"Five hundred yards," said Sanders, and Sergeant Abiboo, fiddling with the grip of the port Maxim, gave the cartridge belt a little pull, swung the muzzle forward, and looked earnestly along the sights. At the same time the Houssa corporal, who stood by the tripod of the starboard gun, sat down on the little saddle seat of it with his thumb on the control.
There came a spurt of smoke from the middle canoe; the bullet fell short.
"Ogilvie, my man," soliloquised Sanders, "if you are alive—which I am sure you are not—you will explain to me the presence of these Schneiders."
Nearer came the canoes, the paddle plunging rhythmically, a low, fierce drone of song accompanying the movement.
"Four hundred yards," said Sanders, and the men at the Maxims readjusted the sights.
"The two middle canoes," said Sanders. "Fire!"
A second pause.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" laughed the guns sardonically.
Sanders watched the havoc through his glasses.
"The other canoes," he said briefly.