My brain swam, and for a few moments everything looked misty, but that horrid sight forced itself upon me, and I felt as if I must stare hard at the pirate, where he lay bayoneted and held down at the end of the rifle by the strong arms of the marine sentry, who was pressing with all his might upon the stock.
The struggling went on for a few moments, then grew less and less violent, while a low hissing sound came from the prisoners around. Then the quivering entirely ceased, and the marine gave his bayonet a twist, and dragged it out of the wretch’s chest, throwing himself back into position to strike again, should it be necessary. But the last breath had passed the pirate’s lips; and, while the sentry drew back to his place by one side of the door and stood ready, his comrade fell back to the other, and the corporal and the fourth man seized the pirate, and rapidly drew him forth through the doorway; we followed, the place was closed and fastened, and I stood panting, as if I had been running hard, and could not recover my breath.
The next moment I was clinging to Mr Reardon, trying to hold him up, but he misinterpreted my action, and seized and gave me a rough shake.
“Don’t, boy,” he cried in an angry, excited tone. “Stand up; be a man.”
“Yes, yes,” I gasped; “but quick, corporal! never mind—that wretch—run—the doctor—fetch Mr Price.”
“Bah!” cried Mr Reardon roughly, and trying to hide his own agitation, “the man’s dead.”
I stared at him in horror.
“He don’t know!” I gasped. “Mr Reardon—sit—lie—lay him down, my lads. Don’t you know you are badly hurt?”
“I! hurt?” he cried. “No; I felt him hit me, but it was nothing.”
I reached up my trembling hand, but he caught it as it touched his shoulder, and was in the act of snatching it away, when his own came in contact with the handle of the knife.