The men on both sides remained perfectly quiet, eyeing every movement of their respective champions with the intensest interest. In the breathless silence that prevailed, the gentle murmur of the brook sliding over its pebbly bed, and even the dropping of a withered leaf, could be heard distinctly.
Glancing over to the islet, I saw that Browne, although his hands appeared to be bound behind him, had rolled himself to the edge of the brook, from which he was watching what was going forward.
Each of the two combatants regarded the other with the air of a man conscious that he is about to meet a formidable adversary; but in Atollo’s evil eye, there gleamed an assured and almost exulting confidence, that increased my anxiety for his aged opponent; his manner, nevertheless, was cautious and wary, and he did not suffer the slightest movement of Wakatta to escape him.
They stood opposite each other, neither seeming to be willing to commence the conflict, until Wakatta, with an impatient gesture, warned his adversary to defend himself, and then swinging up his ponderous club in both hands, aimed a blow at him, which the other avoided by springing lightly backwards.
And now the fight commenced in earnest. Atollo made no attempt to guard or parry the blows levelled at him—which would indeed have been idle—but with astonishing agility and quickness of eye, he sprang aside, or leaped back, always in time to save himself. He kept moving around the old man, provoking his attacks by feints and half-blows, but making no serious attack himself. There was a cool, calculating expression upon his sharp and cruel countenance, and he did not appear to be half so earnest or excited as his antagonist. I saw plainly that the wily savage was endeavouring to provoke the other to some careless or imprudent movement, of which he stood ready to take instant and fatal advantage.
At length some such opportunity as he was waiting for, was afforded him. The old warrior, growing impatient of this indecisive manoeuvring, began to press his adversary harder, and to follow him up with an apparent determination to bring matters to a speedy issue. Atollo retreated before him, until he was driven to the edge of the brook, where he paused, as if resolved to make a stand. Wakatta now seemed to think that he had brought his foe to bay, and whirling round his club, he delivered a sweeping blow full at his head with such fury, that when Atollo avoided it by dropping upon one knee, the momentum of the ponderous weapon swung its owner half round, and before he had time to recover himself, his watchful adversary, springing lightly up, brought down his keen-edged weapon full upon his grey head, inflicting a ghastly wound.
And now Atollo’s whole demeanour changed: the time for caution and coolness was passed; the moment for destroying his disabled foe had come. While his followers set up an exulting yell, he darted forward to follow up his advantage: the triumphant ferocity of his look is not to be described. Wakatta was yet staggering from the effect of the blow upon his head, when he received a second, which slightly gashed his left shoulder, and glancing from it, laid open his cheek. But to my astonishment, the strong old man, cruelly wounded as he was, seemed to be neither disabled nor dismayed. The keen-edged, but light weapon of Atollo was better calculated to inflict painful wounds than mortal injuries. Either blow, had it been from a weapon like that of Wakatta, would have terminated the combat.
Before Atollo could follow up his success by a third and decisive stroke, the old warrior had recovered himself and though bleeding profusely, he looked more formidable than ever. He at once resumed the offensive, and with such vigour, that the other, with all his surprising activity, now found it difficult to elude his rapid but steady attacks. He was now thoroughly aroused. Atollo seemed gradually to become confused and distressed, as he was closely followed around the circle without an instant’s respite being allowed him. At last he was forced into the stream, where he made a desperate stand, with the manifest determination to conquer or perish there. But Wakatta rushed headlong upon him, and holding his club in his right hand, he received upon his left arm, without any attempt to avoid it, a blow which Atollo aimed at his head: at the same instant he closed, and succeeded in seizing his adversary by the wrist. Once in the old man’s grasp, he was a mere child, and in spite of his tremendous efforts, his other hand was soon mastered, and he was thrown to the ground. It was a horrible scene that followed. I wished that the life of the vanquished man could have been spared. But his excited foe had no thought of mercy, and shortening his club, he held him fast with one hand, and despatched him at a single blow with the other.