Ward and his men were halfway up the cliff, yet Divine had made no move to repel them.  He glanced timorously toward the dark forest behind from which he momentarily expected to see the savage, snarling faces of the head-hunters appear.

“Surrender!  You swabs,” called Ward from below, “or we’ll string the last mother’s son of you to the yardarm.”

For reply Blanco hurled a heavy fragment of rock at the assaulters.  It grazed perilously close to Ward, against whom Blanco cherished a keen hatred.  Instantly Ward’s revolver barked, the bullet whistling close by Divine’s head.  L. Cortwrite Divine, cotillion leader, ducked behind Theriere’s breastwork, where he lay sprawled upon his belly, trembling in terror.

Bony Sawyer and Red Sanders followed the example of their commander.  Blanco and Wison alone made any attempt to repel the assault.  The big Negro ran to Divine’s side and snatched the terror-stricken man’s revolver from his belt.  Then turning he fired at Ward.  The bullet, missing its intended victim, pierced the heart of a sailor directly behind him, and as the man crumpled to the ground, rolling down the steep declivity, his fellows sought cover.

Wison followed up the advantage with a shower of well-aimed missiles, and then hostilities ceased temporarily.

“Have they gone?” queried Divine, with trembling lips, noticing the quiet that followed the shot.

“Gone nothin’,” yo big cowahd,” replied Blanco.  “Do yo done suppose dat two men is a-gwine to stan’ off five?  Ef yo white-livered skunks ‘ud git up an’ fight we might have a chanct.  I’se a good min’ to cut out yo cowahdly heart fer yo, das wot I has—­a-lyin’ der on yo belly settin’ dat kin’ o’ example to yo men!”

Divine’s terror had placed him beyond the reach of contumely or reproach.

“What’s the use of fighting them?” he whimpered.  “We should never have left them.  It’s all the fault of that fool Theriere.  What can we do against the savages of this awful island if we divide our forces?  They will pick us off a few at a time just as they picked off Miller and Swenson, Theriere and Byrne.  We ought to tell Ward about it, and call this foolish battle off.”

“Now you’re talkin’,” cried Bony Sawyer.  “I’m not a-goin’ to squat up here any longer with my friends a-shootin’ at me from below an’ a lot of wild heathen creeping down on me from above to cut off my bloomin’ head.”

“Same here!” chimed in Red Sanders.

Blanco looked toward Wison.  For his own part the Negro would not have been averse to returning to the fold could the thing be accomplished without danger of reprisal on the part of Skipper Simms and Ward; but he knew the men so well that he feared to trust them even should they seemingly acquiesce to any such proposal.  On the other hand, he reasoned, it would be as much to their advantage to have the deserters return to them as it would to the deserters themselves, for when they had heard the story told by Red Sanders and Wison of the murder of the others of the party they too would realize the necessity for maintaining the strength of the little company to its fullest.