Things
could not go on thus for long, and the natives planned to end them.
A superbly built fellow, lighter of skin than his companions, arrogant of
air, showed to the front, evidently a general in command. He clambered,
shouting the lust of battle, on to the summit of a rock, not more than
thirty yards from the spot where Sir George lay. Then he swung a spear,
with agile trick, and it grazed the hem of the white captain's coat. It
would have done more, had not Sir George by instinct, which is ever
alert, jerked himself free of its path. Another spear, from the same
supple hand, just missed his breast, striking the stock of his gun. This
was too near for comfort and the future well-being of the expedition.
Sir George passed his empty gun to the Englishman handiest, with the
direction 'Please re-load it.' He had tried to do that himself, but his
cramped position made it difficult to ram home the powder and ball. For
his own gun, he snatched an unshot one which the man was struggling to
release from its cover. In the hurry, piece and cover got entangled, but,
with a wrench, Sir George tore the two apart. His plan of campaign was
settled; he advanced to the rock where the light-coloured native had
head-quarters. In bold initiative, there remained the only hope for Sir
George and his following, against imminent massacre.
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