ROUTING THE SAVAGES
There was not the slightest doubt about it. The expedition had failed
disastrously. Quexo was badly wounded, the white men all more or less
exhausted, while barely forty utterly demoralised natives were cowering
in their canoes.
"Well, we can't stay here," remarked Mr. McKay, after the mulatto's
hurts had been dressed and the wounded man placed on one of the bunks.
"They will be starting in pursuit, I'm thinking, and so, Mr. Blight,
will you tell those black rascals to man two of their canoes and
destroy the others? By that means we may be able to get the survivors
back to Ni Atong."
Mr. McKay's opinion of the ex-pearler was undergoing a change. No
doubt the man was a bit of a scoundrel, he thought, but he was older
and possibly more of a reformed character than in the old days in
Torres Strait. He had certainly fought well and had impressed the lads
as a resolute and cautious combatant.
"I'll tell 'em, boss," he replied. "But, by snakes, it's a bad
look-out."
"It is," assented Mr. McKay, as he prepared to go below and bind up a
slight wound on his shoulder. "Your friends will have to be content
with Ni Atong for a while, I'm thinking."
Andy was also in the cabin, where he was attending to a surface wound
on his forehead--the legacy of one of the savages' showers of
stones--so only Terence and Ellerton remained on deck with the
ex-pearler.
"Couldn't the boss bring over the rest of your pals and settle our
score with those niggers?"
"What pals?"' asked Terence, taken aback by the suddenness of the
question.
"Why, the other chaps on your island."
"There are none," replied Terence.
Barely had the words escaped him, when he realised that he had made an
admission. He had revealed the comparative weakness of the defences of
McKay's Island.
"Oh! Is that so?" was the rejoinder.
Blight said no more on the subject, for the yawl was now within hailing
distance of the forlorn flotilla.
The natives accepted their white companion's orders without demur. The
two most serviceable canoes were brought up with their full complement,
and the rest were scuttled till they floated awash--useless to friend
or foe. Then with a light breeze the three craft--the yawl leading the
forlorn procession--headed for the opening in the reef.
Jimmy Blight was thinking. He was not of a thinking nature, but
scheming and plotting were the only intellectual subjects in which he
excelled. In fact, he was a past master in the art of intrigue.
He briefly summed up the situation and enlarged upon it. His house and
store at Ahii were in the hands of a hostile race of savages. His
wealth of copra and other valuable native products had vanished.
Had his black friends been able to regain possession of Ahii, he would
not have hesitated to incite them to fall treacherously upon the white
men from McKay's Island, and the doubtless valuable stores of that
place would be his. Now, with fewer than forty of his savage friends
at his command, the risk was too great--at least at present.
No, he must wait his time, return to Ni Atong, and endeavour to find an
opportunity of surprising and slaying the handful of whites. If only
he dared! With a fully charged revolver he might make a sudden
attack----
This wicked scheming was suddenly interrupted by a shout from one of
the canoes. The keen-eyed savages had detected an ominous movement
ashore. Their enemies were launching their canoes in pursuit of their
discomfited adversaries.
"Say, boss!" exclaimed the ex-pearler, as Mr. McKay emerged from the
little cabin. "What's to be done now? There ain't no wind, in a
manner o' speaking, and those reptiles'll overhaul us hand over fist."
Mr. McKay did not reply at first, but anxiously scanned the shore with
his glasses.
"There are seven canoes," he announced. "Three for us to tackle and
two for each canoe. 'Tis long odds, but I reckon we'll come out on top."
"Why not get aboard the canoes, and let this 'ere packet go?" asked
Blight. "There'll be more chance with the blacks using their paddles.
It'll be a flat calm in a minute or so."
"No," replied Mr. McKay. "We'll fight it out as we are, though we've
had quite enough for one day."
The crews of the two friendly canoes were still lying on their paddles,
realising that their only hope was in remaining by the white man's
boat. Their indifference had vanished, and weapons were brandished in
a way that showed a grim determination to fight to the death.
"Tell them to paddle for all they are worth," exclaimed Mr. McKay.
"What for?" demanded Blight, his old aggressive manner beginning to
return. "What's the use? Let's keep together, I vote."
"I mean to," replied Mr. McKay coolly. "Now do as I tell you."
Sullenly the ex-pearler obeyed, and the natives, plying their paddles
to the accompaniment of a mournful chant, soon increased the distance
between them and the almost becalmed yawl.
"Now, Andy, start the motor."
Great was Blight's astonishment as the engine began to purr, and the
little craft shot through the water at a good eight knots. He had
never seen an internal combustion engine before. Although motor-driven
craft are common amongst the pearling and trading fleets in the
Pacific, he had left the fishing-grounds some years before the first
motor had made its appearance.
Nor was the wonder of the crews of the friendly canoes any the less.
To them the white man's boat, vomiting clouds of vapour from the
exhaust and producing a series of rapid explosions, was nothing more or
less than a fiery-dragon.
