Part 79 (1/2)

”My dear boys,” cried Panton, wringing his friends' hands as soon as he was at liberty. ”I was afraid I was left in the lurch.”

”Why?” said Oliver.

”No, no, I mean that you were all killed. Where's Mr Rimmer?--don't say he's dead.”

”I would almost rather have to say so,” said Oliver, ”for he seems to have forsaken us.”

”Gone?”

”Yes; in the lugger, and run for it.”

”To get help, or come back in the dark to help us.”

”That's what I want to think,” said Oliver, ”but it is so hard to do so, after what I have seen.”

”Never mind that now,” cried Panton, excitedly. ”The n.i.g.g.e.rs are reinforced--so are we, though, thank goodness--and before long they'll make a big attack. We've had two or three little ones, with no particular luck on either side. Ready to fight?”

”Of course.”

”Then take a station, and mind this, we can't afford to show mercy.

It's war to the knife, our lives or theirs.”

They soon had abundant evidence that this was to be the case, for before they had much time to think, there was a loud yelling and the brig was surrounded by a gesticulating mob of savages, who advanced, sending their arrows sharply against the sides of the vessel, shaking their war clubs, and making fierce darts with their spears wherever they imagined a white to be crouched.

This went on for an hour or two, and as no real danger threatened so long as they did not attempt to scale the sides, the firing was withheld, and Panton and his lieutenant, Oliver Lane, contented themselves with finis.h.i.+ng the elaborate arrangements made against attack by the mate with a plan or two of their own, which consisted in filling some small preserved fish tins with powder, adding a piece of fuse, and keeping them ready for lighting when the right moment came.

It came long before evening, for at last, satisfied that they would not be able to frighten the defenders of the brig into a surrender, the blacks made a furious attack, crowding to one side more especially, and trying to scale the bulwarks.

And now, as the arrows came in a shower over the attacking party's heads, firing became general, and watching their opportunity just as matters were getting very critical, the place of every man shot down being taken by a dozen more, Oliver and Panton both held the ends of the fuses they had prepared to the candle in a lantern. They saw that they were well alight, and then, as calmly as if there were no danger whatever of the contents exploding, bore them to the side, with the men shrinking away, and cast them over, right into the most crowded part of the attack.

A fierce yelling followed, and in place of running away, the poor ignorant wretches crowded round these strange-looking missiles which had been sent into their midst.

The next minute there was a terrific roar, followed almost directly by another which seemed to shake the s.h.i.+p, and then a complete stampede, the blacks who were uninjured helping their wounded comrades off to the shelter of the forest, and leaving many dead behind.

”Saved!” cried Panton. ”They won't face that again.”

”Yes, they will,” said Oliver sadly. ”Depend upon it, this is only a temporary scare.”

”Then we'll get ready some more for them. I'm growing bloodthirsty now, and we'll defend the brig to the last.”

The men cheered at this, and watched with interest the making of fresh sh.e.l.ls, but the afternoon wore on and evening came without a sign of a black, and at last hopes began to be entertained that the enemy had fled, so they all partook of a hearty meal.

”It's the darkness I dread,” said Oliver, soon after sundown, as he and his friends stood together watching all around, and now and then mistaking shadows for coming enemies.

It must have been two hours after dark, though, before there was any fresh cause for alarm, and it arrived just as Panton had confidentially said,--

”Some of us may sleep, for there'll be no attack to-night.”

”Beg pardon, Mr Oliver Lane, sir,” said a voice at their elbow.