Trim’s men understood so well what his object was that they did not need more definite instructions. They were all excited and anxious for success.
They kept just far enough from the edge of the forest to be concealed by the trees and yet not so far that they could not look out upon the meadow and see what the enemy were doing.
Trim grew more and more hopeful as they advanced, but he had not yet come to the point that he wanted to reach before making his attack when he saw that the enemy were turning about and starting up the meadow on the opposite side.
The boy was badly disappointed.
“They’re half facing us now,” he thought, “and so we can’t catch them so much by surprise. Maybe, too, they are already suspicious of what has happened, though I don’t much think they’re as shrewd as all that.
“At all events, it is no use of our trying to keep concealed any longer, for with every step they take they get further away from us.”
“Now, men,” he said aloud; “we must make a charge. Remember, I want you to scatter the blacks, but not slaughter them.
“Don’t shoot to kill unless I say the word!”
There was just an instant’s pause for every man to get ready for the charge, then Trim gave the command in ringing tones and the entire party pushed from under cover of the forest and made for the blacks and their white leaders.