ELLERTON TO THE RESCUE
Already the last of the fugitives had passed, rushing blindly for the
shelter of their canoes, and the foremost of their pursuers were
emerging from the clearing.
Mr. McKay, cool in the time of extreme peril, calculated that only
about a hundred of their allies remained alive, while, making due
allowance for the tremendous execution, there were at least a thousand
bloodthirsty foes. Four against a thousand!
"Don't fire yet!" he whispered.
The main body of the savages crossed the clearing at breakneck rate,
and disappeared in the direction of the beach, but others came at a
more leisurely pace, examining those of the fugitives who had fallen.
Those who showed signs of life were bound hand and foot, for what
purpose the white men had no doubt whatever.
Presently the keen eye of one of the savages caught a glimpse of one of
the rifle barrels. The man was evidently a chief, for, in addition to
his coat of paint, he wore a short cloak of feathers.
Without a moment's hesitation the savage uttered a loud shout and ran
straight in the direction of the white men, followed, at a distance of
about twenty paces, by some fifty yelling natives.
"You take that fellow, Blight!" exclaimed Mr. McKay quietly.
Blight raised his rifle to his shoulder, took a sight in the centre of
the chief's broad chest, and pressed the trigger.
"Missed, by smoke!" he cried, for the man came on steadily.
It was the work of a few seconds to open and close the bolt of the
rifle, and in that time the chief still ran on; but before Blight could
discharge his weapon a second time, the native's knees appeared to give
way, and he pitched headlong on his face.
All four men were firing fast into the hostile press. The rush was
stopped, although some of the savages came near enough to hurl their
spears, several of which stuck in the trunks of the palm trees behind
which the little band took shelter.
Many of the attackers fled for safety, others did not deign to run, but
retired slowly, brandishing their weapons at their enemies as they did
so. Some paid for their rashness, for it was a case of fighting for
existence, and every native put out of action told.
"The beggars are going to corral us," exclaimed Blight. "See, they are
running round to our left."
A couple of volleys drove the natives back still farther, yet without
attempting to take cover they continued their tactics of trying to cut
off their enemies' retreat.
The South Sea Islanders rarely resort to strategy in actual fighting.
They may, indeed, take steps to surround their enemies, and then charge
fearlessly to close quarters.
The white men were even now surrounded, for the advanced body, having
failed to prevent the embarkation of the discomfited invaders, had been
attracted by the sound of the firing and had completed the hostile
cordon.
In the lull that ensued, Mr. McKay contrived to place a temporary
bandage over Quexo's shoulder. The mulatto was still unconscious, but
showed no symptoms of having been poisoned by the spear thrust.
"I wonder what Hoppy is doing?" remarked Terence, after moistening his
parched lips with a draught from his water-bottle. "I guess he's in a
terrible stew."
"He may manage to make our friends attempt another attack. If so, we
can bolt for the shore; though I'm not going to put much faith in
that," replied Mr. McKay. "They've had too much of a licking, I fancy."
"Pity you didn't let us burn those blessed canoes, boss; these black
rascals will be able to follow our craft now."
"Yes, I admit I erred on the side of mercy, Mr. Blight," was the reply.
"It's my fault, and I must take the blame."
"That comes o' being so mighty particular," retorted the ex-pearler
bluntly. "If we come out o' this I guess your opinion of a nigger will
have an almighty change. Now, stand by, for here they come."
"Don't be taken alive, lads," continued Mr. McKay, and the next instant
the rifle-fire reopened.
Upon the dense masses of natives every shot told, yet having only one
rifle for each front the fire was not sufficiently extended to keep the
advancing enemy at bay.
The air was filled with shouts and shrieks, while stones and spears
flew in deadly showers. Once the magazines were empty there was no
time to recharge. The heated rifles were flung aside and the revolvers
were brought into use.
The four men shot rapidly and well, the heavy lead bullets stopping the
headlong rush far more effectively than did the nickel rifle ammunition.
Once again the attack failed, the savages drawing off and leaving at
least fifty of their number dead or wounded on the field. Not one of
the enemy had got within twenty yards of the death-dealing weapons of
the white men.
"Now, boss," gasped Blight, as he bound a discoloured silk handkerchief
round a spear-scratch on his left wrist. "Shall we make a bolt for it?
We can fight our way to the shore."
Mr. McKay pointed to the still unconscious Quexo.
