“Hold your tongue, Quembo; take dat!” and the sound of a crushing blow, accompanied by a shriek, reached our ears, as if the last speaker had brained his wiser comrade.
“We no cum here to talk, we cum to fight,” shouted several together. There was a good deal of jabbering, and once more I saw, through a loophole out of which I was looking, the sable army approaching.
“Stand to your arms!” cried Mr Talboys. “We mustn’t let these fellows get too confident. Shade all the lights, but don’t fire until I give the word.”
It was pretty evident, from the bold way the blacks came on, that they supposed we were badly supplied with firearms, one shot only having been discharged. Mr Talboys waited till they got within thirty paces, when, just as two or three of them had hurriedly discharged their pieces, he gave us the order to fire, and we sent a shower of bullets among the sable mass. Without stopping to see what effect it had produced we all reloaded as rapidly as possible. A few bullets rattled against the house, but before we again fired the greater number of our assailants were scrambling off, in spite of the efforts of their leader to induce them to make a stand. As far as I could judge, looking through my loophole, none were killed, though several must have been wounded.
Chapter Eleven.
A narrow escape.
The overseer proposed dashing out, with a whip in one hand and a sword in the other.
“The rascals won’t stop running if they see us coming after them,” he said.