Then a merciful unconsciousness came upon him and he remembered no more.
Meanwhile Slade, fighting right manfully, had succeeded in flooring three of his antagonists by well-directed blows of his fist; for, in spite of his gloves, the lieutenant's knuckles struck home with sledge-hammer force and precision. For a time it seemed as if he would be able to keep his foes at bay, till a wily savage, stealing up from behind, dealt him a crashing blow with a club. Slade possessed a thick skull in more senses than one, and on this occasion it served its purpose. Under the blow, that would have killed most men, Slade fell senseless in the snow.
When Stockton regained consciousness he found himself lying under the shelter of an overhanging rock, with Slade and one of the seamen lying close to him. Were it not for the actual contact all three would have been dead through exposure to the intense cold. At first he could hardly open his eyes, for the blood that had oozed from a gash in his forehead had congealed and had thus prevented a copious loss of the vital fluid.
Gathered around the prostrate forms of the survivors of the unfortunate expedition were nearly a hundred savages, some of whom were still squabbling over the distribution of their prisoners' effects, for every metal article had been unceremoniously taken from them. Gradually the details of the surprise dawned upon the young Englishman, and he vaguely wondered why the Patagonians had not completed their murderous work. Perhaps he and his companions were being reserved for a lingering death.
After a while Slade began to stir, then, starting to his feet, he stumbled a few paces, and collapsed in the snow. A roar of derisive laughter from the savages greeted this performance, and a pair of dusky giants lifted the lieutenant and dropped him by the side of his comrade.
"Hello, Slade!" began Jack, wearily, but in reply came a torrent of inarticulate words. The lieutenant was in a delirium. Once he shouted that the men were shirking their task of holy-stoning the decks; then he craved for a cocktail; the next moment begging for a draught of water, till his exhausted body sank beneath the strain and he relapsed into unconsciousness.
Stockton, too, was on the verge of insensibility when a native came running with some news of more than ordinary interest. What the intelligence was Jack could not, of course, comprehend, but the outcome of it was that most of the savages made off, leaving barely a score to watch their helpless prisoners.
One of the native scouts had brought word that the white men's floating village had gone, and the other savages, doubting (as uncivilised tribes invariably do) the word of one of their number, had gone to the shores of the creek to satisfy themselves on that point.
