And it was Robert, then, that suggested that we bore holes in the boat.
The planks were thin, since the boat was clinker built, so that we were not long in making a number of holes with our knives, near the bow, which was out of the water. We got in among the palms and brush and waited the coming of the blacks. I whispered Robert a caution not to aim above the knees; no need to do more than should serve our purpose.
We had time to spare, but the black figures presently pushed out on the beach, toting a heavy object among them. There seemed to be five in the group.
"Now," I whispered, and Robert and I raised our little rifles. As we pulled the triggers, there was no sound but two outcries. Then came two more howls, and down went the heavy thing they carried.
The blacks ran afoul of one another, in their frantic haste to get to the boat. They pushed off, scrambling into the boat, and we sent more silent, hot pepper after the legs that dallied. Norris could not resist; he jerked his rifle to his shoulders. But Robert and I pulled him down.
"Don't spoil it now," I said. "Let's not make a noise if we can help it."
"You're right," he said. "I'll maybe get my chance another time."
That boat was not over forty yards from shore now, and even in the dark we could see that it was sinking. And the blacks had evidently discovered their plight, and were leaping into the water and striking out for the north shore of Crow Bay.
When the last of the blacks had abandoned the boat, we had off some of our clothes, and rushed into the water.
It was up to our arm-pits where we found the boat. Though the water was within a few inches of the top of the coaming, we contrived with a few shoves to propel the boat some yards shoreward, before it sank, in five feet of water.