This settled the revolt, and we stood as before.  Pulz and Handy Solomon tried to converse by signs, but evidently failed, for their faces showed angry in the twilight.  Perdosa, on his rock, rolled and lit a cigarette.  Thrackles paced to and fro, and the Nigger leaned on his club, farther down the cave.  They had been left at the entrance, but now in lack of results had joined their companions.

Now Thrackles approached and screamed himself black trying to impart some plan.  He failed; but stooped and picked up a stone and threw it into the mass of seals.  The others understood.  A shower of stones followed.  The animals milled like cattle, bellowed the louder, but would not face their tormentors.  Finally an old cow flopped by in a panic.  I thought they would have let her go, but she died a little beyond the bull.  No more followed, although the men threw stones as fast and hard as they were able.  Their faces were livid with anger, like that of an evil-tempered man with an obstinate horse.

Suddenly Handy Solomon put his head down, and with a roar distinctly audible even above the din that filled the cave, charged directly into the herd.  I saw the beasts cringe before him; I saw his club rising and falling indiscriminately; and then the whole back of the cave seemed to rise and come at us.

This was no chance of sport now, but a struggle for very life.  We realised that once down there would be no hope, for while the seals were more anxious to escape than to fight, we knew that their jaws were powerful.  There was no time to pick and choose.  We hit out with all the strength and quickness we possessed.  It was like a bad dream, like struggling with an elusive hydra-headed monster, knee high, invulnerable.  We hit, but without apparent effect.  New heads rose, the press behind increased.  We gave ground.  We staggered, struggling desperately to keep our feet.

How long this lasted I cannot tell.  It seemed hours.  I know my arms became leaden from swinging my club; my eyes were full of sweat; my breath gasped.  A sharp pain in my knee nearly doubled me to the ground and yet I remember clamping to the thought that I must keep my feet, keep my feet at any cost.  Then all at once I recalled the fact that I was armed.  I jerked out the short-barrelled Colt’s 45 and turned it loose in their faces.

Whether the flash and detonation frightened them; whether Perdosa, still clinging to his rock, managed to turn their attention by his flanking efforts, or whether, quite simply, the wall of dead finally turned them back, I do not know, but with one accord they gave over the attempt.

I looked at once for Handy Solomon, and was surprised to see him still alive, standing upright on a ledge the other side of the herd.  His clothing was literally torn to shreds, and he was covered with blood.  But in this plight he was not alone, for when I turned toward my companions they, too, were tattered, torn, and gory.  We were a dreadful crew, standing there in the half-light, our chests heaving, our rags dripping red.