This, they
knew, would be counted in their favour afterwards.
Hardly was the night come when they advanced in battle array--the fighting
contingent in front; behind them the boys and older men, who kept them
supplied with stones and weapons. A well-nourished volley of missiles
greeted the Tripolitans, some of whom rushed to the fray, while others
took refuge in their huts or with the Moroccans who lived in their own
village near at hand. It was now quite dark, but at close quarters the
stones began to take effect, and hardly was a man down, than five or six
Khabyles ran out of the ranks to finish him off with their knives; others,
meanwhile, went to the locked huts and fired them, or burst them open with
dynamite.
The explosions and lights began to attract attention in Metlaoui; the
whole sky was aflame; there were mysterious bursts of sound, too, and a
chorus of wild howls. Something was evidently wrong, up there.
A party of Europeans, accompanied by a small force of local police, went
up to the mines to investigate. They found themselves powerless; "keep
yourselves out of danger," they were told, "and let us settle our own
affairs.
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