They were. Each black man as he came up to the palisade poked the muzzle of his gun through a loophole, pulled trigger, and drew comfort from the din. Presently Carter came up to the breastwork, climbed to the banquette, and leaned over, and then peered long and hard through the night. He could see nothing. He got down, and with trouble found the sentry who had fired first. When he had thumped the man into calmness, it turned out that he had seen nothing also. He had "thought ju-ju" and then his gun "lib for shoot by himself." Or in plainer English, the man had dozed with his hand round his gun lock to keep the damp from the priming; he had been struck by a nightmare and had pulled the trigger. He had aimed at nothing. His gun muzzle had been upright, and he "lib for shoot dem moon." Cascaes, the Portuguese, came up with a Winchester under his arm in time to hear the end of this explanation. "The negro like-a some noise, eh, senhor?" "What about yourself?" asked Carter uncivilly. "Haven't you been joining in? I suppose you're first cousin to these fellows, anyway." Cascaes put a little finger down the muzzle of his rifle, wiped it round, lit a match, and showed that the finger was clean. "Oh, I beg pardon," said Carter. "I thought you were likely to share in the local revels." "Well," said the Portuguese thoughtfully, "I suppose I must count that an apology. Otherwise I should have shot you. Good-night, senhor." Carter waited till the man turned, ran in quickly, and plucked away his rifle. "And now," said he, "just let us understand one another exactly before we go any further. I'm standing quite all the risks from outside that I've any use for just at present. If there's any shooting to be done amongst ourselves, I prefer to do it myself. So first of all let's hear your trouble." "In the first-a place I am not negro. I am European of blood-a as pure as your own, an' far-a-more ancient." "If the apology I gave you just now doesn't cover that, I'll apologize some more for calling you a nigger. Furthermore, I didn't know that you claimed to be a gentleman, not that gentility is any excuse for not carrying out one's job here on the Coast." "Senhor, you are handsome. And I agree with you that here in Africa we are all-a workmen, and must suffer if the work-a is not well done." "Well," said Carter impatiently, "is that the lot? To my simple British mind your reasons for wanting to shoot me seem pretty thin so far. I suppose you are mad at my basting you this morning, but if you think the circumstances out coolly, I'm sure you'll see that we've women's lives to think of here as well as our own, and by letting the niggers you were overseeing scamp their work whilst you were dreaming over a cigarette, you were risking the safety of the fort." "Senhor, do you know of what-a I was dreaming?" "Private affairs probably, but anyway of something immaterial."