At last. Bang! A terrible yell; the spear dropped on the sill, the point was then jerked upwards, and struck the top of the window as the savage fell headlong, leaving the opening clear once more.
“Did—I hit him?” said Panton, faintly.
“Yes, he went down at once. Quick, load again. Another will be up directly.”
He was quite right, but Panton did not stir; he lay back senseless, the recoil of the fired piece having sent so agonising a pang through him too that he turned sick and fainted dead away; and this just as a couple more spear-armed savages dragged themselves up and began to climb through. In fact, one was dimly seen half in before Oliver could shake off his feeling of lethargy and steady the gun for another shot.
The report sounded deafening in the confined cabin, filling it far more with smoke, which Oliver lay trying hard to penetrate as he wondered at the silence which had now fallen.
The window was open and no enemy was to be seen as the smoke slowly rose and floated out through the door, carried by the current of air which set in through the window, and as there was no fresh alarm the young naturalist lay listening, till all at once steps were heard, and the mate’s voice saluted him,—
“Well, how’s the wound? Hear all our noise and firing?”
“Yes,” said Oliver, slowly, “I heard.”
“But, hallo! what’s the meaning of this? I thought that dead-light was put up? and what! Guns?”
Oliver told him what had happened, and the mate caught his hand.