But now the canoes were close under the ship’s bows and sides. They would attempt to board.
They did, and partly succeeded, cutting through the netting easily with their knives. The sailors fought like true British tars, repelling the fiends with revolvers, with the butts of their rifles, and smashing many a chest and skull even with capstan bars. The officers defended the bows.
No less than six savages managed to get inboards. The Newfoundland was slightly wounded; then he was like a wild beast. He downed one savage, and, horrible to say, seizing him by the windpipe, drew it clean away from the lungs. The others were seen to by the sailors, and their bodies tossed overboard.
The fire-fiends had had enough of it, and prepared to retire. Grape was once more brought to bear on them, and two more canoes were sunk.
The loss to the Wolverine was one man killed and three wounded, but not severely. As long as a canoe was visible, a determined rifle fire was kept up, and many must have fallen.
When Hall and Reginald went below to report the victory, they found the ladies somewhat nervous, and there was little Matty on the table-top, barefooted and in her night-dress. The strange little Yankee maiden wouldn’t stop in her state-room, and even when the battle was raging fiercest she had actually tried to reach the deck!
Then Oscar came down, laughing and gasping, and Matty quickly lowered herself down to hug her darling horsie, as she called him.
“Oh, look, auntie!” she cried, after she had thrown her little arms around his great neck and kissed him over and over again, “my pinny is all bluggy!”
The night-dress was indeed “bluggy,” for poor Oscar had an ugly spear wound in his shoulder. But the doctor soon stitched it, the faithful fellow never even wincing. Then he licked the doctors red hands and Matty’s ear, and then went off on deck to bed.