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.
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