Showers of arrows came pouring down and several of the Breezy's men fell.
A charge was made now with fixed bayonets, and the officers' revolvers begun to do their deadly work.
But in less than ten minutes the gangway, as Stormalong called it, was carried and the enemy were in full flight down into the crater. The bluejackets and marines must follow up their victory till it became a permanent one. This they did with splendid heroism, but the foe had rallied, and at one time it was touch and go with the athlete McTavish and Stormalong. They were completely surrounded, but they stood back to back, and fought like lions at bay, the surgeon with his broadsword, Jack with his great pet cutlass.
It was a grand but terrible sight, and both sides paused, as if by common consent, to witness it.
Here was brawny Scotland and brave England fighting back to back in the same cause, turning round and round as they hung together, and showering their blows like wintry rain.
Guilford declared afterwards that no less than five men were cloven to the shoulders by the claymore of McTavish.
The fight on the side of the cannibals was but feebly sustained after this; and when the maxim was once again brought into play the dusky warriors turned and fled.
They could be seen on the ridge of the crater escaping, and many were shot and their bodies rolled over the hilltop. The whole place was then cleared and sentries set to guard the gangway.
Expecting a night attack, no fires were built, and the men laid themselves down and slept, tired and weary enough, till at last the sun appeared over the rim of the crater and saw them safe.
Their own casualties were but small, though seven poor fellows would never see the chalky cliffs of dear old England again.