Joan of the Island/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
THE ATTACK
A MOMENT later he had burst into his sister's room. The girl had already sprung out of bed, awakened by the cries of the blacks.
"What is it?" she cried anxiously.
"Get your gun, sis. There's trouble coming. They've surrounded the house, and, by the sound of them they're out for blood. On with a dressing gown. That's right."
"You there, Trent?"
It was Keith's voice. He was in the living-room.
"Don't strike a light! Stick plenty of cartridges in your pockets, and give 'em lead."
"Best shove the shutters up at the back of the house," said Chester. "That may help—for a time, at least. Come on."
Hurriedly the two men swung across the bedroom windows the heavy boards which had always been ready in case of such necessity. These were fastened with solid bars, rendering the windows nearly as impervious to attack as the walls. At the front of the house there was one large window, looking out on to the veranda, and here Chester and Keith stationed themselves.
A soft thud against the outside of the wall near Keith made him start back involuntarily.
"They're firing arrows," he said. "Don't expose yourself at the windows more than you can help or you may get hit with one of the rotten things."
"Joan, you'd better go into one of the other rooms," her brother ordered. "Ouch! Get back there!"
Another arrow, aimed in the darkness with better luck than the last, swished through the air within a foot of Chester's shoulder and its barbed point sank deep into the wall near where the girl was standing. They could not see the quivering object, but there was no mistaking what it was.
"You forget I can shoot as well as either of you," the girl replied in a voice that betrayed no sign of panic, "and if you think I'm going to take a back seat now you're mistaken."
It was no moment for argument. Moreover, what the girl said was true; and three armed people would be able to put up a better defence than two.
The cries of the blacks were swelling louder every moment as they worked themselves up into a frenzy for a massed attack. Already the yelping of some of the enemy, more adventurous than the rest, could be heard close to the house. It was impossible to distinguish anything outside except the dim outline of the darkened sky against the still darker mass of trees.
"Do you suppose they are our own men?" Joan asked her brother.
"Don't know," he said. "Maybe it's a crowd Baloo and Isa have raked in from some other island—ah—!"
A shadowy form had appeared near the veranda and Chester shot at it three times in quick succession. There was a scream of pain, and at the sound of the shots there was a momentary lull in the roar of the attackers. Aiming blindly, Keith emptied his revolver into the darkness, and the other two followed suit. Over a dozen bullets swept across the cleared space, and more than one shrill note of agony from the throats of savages told that some of the lead had gone home.
A minute later there came the sound of thunderous blows on the walls at the back of the house, and Keith, leaving the other two to guard the front, slipped into his own room. A loop-hole had been bored near the window and from this he fired as fast as the trigger would work.
The attack in that quarter promptly subsided for a while. Chester and the girl were now firing furiously at the front of the house, and the sailor rushed to their assistance just in time to help in stemming an ugly rush. A dozen or more blacks had charged up the veranda steps, only to be met with a wilting stream of lead. Keith's arrival was none too soon, however, for by the time he had crammed fresh cartridges into his weapon, several of the blacks were close up to the house and the revolvers that Chester and Joan were wielding were empty. The fusillade that Keith poured out was sufficient to turn the tide, and such of the blacks as had not been killed scrambled down into the compound.
"Are you both all right?" Keith asked sharply.
"I am, but look at Chester," the girl replied from her post at the window. "I think he got hurt then."
"I'll be there—with bells on—in half a minute," the planter said. "Something gave me a jolt on my shoulder. I think it must have been a club that was heaved at us. It made me see stars for a minute, though. Have they gone?"
"For the moment, but they'll be back," replied Keith. "There'll be things doing before we're through with this night's work. There they go behind the house again. Can you keep 'em off here while I go and attend to them?"
"I'll be all right," Chester said.
The pounding had become threatening. The men there were evidently trying to find a weak spot in which to break through while the attention of the defenders was fully occupied at the front. Keith returned to his loop-hole and winged one if not two of the blacks. Then, hastily reloading, he once more emptied the magazine, scattering the shots in every direction. It was a haphazard form of markmanship, for there was no guide to Keith beyond the shouting, but it had the effect of temporarily driving the men clear of that part of the compound. They soon returned to the attack, however, and this time used a heavy log as a battering ram on the side wall. There was no loop-hole or crevice in the building there, so they were able to pound away uninterruptedly, and soon the little building began to shake under the onslaught.
"They'll have the whole place down about our ears in another half hour," Keith said.
"Well, let 'em, the beasts!" Chester replied. "We can only go on plugging holes in 'em to the finish, and this looks to me very much like the beginning of our finish."
Even as he spoke he punctuated his words with an occasional shot into the darkness in the direction of a shadowy form which might have been imagination or might not.
"I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't so infernally dark," the planter went on. "It's rough on a fellow not to have enough light to die in decently if he's got to die fighting. I say, Keith, what worries me is—"
At that moment there was a faint flicker of the moon, the thin crescent of which struggled to cast a pale glow through a break in the clouds down to the turbulent scene on Tao Tao. The glow took unawares a black who had stealthily climbed the steps and was crouching with a heavy club ready to hurl it through the window.
There came the crack of two revolvers almost simultaneously, and the black leaped into the air, spun round, and fell backward.
"What worries me," Chester went on between his teeth, "is Joan's fate. Once they break the side of the place down they'll be able to swarm in, and that's going to happen mighty soon now."
"I shall shoot myself when the time comes," Joan declared simply. "After all, one can only die once."
