“Much of a muchness, sir,” said the man, with a grin half of mischievous mirth, half of pain. “The first luff said something about hornets, sir. I don’t know much about them insecks, but we chaps feel as if we’d been among their first cousins the wopses; eh, lads?”
“Ay, ay!” growled another of the men. “But aren’t we soon going to have a chance to use our stings?”
At that moment the preliminary order rang out—an order which sent a thrill through the suffering band, making them forget everything in the opportunity about to be given them for retaliation upon the advancing body of warlike blacks stealing cautiously forward from the shelter of a patch of mangroves away to the left, which had from its nearness to the margin escaped the flames.
“The savage brutes!” muttered Murray, as he drew his sword, and winced with pain.
“Hold your fire, Mr Murray,” shouted the lieutenant. “Wait, my lads, till you see the whites of their eyes, and then let them have it sharply when you hear the word.”
But the little volley from the midshipman’s party of reserve was held longer, for the lieutenant’s words had little more than passed his lips when there was a flash, followed by what resembled a ball of grey smoke from the Seafowl where she lay at anchor. Then almost instantaneously came the roar of one of the sloop’s bow guns and her charge of canister shot tore through the sheltering bush-like trees, while a cheer burst from the shore party, discipline being forgotten in the excitement caused by what came as a surprise.
The heartily given cheer was followed by another puff of grey smoke, and the crack of shot through the sheltered trees, the effect being that the advancing party of the enemy was turned into a running crowd of fugitives scattering and running for their lives, leaving the boats’ crews to embark quite unmolested, this last example of the white man’s power proving a quite sufficient lesson for the native king.