"CLOSE UP!"
"Don't you think we might make a bigger peep-hole, Mister Archie?"
whispered Peter.
"No," was the abrupt reply.
"All right, sir; you know best; only it is precious smothery. I'm as
hot as hot."
"Can't help it, Pete. We must bear it, and above all now that we are
getting so near."
"Yes, we are near; aren't we, sir?"
"Very near, Pete."
"Can you make out anything more about what is burning?"
"Yes--the Residency."
"That's bad, sir. Thought we was to retreat to there when things got
too hot at the orspittle."
Archie had been raising the boughs that concealed them as they drew
nearer the upper landing-place, dropping very slowly along, their
progress being checked by the manipulation of the boat's grapnel under
Pahan's clever management, for he controlled the rate at which they were
carried downward on the swift stream by using the rough little anchor as
a drag.
As far as could be made out in the moonlight, the river was quite clear
of boats, and, to their surprise, they glided on into utter silence,
while not a moving figure could be made out.
Archie had, in a whisper, given such information to his companion as he
could, and attributing the position to their still being at a
considerable distance from the scene of the conflict, he had crushed
down in his own breast the feeling of dread that the worst had occurred.
He had just come to this conclusion when Peter made a horrible
suggestion.
"Mister Archie," he whispered, "ain't it all very quiet?"
"Yes. Perhaps the enemy is waiting for broad daylight, to make another
attack."
"More fools they, sir, when they might catch our poor chaps quite done
up in the darkness and without a shot to fire. But you don't think,
sir, as we are too late, and the niggers have made a rush, carried all
before them, and ended up by finishing our lads off?"
"No, I don't," said Archie shortly; "and now don't talk. What's the use
of making the worst of things?"
"Quite right, sir. There, I've done; but I'd give anything to get to
work again. Just tell me this, sir: how much farther have we got to
go?"
"A very little way," whispered Archie, as he raised his head a little
and peered through the boughs, to see that the fire was burning low and
that they were now gliding into comparative darkness, evidently caused
by the river mist keeping down the smoke, which hung low and partially
obscured the light of the moon.
And now the big Malay was evidently busily using his pole, and thrusting
hard to force the boat into the position he had marked. Then, as far as
the listeners could make out, he had hauled up the little grapnel so
that it hung over the side, worked hurriedly with his pole again, and
then laid it leaning against a pile of boughs so that the two lads could
hear the water dripping where they lay.
Then the grapnel was lowered again, and the boat swung round; and as
Archie raised his head once more, it was to find that they were close up
to their old position whence they had made their successful capture of
the cartridges. And now it seemed as if they had suddenly glided from
silence into the noise and turmoil of the fight, for from the shore came
the shouts and yells of the Malays, who were evidently engaged in a
savage attack upon the defenders of some portion of the station, and
Archie, in his excitement, uttered a low:
"Thank Heaven!"
"What did you say that for, sir?" whispered Peter excitedly.
"That horrible silence, Pete, made me afraid that you were right."
"Ah, yes, sir; and that all our poor lads were wiped out. It's all
right, sir, only that we ain't got no cartridges. But what are you
going to do, sir? We can't go on lying here."
"No, Pete, of course not," whispered Archie, though there was no need,
for the noise and tumult would have drowned his words even had they been
spoken aloud.
He raised the boughs, but nothing was to be seen, for the bungalow was
hidden by the smoke and mist now being borne by the faint breeze of the
coming daylight in their direction. But he could make out enough to
determine that an attack must have just commenced upon the mess-room and
its surroundings, while, in spite of the stillness in that direction,
the lad could gather that the defenders must be still holding their own.
A sudden sharp rustling and movement of the boat made Archie turn
sharply.
"Don't say nothing, sir," panted his companion, whose voice sounded as
if he had been running hard. "I couldn't bear it no longer, sir. I was
being smothered. Can't you hear, sir? They ain't cheering, but our
chaps is at work with the bay'net."
"Yes, yes, I hear," said Archie hoarsely.
"Well, sir, we are close inshore, and with a sharp run we could get in
and help."
"But it would be madness, Pete, to try and land with Miss Minnie now."
"Who wants to land with Miss Minnie, sir?" cried the lad fiercely.
"She's safe here. You tell her to lie low, and say that what's his name
is to pull up his anchor and run her a bit lower down, or across the
river out of danger till all's safe again."
"Impossible, Pete. We are almost unarmed, and it would be like
forsaking the poor girl at a time like this."
"What you talking about, sir? Here's two of us, and there's our poor
chaps dropping before these niggers' spears. Come on, sir! I must
speak, for I feel it's our duty to be there."
"Yes, Pete," replied the subaltern in a voice that he hardly knew as his
own; and rising clear of the bushes, he made his way to where he could
dimly make out the figure of Minnie kneeling beneath the attap roof.
"Minnie," he whispered, "our men are fighting to defend the station, and
our place is there. Tell the Malay to get the boat across to a spot
where you will be safe. Don't ask me to stay. I can't." Turning from
the girl as she made a snatch at his hand, "Now, Pete," he said, and
grasping the gun, he sprang over the side into the shallow water, and
then, as he dragged himself out by the help of the nearest bush, a quick
panting from the gloom around told him that Peter was by his side. Then
old discipline asserted itself. "Forward! Double!" he cried; and
falling into step, the two lads ran almost blindly in the direction of
the shouting and yells, which acted as their guides to the quarter where
the conflict was going on.
Those next minutes were to the lads like a brief period of blind
confusion, and at one time they were hurrying between trees where the
smoke was thickest, rising from places where firing was going on and the
mist hung low but seemed to be lightened here and there by the
flickering of fire, whose pungent odour of burning wood assailed their
nostrils. Then Archie was conscious of finding himself rushing through
a crowd, at whom he struck right and left with the barrels of his gun,
and of hearing a piercing yell somewhere to his right, followed by a
grim, stem voice growling:
"You've got it, then!"