"We are going the pace too much," remarked Andy, for the yawl was
easily outdistancing the canoes, whose crews were showing signs of
physical distress.
"Yes, we must stand by them," replied his father. "See, our pursuers
are gaining; you are quite sure the motor is thoroughly tuned up, I
hope?"
"Running like clockwork," was Andy's enthusiastic reply.
"Good! Now, lads, it's revolvers for this business. Get the canvas
off her, then. Keep well under cover; I'm going to ram the leading
canoe."
The sails were quickly stowed, and the bowsprit run in. The five men,
revolvers in hand, kept in the cockpit so as to be sheltered by the
raised roof of the cabin.
"Now, Ellerton, how's your nerve?"
"Perfectly fit."
"Then put your helm over when I give the word and strike yonder canoe
square amidships."
The pursuers had trailed out in a long, straggling line, a couple of
hundred yards separating the foremost from the second.
On they came, fearlessly. Ellerton could see the foam flying from the
sharp prow, the muscular backs of the straining oarsmen, and hear the
steady yet rapid thud of the paddles. Now he could discern the whites
of the eyes of the fierce-looking warriors who were gathering in her
lofty bows.
"Make due allowance for the way she carries," cautioned Mr. McKay.
"Now, hard over!"
The youth at the helm put all his strength against the tiller. The
yawl rolled outward as she turned, then recovering herself rushed
straight for her gigantic antagonist.
With a yell of defiance the savages let fly a shower of arrows and
stones. The masts and deck were literally bristling with darts, while
the stones rolled like hail upon the planks.
Under the protection of the cabin-top the white men escaped the deadly
volley, but Ellerton, gripping the tiller with a vice-like grip, felt a
hot, stinging pain in his left arm.
Then, crash! Fair in the centre of the lightly-built fifty-feet hull
struck the sharp stem. There was a terrific splintering of wood and
the gurgling sound of inrushing water, while at the same time the fore
part of the yawl was crowded with a score of black fiends.
[Illustration: CRASH! FAIR IN THE CENTRE OF THE LIGHTLY BUILT
FIFTY-FEET HULL STRUCK THE SHARP STEM]
Then the revolvers barked, and the living mob of savages melted away,
and the next instant the yawl was ploughing her way over the shattered
remains of the war-canoe.
"Hurrah!" shouted the crew. "Now for the next!"
But the second canoe, profiting by her consort's misfortunes, turned
and paddled rapidly back, to obtain the support of the third.
With a difference of barely one knot in speed the advantage of the
motor-driven vessel was lost, so the crew had to be content to keep out
of range of the arrows and pour in volleys from the rifles.
It was a stern lesson, but one that was absolutely necessary, for the
remaining canoes turned tail and paddled hurriedly for the shore.
The sharp and short conflict was ended by the return of the two
friendly canoes, whose crews, with true savage instinct, completed the
work of destruction by spearing every man whose head remained above
water.
"Capitally done, Ellerton!" exclaimed Mr. McKay. "You--Why, what's the
matter with the lad?"
The lad's face had turned a ghastly greyish hue, and only Andy's prompt
action saved him from falling upon the grating of the cockpit.
"Look! He's hit!" said Andy, pointing to Ellerton's left arm, which
had hitherto been concealed.
In a trice Mr. McKay cut away the wounded youth's shirt-sleeve. The
arrow had gone through the fleshy part of his forearm, the barb
projecting quite a couple of inches.
"Hold his arm as firmly as you can," said Mr. McKay.
Then, grasping the haft of the missile, he dexterously snapped it in
two. In spite of his care and skill, the slight motion caused the lad
to utter a groan; but the worst was still to come.
Lubricating the broken shaft with some cocoanut oil, Mr. McKay told
Andy and Terence to hold Ellerton's arm tightly, so as to compress the
veins and arteries, and consequently numb the limb. Then with a rapid
and deliberate motion he laid hold of the barbed end and drew the
fragment of the missile through the wound. With a low moan Ellerton
fainted.
"Couldn't be better," remarked Mr. McKay. "Now, lads, take him into
the cabin, and start the stove as fast as you can. I'm afraid the
arrow is poisoned."
Andy and Terence lifted their comrade upon one of the bunks opposite to
that on which Quexo was peacefully slumbering. Mr. McKay had given the
mulatto a strong sleeping draught; he now took up a rifle, and,
withdrawing the cleaning rod, snapped it close to the "worm."
"You might take the helm, Blight," he remarked. "You know the course?
I shall be busy for half an hour or so."
Blight nodded. Left alone, he gave a glimpse at the compass, put the
tiller up till the vessel lay on her proper course, and motioned to the
two canoes to follow.
Then he resumed his meditations. Everything seemed in his favour.
Half a dozen revolvers, thrown down after the fight, were within hand's
reach. In the cabin were two wounded persons and three totally
unsuspecting unarmed men. And close by were the two canoes containing
his coloured associates. What could be easier?