“Can’t we, sir?”
“We could if they knew us, Murray; but we are strangers, and it would be madness to try and head such a confused mob.”
“I suppose so, sir,” said Murray sadly, as he marched on beside his commander, who now gave an order to the men he led, which was heard plainly above the shouting and yelling of the blacks, who in their fear and confusion had cast away the heavy machetes with which they had armed themselves.
“Make ready, my lads, in case the enemy has taken possession of our line of retreat.”
But all seemed perfectly still amongst the trees they approached, and their lit-up trunks and boughs offered shelter as well as a way of retreat, when at one and the same moment, just as Mr Anderson called out, “Forward, my lads! That is the right path,” Tom May shouted from the rear—
“Here’s that there Caesar, sir, coming after us full pelt.”
“Yes,” cried Roberts, “and he’s bringing all the blacks with him to this end.”
Then it was that a fresh burst of flashes came from the now plainly seen opening for which the Seafowls made, checking their advance and laying two of them low.
“Retreat!” shouted a voice which sounded father strange, and it was followed by a fierce roar from the lieutenant bidding the men reply.
In an instant a good steady volley was fired at the spots from which the last shots had come, and then obeying the order that followed, the whole party, cutlass in hand, with Tom May roaring “Go on, my lads—forrard!” charged into the heavily-beaten forest path, trampling over three fallen blacks who lay struggling, faintly seen, upon the earth.