“The Sahib Martin is possessed to propose such a thing,” said Prabu; “but forward, or by another route, one party may yet cut us off from the prahu.”
So onward we tramped, crossing and recrossing the winding stream, till we had reached within two miles of the late Chief’s town; then we dashed into the jungle, hoping by a short cut to reach the coast, and so perhaps, by keeping near the sea, get sight of the prahu. It was a heavy, toilsome march through mud, slush, and dense jungle; but at length we scented the briny air, at another time disgusting from its impregnation of rotten fish and foul weeds, but now the odor was delicious to our nostrils, for it came from the sea. Then, when, after hewing and cutting, as we dragged our wearied limbs through a prickly jungle of rattans, and obtained sight of the broad expanse of ocean, each man gave one leap—literally, a leap for joy—and fell upon the beach to rest.
“I would give half the fortune left to us by our uncle, Martin, to be once more safe on board the prahu,” said I.
“I wouldn’t, though—we are safe enough; the imps will never find us here,” replied my brother; but even while he was speaking, there arose a loud yelling on the town-side of the jungle, and at once every man was again upon his feet, musket in hand.
“We are lost!” I exclaimed, as the enemy, nearly a hundred in number, came rushing towards us.
“We have one hope,” said Prabu; “they have no fire-arms;” then, quick as thought, he settled upon a plan of defense. “Give them a volley, but let each man take a steady aim,” he cried.
This we did (there were nine of us in all), and with such effect that the Balinese stood as if paralyzed at the sight of their dead and wounded countrymen. Then, when we had reloaded, Prabu told off my brother, myself, and three of the crew, and, pointing to a small, wooded island, about a quarter of a mile out at sea, he bade us swim to it, but at the same time to preserve our arms and ammunition, as best we could, from the water. “Until the sahibs reach the island,” he added, “we will keep the rogues from sending their arrows after them.”
“To save our arms and ammunition,” said Martin, “we must swim with one hand, holding the musket and cartridge-box in the other,” and this we did; for, like the native islanders, we had learned to swim like fish.
Upon reaching the island, we saw that the Balinese, who had by that time recovered their self-possession, were now bearing down upon our comrades. The latter, however, who had formed in line, with their backs turned to the sea, let the enemy approach and discharge a shower of arrows—which, by the way, they received without flinching, or, indeed, harm; then sending a volley, which told as well as the former one, turned and, leaping into the water, made for the island. Now came our turn: the Balinese were about to follow our comrades into the water, but ere a foot had been wetted, Martin and I, by way of protecting the swimmers by a covering fire, sent a couple of leaden messengers in their midst, that made them yell and shout, till the very air seemed filled with their noise. But they were quieted, as far as action against us went, at least for the time.
“They have had enough of it for this day,” said Martin.