The youth tacked once more, and steered eastward along the beach. Again the long silence filled him with a nameless anxiety. He regretted the evil day when Blight and the natives came to McKay's Island; but in the circumstances nothing else could be done. They had put their hand to the plough; there was no turning back.
Then, gradually but surely, came the sound of the natives still engaged in conflict, unaccompanied by the report of firearms. There was no mistaking it. Their allies were being driven back; but where were the white men?
Nearer and nearer came the sounds of the retreating natives and their pursuers, till the foremost of the fugitives gained the shore. Jumping into their canoes they pushed off, panic-stricken and utterly fatigued. Then came the main body, a sorry remnant at most, grimly fighting their foes at almost every step.
Waist deep in water they fought, till the survivors contrived to escape in their boats. Two canoes were left unmanned, their solitary occupants paddling laboriously out of the reach of their foes.
Nor did the pursuit cease at the water's edge, for several of the enemy dashed boldly into the waves and swam after the retreating craft.
One of the latter was, indeed, overtaken, and a desperate struggle ensued between the rival natives, till the crew of another canoe, seeing their companions' plight, returned and saved them from being wiped out.
Then the flotilla moved well out into the lagoon, and took up a position beyond the yawl, the natives, many of them badly wounded, being too exhausted to paddle another stroke.
Ellerton was now confronted with a real peril. His friends, if alive, were cut off; he was unable to gather any tidings from the natives, who replied to his gestures by grunts and meaningless exclamations.
Just then came the rattle of musketry. At all events, Mr. McKay and his party were still in a position to offer resistance, but against what odds?
Just then the wind, hitherto light, died utterly away. Ellerton knew nothing about the motor, and he himself was now in a position of peril. Unable to move, save by using a sweep, which was hard work, he was at the mercy of the savages, who, lining the shore, had realised his predicament, and were preparing to swim off and carry the yawl by storm.