“Bad. But what’s that noise? That shouting?”
“Papuans attacking the ship.”
“Oh, yes,” said Panton faintly. “I remember now. They followed us and shot me down. Ah! I should have liked to have one turn at the fellow who drew a bow at me. Hark! they’re fighting.”
“Fighting! Yes; and oh! it is dreadful to have to lie here and not be able to help.”
“Yes, I should like to help our fellows,” sighed Panton, “Drew is there, I suppose?”
“Yes, of course. Hark! they’ve begun firing.”
They lay listening for some minutes, and then Panton suddenly exclaimed,—
“I’m weak and faint as can be, but I can’t lie like this. Look here, Lane, old chap; if those blacks get the best of it, they’ll come down here and murder us.”
“Without mercy,” said Oliver, with a groan.
“Well, wounded men have helped the fighting before now. Don’t you think you and I could do our little bit now?”