“Sugar-cane stems, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant firmly. “Yes, you are right; there is movement there, and the scoundrels have not taken their lesson to heart. Well, I do not see what more we can do to prepare for them. They cannot get up to us without ladders or poles, and from our sheltered position we ought to set firing at defiance, while they allow us plenty of opportunities for giving them another lesson.—What is it, my lad?”
The speaker turned to the big sailor who had just trotted up to the door.
“Beg pardon, sir, but Lang reports enemy creeping through the sugar-cane a bit for’ard here to the left, and Duncombe says he can see ’bout a dozen on ’em out at the back looking as if they meant a rush.”
“Hah! That is fresh,” said the lieutenant. “Mr Roberts here made out those amongst the canes. I’ll come and look. You, Mr Roberts have the goodness to keep your eye on them and hold your fire until they show a determination to come on. Then you must fire; but fire low. We must cripple and not kill.”
“Yes, sir,” said Roberts, and he sheltered himself behind one of the curtains of the well-furnished English-looking bedroom where he and the officer had been watching. And then, as the latter walked quickly out, followed by the sailor who had made his report, a terrible sense of loneliness fell upon the youth, accompanied by a shortness of breath, as his heart began to beat with a heavy dull throb that sounded loud and strange.
He was gazing out at a scene of tropical beauty, the wild and the cultivated blending so that at another time he could have stood in the perfect silence dwelling upon the loveliness of the place. But now there was a feeling of awe that seemed to over-master everything, while the very fact that where he had plainly made out the movement of figures as they evidently sought concealment, all was now motionless, and not a leaf waved or was pressed aside, added to the weirdness of his position, and made him draw farther back in the full expectation that the next moment the vivid green of the surroundings would be cut by a flash of light and then turn dim as it was deadened by the rising smoke of a shot.
“I wish I wasn’t such a coward,” he muttered. “I do try hard to stand it all, and get on beautifully when the firing and spear-throwing are going on, but now, when the enemy may be going to throw a spear or fire a shot at one, it does seem so hard to bear. No worse for me than for other fellows,” he muttered bitterly, “but I am myself and they are other fellows. Ugh! I suppose it’s a very beautiful place, but it seems very horrible, and it makes a fellow wish that if he is to be wounded it would come off at once so that one could get it over. There’s some one creeping along there now,” he muttered. “I’ll shout a warning to Mr Anderson. No, whoever it is doesn’t seem to be coming on, and it looks so stupid to shout for help when there’s no need.”
For all was perfectly motionless amongst the vivid green leaves, save where from time to time there was a flash of light—red light—topaz light—and that changing to a vivid green that looked as if it were blazing in the burning sun, and he grasped the fact that he was gazing at some lovely humming bird that darted here and there and then poised itself, apparently motionless, till he made out that there was a faint haze visible which must be caused by the rapid vibration of the tiny creature’s wings.
“Yes,” he said to himself, “it’s as beautiful as can be—that is, it would be if everything wasn’t so silent and still and one didn’t know that people were ready at any moment to take aim at one with rifle or musket. He said that they used rifles—the wretch! It’s a nasty sensation, when you don’t want to shoot any one, to feel that they want to shoot you.”
“Oh, what a while Mr Anderson is!” muttered the lad again. “He might make haste back to a fellow. He can’t be obliged to stop away watching, and he ought to visit his posts regularly so as to give each of us a bit of company.”