CHAPTER XIII
ELLERTON TO THE RESCUE
Already the last of the fugitives had passed, rushing blindly for theshelter of their canoes, and the foremost of their pursuers wereemerging from the clearing.
Mr. McKay, cool in the time of extreme peril, calculated that onlyabout a hundred of their allies remained alive, while, making dueallowance for the tremendous execution, there were at least a thousandbloodthirsty 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 amore leisurely pace, examining those of the fugitives who had fallen.Those who showed signs of life were bound hand and foot, for whatpurpose the white men had no doubt whatever.
Presently the keen eye of one of the savages caught a glimpse of one ofthe rifle barrels. The man was evidently a chief, for, in addition tohis coat of paint, he wore a short cloak of feathers.
Without a moment's hesitation the savage uttered a loud shout and ranstraight in the direction of the white men, followed, at a distance ofabout 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 ofthe 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 therifle, and in that time the chief still ran on; but before Blight coulddischarge his weapon a second time, the native's knees appeared to giveway, and he pitched headlong on his face.
All four men were firing fast into the hostile press. The rush wasstopped, although some of the savages came near enough to hurl theirspears, several of which stuck hi the trunks of the palm trees behindwhich the little band took shelter.
Many of the attackers fled for safety, others did not deign to run, butretired slowly, brandishing their weapons at their enemies as they didso. Some paid for their rashness, for it was a case of fighting forexistence, and every native put out of action told.
"The beggars are going to corral us," exclaimed Blight. "See, they arerunning round to our left."
A couple of volleys drove the natives back still farther, yet withoutattempting to take cover they continued their tactics of trying to cutoff 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 chargefearlessly to close quarters.
The white men were even now surrounded, for the advanced body, havingfailed to prevent the embarkation of the discomfited invaders, had beenattracted by the sound of the firing and had completed the hostilecordon.
In the lull that ensued, Mr. McKay contrived to place a temporarybandage over Quexo's shoulder. The mulatto was still unconscious, butshowed no symptoms of having been poisoned by the spear thrust.
"I wonder what Hoppy is doing?" remarked Terence, after moistening hisparched lips with a draught from his water-bottle. "I guess he's in aterrible stew."
"He may manage to make our friends attempt another attack. If so, wecan bolt for the shore; though I'm not going to put much faith inthat," 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 blackrascals 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-pearlerbluntly. "If we come out o' this I guess your opinion of a nigger willhave an almighty change. Now, stand by, for here they come."
"Don't be taken alive, lads," continued Mr. McKay, and the next instantthe rifle-fire reopened.
Upon the dense masses of natives every shot told, yet having only onerifle for each front the fire was not sufficiently extended to keep theadvancing enemy at bay.
The air was filled with shouts and shrieks, while stones and spearsflew in deadly showers. Once the magazines were empty there was notime to recharge. The heated rifles were flung aside and the revolverswere brought into use.
The four men shot rapidly and well, the heavy lead bullets stopping theheadlong rush far more effectively than did the nickel rifle ammunition.
Once again the attack failed, the savages drawing off and leaving atleast fifty of their number dead or wounded on the field. Not one ofthe enemy had got within twenty yards of the death-dealing weapons ofthe white men.
"Now, boss," gasped Blight, as he bound a discoloured silk handkerchiefround 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 chuckaway 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 withtheir 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 withina hundred yards of the sea, to return to where the canoes had landedtheir armed contents was at least a quarter of a mile distant.
Then, again, directly he left cover and began to run, a hundred nativeswould join in the pursuit. Even could he manage to fight his waythrough the ring and outstrip his pursuers, there was a long swim infront of him.
Good swimmer though he was, Blight recognised that he was decidedlyinferior in speed to the amphibious natives.
"I see it's no go, boss," he exclaimed. "So let's stick at it to theend. Come on, you black fiends!" he added, shaking his fist at thedark masses of warriors, as they prepared to renew the attack.
"Don't waste a single shot," cautioned Mr. McKay. "Here's the mainattack, so direct a combined fire in that direction, till they getwithin fifty yards. Then each man must look to his front and do hisbest."
The words were scarcely spoken ere the fierce yells of the savagesredoubled, and the rush began.
Scorning to take advantage of the slightest bit of cover, they racedfuriously, leaping over the low scrub that would have stopped acivilised 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 yardsere their strength failed, while many of the wounded, in their madthirst for vengeance, staggered after their comrades in an endeavour tolaunch themselves upon the white men.
No longer was there need to raise rifle to shoulder. Firing from thehip, the little knot of desperate men emptied their magazines into thethrong of natives, then, casting aside their rifles, as before, theygrasped their revolvers, hardly daring to hope to check the headlongrush.
Suddenly to an accompaniment of a peculiar screech, a trail of thinsmoke flashed earthwards from the sky. Then, with a terrific report,an explosion took place right in the middle of the surging pack ofsavages, and ere the cloud of dense, suffocating smoke cleared away,the natives fled in all directions. Some, indeed, were so terrifiedthat they fell flat on their faces, clapping their hands to their earsto 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 withpanic, and the whole crowd, save those who had been hit or were toodazed to move, fled helter-skelter for the village.
For a full minute none of the white men spoke. Terence and Andy lookedwith utter amazement at the retreating foes; Mr. McKay and Blight, morehardened in peril, seized the opportunity to thrust fresh clips ofcartridges into their magazines.
