Chapter Ten.
Hard Times

It was, quite, for the rustling behind seemed to be terribly near, and it was with a feeling of intense relief that the lad felt his arm pressed, and fell into step with his officer, who directly after cried “Haiti” in a low, stern voice, and formed his men in line, before giving the orders: “Make ready! Fire!”

Quite time, for spears and bullets crossed, the former in a curve, the latter direct, and drawing from the enemy yells of mingled defiance, rage and pain.

“That’s give it ’em, sir,” whispered Tom May, who was close to Murray, and he made his rifle hiss as he rammed down a fresh cartridge.

“Any one hurt?” asked the lieutenant, in a low, eager tone.

“I got a spear a-sticking in me, sir,” said one of the men, in the same subdued tone of voice, “but I can’t say as it hurts.”

“Let me see,” said Murray excitedly, and he stepped to where the man was standing tugging at himself instead of following his comrades’ example and reloading.

“Don’t think you can see, sir! it’s so smoky. Would you mind ketching hold here and giving a good pull?”

As the man spoke, the midshipman did as he was requested, so far as to take hold of the shaft of a spear. But there he stopped short, his imagination suggesting consequences to which he gave voice in a strangely unnatural tone.

“I daren’t draw it out,” he said. “It may be wrong to do so.”

“But I can’t march with a thing like that all wibble wobble at every step, sir.”

“Then you must be helped, my lad,” said Murray hastily. “If I draw it out the wound may burst out bleeding.”

“Think so, sir?”

“Yes. You must be helped back till the doctor has seen to you.”

“Here, what is it?” said a familiar voice out of the gloom.

“Titely has a spear through his shoulder, sir.”

“Tut, tut, tut! Here, let me look.”

“Oh, never mind me, sir,” said the injured man; “it don’t hurt much, on’y feels like a scratch; but it’s orfly in the way.”

“Who’s this?” asked the lieutenant.

“Murray, sir.”

“Let me see. Yes: right through, evidently.”

“He wants it drawn out, sir,” said the midshipman, and he was holding up the spear-shaft where he stood facing the injured man; “but it would be dangerous to meddle with it, wouldn’t it, sir?”

“Yes, certainly,” said the lieutenant. “He must be helped back. What’s that?”

“More spears, sir,” growled Tom May, as there was the whizz and thud of the missiles once more.

“Present! Fire!” said the lieutenant sharply; and a fresh volley was fired, with the result of a rush of feet being plainly heard from the enemy, now in full retreat.

“Keep silence, my lads,” said the lieutenant, who had been waiting till the thudding of the ramrods came to an end and denoted that the little party was once more ready to deliver fire.

Silence ensued, save where Murray stood half supporting the wounded man.

“Here, give it a good pull, Mr Murray, sir,” whispered the man. “I’ll hold a couple o’ plugs ready for you to stop the bleeding.”

“No, no, my man; you must be patient,” whispered Murray sympathetically.

“But I can’t be patient, sir. You don’t know what it means.”

“Does it pain you so much?”

“No, sir; not so werry much. I can bear it well enough, but it makes me feel as if I’d got a skewer through me.”

“Silence there,” said the lieutenant.

“It’s all very fine,” muttered the man; and then, leaning towards Murray, “Say, sir, these here niggers on the coast are cannibals, aren’t they?”

“Yes, some of them, I believe,” whispered back the midshipman.

“Don’t leave me behind, then,” said the man softly, and he uttered a low chuckling laugh. “I don’t want ’em to come upon me and find a fellow skewered and trussed ready for cooking.”

“Can’t you keep that man quiet, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant angrily, and he came up to where the pair stood together. “It’s like telling the enemy where to throw again, for they are wonderfully quick of hearing.”

“I am trying, sir,” whispered the midshipman, “but I wish you would place your hand here.”

“Place your hand there, Mr Murray!” said the officer, in a voice full of vexation. “I have no time to feel the poor fellow’s wound.”

“But it isn’t quite that, sir,” said the lad. “I can’t help thinking – ”

“Think, then, sir, but don’t bother me.”

“I can’t help it, sir,” whispered the lad excitedly.

“What do you mean, Mr Murray?” said the officer, alarmed by the lad’s excitement. “Don’t say you are wounded too?”

“No, sir, and I don’t think that Titely has got anything worse than a scratch.”

“Eh?”

“Feel here, sir. The spear has gone right through the bandolier and his shirt from the front and gone out through the shirt and bandolier at the back, running all up a bit.”

“Well, but what about the poor fellow’s flesh and bone?” said the officer excitedly.

“I think it’s only gone through the skin, sir.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said the man. “I telled Mr Murray, sir, as I didn’t think I should bleed much if he pulled the skewer out.”

“We must wait for daylight, my lad – till the smoke lifts. Ah, what are you doing?”

“On’y wiggling the spear a little, sir,” replied the man gruffly. “Just give a tug at it. Does hurt a bit. I seem to have teared some’at. There, I knowed it! You try, Mr Murray, sir; you can lift it like now, and – yes, that’s it. I’m a-shoving it back’ards and for’ards, and it moves the cross-belt and my shirt, and nothing else.”

“But, my good fellow – ” began the officer.

“It’s all right, sir. I’ve shoved my hand right under my shirt and over my shoulder. It’s just bleeding a little, but – well, it’s about the humbuggin’est humbug of a wound I ever knowed a chap to have. Here, Mr Murray sir, you ketch hold of my cross-belt fore and aft, and if his honour wouldn’t mind giving the spear a haul through the belt I shall be as right as can be.”

The two officers obeyed the man’s request and stood holding spear and belt, but hesitated to proceed farther.

