He fell like a log, and at the same moment one of the sailors shot his companion. Then they dashed against the Belgian sailors, who had been joined by the blacks. "Give them a volley, lads!" George shouted. The four sailors fired, as a moment later did the boatmen, and then cutlass in hand rushed upon them. Just as they reached them Frank arrived. There was but a moment's resistance. Two of the sailors had fallen under the volley, a third was cut down, and the fourth, as well as the blacks, fled towards the village. Here the Obi drum was beating fiercely. "Load again, lads," Frank shouted. "Two of you come back with me." He ran with them back to the end hut, but Bertha had now recovered from her first shock. "Come, darling," he said, "there is not a moment to lose. We must get out of this as soon as we can. "Come along, Anna. "Thompson, do you look after her. I will see to Miss Greendale." Just as they reached the others, a volley was fired from the village by the blacks of Carthew's party, who were armed with muskets. Then they, with thirty other negroes, rushed out with loud shouts. "Don't fire until they are close," Frank shouted. "Now let them have it." The volley poured into them, at but ten paces distance, had a deadly effect. The blacks paused for a moment, and the rescuing party, led by George Lechmere and Dominique, rushed at them. The sailors' pistols cracked out, and then they charged, cutlass in hand. For a moment the blacks stood, but the fierce attack was too much for them, and they again fled to the village. "Stop, Dominique!" Frank shouted, for the big pilot, who had already cut down three of his opponents, was hotly pursuing them. "We must make for the path at once." Chapter 18. In a couple of minutes they had gained it. "Anyone hurt?" Frank asked. One of the boatmen had an arm broken by a bullet, and two of the sailors had received spear wounds at the hands of the villagers. They were not serious, however, and leaving George Lechmere to cover the rear, they started up the path; Dominique, as usual, leading the way, Frank following behind him with Bertha, who had hitherto not spoken a word. "Am I dreaming?" she asked now, in a tone of bewilderment. "Is it really you, Frank?" "You are not dreaming, dear, and it is certainly I--Frank Mallett. Now tell me how you got on." "As well as might be, Frank, but it was a terrible time. Please do not talk about it yet. But how is it that you are here? It seems a miracle. "Oh, how ill you are looking! And your arm is in a sling, too." "That is nothing," he said; "merely a broken collarbone. As to my looking ill, you must remember, I have had almost as anxious a time as you." "Then it was the Osprey, after all," she exclaimed, suddenly, "that we saw the last day that we were out sailing. We were on deck, and I was not noticing--I did not notice much then--when Anna said to me, 'That looks like an English yacht, miss. I am sure Mr. Carthew thinks she is chasing us.'