CHAPTER XXV
THE GREAT INVASION
Quexo's warning was only too true. Less than a mile from the reef the sea was dotted with the brown mat sails of a large fleet of native craft all heading for the island.
"Forty canoes at least, by Jove!" ejaculated Mr. McKay. "And taking twenty men to each—a low average—that means there are eight hundred of the wretches making straight for us."
"It's long odds," replied Ellerton grimly, "but we'll do our best, and perhaps we may find a means of driving them off."
"I should have thought the last little surprise would have settled them. We must give them credit for their persistence. There's one thing to our advantage, though; it's a day attack, and we are more or less prepared for it. But what are they up to now?"
The advancing canoes had now reached the entrance to the lagoon, and, with marvellous precision, their sails were lowered, and the crews took to their paddles. Then, instead of heading straight for the beach, the whole flotilla turned its course parallel with the shore.
"That's bad," remarked Mr. McKay, pausing in the act of dragging a box of ammunition from the house to the stockade. "They have learnt a lesson, and now they mean to take us on the flank or in the rear. Come on, lads, there's no time to be lost. We must follow them and see if we can prevent them landing."
Fortunately the savages' idea of strategy was not very advanced. Instead of keeping one section of their fleet for the purpose of making a feint or a frontal attack while the other canoes skirted the island, the whole of the boats kept together.