I think there must have been magic in the ashen blade, it seemed to so promptly cure the maniac qualities of all to whom it was applied, so that they underwent an instantaneous change, and became almost angels.
That left two. Surely, we could manage them.
Robbins was giving one some severe treatment when I turned my batteries on the remaining chap.
This time I merely planted the end of my oar against the pit of his stomach, and then applied some strength in a sudden shove. He staggered back, tripped over a thwart, or the two moaning fellows in the bottom of the boat, and measured his length there with a most ominous crash.
So successful had been this method of attack that I persisted in applying it; when you have a good thing, it is wise to push it along.
I managed this time to get the oar against the side of the boat, upon which I worked with such earnestness of purpose that it was pushed away from the craft we occupied.
And this brought about another unlucky contretemps for the enemy. Robbins had a grip on the last of them, and seemed loath to let go until he found he was dragging the chap over the side; then, when he did release his clutch, the fellow having no hold on either boat, fell between them into the tide.
This was the last of the Mohicans—the coast seemed clear, though the third boat, heavily laden, was coming up with a rush.
We did not mean to wait for them.
For my part, I had had quite enough of the scramble, and longed to rest my aching head on a pillow.