Those shots were fired by the young chief Ali, who coolly reloaded his piece, and stood watching Bob Roberts, whose excitement was intense. He had forgotten Dick and his instructions to the old sailor in the fierce passions of the fray, and poor old Dick had gone down almost at the first rush, to crawl afterwards under the bulwarks, where he bound up his head, and lay watching the fight as he strove more than once to join in. But each time old Dick essayed to rise, a terrible sickness came over him, and he sank back trying to recall some order he had received from the midshipman, but unable to make out what it was. He fainted away twice in his efforts to get up, and then lay back, sick at heart, and with just enough consciousness left to know that the fight was going against the English, and that he had it in his power to change the fortunes of the day. "What was it Mr Roberts told him to do? What was it Mr Roberts told him to do?" That was the question he wanted solved, but the sense had all seemed to escape out of the cut in his head, so he told himself, and the more he tried to recall what it was, the more did he grow confused, and at last he lay there helpless, listening to the yelling of the Malays, and the cheers and shouts of the comrades he could not help. He could see clearly enough all that was going on, and feel bitterly every phase of ill fortune in the fight, while he regretted the powerless state in which he lay as he saw some companion worsted by the enemy. "If I could only think what it was Mr Roberts told me to do, I might do it now," he muttered, "and that would help the poor lads." His head was growing clearer, though, and he became more and more excited as he saw sailors, marines, and officers driven back, step by step, along the deck, with the prospect before them of being slain to a man, and the steamer taken. That idea was horrible to Dick, and he thought of the captain, officers, and men away in the jungle, and what would be their feelings when they returned. "If I could only help!" thought Dick. "Bravo, lad! Why he fights like a man," he muttered; "and there's that Mr Ali using his gun wonderfully, and him only a nigger; while I lie here with my orders on me, and do nothing to help my mates. Oh, if I only had strength," he groaned. Still the fight went on, and to his horror Lieutenant Johnson saw that another prahu and a naga or dragon-boat were coming up to the attack, while in place of being able to repel them with a few shots from his guns, he and his men were hemmed-in by quite a mob of yelling Malays, every one of whom was thirsting for the Englishmen's blood.