"Put a bullet through his head. He won't feel it. Why should we chuck
away our chance for a wounded nigger?"
"Look here, Mr. Blight, I've told you before you can go if you want to.
Here are two revolvers you can take; there's a good chance now, so go,
and good luck to you! I must stay here--what do you say, lads?"
Terence and Andy grimly signified their intention of remaining with
their stricken comrade.
Blight saw there was a chance, but, in his opinion, far from a good one.
Although the spot the little band had chosen for their stand was within
a hundred yards of the sea, to return to where the canoes had landed
their armed contents was at least a quarter of a mile distant.
Then, again, directly he left cover and began to run, a hundred natives
would join in the pursuit. Even could he manage to fight his way
through the ring and outstrip his pursuers, there was a long swim in
front of him.
Good swimmer though he was, Blight recognised that he was decidedly
inferior in speed to the amphibious natives.
"I see it's no go, boss," he exclaimed. "So let's stick at it to the
end. Come on, you black fiends!" he added, shaking his fist at the
dark masses of warriors, as they prepared to renew the attack.
"Don't waste a single shot," cautioned Mr. McKay. "Here's the main
attack, so direct a combined fire in that direction, till they get
within fifty yards. Then each man must look to his front and do his
best."
The words were scarcely spoken ere the fierce yells of the savages
redoubled, and the rush began.
Scorning to take advantage of the slightest bit of cover, they raced
furiously, leaping over the low scrub that would have stopped a
civilised race.
Then the rattle of the rifle-fire rose above the shouts of the natives.
Scores were hit, some falling on the spot, others running several yards
ere their strength failed, while many of the wounded, in their mad
thirst for vengeance, staggered after their comrades in an endeavour to
launch themselves upon the white men.
No longer was there need to raise rifle to shoulder. Firing from the
hip, the little knot of desperate men emptied their magazines into the
throng of natives, then, casting aside their rifles, as before, they
grasped their revolvers, hardly daring to hope to check the headlong
rush.
Suddenly to an accompaniment of a peculiar screech, a trail of thin
smoke flashed earthwards from the sky. Then, with a terrific report,
an explosion took place right in the middle of the surging pack of
savages, and ere the cloud of dense, suffocating smoke cleared away,
the natives fled in all directions. Some, indeed, were so terrified
that they fell flat on their faces, clapping their hands to their ears
to shut out the echoes of the thunderous report.
Those who were on the remote side of the encircling body of natives,
though far from the scene of the explosion, were also seized with
panic, and the whole crowd, save those who had been hit or were too
dazed to move, fled helter-skelter for the village.
For a full minute none of the white men spoke. Terence and Andy looked
with utter amazement at the retreating foes; Mr. McKay and Blight, more
hardened in peril, seized the opportunity to thrust fresh clips of
cartridges into their magazines.
"Guess a gunboat's been dropping a shell," observed Blight, who was the
first to break the long-drawn silence.
"You are wrong," replied Mr. McKay quietly. "A shell would never throw
out a cloud of smoke like that; it's not the colour of lyddite either."
"Then what is it? Who fired it?"
"Young Ellerton," was the astonishing reply.
Mr. McKay was correct in his surmise. Ellerton, on seeing his
companions start in support of their coloured allies, was not
altogether at his ease. He kept tacking the yawl, so as to be within
easy distance of the landing-place in case of a hasty retreat on the
part of the invaders.
Gradually the sounds of the running fight died away; but no report of
firearms served to show that the white men had got in touch with their
foes.
Seen from seaward the scrub seemed almost so thick as to be impassable.
Mr. McKay and his companions were literally swallowed up in the
trackless waste that lay beyond the low range of cliffs.
Ellerton looked around at the canoes. Beyond a man left in each as a
boat-keeper they were deserted. Blight had vanished; when and where
the young Englishman knew not.
Suddenly the distant report of a revolver burst upon his ears. He knew
it to be a pistol shot, for it had not the short, sharp crack of a
rifle. That meant foes at close quarters. Then came two other reports
in quick succession, followed by a prolonged silence.
The firing reassured him. He realised that his friends were not with
their savage allies, and that they were, in consequence, between the
village and the beach. Rightly enough he guessed that they were
dealing with a party of stragglers, the noise of only three shots and
the absence of rifle-fire showed that the conflict was brief and
decisive.
The youth tacked once more, and steered eastward along the beach.
