“The niggers are coming right down upon us, sir,” said the first mate from the other boat, “and evidently mean to fight.”
“All right, Dellow; be ready for ’em. I shall lead. We mean to fight too.”
Chapter Thirty Two.
The Way to Nowhere.
The long light canoes of the approaching Indians were well manned, and as they came nearer Brace could see that most of the occupants wore a kind of tiara made of the tail feathers of parrots or macaws. Several held spears or bows, but the major part were busy paddling, and they came down with the stream, evidently full of fierce determination to destroy or capture the strange intruders upon their solitudes, striving hard to increase the speed of their canoes, which were in a well-kept line.
There was no time for the discussion of plans, for the distance between the brig’s boats and the enemy was rapidly growing less.
“One wouldn’t have time to prepare anything if one wanted to,” said the captain, after a sharp glance forward. “Will you leave it to me, gentlemen, to do my best?”
“Of course,” said Sir Humphrey, and Briscoe nodded from where he knelt, with his double gun held ready in his hand.