratical gentry might be with their ordnance afloat, D’Aeth and his blue-jackets and cutlasses were in possession of their battery before they had time to reload. We had only three men wounded while cutting through the barrier. Our native auxiliaries were soon with us: the dreaded Sarebas stronghold of two centuries no longer existed, and the baskets made to hold “Datu Brooke’s” head and mine were not wanted, this time. The pirates ran away as our men landed, and a few minutes after the native allies had got to work the whole town was ablaze. After rest and refreshment, Brooke proposed following up the fugitives, and started with Horton in the pinnace, accompanied by some native followers. I remained in the _Jolly Bachelor_ to see the amputation of poor Batterson’s arm (one of my best men, captain of the forecastle).