"Spread out right and left, and cut in wherever you can find room,"
ordered the skipper as we plunged, stumbling and gasping, into the midst
of the fray. And there was no difficulty in obeying this order; for,
narrow as the sand spit was, it was yet too wide for Mr Purchase and
the port watch to draw a close cordon across it; there were gaps of a
fathom or more in width between each of our men, and those gaps were
rapidly widening as some poor wretch went down, transfixed by a broad-
bladed spear, was clove to the shoulder by the terrific blow of an axe,
or had his brains dashed out by a war-club. But as our contingent
arrived each man chose an enemy--there was no difficulty in doing that--
and pulled trigger upon him, generally bringing him down, for we were
too close to miss; after which it became literally a hand-to-hand fight,
some using their discharged muskets as clubs while others flung them
away and trusted to their cutlasses, and one or two at least--for I saw
them close alongside me--depended entirely upon the weapons with which
nature had provided them, first dealing an enemy a knock-out blow with
the clenched fist and then dispatching him with one of his own weapons.
As for me, I still had the brace of pistols and the cutlass with which I
had provided myself when setting-out upon our ill-starred boat
expedition up the river, and I made play as best I could with these,
bowling over a savage with each of my pistols and then whipping out my
cutlass. For a time I did pretty well, I and those on either side of me
not only holding our ground but actually beginning to force the enemy
back; but at length a huge savage loomed up before me with his war-club
raised to strike. My only chance seemed to be to get in a cut or a
thrust before the blow could fall, and I accordingly lunged out at his
great brawny chest. But the fellow was keen-eyed and active as a cat;
he sprang to one side, avoiding my thrust, and at the same instant
brought down his club upon my blade with a force that shattered the
latter like glass and made my arm tingle to such an extent that for the
moment at least I was powerless in the right arm. Then, quick as
thought, he swung up the huge club again, with the evident determination
to brain me. Disarmed and defenceless, I did the on'y thing that was
possible, which was to spring at his great throat and grip it with my
left hand, pressing my thumb hard upon his wind-pipe. But I was like a
child in his hands; he shook me off with scarcely an effort; and as I
went reeling backward I saw his club come sweeping down straight for the
top of my head. At that precise instant something seemed to flash dully
before my eyes in a momentary gleam of starlight, a sharp _tchick_ came
to my ears, a few spots of what felt like hot rain spattered in my face,
and the great savage, his knees doubling beneath him, reeled backward
with a horrible groan and crashed to the sand, with Cupid's axe
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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