Here Mr. McKay and Terence kept up a continuous but apparently ineffectual fire, while Ellerton, still weak and showing signs of light-headedness, did his best with a revolver.
Andy, nearly done up for want of rest, resumed his solitary vigil at the cliff path, occasionally adding to the fusillade whenever a group of natives appeared at the edge of the cliff to hurl another of the weighty missiles.
With parched lips and swollen eyes the weary little band continued the unequal combat, almost unable to raise their rifles to their aching shoulders, till, to add to their misfortunes, Andy perceived ten large canoes rounding the south-eastern promontory of the island.
The natives had at length grasped the importance of a simultaneous rear and frontal attack.
"We must retreat to Blight's cave," exclaimed Mr. McKay, when his son had shouted the disheartening intelligence. "Let us hope the explosion has not closed up the entrance. Pull yourself together, Hoppy! We've got to make a rush for it."
"I'm going to stay here—I'm quite comfortable where I am," replied Ellerton with astonishing determination.
"But you can't, man; you'll be cut to pieces in less than a minute."
But Ellerton refused to move. His comrades looked at each other anxiously. In ordinary circumstances it would have been no easy task to compel the lad to get up and walk, and with a few hundred savages hanging round, the difficulties were increased tenfold.
"I'll risk it," muttered Mr. McKay. "It's either kill or cure." And raising his voice he said: "Hoppy, old man, Quexo is missing. He went to look for you and has not returned."
"What?" exclaimed Ellerton wildly. "Quexo missing? I'll go and look for him."