“Let them fire away as much as they like,” observed Lieutenant Belt, laughing. “I only wish they would fire much oftener at so safe a distance, as they must thus at last expend their powder.”
Still those unaccustomed to warfare could not fail to experience uncomfortable sensations as the bullets in rapid succession struck the walls, although as yet they had done but little damage, five of the people only, besides Lieutenant Belt, having been slightly wounded in their shoulders or faces. At length the rebels appeared to have grown tired of that style of amusement, and perfect silence reigned around the house.
Towards morning, when most of the little garrison were lying down, worn out with constant alarms and watching, the cry was raised that the blacks were again coming on; and they were seen rushing up the hill, carrying not only faggots but ladders, evidently intending to attack the house as they had done at Walton, and to set both it and the stockades on fire. Should they succeed, nothing could save the lives of the inmates.
The shrieks and yells uttered by the blacks for the purpose of intimidating the garrison were certainly terrific, and even the gallant lieutenant began to fear that all the efforts made to resist them would be in vain. On inquiry, too, he found that the ammunition was running short, a large proportion having been expended during that and the previous night. Still undaunted, he went round among the people, inspiring others with his own cool courage.
“We have more serious work than hitherto, my friends,” he said; “but if we are true to ourselves, we shall beat the enemy as before. Never mind though they burn the chevaux-de-frise, they will not venture through the flames, depend on that; and if we fail to put out the fire, we must retreat into the house. As I told you before, do not throw a shot away. Here they come.”
As he spoke, the savages carrying the faggots rushed forward with the intention of casting them over the outer line against the stockades. Many, however, were shot down before they succeeded in doing this; others were killed or wounded after they had thrown forward their loads. A number of men now advanced, carrying candlewood torches.
“Those fellows must be picked off,” shouted the lieutenant.
In some cases the command was obeyed; but many of the blacks, now leaping on one side, now on the other, eluded the bullets aimed at them, and threw the burning brands amid the bundles of wood, which catching fire began to blaze up in all directions, the smoke almost concealing the combatants from each other. Whenever it lifted, however, the flames exposed the shrieking mass of blacks clearly to view, and many were shot down in the moment, as they supposed, of their triumphant success.
As Lieutenant Belt had expected, none of them ventured through the burning mass; but here and there the stockades were catching fire, and it appeared too probable that they would be burnt through and afford an ultimate ingress to the foe. The scene was indeed terrible to those standing in the narrow space within the stockades—the crackling of the burning wood, the lurid flames, the dense mass of smoke, and outside the shouting, shrieking savages eager to break through the defences and massacre all within.
Efforts were made to extinguish the fire, and had there been an ample supply of water, it might easily have been done, for it was only in spots where the flames blew against the woodwork that they produced any effect. Still the back and sides of the house were protected, and until the stockades were destroyed the besiegers could make no use of their ladders.