?"

That was the question he wanted solved, but the sense had all seemed to
escape out of the cut in his head, so he told himself, and the more he
tried to recall what it was, the more did he grow confused, and at last
he lay there helpless, listening to the yelling of the Malays, and the
cheers and shouts of the comrades he could not help.

He could see clearly enough all that was going on, and feel bitterly
every phase of ill fortune in the fight, while he regretted the
powerless state in which he lay as he saw some companion worsted by the
enemy.

"If I could only think what it was Mr Roberts told me to do, I might do
it now," he muttered, "and that would help the poor lads."

His head was growing clearer, though, and he became more and more
excited as he saw sailors, marines, and officers driven back, step by
step, along the deck, with the prospect before them of being slain to a
man, and the steamer taken.

That idea was horrible to Dick, and he thought of the captain, officers,
and men away in the jungle, and what would be their feelings when they
returned.

"If I could only help!" thought Dick. "Bravo, lad! Why he fights like
a man," he muttered; "and there's that Mr Ali using his gun
wonderfully, and him only a nigger; while I lie here with my orders on
me, and do nothing to help my mates. Oh, if I only had strength," he
groaned.

Still the fight went on, and to his horror Lieutenant Johnson saw that
another prahu and a naga or dragon-boat were coming up to the attack,
while in place of being able to repel them with a few shots from his
guns, he and his men were hemmed-in by quite a mob of yelling Malays,
every one of whom was thirsting for the Englishmen's blood.

All at once, in the thick of the fight, and just as he was panting, and
too helpless to deliver another stroke, Bob Roberts recalled for a
moment the orders he had given old Dick. But he felt that it was too
late now, and stung by the disgrace of their position, he tried to
reload his revolver, wondering whether Lieutenant Johnson would execute
his threat of blowing up the ship.

Had the lieutenant been ever so disposed, though, he could not have
accomplished his design, for a living wall of Malays was between him and
the way down to the magazine, and he was weak and spent with his
efforts, to such an extent that he could hardly raise his sword.

"It is all over," he thought to himself, "but we'll die fighting like
Englishmen. Oh, my