"Don't be in too much of a hurry to do that," Keith jerked out. "I've got an idea. Listen. As it is, we're trapped, and if we stay here the game will be up in a few minutes now. It's as dark as the grave outside. The niggers may have started by surrounding the bungalow, but if I'm not mistaken they're now all at the front and round at the west side where you can hear them yelling and thumping. The narrowest part of the compound is opposite Chester's bedroom. It's only about eight yards there from the wall of the house to the edge of the trees."
"That's right," agreed Chester. "If we could get her across there, there's a chance of making for the Wilderness, or some other place, at least till daylight. Keith, you … you look after her, old man. I'll stop here and make a big noise while you're making your get-away. And, I say … Keith … see that she has one cartridge in her gun … for the finish. Now, for God's sake, get out of here, quick!"
The pounding had now doubled in intensity. Evidently the blacks, finding they could work there without interruption, had secured another log with which to batter the wall.
"I shall not go, leaving you here to be killed, Chester," the girl said firmly.
"Go, Joan," her brother urged. "There isn't a moment to lose. There's one chance in twenty for you if you clear out now—"
"You go and remove the shutter in Chester's room," the girl said, touching Keith's arm. "I will stay here with him helping to shoot and draw the attention of the blacks to the front of the house until you are ready for us. Then we all three go together or else I shall stay behind."
There was a crashing noise where the enemy were loosening the planks. Seconds had become priceless.
With infinite caution, Keith removed the shutter. It was pitch dark outside. He could neither see nor hear anything near. From the living-room the other two were discharging a volley.
"Come now," Keith said to them a moment later.
There was a wild yell of triumph from the eastern side of the bungalow as one of the battering rams burst through the wall. Keith climbed through the bedroom window and helped Joan down to the ground outside. Her brother leaped into the compound after them. They got half way across the clear space, moving swiftly and silently, when a black form, speeding as if shot from a catapult, cannoned into Keith, who was bowled over under the impact.
"Go on—go on!" he said hoarsely to his two companions. Chester and the girl, not knowing what was happening, went toward the shelter of the trees. Keith, meanwhile, had grappled with the black sprawling near him. To prevent the man from bellowing, the sailor had slid his great hands up to his opponent's neck and with thumbs of steel was fast reducing the squirming creature into a state of unconsciousness. His mind was wholly occupied with the grim task on which he was engaged, when there was the sound of scuffling near him and he knew that all was not well with his companions.
He had his knee firmly planted in the stomach of the black, who, however, was writhing desperately to escape the deadly clutch. It was sixty seconds, which seemed more like an eternity, before the form under Keith lay still and the victor began to relax his hold.
He was just preparing to jump to his feet when he became aware of the fact that another black was near. The sailor put his hand toward a knife in his belt when there came again a momentary pale gleam from the moon. Keith's hand had closed over the handle of the knife and he was within an instant of making a thrust with the blade.
"Marster Trent!" said a guttural voice.
"Who's that?" Keith asked suspiciously, delaying the blow which would have meant death to the black.
"Me Peter Pan," the voice added.
"Mr. Trent was here just now. Where he gone, eh?" Keith asked quickly.
"Come!" said the black, leading the way into the trees. The two men walked a little distance from the compound and then Peter Pan stopped abruptly.
"No can tell who dead," he declared. "Plenty heap big crowd niggers come on ship."
"Where's Mr. Trent? Where's Miss Joan?" Keith asked in a fever of apprehension. He had thought Peter Pan was leading him to them, but Peter Pan, knowing nothing of the fate of those two, had been taking the sailor away from immediate danger.
"No can tell," replied the black. "Plenty nigger kill you damn quick if you no stay here."
I don't care," Keith replied wildly. "You stand by me, Peter Pan."
"You no go there," said Peter Pan deliberately. "Kill you, kill me. Kai kai both us."
Keith was realizing the utter hopelessness of his position. Never until that moment had he known how overwhelming was his love for Joan; and now, somewhere near him, in that bewildering blackness, she needed his help more than she had ever needed anything in her life. He strained his ears but could detect nothing save the frenzied shouts of the blacks as they surged round the bungalow. He would have called out to her, but feared that she might be hiding, as he was, and that the sound might attract a horde of the savages toward her. For his own life, at that moment, he had no concern. He would have died gladly had he thought that by drawing the attention of some of the blacks he would enable the girl to creep away. For a moment he stood still, staring into nothingness and racking his brain.
"I stop here," he said at length. "You go find Miss Joan. Then run back like hell and tell me. Savvy?"
Peter Pan grunted to indicate that he understood, and vanished silently as a shadow. It was maddening for Keith to stay there, impotent, hearing the sound of smashing woodwork at the house and listening, every nerve taut, for the cry of a woman's voice, but he knew that he might serve her best by waiting until the friendly black returned with information as to her whereabouts. If Peter Pan could find out nothing it was probable that she had got away. If she were in the hands of the savages Keith felt that he could at least reach her side. There were two bullets still in his revolver. He had reserved them. It was better she should die that way.
The minutes dragged along like hours. Once there was a movement within a few feet of where Keith stood. He gripped his knife. Two or three men were there, chattering excitedly, but they did not discover the sailor, and moved off. Keith's nerves were of iron, but the strain was beginning to tell on him. He felt an almost irresistible impulse to rush forward and stab savagely at every form he encountered in his path.
"Marster Keith!" It was Peter Pan calling softly, ten feet away.
Keith answered with a hissing sound.
"Miss Joan she gone!" the black announced.
"Gone! Gone where?"
"Niggers all come along big Marster Moniz in schooner. Marster Trent he no here. Maybe he dead. Miss Joan she go along big Marster Moniz to schooner."