In an instant another Arab had snatched up the green flag, and, with redoubled shouts, the dense and now disorganized mob came thundering across the level stretch of ground in front of the zariba.
It was now Osborne's time to take up the work with which the absent Webb had charged him. Already one of the bright-red petrol cans had been holed by a couple of accurately placed shots, and the highly volatile fluid was escaping and soaking into the hot sand. The Lieutenant could even detect the pungent fumes of the evaporating spirit. Raising the short, smooth-bored pistol, Osborne pressed the trigger. The missile—a red rocket—burst against the perforated tin, just as the foremost of the assailants were leaping over the mound that partly concealed the line of tins.
The next instant flames shot twenty feet or more into the air—a fire so intense that the heat could be distinctly felt by the defenders of the trench, while the zariba quivered in the current of air set up by the sudden rise of temperature.
Five seconds later the adjacent tin exploded, and then another and another, until the tongues of fire darted a good fifty feet skywards.
That part of the attack was checked and beaten back. The fire barrage was impassable; but on the enemy's left their impetuous rush brought them right up to the zariba.
Dauntlessly the Arabs sought to tear away the prickly barrier. Rifles cracked, but the number of small arms at the disposal of the British was insufficient to annihilate—it could only diminish—the great superiority of the enemy's forces.
Several of the seamen, armed with knives and marline-spikes lashed to the end of oars and poles, rendered yeoman service by the use of these improvised pikes. Others, having provided themselves with a supply of large stones, hurled them across the intervening barrier at the nearmost of their assailants.
Nor was Afir-al-Bahr to be denied. With his axe he fought desperately, dealing smashing blows whenever a fanatical Arab succeeded in getting within reach.
For some moments the situation was extremely critical. The improvised pikes were no match for the long broad-bladed, razor-edged spears, and the advantage of fighting behind the zariba was fast disappearing as the fearless and desperate Senussi persevered in the work of tearing away the wall of thorns.
Against these tremendous odds the handful of the Portchester Castle's crew fought magnificently, making the best use of their ungainly weapons. British courage and dogged pluck were there. The men meant to hold their position at all costs, but already the numbers were being thinned by the relentless pressure of the Arab assault.