He heard the crash of bullets against the ship's sides; a volley of

stones smashed several more panes of stout glass; many arrows were

embedded in the woodwork: but he calmly pulled another cord, and blew a

single loud blast on the siren. That was the agreed signal to warn

those below that they must expect to be attacked from the fore part of

the vessel. His shot-gun was lying on the table. He took it up, and

faced forward again; several canoes were scurrying past and away from

the ship as fast as the current and many arms could propel them. He

fired both barrels at those within range on the port side. He

reloaded, and the sharp snapping of revolver-shots told him that

Tollemache and the Chilean were busy.

But the Indians were demoralized by the complete failure of their

scheme. They had ceased firing and stone-slinging; they were flying

for their lives. Courtenay wheeled round on Suarez.

"Now!" he cried, pointing to a speaking-trumpet. Suarez ran out on

deck, put the megaphone to his mouth, and roared after the discomfited

enemy a threat of worse things in store if they dared to come near the

ship again. As he used the Alaculof language, the sounds he uttered

were the most extraordinary that Courtenay had ever heard from a human

throat--a compound of hoarse, guttural vowels, and consonants ending in

a series of clicks--and the stentorian power of his lungs must have

amazed the Indians.

Courtenay saw that the two fleets were combining forces about five

hundred yards to westward. They were close inshore, but none of the

savages landed, nor did they head for the more remote Otter Creek. As

he was anxious to keep them on the run, he resolved to try the siren

again. He judged rightly, as it transpired, that they would fear the

bellow of the fog-horn even more than the flying missiles which had

dealt death and serious wounds so lavishly.

He knew sufficient Spanish, eked out by signs, to bid Suarez hold the

siren cord taut for a minute. While the Kansas was still trumpeting

forth her loud blare of defiance, he ran down the bridge companion.

Mr. Boyle and the tiny garrison of the port promenade deck received him

jubilantly; they had escaped without a bruise, and, owing to their

position, were able to witness the Indians' retreat.

He raced across to starboard, and found that, by unfortunate mischance,

a Chilean fireman in Tollemache's detachment had been shot through the

brain. The poor fellow was prone on the deck; it was only too evident

that a doctor's skill could avail him naught, so Tollemache had decided

that he should not be taken below. The incident marred an easily won

victory. Courtenay was assured in his own mind that none of the men

had been injured, seeing that he and Suarez, who occupied the most

dangerous position, were untouched. This fatality was a mere blunder

of fate, and it grieved him sorely.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024