McGuffey leaned against the gun, and for the moment he was as weak as a child. "Gawd," he muttered, "that was Scraggsy and they're a-goin' to eat him up. Oh, Gib, Gib, old man, why wouldn't you listen to me? Now they've got you, and what in blazes I'm going to do to get you back, dead or alive, I dunno."
McGuffey could hear the cries and general uproar from the wari, though he could not see what was taking place. In a minute or two, however, all was once more silent, silence having descended on the scene simultaneously with the descent of the earthenware pot on Mr. Gibney's head.
"It's all over," said McGuffey sadly to the mate. "They've killed 'em both." Whereupon B. McGuffey, Esquire, sat down on the cabin ventilator, pulled out a bandana handkerchief and wept into it, for his honest Irish heart was breaking.
It was fully half an hour before poor McGuffey could pull himself together, and when he did, his grief was superseded by a fit of rage that was terrible to behold.
"Step lively, you blasted scum of the seas," he bawled to the mate, and the crew gathered around the gun. "Lug up a case of ammunition and we'll shell that bush until even a parrot won't be left alive in it."
"Aye, aye, sir," responded the crew to a man, and sprang to their task.
"I'm an old navy gunner," said the first mate quietly. "I'll handle the gun. With a 'pom-pom' gun it's just like playing a garden hose on them, only it's high-explosive shell instead of water. I can search out every nook and cranny in the coast of this island. Those guns are sighted up to 4,000 yards."
"Kill 'em all," raved McGuffey, "kill all the blasted niggers."
When Mr. Gibney fell under the impact of the earthenware pot he was only partially stunned. As he tried to struggle to his feet half a dozen hands were laid on him and in a trice he was lifted and carried back of the wari to a clear space where a dozen heavy teakwood posts stood in a row about four feet apart. Mr. Gibney was quickly stripped of his clothing and bound hand and foot to one of these posts. Three minutes later another delegation of cannibals arrived, bearing the limp, naked body of Captain Scraggs, whom they bound in similar fashion to the post beside Mr. Gibney. Scraggs was very white and bloody, but conscious, and his pale-blue eyes were flickering like a snake's.
"What's—what's—the meanin' of this, Gib?" he gasped.