And at last, with a bound, the two lads stumbled, nearly fell, and then
leaped together over a rough breast-work, and fell heavily amongst the
dimly seen defenders who were left.
"Friends--friends!" yelled Peter, and then, "Mister Archie, sir, where
are you? Ah! That's done it!" For no reply came in answer from his
panting companion, who was being partly held up by one of those whom he
had joined, and who gasped out a cheer.
"That's right! Hooray it is!" cried Peter. "Here, give us a rifle.
I've got a bayonet." And Archie heard the _click, click_ of the keen
weapon being fixed.
This brought back his failing powers, and the next minute, finding
himself in the little line of defenders who were dimly seen in the smoke
that was floating from the levelled Residency, he raised the gun he
still clung to, tired twice into the bearers of so many bristling
spears, and began to load again, asking himself the question, "Are the
cartridges wet?"
The little, hurriedly thrust-in rolls answered for themselves with two
more sharp reports, and these four shots resulted in checking the
enemy's advance and in raising a wildly exultant, though feeble, cheer
from the defenders along the little line; for, trifling as was the
addition to the failing force, the shots seemed to give as much
encouragement to the enfeebled men as dismay to their enemy.
"Fire, sir--fire, Mister Archie! Don't stop to aim, sir!" panted Peter.
"I've got a lot more ready. Fire till the barrels are too hot to
hold!" And, trembling with excitement the while, Archie fired as fast
as he could drag the cartridges from the pockets where they lay.
And as he fired again and again the Malay attacking party hung back,
dropped a little more to the rear, and began turning their spears into
missiles, which began to whistle past the defenders, who were finding
their voices more and more, and cheered hoarsely.
"Here y'are, sir! Old England for ever!" cried Peter. "I've got about
a couple of dozen handy. Ketch hold."
"Who's that firing?" came in a familiar voice from Archie's right.
"You, Maine! Great heavens! I thought--Here, distribute some of your
cartridges to the men."
"No use, sir. This is a shot-gun," panted Archie hoarsely; and he fired
again twice, snatched at a fresh supply from Peter, and was in the act
of closing the breech again, when the Major exclaimed:
"Stand fast, my lads! It has given you a rest. Bayonets!"
There was another cheer at this, and the men stood fast as ever--a
dwindling party, hard beset, of the defenders of the mess-room veranda,
their breast-work for the most part consisting of the bodies of the
slain.
"Steady, my lads! Close up!" cried the Major.--"That you, Sir Charles?
Good! I didn't know you could use a bayonet like that."
There was a tremendous yell from the front now, and it became plain that
the enemy had recovered from the check given by the recrudescence of the
long-stopped firing, little though it was, and were now coming forward
in greater force.
"Close up, my lads!" he said again. "God save the Queen!"
The cheer that burst forth was only faint, but it was true as the
British steel with which the men stood ready to deliver their final
thrusts.
"The last two, Mister Archie!" panted Peter in a low tone. "Let 'em
have 'em, sir, and then be ready. I've got another rifle and bay'net.
Fire, and chuck the Doctor's gun at them and hooroar! We will die
game!"
"Close up!" roared the Major desperately, as he stood sword in hand,
ready to give point. "Stand fast, and let the black-hearted cowards
spit themselves upon your bayonets.--What's that?" he cried.
"A fresh body of 'em, sir, coming round to right and left."
"That you with your bad news, Sergeant?" cried the Major
half-laughingly. "Good-bye, my lad! Good man! Brave soldier! But
we've done our best, and they'll say it was bravely done at home.--Form
square! Rally!" he roared, as he now raised his sword on high.--"Well
done, subaltern--and you too, boy," he added, as right and left, with
lowered rifles, Archie and Peter helped to close him in.
Yell, yell, yell, came in a savage roar, as, like a dark wave flashed
with scarlet and amber yellow, two lines of spear--armed Malays in
admirable military order charged round the two angles of the mess-room
right and left; and as the tiny square stood firm, it was to see the
new-comers dash wildly past and tear away right before them in a fierce
charge upon the advancing enemy, whose attack that had meant the
extinction of the brave defenders was now turned into a repetition of
the sham-fight's rout, as they scattered in wild retreat across the
parade-ground and made for the jungle.
The defenders stood, with presented blood-stained bayonets, in
bewildered silence for a time, and too much astounded to cheer as they
watched the smart, bright military charge of the new enemy, for it
seemed impossible to believe that these were others than a fresh party
who were making some terrible mistake.
They watched then as the fresh, bright line with glittering spears tore
on, driving the enemy before them, till the latter began to plunge in
amongst the jungle trees, or made for one or other of the paths, when
all at once a wild, shrill cry rang out, and, as if by magic, the new,
well-drilled force stopped short as though in obedience to the loud,
familiar sound of a British bugle. This was answered by two more, one
from the path nearest to the river, the other away from the direction of
the village campong; and in response to these three calls came as many
crashing volleys, while as the smoke arose it was to display a motley
crowd of the enemy returning in wild excitement, driven back by the
check, to be met in their retreat by the spears of their new foes.
What followed was a short and desperate encounter, in which the retiring
foe turned wildly again to reach the shelter of the jungle, but only to
meet the quick, scattering fire of the advancing detachments, which, as
if from some carefully planned manoeuvre, but which Peter called chance,
were now advancing in the nick of time.
The fight was over, for, hemmed in now, Rajah Suleiman's despairing
force threw down their arms in appeal for mercy, crushed, beaten,
half-destroyed.