These, with the exception of one, that only got up at the last moment when too late, we had been unable to drag along with us for the attack on the stockade, the path we had traversed through the bush in the first instance under the leadership of our treacherous guide having almost been impassable for ourselves, let alone guns.
Accordingly, with a rapid order to Mr Shrapnell, or ‘Gunnery Jack,’ who had accompanied the column from the ship, but had remained behind with his little battery of field-pieces on their becoming bogged in the bush, trying all he could to extricate them so as to get up with the column, he being anxious, of course, to take his part in the fighting, we formed square in the open.
The thirty odd marines we had with us were drawn up two deep in front, they being the oldest and most seasoned men of our force; while we bluejackets were quickly echeloned along the sides and rear of the square, at each corner of which was stationed one of the nine-pounders.
Our Maxim gun, which had become jammed at its first discharge when using it against the stockade but had now been made serviceable again, was placed right in the centre of our front line, so as to fire over the heads of the rank kneeling.
“Now, men,” shouted out Captain Hankey, who had dismounted from the shoulders of the ‘jollies’ who had been carrying him in the place of Larrikins since the latter’s tumble, and was now seated on the stump of an old tree in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by us all and commanding a view of every part of the square, “aim low, and don’t waste a shot; but, wait till I give the word!”
The Arabs, who had checked their advance on seeing us halt, hesitating as if waiting to learn what we were up to, now began to press forward again, their ugly bronze faces, of a Jewish cut, peering at us out of the bush on either side; while a large number came out into the open with a rush, making for the front of the square and firing their queer long muskets, as well as hurling their jereeds, or short spears, right into our faces as they charged.
Every one of us, I can tell you, gripped his Martini rifle as if he would dig his nails into its steel barrel, sighting it for point-blank range and aiming low, as the captain had told us, to catch the beggars full in the bread-basket as they came up, yelling and waving their weapons about, thinking, no doubt, to frighten us.
But, though we might have faltered after our third repulse at the stockade, we were not frightened now; nor did a man of us wish to fall back, even if he had the chance.
We were only waiting for ‘old Hankey Pankey’ to give the word.
He did not delay this long.