It was no time for arguing. Roger therefore did as Harry had suggested, and, leaving the defence of the cave to his friend, grasped the musket and loaded it with frantic haste.
Seeing one of the defenders apparently retreating, the natives at once redoubled their onslaught, and spears came whizzing through the air, thick as falling autumn leaves.
The long blade, however, still flashed untiringly hither and thither, and the cave remained untaken.
“Hasten, Roger!” cried Harry. “I cannot much longer keep these fellows off unaided.”
“Coming, lad,” shouted Roger in return.
A huge native at this moment forced himself to the front and engaged Harry at close quarters, and, tired as he was, the boy knew his strength must soon fail. He responded gallantly, however, and drove the man back for an instant; but, with a cry like that of a furious beast, the fellow again leapt at him, and, beating down the sword-point, bore the lad to the ground, at once shortening his spear to pin him to the earth.
Poor Harry closed his eyes, and for a moment experienced all the bitterness of death. But it was for a moment only. The weight suddenly rolled from his chest, and, opening his eyes, he saw Roger pulling his reeking blade from the savage’s body. Then, dropping his sword, Roger raised the musket to his shoulder and fired into the thick of the group of natives.
With the report came a hearty English cheer as Leigh and a couple of dozen well-armed sailors rushed round a bend in the beach.
“Lie down! lie down!” roared Leigh, and as the two lads flung themselves to the floor of the cave, a storm of bullets whizzed over them that at once accounted for ten of the savages.
Then out came the hangers, and the sailors charged the remaining assailants, who turned resolutely to meet them, while Harry and Roger, rising from the floor of the cave, dashed down on the rear, cutting and slashing and thrusting with right good will, their strength renewed somewhat by a sight of their own countrymen.