“Stand by!” roared ‘old Hankey Pankey’ from his perch on the top of Larry’s shoulders, noticing our hasty retreat from the left of the stockade, our fellows indeed rushing back in their scurrying flight into the midst of the centre column and mixing it up into irretrievable confusion. “Steady there! Face round, my men, stand firm!”
Just at that moment, though, when starting forwards again, with the captain still pick-a-back on his shoulders, Larrikins stumbled over a dead Arab that lay in front of him, and down came he with ‘old Hankey Pankey’ all in a heap together, with a couple of Somalis, at whom they were going full butt.
This second catastrophe broke up our ranks, some of the chaps—only a few, though, I am proud to say—bolting into the bush; but Mr Chisholm, who was leading the rear division, waved his sword in the air, and cried out for volunteers to rescue our captain.
At once, the whole lot of us that were left followed him up to the front, where Larrikins and ‘old Hankey Pankey’—the latter of whom of course could not rise of his own accord, by reason of the injury to his legs—were fighting as only Englishmen can fight amidst a perfect horde of Arabs, who had poured out from the stockade on seeing us retreat.
“Hurrah, boys!” cried Larry, as we came up at the double, firing away with our rifles right and left, and digging our sword-bayonets, till they were dyed red with blood, into the body of every Somali who barred our onward progress to the help of our comrade and the captain. “Give it to the bloomin’ beggars hot!”
We did not need the advice, however, as the Arabs themselves could have borne testimony to, for with a wild rush, that carried everything and everybody before it, we drove our foe back into their stronghold, and recovered ‘old Hankey Pankey,’ who was at once hoisted triumphantly up by a couple of marines. These gallant fellows, I should add, to give all honour to the corps, stood stauncher even than we bluejackets did that day; for, not a man turned his back on the foe until the captain gave the word.
This ‘old Hankey Pankey’ was forced to do, much against the grain, a moment or two later on, Captain Oliver having been driven off from the right attack, thus leaving both our flanks now exposed as well as our front to the fire of the Somalis, who once more rushed out from the stockade upon us.
“We must retire, my lads,” cried the captain in a hoarse voice, the words coming out with almost a sob. “But no hurry! Fall back by sections, each wheeling and firing in turn. The company will now retire! Quick march! Halt! Front!—fire!”
He suited the action to the word himself as he said this, discharging both his revolvers point-blank at two of the Arabs, who were leading on the gang in hot pursuit of us, tumbling them over like ninepins.
We had retreated in this fashion for about a mile or so, changing front continually and facing the Somalis, who pressed us hard every inch of the way; until, coming to an open space on the main road that had been cut in a sort of zigzag through the bush from Malindi up to Uganda, the captain determined to make a stand here and teach our pursuers a lesson, the more particularly as we now had with us all our little nine-pounder boat-guns.