It was a splendid example of what discipline and confidence could effect. The men felt that if their lives were to be saved it would be through carefully carrying out the wishes of their officers, and hence no murmur was heard, each man’s face wearing a grim look of determination, that seemed to be intensified as Sergeant Lund came round laden with cartridges, a packet of which he handed to each in turn.
“Some sergeants,” he said, as he finished his task and stood rifle in hand by the group whose duty it was to shoot down the bearers of the dammar-torches that they felt sure would be used, “some sergeants would, I dare say, be shaking hands with all their mates at a time like this, and looking at things as all over; but I don’t, my lads, for I’ve a sort of faith in our luck turning up shiny side outwards; so cheer up, all of you.”
“All right, sergeant,” was the reply.
“I wouldn’t trust too much to luck though, my lads,” he continued, “but I’d squint straight along the barrel of my rifle when I fired. You may be very sorry for the Malay chap you shoot at, but I’d shoot him first and be very sorry afterwards.”
“Right, sergeant,” said Private Sim, who had been fighting very manfully all day; “they needn’t come and be a-trying to burn us out unless they like, need they?”
“No, Sim,” replied the sergeant; “but they will, and it strikes me that they’ll be come before long, too. Isn’t that smoke in amongst those bushes there?”
“Smoke it is,” said one of the men, excitedly.
“Don’t jump about like that, my lad, but keep cool, or you’ll be wasting your cartridges,” said the sergeant. “Where’s the captain? He was here just now.”
“Gone round the other side,” said Sim. “Here they come, sure enough. Look; there’s a dozen men with torches.”
“All right, my lads,” said the sergeant. “I don’t see that it matters about the captain not being here; you know your duty.”