The ambuscaders had been timing their attack by the rate of the boat when it first came into view. Taken aback by the sudden and unlooked-for increase of speed, they were flustered. Some raised their rifles hastily to their shoulders; others, who were unarmed, stooped to lift the rocks and small boulders which it was their purpose to hurl at the boat when it came within striking distance. The man nearest to it was a trifle too late in his movement. His rock was a large one; before he could heave it above his head to make a good cast, the boat shot by, and he had to jerk it from him at haphazard. It splashed into the river, being only a yard behind the boat, in spite of the man’s unpreparedness. The occupants were drenched with the shower of spray.
Picture the scene. The gyro-boat dashing along in mid-stream at the mercy of the impetuous current. In it two young men, conspicuous by the red fez, their features pale and strained. Only George was needed to manage the boat; Maurice might have crouched with Giorgio in the space between the side and the gyroscopes; but he disdained to shrink from a danger which his brother could not evade. Above, at heights varying from sixty to a hundred and fifty feet, big moustachioed Albanians, rugged mountain warriors, standing on rocky ledges, firing down at the boat, or hurling stones and rocks with the force of sinewy muscles and high altitude. For a hundred yards the occupants of the boat carried their lives in their hands, and over all the sun beat mercilessly down.
Bullet after bullet flashed from the rifles. Rocks of all sizes plunged into the river, behind, before, to right and left of the boat. Now and then there was a metallic crack as a bullet struck the steel framework. A boulder crashed upon the vessel, tearing a long gash on the exterior of the hull, but above the water line. A smaller rock hit the wind-screen, rebounded, struck George’s arm, and rebounding again, found a final goal on the head of Giorgio, who crouched face downwards on the bottom, pattering his prayers. George was in terror lest a large boulder, more accurately or luckily aimed, should plunge into the interior of the boat, for such a missile might break a hole through the bottom, or hopelessly damage the engine if it struck fair. But the only injury suffered by the vessel during that terrible half-minute was the shattering of the glass case of the gyroscopes, which were not in motion.
Nor were the passengers destined to escape unscathed. When they had half run the gauntlet, a rifle shot struck Maurice above the knee. The burning, stinging pain was intolerable; yet neither by sound nor movement did he give sign that he was wounded. Everything depended on George’s nerve, and Maurice felt that a cry of pain might draw his brother’s attention from his task. George knew nothing of the wound. Looking neither to right hand nor to left, he kept his gaze fixed on the channel ahead.
Suddenly a new factor entered into the situation. There were rifle shots from the heights on the left bank. Maurice glanced up in dismay; surely their case was now hopeless; they were running into the jaws of destruction. For some seconds he was unable to catch a glimpse of these new assailants. Then an abrupt turn in the channel carried them out of sight from the enemy on the right bank, and at the same time brought the men on the left into view. A gleam of hope dawned upon Maurice’s troubled mind.
“Giorgio,” he cried, “look up. Who are these?”
The Albanian timorously raised his head. Then he sprang up in the boat and, looking upward, shouted with delight. On the bare hillside above the river stood a party of eight or ten Albanians. As the gyro-boat swept into view they shouted and fired off their rifles, not, however, aiming downwards, but shooting into the air, their usual mode of expressing pleasurable excitement.
“It is grandfather Giulika,” cried Giorgio, “and Marko, and Doda, and Zutni; yes, and there is Leka, my blood-foe. All are there. Praise to God, excellence! They have come over the hills to our help. While they stand there those dogs behind cannot pursue us further. We are saved!”
“But where are the Austrians?” asked Maurice. “They were on the left above the bridge as we passed.”
“We shall soon know, excellence,” said Giorgio. “Stop the boat, and I will speak to my grandfather.”