It was a fearful tussle while it lasted, but soon the giant rose bleeding but triumphant, and Kara-Kara’s chief lay dead with his head hanging over the gunnel of the boat.
Then the barge fought its way back into the open water, and the battle was continued boat to boat and breast to breast.
But it was soon evident to Harry that, deprived of their captain, the enemy were getting the worst of it and giving way.
Presently oars were seized by the foe, their dead and even their wounded were pitched into the lake, and the retreat began.
Harry at once called off his men. He meant to cripple, if not destroy, the foe in a way that would save the lives of his own fellows. The double boats fell back at once, and the enemy, or what remained of them—for at least five hundred must have fallen in this terrible melée—commenced pulling away with might and main towards their own camp on the distant shore.
“Follow and harass them halfway to their own shore.”
This was the order given to the archers.
I draw a veil over the terrible scene that followed.
The blood of the archers was up. All their savage nature was on flame.
They saw red, so to speak, and red enough they made it for those unhappy boats.