All around were the yelling and clashing of spears; and how many of the attacking party fell could not be seen, but there was constantly the depressing sight of some brave defender of the women and children staggering away from the fence, to fall dead, or to creep away out of the struggle to where the weeping women eagerly sought to staunch his wounds and give him water.
“That’s splendid, my lads! That’s splendid! Ten times better than using a spear,” cried Tomati, coming up to them again. “Plenty of powder and ball?”
“Not a very great deal,” said Don.
“Be careful, then, and don’t waste a shot. They can’t stand that.”
“Shall we beat them off?” said Don, after seeing that his pistol was charged.
“Beat them off? Why, of course. There you are again. Look sharp!”
Once more the two pistols cleared the attacking Maoris from the top of the fence, where they were vainly trying to cut through the lashings; and, cheered on by these successes, the defenders yelled with delight, and used their spears with terrible effect. But the attacking party, after a recoil, came on again as stubbornly as ever, and it was plain enough to those who handled the firearms that it was only a question of time before the besieged would be beaten by numbers; and Don shuddered as he thought of the massacre that must ensue.
He had been looking round, and then found that Jem was eyeing him fixedly.
“Just what I was a-thinking, Mas’ Don. We’ve fought like men; but we can’t do impossibles, as I says to your uncle, when he wanted me to move a molasses barrel. Sooner we cuts and runs, the better.”
“I was not thinking of running, Jem.”