The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 102

For a few minutes there was no result. Then there arose a yell, for the roof had caught, the resinous pine burned strongly, the smoke began to curl in between the rafters, and the women were helped down.

To extinguish the flames was impossible, and would even have been as vain a task had they been outside ready with water.

"How long will she last before she comes down?" said one of the settlers.

"We can stop in here for a quarter, perhaps half an hour longer," said Gordon; "and then we must make a dash for your place."

"Yes," said the settler, "and they know it. Look!"

By the increasing light from the burning house, the savages could be seen with their white leaders preparing for a rush.

Just then Don and his two companions were forced to leave the little lean-to, whose roof was burning furiously, and it was only by closing the rough door of communication that the besieged were able to remain in the big kitchen.

"It won't last five minutes, my lads," said Gordon. "Be ready, women.

I'll throw open the door. We men will rush out and form up. You women run down to the right and make for Smith's. We shall give them a volley to check them, and run after you."

"Ready?"

"Ay."

"All loaded?"

"Ay," came in a deep despairing growl.

"Down with these boxes and tubs then. You, Don, you are young and weak; go with the women."

"No," said Don; "I shall go with you men."

"Brayvo, Mas' Don!" whispered Jem. "What a while they are opening that door! We shall be roasted, my lad, after all, and these wretches 'll pick our bones."

The door was flung open, and the enemy uttered a yell of delight as the little party of whites ran out of the burning house.

"Now, women!" cried Gordon.

"No: stop!" roared Don.

_Crash_!

A heavy volley from the right, and the besiegers made a rush for the left.

_Crash_!

A heavy volley met them on the left, fired diagonally from half behind the blazing house.

Then there was a cheer, echoed by a second, and two parties of blue-jackets were in among the Maoris, who fled, leaving half their number wounded and prisoners on the ground, while Don and his friends helped the women out into the open, away from the signs of bloodshed, which looked horrible in the light from the blazing house.

"A little too late," said the officer in command of the detachment.

"Too late to save my house, sir, but in time to save our lives," said Gordon, grasping his hand.

"I wish I had been sooner; but it's rough work travelling through the bush, and we should not have come, only we heard the shouting, and saw the glow of your burning house."

No time was lost in trying to extinguish the fire after a guard had been set over the prisoners, the men under the officers' orders working hard with the few buckets at command; but the place was built of inflammable pine, which flared up fiercely, and after about a quarter of an hour's effort Gordon protested against further toil.

"It's of no use, sir," he said. "All labour in vain. I've not lost much, for my furniture was only home made."

"I'm sorry to give up, but it is useless," said the officer.

Jem crept close up to his companion.

"I say, Mas' Don, I thought it was some of our chaps from the sloop at first, but they're from the _Vixen_ frigate. Think they'll find us out?"

"I hope not, Jem," replied Don; "surely they will not press us again."

"Let's be off into the bush till they're gone."

"No," said Don; "I'm sorry I left the ship as I did. We will not run away again."

Meanwhile preparations were made for bivouacking, the officer determining to rest where they were that night; and after seeing his men stored in two of the barns, and sentries placed over the prisoners in another, at one of the settlers' places, one log-house being given up to the wounded, he joined the little English gathering, where the settlers'

wives, as soon as the danger was past, had prepared a comfortable meal.

After an uneventful night, the morning broke cheerily over the tiny settlement, where the only trace of the attack was at Gordon's, whose rough log-house was now a heap of smoking ashes.

The sailors had breakfasted well, thanks to the settlers' wives, and were now drawn up, all but the prisoners' guard, while the officer stood talking to Gordon and his neighbours with Don and Jem standing close by; for in spite of Jem's reiterated appeals, his companion refused to take to the bush.

"No, Jem," Don said stubbornly; "it would be cowardly, and we're cowards enough."

"But s'pose they find us out? That there officer's sure to smell as we're salts."

"Smell? Nonsense!"

"He will, Mas' Don. I'm that soaked with Stockholm tar that I can smell myself like a tub."

"Nonsense!"

"But if they find out as we deserted, they'll hang us."

"I don't believe it, Jem."

"Well, you'll see, Mas' Don; so if they hang you, don't you blame me."

"Well, Mr Gordon, we must be off," said the officer. "Thank you once more for all your hospitality."

"G.o.d bless you, sir, and all your men, for saving our lives," said the settler warmly; and there was a chorus of thanks from the other settlers and their wives.

"Nonsense, my dear sir; only our duty!" said the officer heartily. "And now about our prisoners. I don't know what to do about the Maoris. I don't want to shoot them, and I certainly don't want to march them with us down to where the ship lies. What would you do, Mr Gordon?"

"I should give them a knife apiece, shake hands with them, and let them go."