The white men were even now surrounded, for the advanced body, having failed to prevent the embarkation of the discomfited invaders, had been attracted by the sound of the firing and had completed the hostile cordon.
In the lull that ensued, Mr. McKay contrived to place a temporary bandage over Quexo's shoulder. The mulatto was still unconscious, but showed no symptoms of having been poisoned by the spear thrust.
"I wonder what Hoppy is doing?" remarked Terence, after moistening his parched lips with a draught from his water-bottle. "I guess he's in a terrible stew."
"He may manage to make our friends attempt another attack. If so, we can bolt for the shore; though I'm not going to put much faith in that," replied Mr. McKay. "They've had too much of a licking, I fancy."
"Pity you didn't let us burn those blessed canoes, boss; these black rascals will be able to follow our craft now."
"Yes, I admit I erred on the side of mercy, Mr. Blight," was the reply. "It's my fault, and I must take the blame."
"That comes o' being so mighty particular," retorted the ex-pearler bluntly. "If we come out o' this I guess your opinion of a nigger will have an almighty change. Now, stand by, for here they come."
"Don't be taken alive, lads," continued Mr. McKay, and the next instant the rifle-fire reopened.
Upon the dense masses of natives every shot told, yet having only one rifle for each front the fire was not sufficiently extended to keep the advancing enemy at bay.
The air was filled with shouts and shrieks, while stones and spears flew in deadly showers. Once the magazines were empty there was no time to recharge. The heated rifles were flung aside and the revolvers were brought into use.