The only way of locating them was by the flash of their guns.
They sent a shower of the javelins into the wood, and then were seized with that strange, aimless panic which sometimes comes over the bravest men in the crisis of a conflict.

The survivors made a wild break for the river, into which they sprang as far as they could leap, diving deep, swimming as far as possible beneath the surface, then coming up an instant for breath and diving again.
The blood of the Professor and the American was at fever heat.

They felt it wrong to show mercy, after what had taken place, and were in no mood for any further weakness of that nature.
Both ran down to the edge of the stream, and, standing almost in the water, took deliberate aim at every black head as it rose to the surface.

They kept popping up here and there, at varying distances, only to drop out of sight again, the instant the swimmer caught breath; but in many instances, when they went down the second or third time, they did not come up again.
Professor Grimcke and Jared Long were throwing away no ammunition.
Finally, the dark forms began rising from the river on the other shore, where they darted into the wood, fearful of the dreadful messengers which followed them even there.
The repulse was decisive and there was little fear of the attack on the camp being renewed that night.
The shocking evidences of the disastrous repulse were on every hand, with the body of poor Quincal lying at the feet of the assailant whom he had slain, and with nearly a score of dusky bodies stretched in every conceivable attitude..