Hence it came about that the dinghy was allowed to drift down a good three quarters of a mile before the Malays made any attempt, when, as the sampan closed up, and the man in her bows raised his limbing to throw, the savage in the water reached up one hand to Dick’s shoulder, and struck at him with the other.
The blow from the kris and the hurling of the spear took place at one and the same moment, but the touch of the Malay’s hand upon his shoulder made Dick leap up with such a sudden start that the aim was baffled, and the boat rocked so violently that the spear whizzed by Bob Roberts’ head, and plunged into the water.
In a moment more Dick had seized the little scull that lay in the dinghy, and struck the Malay in the river so severe a blow on the head that the man went under, to rise again a few yards away, and then paddle feebly towards the sampan, whose occupants, spear in hand, now made a desperate attack upon those they meant to make their prey.
Bob Roberts never quite knew how it all took place, but he had a lively recollection of old Dick standing up in the boat, sweeping the little oar round his head, and striking fiercely at the men who thrust at him with their spears.
It was a most unequal encounter, for while the Malays were upon comparatively substantial ground, the dinghy rocked to and
fro, and it only needed the hand of the half-drowned Malay to catch at the side, in a frantic effort to save his life, to send it right over, and Bob and the English sailor into the stream.
Bob felt that his minutes were numbered, for as he struck out for the shore the Malays in the sampan uttered a savage yell, and came in pursuit.
Dick swam to his side on the instant, and the dinghy went floating away with the half-drowned Malay, while now the sampan was close after them, and as one of their enemies rowed, the other stood in the bows ready to thrust at them with his spear.
“Swim away, my lad,” cried old Dick, hoarsely, “and get ashore, I’m only an old ’un, and I’ll get a grip of his spiker if I can.”