“Then he ought to know better,” said the doctor quickly. “Nothing to be ashamed of, my lad. Imagination’s a queer thing. I once fainted because I thought I had cut myself, while I was skinning a dog which had been poisoned. I was a student then, and knew the dangers of wounds from a poisoned knife; and, by the way, we must take care of the wounds from poisoned arrows. Well, when I washed my hand there wasn’t a scratch. You couldn’t help it, Jack. Any man might be seized like that after seeing Death make two darts at him and feeling him strike.”
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“Is any one hurt?” said a voice then; and Mr Bartlett’s head appeared above the edge of the lava wall.
“No; all right. Only an alarm, and a narrow escape. How about the savages?”
“They’re gone in the direction of the yacht, gentlemen, and we must get back as quickly as we can.”
“Ah, look! look!” cried Ned excitedly, as he pointed out to sea; “there’s a canoe—two canoes—three.”
They followed the direction of his pointing finger, and saw plainly enough three long, low vessels full of men gliding by, with their matting sails glistening in the sun, and not two miles out from where they stood.
“Worse and worse,” said the mate. “We must get back to the yacht, gentlemen.”
“Of course,” said Sir John, drawing a deep breath. “Why, there must be a hundred men in those canoes.”
“Quite that, sir, I’m afraid,” replied the mate. “Quick, please. It will be terrible if they attack the captain while he is so short-handed.”