So the council ended, and the little garrison remained precisely as before.
It was evident to all, however, that the end could not be far distant, for not only provisions, but ammunition itself, would soon give out. All hands saving Nelda were therefore put on short allowance. Coals were carefully saved, no more being used than was necessary to make steam to be condensed and used as drinking water; and not an unnecessary shot was to be fired.
But now there came a lull which lasted for three whole days and nights. Two things were evident enough: first, that the enemy were making some change in their mode of warfare; secondly, that the final struggle would soon take place—and indeed, as regards that, many of the men within the little encampment would have preferred to rush forth, cutlass in hand, and finish the fighting at once.
Most of the country was devastated by the fire that had been kindled, with the exception of a patch away south and east at the foot of Observatory Hill, on which the proud ensign was still floating, as if to give the besieged some hope and comfort.
But one day this patch of jungle, like the famous Birnam Wood, seemed to be slowly advancing towards the camp.
Tandy was gazing at it, and looking somewhat puzzled, when Halcott came up.
“That is more of their fiendish tactics,” he said; “and the scheme, I fear, will be only too successful. You see,” he added, “they are piling up heaps of branches; these will defy our rifle bullets, and unfortunately we have no shells left to fire them. Gradually these heaps will be advanced, and under cover of them they will make their next and, I fear, final attack, and it will be made by day.”
Halcott was right, and in a few days’ time the savages were within a hundred yards of the palisade. They no doubt meant to advance as near to it as possible during the hours of darkness, and with might and main attack at sunrise.
It was midnight when the movement on the part of the besiegers began, and the cover was then slowly advanced. A gentle breeze had begun to blow away from the camp, and the night was moonless and dark.
Presently a hand was laid on Halcott’s shoulder. He had been lying near the outer stockade quietly talking with James; while Tandy was in the ship’s state-room keeping his little girl company. The poor child was sadly uneasy to-night, and the father was trying his best to comfort her.