Out broke the tremendous war-whoop of the Pequods, with peal after peal of musketry, and before the preacher could make himself heard in the uproar, two or three white men appeared afar off, running for their lives, and pursued by a score of savages. By and by, another appeared—another and another—and after a while five more—and these were all that had survived the first discharge of the enemy.
You perceive now why the men tumbled about as they did, when they got near the fence; they were struck with a flight of level arrows that we couldn’t see—ah! you appear to have a—
O Mr. Burroughs, Mr. Burroughs—what shall we do?
He made no answer—
O Sir—Sir—take pity upon us!
He stood as if the fear that he felt a moment before was gone away forever, and with it all concern, all hope, all care, all pity for the wretched people about him.
O God of Jacob—what shall we do!
Promise to obey me—
We will—we will—we do.
So you did, when I first came here—now you have begun to scoff at your Joshua, as you call me.