Meanwhile Ali’s eyes, which were more experienced in the ways of the enemy than those of his companions, read plainly enough that far from being damped by their ill-success they were preparing for a more general assault, and he confided his opinions to Tom Long.
“I can’t see any difference,” said Tom Long, after a careful inspection through his glass. “They looked just like that every time they came on, and—ah! there are some more of them, though.”
“More,” echoed Ali. “They are doubled in number. Look, too, at the way in which they are making bundles of reeds and canes.”
“Well, let them,” said Tom Long; “our rifle bullets will go through those fast enough. If I were Smithers, I’d give them a good searching fire now, and let them know that our rifles make fine practice at a thousand yards’ distance. Those fellows are not six hundred.”
“Better wait till every shot is more likely to tell,” replied Ali. “The bullets would of course go through those bundles of cane; but do you not see what they mean?”
“No,” said Tom Long, quietly, “unless they mean to burn us out.”
“That is what they do mean,” replied Ali. “And look! Quick! give the alarm! They are coming on at once!”
“Let them,” said Tom Long, phlegmatically. “They won’t alarm us. Nice people your fellow-countrymen, Ali!”
“Fellow-countrymen!” said the young Malay, scornfully. “My fellow-countrymen are gentlemen! These are the scourings of the country, with half the scoundrels from Borneo, Java, and Sumatra—men who have lived all their lives upon piracy and murder.”
“Well, whatever they are,” said Tom Long, coolly, “they are coming on, so I may as well let the lads know. All right, though; every one is on the alert, and I daresay we can give a good account of them before they get back. Are you sure that these are all a bad lot?”