"Give point when they come on: don't strike.

Try and kill one of the cowardly beggars before they finish us." "Yes," I gasped.
"Chuck that spyglass down," cried Smith; "it's in your way." Gladly enough I swung the great telescope round, slipped the strap over my head, and as I did so I saw a sudden movement in the crowd.
In an instant the experience we had had upon the river flashed across my brain.

I recalled how the crew of the great tea-boat had dropped away from her high stern when Barkins had used the glass, and for the first time I grasped why this had been.
My next actions were in a mad fit of desperate mischief more than anything else.

For, recalling that I had a few flaming fusees in my jacket pocket, I snatched out the box, secured one; then, taking off the cap, which hung by a strap, I pulled the brass and leather telescope out to its full extent, presented the large end at the mob, uttered as savage a yell as I could and struck a fusee, which went off with a crack, and flashed and sparkled with plenty of blaze.
The effect was instantaneous.

Mistaking the big glass, which had been a burden to me all day, for some terrible new form of gun, the swordsmen uttered a wild yell of horror, and turned and fled, driving the unarmed mob before them, all adding their savage cries of dread.
"Hoor-rah," shouted Barkins.