“Hadn’t we better creep up to the ship?” whispered Oliver.
“And be shot for enemies?” replied Panton, in the same tone.
“They haven’t seen us, so we had better wait till morning.”
“And then make ourselves marks for spears and arrows.”
“Better than for bullets. I’d rather a savage mop-headed Papuan shot me, than Mr Rimmer did.”
“Hist! Silence!” whispered Drew, who had crept closer. “Enemy.”
He was right, for footsteps were heard again, coming from the direction of the brig, and it seemed like a second party following the first, till it occurred to Panton that this might be the same party returning from passing right round the vessel.
But they had no means of knowing, and a few minutes later they all lay there asking themselves whether they would not have acted more wisely if they had fired a volley into the enemy when they first came up, and followed up the confusion the shots would have caused by rushing to the brig.
“They would not have taken us for the enemy then,” said Drew.
But the opportunity had gone by, and to add to their discomfort, a low, murmuring sound indicated that the savages had come to a halt between them and their friends.