Prabu was right. Again and again they came, and each time with greater desperation, for we could only drive them back by firing volley after volley; but at length our exertions were rewarded, for they were driven back to return no more that night—at least, so we hoped.
“Thank Heaven!” I exclaimed, “morning is not far off.”
“Too far off, I fear, Sahib,” replied Prabu, “to be of use to us when it does come, for we have but one charge each left!”
“A fearful position, truly!” I replied. “Would to Heaven the prahu were at hand! What can we do?”
“They may not come again to-night—but they may; therefore let us remain at our posts, and reserve fire this time until they have left their boats—then a volley, and then—”
“What!” I asked, as the perspiration ran down my forehead.
“That will be the end,” he replied, quite coolly; “for all we can do then will be to die, with musket and creese in hand.”
“A pretty prospect!” I thought. Nevertheless, I had one consolation—my brother Martin would escape; yet how bitter would be his sorrow at our defeat and my death. There was little time, however, for such reflections, for suddenly there fell upon our ears a sound as if from mid-channel—click, click, click—and the darkness became illumined by a hundred torches, which as many savages held above their heads, so rendering them hideous beyond comparison. The click, clicking was explained; it had been caused by their flints and steels.
“What means this manœuvre?” I cried.
“We shall soon be dead men. It only remains for us to give them a well-aimed volley when they touch the shore. But down, down, all of you, between the breastworks!”