About three o’clock those at the Fuisa River were much concerned over heavy musketry fire behind them and on the right flank of the allied position. A woman came along the road from Ukula, carrying fruit for her relatives in the trenches.
O’Neil spoke to her, inquiring the cause of the firing. She answered quite calmly and passed on down the trench.
“She says she heard Kataafa would attack along the Siumu road, and supposed that was the cause of the firing,” O’Neil explained. “There goes the artillery,” he exclaimed, as all distinctly heard the crash from the village in their rear where some English howitzers were mounted. “They must have driven the natives back. Look out!” he cried suddenly.
There was no need for further warning. The midshipmen, glancing up over the top of the trench, saw the Kataafa warriors were beyond their trench and advancing toward the river, firing, gesticulating, taunting, dancing and singing. A hail of bullets met them from the Panu side; but nothing seemed able to stop the movement.
The contending factions were about equal in numbers. The Kataafa men having willingly abandoned their trench to fight in the open, their enemy, not to be outdone in chivalry, bravely mounted on top of their own earthworks and awaited the attack. Meanwhile both sides fired blindly. Neither side took time to aim. Even with such poor fire direction, however, many men on both sides were being hit.
O’Neil and the two midshipmen had gotten suddenly over their hesitancy in shooting down a native enemy, and their example was being followed by about fifty white men, after endeavoring in vain to keep their natives under cover.
“Pick out the leaders,” O’Neil exclaimed. “I got that fellow. I am sorry! he was such a fine looker.” Again he fired, and each time his exclamations told the result of his shot.
Phil and Sydney realized that it was not a matter of choice. That rush had to be stopped, even if the entire force against them was wiped out, and they loaded and fired eagerly, but carefully, every shot bringing down an enemy.
“They’ve had enough!” Sydney cried joyously. Those near had turned and were fleeing back across the stream. Once the panic had seized them, the entire Kataafa force was fleeing for cover.
“Now after them,” O’Neil suggested to the midshipmen, and this same thought had apparently come to every white sailor along the loyal line. An English sub-lieutenant some hundred yards above had begun the sortie, and presently the whole line was in the river advancing rapidly after their fleeing foe.