Then, as the sentry watched his young comrade, the thick darkness yielded to the touch of the invisible day, and the black curtain was changed to sullen grey.
Again a sigh of relief passed the sentry's lips as he swung round to his front. Light was coming at last and---- Ah! Look!
No sound this time. Something crept stealthily, slowly--how slowly!--towards him. Something crouched close to the cleared ground and moved with infinite patience through the fern.
With the exclamation--perhaps it was also a prayer--the sentry threw forward his musket and fired--hurriedly, blindly, hitting no one; and the report was almost drowned in the wild uproar which instantly followed.
The sentry shrieked a warning; the men of the picket discharged their muskets and swung them up by the barrel, as half a hundred naked Maori, upspringing from the fern, yelled and howled with fury, realising that they had been seen just a moment too soon.
But one sound topped all others. Clear and shrill on the air of that pallid morning rang the notes of the "alarm," as young Allen blew with all the power of his lungs--not so much to summon, as to save, his sleeping comrades.
Down went the sentry with a bullet in his brain. The men of the picket reeled to the ground shot, or stabbed, or tomahawked, and still young Allen blew--"Awake! Awake!"
A huge Maori rushed at him and snatched at the bugle. Still holding the mouthpiece to his lips, Allen dodged him and--ran? No; stood still and blew, clear and sharp, "Awake! Awake!"
With a grunt of wrath the savage raised his tomahawk and smote strongly downwards. The keen steel almost shore the lad's arm from his shoulder, and the bugle dropped from his nerveless fingers. But, ere it fell, the brave boy caught it in his left hand, set it again to his lips, and for the last time blew the quavering notes--"Awake! Awake!"
Then the Maori struck once more, and Allen died.
Many a brave man wears the proud cross "For Valour." Was it ever better deserved than by the boy who sleeps forgotten in a far-off land, and who simply did his duty?
While this tragedy was being enacted, a fierce attack was made upon the defenceless quarter of the farm, whence Lieutenant Page, aroused by poor Allen's last bugle call, rushed with two of his startled men. They were immediately driven back; but presently, while the sergeant with a handful kept the Maori at bay, Page and six men, carrying three wounded under a hot fire, managed to reach the stockaded barn and join forces with the bulk of the command. The end of the affair soon came after that. The British poured out of the barn, led by their officer, and Mamaku and his Maori, having no liking for cold steel, scampered across the river, having killed six and wounded four of the small company of soldiers. Lieutenant Page was subsequently promoted for his gallantry in beating off a force twice as great as his own.