“No, he hasn’t,” said a voice in a low tone, and to the intense delight of all, Lane raised his head from the ground, so that they could see his face all torn and bleeding, from its owner having had to force his way as he crawled through the dense creepers at the edge of the forest.
“Thank heaven!” cried Panton, and he let his head drop down upon his hands in his weakness produced by long suffering and over-exertion.
“Then you saw the savages?” said Drew, excitedly.
“Yes. I was creeping in this direction, to get a shot at some of the paradise birds which I heard calling, when I came suddenly upon a black, and in endeavouring to crawl silently away, a piece of wood snapped under my hand and made the man turn toward me. I had to be perfectly still for a long time before he went on. Are there any more?”
“Fifty at least, so the men say,” replied Panton, recovering himself. “But are you at all hurt?”
“Only scratched and done up. I feel so weak. But what are you going to do?”
“Crawl back through the edge of the forest till we are near the brig, and then wait till night—if we escape notice. Seems the best way.”
“And then,” said Oliver, “if they make an attack on the brig, we can take them in flank or rear, perhaps scare them off.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Smith. “It’s only a sort of a kind o’ disgestion like as you can do or no, but them beggars has left their boats. How would it be for us to go down to the shore and grab one and sink t’other? Then we should be free to sail away where we liked.”
“Without provisions, compass, or water?” said Panton, drily.