“Not a soul, thank heaven,” cried the major. “But we shall have our work cut out. Ah, here’s Horton. All right in the rear?”
“Yes,” was the reply; “we are keeping them back. Ah, doctor, I am glad to see you again. You know what’s happened?”
“Partly,” said the doctor; “but tell me.”
They were moving forward as he spoke, and he learned now that the little force was working to hit the river higher up in its course, and from thence try to communicate with the island and the steamer.
“You had not been gone above a couple of hours before, as we were sitting smoking and chatting, and thinking of turning in, first one and then another began to complain of pain and drowsiness.
“The major there was the first to take alarm, thinking it was cholera; but it was Mr Linton who saved us. He no sooner realised what was the matter than he slipped out of the tent, and without waiting for orders made his way to the sergeant’s guard, and got the fellow on duty to collect all the men he could to come up to the tent. How many do you think he got?”
“Twenty—thirty—how should I know?” said the doctor impatiently. “Go on.”
“Four,” said the captain. “All the others were down and half delirious. Fortunately my Jacks had escaped, and thirty of them seized their rifles, and followed Mr Linton at the double to the hut.
“They were just in time. That scoundrel Hamet had given an order and withdrawn from the tent; at one end of which about a hundred of his cut-throats had gathered, kris in hand, and were only waiting for us to get a little more helpless before coming upon us to put us out of our misery.
“Bless your heart, doctor! it would have done you good to see the Jacks clear that tent at the point of the bayonet! And then, while half of them kept the enemy at bay, the other half brought in the sick men, and laid ’em side by side till they were all under canvas.