The consul's little group strung out along the narrow road following the brow of the hill past the two mission houses. As they came to Dr. MacKay's they saw the missionary pacing to and fro on his verandah. The consul called to him:
"Not very safe there, Dr. MacKay. I think you
had better do as the rest are doing, bring your family down into the shelter below the hill."
The missionary stopped his rapid, nervous pacing backward and forward, lifted his hat in salute, and replied:
"Thank you, Mr. Beauchamp. I have all the protection I need: 'Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day.'"
As they spoke a projectile drove deep into the ground of the garden between them, but did not explode. Undisturbed, the missionary resumed his walking up and down, while the consul hurried after his family. At their gate Mr. and Mrs. Thomson, accompanied by Dr. Sinclair, joined them.
"Run for it! Run!" Beauchamp shouted as the now familiar rush and moan of a shell was heard. The nimblest of them had hardly quickened their pace when it hit the very edge of the almost perpendicular cliff a few yards behind them, ricochetted at an angle to its original course, and plunged into the harbour. Without more ceremony they did run, stringing out until separated by wide intervals, turned sharply down the face of the hill by a narrow path and stone steps which led under some spreading banians, and in a few minutes were at the door of the rendezvous. The shells screamed through the air overhead, skipped along on the hard earth of the hills, or splashed into the river below.
"Wasn't that fun, daddy? You should have been able just to see you and mother run. It was better than a show."
The consul's little daughter was dancing and clapping her hands with delight.
"Not much fun that I could see, Constance," replied her father grimly. "I prefer some other kind of a show."