But, alas! the victory has cost them more than one precious life.
Here, stark and stiff, lies the brave young fellow Sackbut, who had fired the bush on the first landing of the savages.
And not far off poor Tom Wilson himself.
At first they can hardly believe that Tom is dead. He is raised partly on his elbow, and his eyes are fixed on a portrait he has taken from his bosom. Tandy, who found him, had seen that picture before. It was that of his wife.
Ah, well, he had sinned, he had suffered, but his sorrows were all past now.
Another man is wounded—honest Chips himself.
Is this all? Ah, no, for James himself, as he turns to leave the scene of carnage, leans suddenly on his sword, his face looks ghastly pale in the firelight, and Halcott springs forward only in time to prevent him from falling.