At that moment there was a heavy concussion, and a rolling echo which went reverberating up the gully toward the mountain top.
“One of the big guns,” said Lenny. “That means a signal to come back.”
“Then the black fellows are in sight there,” cried Jack excitedly. “Come on.”
The start was made, with Ned making a brave effort to keep his legs, and succeeding fairly well as they struggled on through the tangled growth, Jack springing to the front, hunting-knife in hand, to slash away at creepers and pendent vines which came in their way. But every now and then the poor fellow stopped short.
“Bit touched in the wind, gentlemen,” he said cheerily. “Go on again directly. If there is a chance to get a mouthful of water I should like it. If there ain’t, never mind.—Off we goes.”
The doctor said nothing, but supported him all he could, and they started again, with Jack leading and the sailors forming their rear-guard, retiring in regular military fashion, dividing themselves in twos, one couple halting face to the enemy till the rest had gone on a hundred yards and halted, and then trotting or rather forcing their way along the track, to pass their companions and halt again.
Moment by moment an attack was expected, but it was not made, though from time to time those in the rear caught sight of a black face peering round the trunk of a tree, showing that they were followed.
At last as they descended they came to a spot where the stream in the ravine could be reached, and the wounded man drank of the cool clear water with feverish avidity, while the doctor frowned as Jack looked at him with questioning eyes.
“Does take the conceit out of you, Mr Jack,” said Ned, as they continued their retreat. “I did think I was a better-plucked one than this. Talk about a weak ’un; I’m downright ashamed of myself.”