A moment later there was a general discharge of firearms round them, and then some forty negroes rushed at them.
"On your feet now, men," Frank shouted. "Take steady aim and bring down a man with each shot."
A cheer broke from the sailors. Four shots were fired from Frank's side, and five from George Lechmere's, and with them came the cracks of Frank's revolver, followed almost directly afterwards by those of the pistols carried by the men, and George Lechmere's revolver.
Scarce a shot missed. Ten of the negroes fell, and those attacking from the right turned and bolted among the trees. The negroes on the left, however, inspired by the roaring of the horns and the shrieking yells of the Obi man, came on with greater determination and dashed across the path.
"Now, Dominique, at them!" Frank shouted, as with the two sailors he rushed across.
The numbers now were not very uneven. Of the twenty negroes on that side, five had fallen under the musketry and pistol fire, and two others were wounded; and as Frank's party and the blacks fell upon them they hesitated. The struggle was not doubtful for a moment. Six of the negroes were cut down, and the rest fled.
"Don't pursue them, men," Frank shouted; and the sailors at once drew off, but Dominique and his black boatmen still pursued hotly, overtaking and cutting down three more of their assailants.
"All is over for the present," Frank said, going to the spot where Bertha and Anna were crouching. "Not one of us is hurt as far as I know, and we have accounted for sixteen or seventeen of these rascals."
Bertha got up. She was a little pale, but perfectly calm and quiet.
"It is horrid, being hidden like that when you are all fighting, Frank," she said, reproachfully.