The result was that the man Bayle struck, and another behind him, went rolling over—the former just as he had raised a spade to strike at Eaton’s defenceless head.
“You cowardly dogs!” roared Bayle, as, failing another weapon, he caught up a spade one of the convicts had let fall.
The attack was so sudden and unexpected that the men gave way, and stood glaring for a few moments, till one of their number shouted:
“It’s only the parson, boys. Down with ’em!”
But they did not come on, and, taking advantage of their hesitation, Bayle turned to Eaton.
“Quick!” he said, “get away from here.”
“No,” said the young officer hoarsely. “I can’t leave my men. Ah!”
He uttered a sharp cry, and sank down, for a piece of stone had been hurled at him with force enough to dislocate his shoulder, half stunning him with the violence of the blow.
As the young man fell the convicts uttered a yell of delight, all three of their adversaries being now hors de combat; but they were not satisfied, one of their number rushing forward to deliver a cowardly blow with the stone-hammer he bore.
Bayle did not realise for the moment that so brutal an act could be committed upon a fallen adversary, and he was so much off his guard that he only had time to make a snatch at the handle, and partly break the force of the blow, which fell on Eaton’s cap.