“Only scratched me, father,” I said, as I winced a little, for one of the Indians’ missiles had fallen, ploughed my leg a little, and pinned the fold of my breeches to the thwart on which I sat.
Pomp crept to my side and pulled out the arrow, examining the hole in the thwart, and saying merrily—
“I no ’tink you want lil bit rag round you, sah.”
“No, Pomp; go back and help to load.”
Bang—bang! Was heard again from the foremost boat; but arrows came now fast from the wooded point we were approaching.
“How does Morgan manage to load so quickly?” said my father, who kept on talking calmly, as I believe now to encourage us.
“I think Morgan is—I mean I think Sarah is loading for him,” I replied, rather confusedly, as the trees and the wooded bank began to grow misty and dim.
“Ah, very likely. Great—”
The one word came in a very different tone of voice, as a wild shriek rang out from the foremost boat, followed by a momentary silence.
“What is it?” said my father, sternly.