Again the long silence filled him with a nameless anxiety. He
regretted the evil day when Blight and the natives came to McKay's
Island; but in the circumstances nothing else could be done. They had
put their hand to the plough; there was no turning back.
Then, gradually but surely, came the sound of the natives still engaged
in conflict, unaccompanied by the report of firearms. There was no
mistaking it. Their allies were being driven back; but where were the
white men?
Nearer and nearer came the sounds of the retreating natives and their
pursuers, till the foremost of the fugitives gained the shore. Jumping
into their canoes they pushed off, panic-stricken and utterly fatigued.
Then came the main body, a sorry remnant at most, grimly fighting their
foes at almost every step.
Waist deep in water they fought, till the survivors contrived to escape
in their boats. Two canoes were left unmanned, their solitary
occupants paddling laboriously out of the reach of their foes.
Nor did the pursuit cease at the water's edge, for several of the enemy
dashed boldly into the waves and swam after the retreating craft.
One of the latter was, indeed, overtaken, and a desperate struggle
ensued between the rival natives, till the crew of another canoe,
seeing their companions' plight, returned and saved them from being
wiped out.
Then the flotilla moved well out into the lagoon, and took up a
position beyond the yawl, the natives, many of them badly wounded,
being too exhausted to paddle another stroke.
Ellerton was now confronted with a real peril. His friends, if alive,
were cut off; he was unable to gather any tidings from the natives, who
replied to his gestures by grunts and meaningless exclamations.
Just then came the rattle of musketry. At all events, Mr. McKay and
his party were still in a position to offer resistance, but against
what odds?
Just then the wind, hitherto light, died utterly away. Ellerton knew
nothing about the motor, and he himself was now in a position of peril.
Unable to move, save by using a sweep, which was hard work, he was at
the mercy of the savages, who, lining the shore, had realised his
predicament, and were preparing to swim off and carry the yawl by storm.
Ellerton had plenty of rifles and revolvers, but even then he could not
hope to keep the mob of foes at bay.
Seizing a rifle, he sprang upon the cabin-top and opened fire. It was
a fairly long range--some six hundred yards--but Ellerton gauged the
distance to a nicety; with the correct elevation, missing a man in that
throng was about an impossibility. A commotion showed that the shot
had taken effect. Another with equally good result! Ellerton again
felt the lust of battle.
Suddenly, in the midst of his cool and deliberate firing, a blow from
the boom nearly knocked the youth overboard. The breeze had again
sprung up.
Recovering himself by grasping the main shrouds, Ellerton laid his
rifle on the deck and jumped into the cockpit. He meant to steer along
the coast towards the village, and, if possible, aid his friends by a
long, dropping fire.
His progress was slow, the wind being still light, and ere the yawl had
travelled a hundred yards the firing on shore died away.
What did it mean? He thought. Were his companions at length
overwhelmed by dint of numbers? If so he would take revenge; he would
cruise up and down the shore and blaze away so long as a savage
remained on the beach, or a cartridge remained on board.
And after? He gave but a brief thought to that--a solitary existence
on a boat far from the little island he regarded as his home--but the
thought filled him with the rage of despair.
Steering by means of the tiller between his knees, Ellerton headed
diagonally towards the shore, at the same time charging the magazines
of half-a-dozen rifles.
While thus engaged, to his astonishment and delight the sound of firing
was resumed, the scene of action being nearly abreast of where the yawl
was steering. He immediately hove-to, and again ascending the
cabin-top, looked ashore. The scrub and several small groves of
cocoanut palms prevented him from seeing the combatants, and on this
account he refrained from opening a dropping fire, for fear of harming
his friends.
He was in a helpless state of perplexity till all at once a thought
struck him which gave him new-born hope.
The night he and Andy kept watch on board, in the lagoon of McKay's
Island, they had taken some rockets to use should they require
assistance. These rockets were of the ordinary sea-pattern, making a
loud explosion by means of a small charge of gun-cotton.
Hurriedly Ellerton fixed one of the rockets so that it would assume a
curved flight instead of soaring upwards, then turning the vessel's
course till the direction of the projectile would be as near as
possible towards the scene of action, he discharged the novel weapon.
* * * * *
"That was a lucky thought of yours, Ellerton, my boy," exclaimed Mr.
McKay, when the little party was safely on board. "They scooted like
rabbits. But, by Jove! it was a narrow squeak."