e walked it in the
blackest darkness, and the metallic light from the clear heavens was
more than sufficient for the keen-eyed mariners. One torch was carried
for the firing of the big gun and for the lighting of the matches of
the arquebusiers, but its yellow glare was shrouded in a soldier's
helmet.

The strip of forest was passed, and the men filed out on the plateau.
A breeze from the neighbouring heights stirred the green patches of
corn. A scout came back, and whispered that the way was clear. The
band moved forward.

The dull, gray mass of the village loomed dimly ahead. No light was
visible, but a thin column of smoke from the communal fire rose above
the walls and bent away before the wind.

The adventurers were within gunshot of the gate. The big gun was
silently fitted to its carriage, loaded and shotted; and the native
allies ran back into the corn and hid themselves, quaking with terror.

There was a flash of red flame, a loud roar that came back in echoing
thunder from the hills, the crash of the iron ball against the gate.
The villagers started from sleep, and looked around in dismay. Another
flash, another roar, another crash, a pealing of strange thunder. Then
a shout in a strange tongue: "For England! Mother England!" The
children of the sun, the wielders of the thunder and lightning, were
through the broken gate.

Then arose a mad stampede of terror. The arquebusiers were within the
rampart, and death-fire and nauseous smoke spurted from a dozen
different places. With squeals and shrieks, as from a mob of terrified
brutes, men, women, and children dashed for the walls and the farther
outlets in mad flight for the hills.

"Make for the chief's house. Kill no man unless he opposes you," was
the order; and a shouting band soon surrounded the great house in the
centre of the village. Some fired the thatched roofs, and a red glare
shot up to the blue sky. The cries and screams of the scurrying tribe
grew fainter and fainter. But the sturdy headman was not with them.
Spear in hand, and alone, he faced his terrible foes, eyes and teeth
fiercely gleaming--a bronze Hector. He lunged at the foremost man, and
Master Jeffreys knocked him down with the flat of his sword. Instantly
Morgan and three or four others threw themselves upon him. He writhed
and twisted like a limbed snake, and bit and tore with teeth and hands.
But the odds were hopelessly against him; a rope in a sailor's
pract