At this moment Frank caught the gleam of a bayonet on the extreme left of the line. That told him that some of his men were in position, and he decided to begin operations at once. He nodded to his companions, and instantly three muskets were levelled and belched forth their contents in quick succession. This was the signal for the attack, and it was promptly obeyed. Muskets and pistols roared all along the line, and such a chorus of hoarse voices arose from the jungle that Frank, had he not known just how many men he had at his command, would have supposed that there was a small army hidden there.
The natives behaved just as Chips said they would. The most of them took to their heels at once, while the bravest among them lingered long enough to fire their muskets. But they discharged them any how—just as they happened to pick them up—and Frank saw that the muzzles of the most of them were pointed into the air. No sooner were the weapons emptied than the owners threw them down and ran for life.
In two minutes' time the sailors were all in the now deserted village, and two of the huts had been fired by Chips, who showed himself as active as a cat. He ran about with a fire-brand in each hand, calling loudly on the captives to make all haste to reach the beach, telling them they would find boats there and men to protect them.
Frank remained in the centre of the line, so that he could see all that was going on and direct the movements of his men, and it was with no little satisfaction that he noted the care with which each member of his small company took to carry out the instructions given him. Frank did not see that any of the natives were killed, but he did see one prisoner rescued. He did not get a glimpse of his face or of his clothing, but a remark Lucas made as he and Barton carried him by in their arms, told him who it was. "This ain't such a nice piece of business as it might be, sir," said the former, touching his cap.
"It's the captain," thought Frank. "That was a lucky thought of mine, appointing two of his worst enemies to take care of him, for they wouldn't injure him now for the world. He's badly hurt, too. Will he act more like a man now, or be a worse tyrant than ever?"
In a very short space of time the whole village was in a blaze. The huts being built of bamboo and their cone-shaped roofs thatched with dry grass, they burned like so much tinder. There was nothing more to be done now—nothing more they could do. They had rescued one prisoner, given the others a chance to run if they were able to do it, and now he must take care of his own men before the natives turned on them. The signal to retreat, a long, shrill whistle, was as promptly obeyed as the signal to attack. The men hurried toward him, and throwing their weapons on their shoulders fell in behind Chips, who led the way toward the beach at a dog trot. Frank ran his eye over the line as it moved passed him to see if there was anybody missing, and found to his delight that not only were the men all there, but also two more rescued prisoners, the captain's harpooner and bow-oarsman, who saluted him as they went by. When the last man was in the path, Frank and Mr. Gale fell in and brought up the rear. A few minutes' rapid run brought them to the beach, and after seeing the wounded captain stowed away as comfortably as circumstances would permit, Frank ordered the crews into the boats, which were pushed off toward the ship. There was no pursuit attempted, the natives being too badly frightened to rally immediately. By the time their expected reinforcements arrived, the Tycoon was safe out of their reach.