Now I think it is not to the little sailor’s discredit to confess that he surrendered without terms forthwith.  “The thing’s yours for when you like to fetch it,” he snapped out ungraciously enough, and the missionary at once stooped and cut the grass ropes, and set to chafing his wrists and ankles.  “And now,” he said, “clear out for your canoe at the river-side for all you’re worth, Captain.  There’s a big full moon, and you can’t miss the way.”

“Wait a bit,” said Kettle.  “I’m remembering that I had an errand here.  Can you give me the right physic to pull Captain Nilssen round?”

“You have it in that leopard-skin parcel inside your shirt.  I saw the witch-doctor give it you.”

“Oh! you were looking on, were you?”

“Yes.”

“By James!  I’ve a big mind to leave my marks on you, you swine!”

The trader missionary whipped out a revolver.  “Guess I’m heeled, sonny.  You’d better go slow.  You’d—­”

There was a rush, a dodge, a scuffle, a bullet whistling harmlessly up into the purple night, and that revolver was Captain Kettle’s.

“The cartridges you have in your pocket.”

“I’ve only three.  Here they are, confound you!  Now, what are you going to do next?  You’ve waked the village.  You’ll have them down on you in another moment.  Run, you fool, or they’ll have you yet.”

“Will they?” said Kettle.  “Well, if you want to know, I’ve got poor old Brass Pan to square up for yet.  I liked that boy.”  And with that, he set off running down a path between the walls of grasses.

A negro met him in the narrow cut, yelled with surprise, and turned.  He dropped a spear as he turned, and Kettle picked it up and drove the blade between his shoulder-blades as he ran.  Then on through the village he raged like a man demented.  With what weapons he fought he never afterward remembered.  He slew with whatever came to his hand.  The villagers, wakened up from their torpid sleep, rushed from the grass and wattle houses on every hand.  Kettle in his Berserk rage charged them whenever they made a stand, till at last all fled from him as though he were more than human.

Bodies lay upon the ground staring up at the moon; but there were no living creatures left, though the little sailor, with bared teeth and panting breath, stood there waiting for them.  No; he had cleared the place, and only one other piece of retribution lay in his power.  The embers of a great fire smouldered in the middle of the clearing, and with a shudder (as he remembered its purpose) he shovelled up great handfuls of the glowing charcoal and sowed it broadcast on the dry grass roofs of the chimbeques.  The little crackling flames leaped up at once; they spread with the quickness of a gunpowder train; and in less than a minute a great cataract of fire was roaring high into the night.

Then, and not till then, did Captain Kettle think of his own retreat.  He put the three remaining cartridges into the empty chambers of his revolver, and set off at a jog-trot down the winding path by which he had come up from the river.