“That hurt, my lad?” said the lieutenant.

“Hurt, sir? Not a bit. On’y feels preciously in the way.”

“Got hold tightly, Mr Murray?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, now then.”

It took more than one good tug, but after the first tentative trial, which seemed to cause the man no suffering, the first lieutenant pulled hard, and at last drew the spear right through the two pierced portions of the tough buff leather.

“That’s your sort, gentlemen,” said the man. “Here, who’s got my musket?”

“Steady, my lad,” said the lieutenant. “Now, then, do you feel faint?”

“Orfle, sir, inside,” said the man, “but I want a drink o’ water worst.”

“But are you in pain?” asked Murray.

“Smarts a bit, but it don’t hardly bleed at all. I’m all right, sir, only tickles enough to make a chap a bit savage. Here, don’t you worry about me, sir. I’m as fit as a fiddle, gentlemen, and I on’y want now to play the niggers such a toon as’ll make them jump again.”

“Hah!” ejaculated the lieutenant. “Only a bit of a false alarm, Mr Murray.”

“Thankye, sir. Yes, that’s right. Does me good to grip my musket again.”

“Then try and use it, Titely,” said the midshipman, “for here they come again. – Yes, May; we hear them.”

The lieutenant’s command was given directly after, and again a volley rang out, this time to check the enemy’s advance and drive them back so thoroughly that the silence was once more intense; and as the party stood with strained ears, listening, Murray uttered an exclamation.

“What is it, Mr Murray?”

“Firing, sir. I heard shots.”

“Are you sure?”

“I heerd it too, sir,” said the injured man.

“Attention there!” said the lieutenant sharply.

“One, two, and three from the left make ready. Present – Fire!”

The three shots rang out like one, and directly after they were replied to, the reports sounding faintly enough but perfectly distinguishable through the distance.

The lieutenant waited while twenty could be counted, and then ordered the men to fire again. This drew forth a reply, and so evidently from the same direction that the order was given for the party to march; but directly after the lieutenant called Halt, for from behind them and quite plainly from the direction they were leaving, came the deep-toned thud of a heavy gun.

Chapter Eleven.
“The Smoke’s Lifting.”

“Well done, Seafowl!” said the lieutenant, and the men gave a cheer which drew forth a “Silence!” from the officer.

“You’re holloaing before you’re out of the wood, my lads,” he said. “Ah, there they go again – nearer too. Those must be Mr Munday’s or Mr Dempsey’s men. Halt, and stand fast, my lads. Let’s give them a chance to join, and then we can retire together. No doubt, Mr Murray, about the direction we ought to take.”

“No, sir,” replied the midshipman, “and we are going to be quite out of our misery soon.”

“What do you mean, my lad?”

“The smoke’s lifting, sir.”

“To be sure, my lad, it is. A cool breeze too – no – yes, that’s from the same direction as the Seafowl’s recall shot. If it had been from the forest we might have been stifled, after all.”

The signals given from time to time resulted in those who had fired coming before long within hail, and the men who now joined proved to be a conjunction of the second lieutenant’s and boatswain’s, who had met after a long estrangement in the smoke, and without the loss of a man. Then, as the smoke was borne back by the now increasing sea breeze, the general retreat became less painful. They could breathe more freely, and see their way through the burned forest in the direction of the anchored sloop.

It was a terribly blackened and parched-up party, though, that struggled on over the still smoking and painfully heated earth. For they had no option, no choice of path. The forest that lay to left and right was too dense to be attempted. There were doubtless paths known to the natives, but they were invisible to the retreating force, which had to keep on its weary way over the widely stretching fire-devastated tract that but a few hours before had been for the most part mangrove thicket interspersed with palms. But the men trudged on with all the steady, stubborn determination of the British sailor, cheered now as they were by the sight of the great river right ahead, with the sloop of war well in view; and in place of bemoaning their fate or heeding their sufferings the scorched and hair-singed men were full of jocular remarks about each other’s state.

One of the first things observable was the fact that to a man all save the officers were bare-headed, the men’s straw hats having suffered early in the struggle against the flames, while the caps of the officers were in such dismal plight that it was questionable as to whether it was worth while to retain them.

Titely, the seaman who had been speared, was the butt of all his messmates, and the requests to him to show his wound were constant and all taken in good part; in fact, he seemed to revel in the joke.

But there was another side which he showed to his young officer as, cheering at intervals, the party began to near the river edge and get glimpses of the boats waiting with a well-armed party to take them off to the sloop.

“It’s all werry fine, Mr Murray, sir,” said Titely, “and I warn’t going to flinch and holloa when one’s poor mates wanted everything one could do to keep ’em in good heart; but I did get a good nick made in my shoulder, and the way it’s been giving it to me all through this here red-hot march has been enough to make me sing out chi-ike like a trod-upon dog.”

“My poor fellow!” whispered Murray sympathetically. “Then you are in great pain?”

“Well, yes, sir; pooty tidy.”

“But – ”

“Oh, don’t you take no notice, sir. I ought to be carried.”

“Yes, of course! Yes, I’ll tell Mr Anderson.”

“That you don’t, sir! If you do I shall break down at once. Can’t you see it’s the boys’ chaff as has kep’ me going? Why, look at ’em, sir. Who’s going to make a party of bearers? It’s as much as the boys can do to carry theirselves. No, no; I shall last out now till I can get a drink of cool, fresh water. All I’ve had lately has been as hot as rum.”

“Hurray!” rang out again and again, and the poor fellows joined in the cheers, for they could see nothing but the welcome waiting for them, and feel nothing but the fact that they had gone to clear out the horrible hornets’ nest with fire, and that the task had been splendidly done.