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br /> "Guess a gunboat's been dropping a shell," observed Blight, who was thefirst to break the long-drawn silence.
"You are wrong," replied Mr. McKay quietly. "A shell would never throwout 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 hiscompanions start in support of their coloured allies, was notaltogether at his ease. He kept tacking the yawl, so as to be withineasy distance of the landing-place in case of a hasty retreat on thepart of the invaders.
Gradually the sounds of the running fight died away; but no report offirearms served to show that the white men had got in touch with theirfoes.
Seen from seaward the scrub seemed almost so thick as to be impassable.Mr. McKay and his companions were literally swallowed up in thetrackless waste that lay beyond the low range of cliffs.
Ellerton looked around at the canoes. Beyond a man left in each as aboat-keeper they were deserted. Blight had vanished; when and wherethe young Englishman knew not.
Suddenly the distant report of a revolver burst upon his ears. He knewit to be a pistol shot, for it had not the short, sharp crack of arifle. That meant foes at close quarters. Then came two other reportsin quick succession, followed by a prolonged silence.
The firing reassured him. He realised that his friends were not withtheir savage allies, and that they were, in consequence, between thevillage and the beach. Rightly enough he guessed that they weredealing with a party of stragglers, the noise of only three shots andthe absence of rifle-fire showed that the conflict was brief anddecisive.
The youth tacked once more, and steered eastward along the beach.Again the long silence filled him with a nameless anxiety. Heregretted the evil day when Blight and the natives came to McKay'sIsland; but in the circumstances nothing else could be done. They hadput their hand to the plough; there was no turning back.
Then, gradually but surely, came the sound of the natives still engagedin conflict, unaccompanied by the report of firearms. There was nomistaking it. Their allies were being driven back; but where were thewhite men?
Nearer and nearer came the sounds of the retreating natives and theirpursuers, till the foremost of the fugitives gained the shore. Jumpinginto their canoes they pushed off, panic-stricken and utterly fatigued.Then came the main body, a sorry remnant at most, grimly fighting theirfoes at almost every step.
Waist deep in water they fought, till the survivors contrived to escapein their boats. Two canoes were left unmanned, their solitaryoccupants paddling laboriously out of the reach of their foes.
Nor did the pursuit cease at the water's edge, for several of the enemydashed boldly into the waves and swam after the retreating craft.
One of the latter was, indeed, overtaken, and a desperate struggleensued between the rival natives, till the crew of another canoe,seeing their companions' plight, returned and saved them from beingwiped out.
Then the flotilla moved well out into the lagoon, and took up aposition 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, whoreplied to his gestures by grunts and meaningless exclamations.
Just then came the rattle of musketry. At all events, Mr. McKay andhis party were still in a position to offer resistance, but againstwhat odds?
Just then the wind, hitherto light, died utterly away. Ellerton knewnothing 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 atthe mercy of the savages, who, lining the shore, had realised hispredicament, and were preparing to swim off and carry the yawl by storm.
Ellerton had plenty of rifles and revolvers, but even then he could nothope to keep the mob of foes at bay.
Seizing a rifle, he sprang upon the cabin-top and opened fire. It wasa fairly long range--some six hundred yards--but Ellerton gauged thedistance to a nicety; with the correct elevation, missing a man in thatthrong was about an impossibility. A commotion showed that the shothad taken effect. Another with equally good result! Ellerton againfelt the lust of battle.
Suddenly, in the midst of his cool and deliberate firing, a blow fromthe boom nearly knocked the youth overboard. The breeze had againsprung up.
Recovering himself by grasping the main shrouds, Ellerton laid hisrifle on the deck and jumped into the cockpit. He meant to steer alongthe coast towards the village, and, if possible, aid his friends by along, dropping fire.
His progress was slow, the wind being still light, and ere the yawl hadtravelled a hundred yards the firing on shore died away.
What did it mean? He thought. Were his companions at lengthoverwhelmed by dint of numbers? If so he would take revenge; he wouldcruise up and down the shore and blaze away so long as a savageremained on the beach, or a cartridge remained on board.
And after? He gave but a brief thought to that--a solitary existenceon a boat far from the little island he regarded as his home--but thethought filled him with the rage of despair.
Steering by means of the tiller between his knees, Ellerton headeddiagonally towards the shore, at the same time charging the magazinesof half-a-dozen rifles.
While thus engaged, to his astonishment and delight the sound of firingwas resumed, the scene of action being nearly abreast of where the yawlwas steering. He immediately hove-to, and again ascending thecabin-top, looked ashore. The scrub and several small groves ofcocoanut palms prevented him from seeing the combatants, and on thisaccount he refrained from opening a dropping fire, for fear of harminghis friends.
He was in a helpless state of perplexity till all at once a thoughtstruck him which gave him new-born hope.
The night he and Andy kept watch on board, in the lagoon of McKay'sIsland, they had taken some rockets to use should they requireassistance. These rockets were of the ordinary sea-pattern, making aloud explosion by means of a small charge of gun-cotton.
Hurriedly Ellerton fixed one of the rockets so that it would assume acurved flight instead of soaring upwards, then turning the vessel'scourse till the direction of the projectile would be as near aspossible 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 likerabbits. But, by Jove! it was a narrow squeak."
The Nameless Island: A Story of Some Modern Robinson Crusoes Page 13
