“He’s all right, sir,” cried the man upon whose back Ned still hung, and the bearer rose from his knees. “Some one take care as they don’t spear me, and I’ll soon have him in the boat.”
“Lead on, Jack,” cried the doctor.
“All here?” said Jack.
“Yes. Forward.”
The distance was short now, and in a few minutes they had put the low growth between them and their enemies, and were running toward where the boat, with its two keepers, was being backed on to the sand.
“Hooray!” panted Ned’s bearer, as he waded in and let the poor fellow glide over the gunwale of the boat, following directly after.
The others, as soon as Jack and the doctor were aboard, dropped their rifles in, ran the boat out till they were waist deep, and then gave a final thrust and slipped over, to seize their rifles again and squat down ready to fire.
They were none too soon, for a party of about a dozen blacks, armed with spears and bows and arrows, came into sight, and began to shoot.
“Give them a volley,” said the doctor sternly. “Six of us. We can’t be merciful now.”
The pieces were rested upon the sides of the boat, and the sharp rattle of gun and rifle followed, Jack and the doctor firing both barrels of their fowling-pieces, loaded with largish shot.