"Cease rowing," Roger said.
"Amenche, lie still, dear, at the bottom of the boat. I will deal with them."
Seeing that the oarsmen had stopped paddling, the volley of javelins ceased; and the canoe, which contained some twenty men, ran alongside.
As she did so, Roger sprang on board her. Three or four of the natives were struck down in an instant, with his terrible weapon. The others, as soon as they recovered from their astonishment, rose from their seats and attacked him. Their numbers were but of slight avail. Standing in the bow of the boat, and swinging his weapon round his head, Roger kept them off; beating down one, each time his weapon fell. In vain they tried to close with him. His great size, and the suddenness with which he had attacked them, acted upon their superstitious fears. They knew not what sort of being it was with whom they had to deal, and the terrible strength displayed, and the instant fate that fell on all who approached him, appalled them.
Roger soon took the offensive and, making his way along the boat, drove them back before him. At last, when more than half their number had fallen, the rest sprang overboard and swam to the shore. Roger had been wounded by three or four spear thrusts, but these had been too hastily given to penetrate very deeply.
"I am unhurt, Amenche," he said, making his way forward again, and stepping into the canoe.
There was no reply. He stooped over, as she lay quietly there.
"She has fainted," he said.
"Row on, Bathalda. You had best give me the other paddle. I can hear boats coming in this direction. No doubt they heard the yells.
"Skirt along the shore. We shall be unseen, close in; and if they approach us, can take refuge in a canal."