The Burman who held it was ramming in powder and shot most liberally; driving in more and more with the greatest delight, laughing and joking the while with more merriment than discretion.
Suddenly, in the middle of the fun, the old thing exploded—burst!—with a mighty report, and all the Burmese thieves were prostrate immediately.
Ralph thought at first that they were all killed, and was on the point of rushing forward to see the extent of the injuries received, when one raised himself, and then another. With the most rueful faces they wagged their heads to each other, each looking solemnly at his neighbour for a moment.
The third was hurt and bleeding, but whether seriously injured Ralph could not tell. His companions rose, seized him by the feet, and drew him, on his back, by that means to some distance from the scene of the disaster; and, passing near enough to Ralph's hiding-place, he heard them jabbering together about the "beloo" which had thus revenged itself upon them. They seemed shy of approaching the place where the shattered gun lay, and Denham thought that it would do them good to hear a little more of the "beloo."
Accordingly, he began to moan, upon which the fellows gave a great start, and gazed around with terrified faces. Seeing this, and being himself concealed behind a large tree, the boy increased his moan to a howl,—a yell,—the most unearthly screeches which he could raise. It was too much for the dacoits, they sprang to their feet and ran off as fast as their legs could take them, becoming quickly lost in the shadows of night.
Rightly judging that their dwellings could not be very far off, and that they might return by daylight, Ralph hastened to loose his raft, and push it off from its moorings down the stream, determining to pursue his way as far as possible before morning.
The raft floated well, to his joyful surprise; he punted it along successfully, and was far away before the day star rose.