Fire Island Part 79

"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 finishing 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 ship, 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.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Billy Wriggs, sir. Ever since he had that swim in the black cavern, his hyes has been like your little gla.s.ses. Here, Billy, tell the gents just what you says you see."

"'Undred n.i.g.g.e.rs a crawlin' along like harnts, sir, each one with a big f.a.ggit on his back, and if they arn't a comin' to burn us out, I'm a Dutchman."

CHAPTER FIFTY.

THE GREAT PERIL.

It was the terrible danger foretold by the mate, and dreaded by Oliver, coming when Mr Rimmer was away with his men, and unable to help his companions.

For the sailor's eyes, long trained to watching through the darkness, had told the truth, there were the blacks slowly advancing, armed with those simple but deadly weapons, bundles of the most inflammable materials they could cut in the forest. There they came, stealing along in a line, crawling like insects toward the bows of the ship, with all a savage's cunning, for they were pointed toward the west, whence the night breeze now blew strongly, and in utter silence first one and then another thrust his load close against the vessel and pa.s.sed on into the darkness.

For a few minutes, the besieged gazed down over their breastwork of planking bewildered by the danger. They might have fired and shot many of their a.s.sailants, but they knew that would not save them, for the whole party kept persistently piling up the f.a.ggots, and though Oliver and his friends did not know it, pa.s.sing round the brig to go back straight from the stern to the spot whence they had issued from the forest to fetch more f.a.ggots, so that there were soon two lines, one coming laden toward the bows, the other returning from the stern.

"Buckets," said Oliver, suddenly. "Form lines to the water tanks."

The men leaped with alacrity to the task, and in a very short time the buckets were being filled and pa.s.sed along to where Smith and Wriggs bravely mounted on to the bowsprit and poured the water down upon the increasing heap.

"Give it a good souse round, Billy," said Smith, "and wet all yer can."

"Ay, ay," was the reply, and _splash, splash_ went the water, as the buckets were pa.s.sed up and returned empty, producing a great deal of whispering from below, but no missiles were sent up, and the blacks worked on with the advantage that their supply was inexhaustible, while that of the unfortunate defenders was failing fast.

"Water's done," cried Drew, suddenly, "only a few more buckets."

"Save them, then," said Panton, sharply.

"Yes," said Oliver, "Now, then, Panton, try one of your sh.e.l.ls to blow the heap of f.a.ggots away."

"Good," cried Panton, and he ran to get one of the powder-filled tins just as a couple of fire-flies of a different kind were seen to be gliding toward the vessel from the nearest point in the forest.

"No," said Oliver, addressing Smith, who had not spoken, but after hurling down the last bucket of water had seized his gun once more.

"Those are not fire-flies but fire sticks."

"Yes, sir, they're a-goin' to light us up, so that we can see to shoot some of the beggars, for up to now, it would ha' been like aiming at shadders. Is it begin, sir?"

"No, wait till Mr Panton has thrown down the powder."

Smith drew a long breath, and just as the two bright points of light disappeared under the f.a.ggot heap, piled now right up among the tarry stays beneath the bowsprit, Panton came up with his lighted fuse.

"Now," he said, "down by the side or right atop?"

"Down beside it, or it will do more harm to us than to them."

"Here goes," said Panton, and steadily giving the fuse a good puff which lit up his face, he pitched the sh.e.l.l gently, so that it should roll down beyond the f.a.ggots, and they watched it as it went down and down with the fuse hissing and sputtering as it burned.