“Murray, sir.”
“Let me see. Yes: right through, evidently.”
“He wants it drawn out, sir,” said the midshipman, and he was holding up the spear-shaft where he stood facing the injured man; “but it would be dangerous to meddle with it, wouldn’t it, sir?”
“Yes, certainly,” said the lieutenant. “He must be helped back. What’s that?”
“More spears, sir,” growled Tom May, as there was the whizz and thud of the missiles once more.
“Present! Fire!” said the lieutenant sharply; and a fresh volley was fired, with the result of a rush of feet being plainly heard from the enemy, now in full retreat.
“Keep silence, my lads,” said the lieutenant, who had been waiting till the thudding of the ramrods came to an end and denoted that the little party was once more ready to deliver fire.
Silence ensued, save where Murray stood half supporting the wounded man.
“Here, give it a good pull, Mr Murray, sir,” whispered the man. “I’ll hold a couple o’ plugs ready for you to stop the bleeding.”
“No, no, my man; you must be patient,” whispered Murray sympathetically.