Scarce a shot missed.  Ten of the negroes fell, and those attacking from the right turned and bolted among the trees.  The negroes on the left, however, inspired by the roaring of the horns and the shrieking yells of the Obi man, came on with greater determination and dashed across the path.

“Now, Dominique, at them!” Frank shouted, as with the two sailors he rushed across.

The numbers now were not very uneven.  Of the twenty negroes on that side, five had fallen under the musketry and pistol fire, and two others were wounded; and as Frank’s party and the blacks fell upon them they hesitated.  The struggle was not doubtful for a moment.  Six of the negroes were cut down, and the rest fled.

“Don’t pursue them, men,” Frank shouted; and the sailors at once drew off, but Dominique and his black boatmen still pursued hotly, overtaking and cutting down three more of their assailants.

“All is over for the present,” Frank said, going to the spot where Bertha and Anna were crouching.  “Not one of us is hurt as far as I know, and we have accounted for sixteen or seventeen of these rascals.”

Bertha got up.  She was a little pale, but perfectly calm and quiet.

“It is horrid, being hidden like that when you are all fighting, Frank,” she said, reproachfully.

“We were hidden, too, till they came at us,” he said; “and very lucky it was, for some of us would probably have been hit, bad shots though they are.”

“No, Frank, not before all these men,” she remonstrated.

“What do I care for the men?” he laughed.  “Do you think if they had their sweethearts with them they would mind who was looking on?

“There, I must be content with that for the present.  We must push on again.”

Dominique had returned now with his men, and the party started again at a trot, as soon as the firearms had all been reloaded.

“We shan’t have any more trouble, shall we?” Bertha asked.

“Not for the present,” he said.  “We have fairly routed the blacks who came here with you, and the villagers, and they certainly won’t attack us again until they are largely reinforced; which they cannot be until we get down towards the sea, for there are no villages of any size in the hills.”

After keeping up the pace for a mile, Frank ordered the men to drop into a walk again.

“Now, Frank, about my mother?” Bertha asked again as soon as she had got her breath; and Frank related all that had taken place up to the time that the Osprey sailed.

“Then she is all alone in town?  It must be terrible for her, waiting there without any news of me.  It is a pity that she did not go home.  It would not have mattered about me, and it would have been so much better for her among her old friends.  They would all have sympathised with her so much.”

“I quite agreed with her, Bertha, and think still that it was better that she should stay in London.  I am sure the sympathy would do her harm rather than good.  As it is, now she will be kept up by the belief that she is doing all in her power for you, by saving you from the hideous amount of talk and chatter there would be if this affair were known.”