During it Roger said to de Boucjcault: "Was not your act a rash one? As he wanted the house for a hospital he would certainly not have destroyed it; and we might have made a pact with him to surrender it peaceably if he allowed us to leave it with the honours of war."
The Frenchman grunted. "You do not understand these people. Pact or no pact our lives would not be worth a moment's purchase if we fell into their clutches. Besides, such a chance to kill their leader might not have occurred again. Now that he is dead they will all be at sixes and sevens and act without proper direction; so our chances of driving them off are increased tenfold."
That he was right became evident during the next half-hour. A small group of the braver negroes attempted to rush one of the windows, and were driven off with severe losses. But apart from that no concerted action was taken; the others kept up only a desultory fire at the faint blurs of light that indicated the loopholes in the shutters.
The garrison, intently watching the black shadows that contrasted so strongly with the silver moonlight, fired at every movement they saw, or thought they saw, among the oleanders, bougainvillaeas, and hibiscus. Occasionally a sharp cry told them that they had scored a hit, but another hour dragged by without the besiegers losing heart and abandoning the conflict, as it was still hoped they would.
Just after half-past four one of the snipers sent a well-aimed shot through one of the loopholes. It laid open Theodule's cheek and smashed some of his back teeth. Amanda left Roger's side to do what she could for the wounded negro footman, and by the time she returned to her post the moon had gone down behind the palms.
Starlight still lit the drive, although more faintly, and the attackers took advantage of the dimness to creep up closer to the house. Ten minutes later a dozen of them made a dash for the front door. Roger dropped one but de Boucicault's musket misfired, and once the group had reached the porch it was too close to the house for fire to be brought upon it from any of the windows. With heavy staves, an axe and musket butts the negroes beat frantically on the door, striving to break it in. They might have succeeded had it not been for Dan and his little party up on the roof. At the sounds of the commotion they ran to the front parapet and, leaning over, began to fire down on the attackers. Two of them were hit and the remainder panicked, flung away most of the things they were wielding and bolted for the bushes.
Again there was a long spell of relative quiet, until Eloi came from the back of the house to tell his master that he felt sure he smelt smoke, and thought that some of the outbuildings had been set on fire.
With an anxious glance at Roger, de Boucicault muttered: "Although I made no mention of it, that they might try to smoke us out is the one thing I feared." Then he hurried off to investigate.
It transpired that the maize store was ablaze, but between it and the house was sandwiched the laundry, and de Boucicault felt that if they could well douse the roof and walls of the latter with water there would be a good chance of preventing the fire from spreading to the main building. Swiftly, he set about organizing two fire-fighting squads.
The task of the party on the roof was an easy one, for they had only to carry buckets of water from the big cisterns up there and throw their contents down on to the lower level of the laundry; but to reach the walls of its interior the party below had to get out of the end window looking on to the terrace and either pass buckets, or run with them, the half-dozen yards to its entrance. Short as the distance was, it meant temporary exposure to the bullets of any of the attackers who might have posted themselves in positions from which they could enfilade the terrace; so de Boucicault transferred four of the defenders to first-floor windows at the back of the house to form a covering party, then led the ground floor fire-fighting squad in person.
There ensued a short, sharp battle. Twice de Boucicault, Kilick and two negro grooms succeeded in getting buckets into the laundry. Shots spattered round them, and others in reply from the first floor windows whistied over their heads. Then, at the third sortie, one of the grooms went down, shot through the leg. Dropping their buckets, the others picked him up and got him back into the house, but while helping to do so de Boucicault was hit in the side.
A few minutes later, sweat pouring down his face, he staggered into the main hall and gasped to Roger: "Come with me, please. I want a word with you in private."
Obediently Roger followed him into a small room in which he had been used to deal with the business of the estate. Slumping into a chair, he said jerkily: "We'll have to give up. They hit two of us. If we don't they'll pick us off piecemeal. I fear I'm done for."
"Don't say that!" exclaimed Roger, turning towards the door. "I'll get Doctor Fergusson."
De Boucicault stayed him with an impatient gesture. "No good! One of those black devils got me through the innards. Listen, Monsieur. I have little time left. Tell my wife—if you ever get to Mole St. Nicholas —how I died. But that's the rub. They've got the better of us. Your chances of getting there now are not worth ten sous."
His face suddenly worked convulsively, then he was seized with a violent fit of coughing. After spewing up some blood into his handkerchief, he made a great effort, leaned forward, took from a drawer in his desk a small bottle filled with a pinkish liquid, and went on:
"Unless the wind changes the fire will spread to the house. You will be tempted to surrender. Put the thought from you. I am thinking of the women. These fiends will not only violate them; they will mutilate them most horribly afterwards. I know; I have seen what they have done to others."
Again a fit of coughing choked him. Then he handed the bottle to Roger and gasped: "There is wine in the dining-room. Put this in it Use any pretext to make them drink. In your place I would take some myself. It is a quick poison. By it you can save them from . . . from . . . Should things become hopeless, do not hesitate, I beg. This . . . this is a duty you owe to those you love."
chapter xv
THE CHOICE OF EVILS
De Boucicault had barely finished laying this terrible charge upon Roger when he was gripped by another convulsion. A hideous rattling noise issued from his throat and a few moments later he slumped forward dead.
No one could accuse Roger of lack of courage, but for once he had gone white to the lips, and could feel himself trembling. Reason told him that de Boucicault was right, but his every instinct made him cringe from the thought and he doubted if he could possibly bring himself to do this awful thing. With shaking hands he propped the dead man up in the chair, drew an antimacassar over his distorted face, and limped slowly from the room.
It was now nearly half-past five and dawn not far off. As usual at that hour the wind had dropped, but a light breeze from the sea still fanned the flames of the burning maize store; and there was good reason to assume that the negroes had deliberately chosen that building to start a fire in because it was on the seaward side of the house. With the abandoning of the attempt to get buckets of water along to the laundry the shooting had ceased; so in the early morning stillness Roger could now actually hear the crackling of the flames as they ate into the old rafters.
As soon as the others learned of de Boucicault's death, by an unspoken but unanimous consent they looked to Roger as their new leader, and the responsibility weighed with crushing heaviness upon him. Had he been strong and well he could as a last resort have led a desperate sortie, hoping that some of them might break through with the women, then turn and make a stand while they ran on to hide themselves in the woods; but, crippled as he was, that was out of the question. He put the idea to Fergusson, suggesting that he or Dan should act as leader, but immediately Amanda and Georgina heard of it they refused to leave without him.