But by this time they had seized the bulwarks, and as a spear and club were thrown, swung themselves over on to the deck, to help in a kind of game of French and English, ending by their jerking the ropes out of the blacks’ hands, and sending them to the right about, with a volley from the ready guns.
“My dear boys,” cried Panton, wringing his friends’ hands as soon as he was at liberty. “I was afraid I was left in the lurch.”
“Why?” said Oliver.
“No, no, I mean that you were all killed. Where’s Mr Rimmer?—don’t say he’s dead.”
“I would almost rather have to say so,” said Oliver, “for he seems to have forsaken us.”
“Gone?”
“Yes; in the lugger, and run for it.”
“To get help, or come back in the dark to help us.”
“That’s what I want to think,” said Oliver, “but it is so hard to do so, after what I have seen.”
“Never mind that now,” cried Panton, excitedly. “The niggers are reinforced—so are we, though, thank goodness—and before long they’ll make a big attack. We’ve had two or three little ones, with no particular luck on either side. Ready to fight?”