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.
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