At that sight my fury returned. I have no knowledge of what followed in the next half-hour. I knew that not one of the Battles’ crew was left on his feet, and I knew dimly that Kane was on one side of me, fighting with a wild joy, and that on the other Mr. Macy was fighting with equal fury. I have no doubt that he saved my life many times, for I knew no caution, and my only thought was to avenge the Prince. Mr. Macy’s fury was of the cold kind—a cool head and a hot heart—which does so much more damage than a mere blind rage like mine. At last I realized that the islanders were trying to get at our boats. There were five or six times as many of them as of us, but Captain Nelson managed to keep his force between {352} them and our boats. None of his men was killed except the Prince, but nearly all were wounded more or less seriously, and all were weary. I know that, at last, with returning sanity, I found myself hardly able to lift my club, and utterly unable to strike again with my reddened spade. We were being forced back to the boats. It looked like a day for the islanders, and if they would have let us we would have withdrawn. I heard nothing but a tumult of sound, and I could not see well. Suddenly there was a great shout from behind the natives, and I saw a considerable body of men break through the sparse vegetation which crowned the beach. It happened before my eyes; a crowd of men—white men, twenty-five or thirty of them—armed with lances, spades, and knives, issuing from that tangle to seaward, and rushing down on the rear of the islanders. They, poor chaps, gave one glance, then broke and ran. Some of them ran to their canoes, others ran directly into the water, and swam away, full tilt. The canoes followed, and we let them go. I knew we ought to put after them and see that they did no harm to the ship, but I could not have pulled a pound. Neither could most of the others. I could only stand there, my hands hanging limp at my sides, and gaze after the canoes. I watched them out of sight through the passage to the sea. I was dimly conscious of a young chap who walked around me, looking me over, but I paid him no attention. At last he stood still before me, grinning. He poked me in the ribs. I squirmed, for my ribs were sore. “Hello, Tim,” he said. I looked at him then; looked at him long and hard, while he stood and grinned. It was Jimmy Appleby. {353} CHAPTER XXXVI