A deadly tumult ensued with such suddenness that Lingard, turning round swiftly, saw his defender, already speared in three places, fall forward at his feet.  Wasub, who was there, and afterward told the story once a week on an average, used to horrify his hearers by showing how the man blinked his eyes quickly before he fell.  Lingard was unarmed.  To the end of his life he remained incorrigibly reckless in that respect, explaining that he was “much too quick tempered to carry firearms on the chance of a row.  And if put to it,” he argued, “I can make shift to kill a man with my fist anyhow; and then—­don’t ye see—­you know what you’re doing and are not so apt to start a trouble from sheer temper or funk—­see?”

In this case he did his best to kill a man with a blow from the shoulder and catching up another by the middle flung him at the naked, wild crowd.  “He hurled men about as the wind hurls broken boughs.  He made a broad way through our enemies!” related Wasub in his jerky voice.  It is more probable that Lingard’s quick movements and the amazing aspect of such a strange being caused the warriors to fall back before his rush.

Taking instant advantage of their surprise and fear, Lingard, followed by his men, dashed along the kind of ruinous jetty leading to the village which was erected as usual over the water.  They darted into one of the miserable huts built of rotten mats and bits of decayed canoes, and in this shelter showing daylight through all its sides, they had time to draw breath and realize that their position was not much improved.

The women and children screaming had cleared out into the bush, while at the shore end of the jetty the warriors capered and yelled, preparing for a general attack.  Lingard noticed with mortification that his boat-keeper apparently had lost his head, for, instead of swimming off to the ship to give the alarm, as he was perfectly able to do, the man actually struck out for a small rock a hundred yards away and was frantically trying to climb up its perpendicular side.  The tide being out, to jump into the horrible mud under the houses would have been almost certain death.  Nothing remained therefore—­since the miserable dwelling would not have withstood a vigorous kick, let alone a siege—­but to rush back on shore and regain possession of the boat.  To this Lingard made up his mind quickly and, arming himself with a crooked stick he found under his hand, sallied forth at the head of his three men.  As he bounded along, far in advance, he had just time to perceive clearly the desperate nature of the undertaking, when he heard two shots fired to his right.  The solid mass of black bodies and frizzly heads in front of him wavered and broke up.  They did not run away, however.

Lingard pursued his course, but now with that thrill of exultation which even a faint prospect of success inspires in a sanguine man.  He heard a shout of many voices far off, then there was another report of a shot, and a musket ball fired at long range spurted a tiny jet of sand between him and his wild enemies.  His next bound would have carried him into their midst had they awaited his onset, but his uplifted arm found nothing to strike.  Black backs were leaping high or gliding horizontally through the grass toward the edge of the bush.