Dean had felt startled, but the effect of his cousin’s blow made him give vent to a loud “Ha, ha!” for the black, who was quite unarmed, placed his hands to the prominent organ which had received Mark’s blow, took
them down again very much stained, stared at them and uttered a piteous yell.
It was, to use the term of the old-fashioned singlestick players, “first blood,” and the sight thereof had a disastrous effect. For, recovering himself, the black turned round and caught his spear from where he had leaned it against the side of the shed, while the others yelled in chorus and began to menace the boys with their spears.
“Quick, Dean—guns!” cried Mark; and, then, “Bravo, Brown!” for the tall, thin, amateur foreloper snatched the spear from the first black, dashed before the menaced boys, and using the spear quarter-staff fashion, he made it whistle through the air as he struck to left and right, striking spear hafts, shoulders, and in two cases heads, as he drove their assailants back.
Just then Sir James and the doctor came into sight round one of the ruined walls, rifles over their shoulders, and catching sight of what was going on, came running forward to render aid.
“Hurrah!” cried Mark. “Give it to them, Dunn!”
Brown needed no urging; but the blacks were recovering from the surprise of the sudden attack and were coming on again.
“Fire, doctor!” shouted Dean excitedly.
“Yes, fire, father!” cried Mark. “Never mind us.”