they are wonderfully quick of hearing.”
“I am trying, sir,” whispered the midshipman, “but I wish you would place your hand here.”
“Place your hand there, Mr Murray!” said the officer, in a voice full of vexation. “I have no time to feel the poor fellow’s wound.”
“But it isn’t quite that, sir,” said the lad. “I can’t help thinking – ”
“Think, then, sir, but don’t bother me.”
“I can’t help it, sir,” whispered the lad excitedly.
“What do you mean, Mr Murray?” said the officer, alarmed by the lad’s excitement. “Don’t say you are wounded too?”
“No, sir, and I don’t think that Titely has got anything worse than a scratch.”
“Eh?”
“Feel here, sir. The spear has gone right through the bandolier and his shirt from the front and gone out through the shirt and bandolier at the back, running all up a bit.”
“Well, but what about the poor fellow’s flesh and bone?” said the officer excitedly.
“I think it’s only gone through the skin, sir.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said the man. “I telled Mr Murray, sir, as I didn’t think I should bleed much if he pulled the skewer out.”
“We must wait for daylight, my lad – till the smoke lifts. Ah, what are you doing?”
“On’y wiggling the spear a little, sir,” replied the man gruffly. “Just give a tug at it. Does hurt a bit. I seem to have teared some’at. There, I knowed it! You try, Mr Murray, sir; you can lift it like now, and – yes, that’s it. I’m a-shoving it back’ards and for’ards, and it moves the cross-belt and my shirt, and nothing else.”
“But, my good fellow – ” began the officer.
“It’s all right, sir. I’ve shoved my hand right under my shirt and over my shoulder. It’s just bleeding a little, but – well, it’s about the humbuggin’est humbug of a wound I ever knowed a chap to have. Here, Mr Murray sir, you ketch hold of my cross-belt fore and aft, and if his honour wouldn’t mind giving the spear a haul through the belt I shall be as right as can be.”
The two officers obeyed the man’s request and stood holding spear and belt, but hesitated to proceed farther.
“That hurt, my lad?” said the lieutenant.
“Hurt, sir? Not a bit. On’y feels preciously in the way.”
“Got hold tightly, Mr Murray?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then, now then.”
It took more than one good tug, but after the first tentative trial, which seemed to cause the man no suffering, the first lieutenant pulled hard, and at last drew the spear right through the two pierced portions of the tough buff leather.
“That’s your sort, gentlemen,” said the man. “Here, who’s got my musket?”
“Steady, my lad,” said the lieutenant. “Now, then, do you feel faint?”
“Orfle, sir, inside,” said the man, “but I want a drink o’ water worst.”
“But are you in pain?” asked Murray.
“Smarts a bit, but it don’t hardly bleed at all. I’m all right, sir, only tickles enough to make a chap a bit savage. Here, don’t you worry about me, sir. I’m as fit as a fiddle, gentlemen, and I on’y want now to play the niggers such a toon as’ll make them jump again.”
“Hah!” ejaculated the lieutenant. “Only a bit of a false alarm, Mr Murray.”
“Thankye, sir. Yes, that’s right. Does me good to grip my musket again.”
“Then try and use it, Titely,” said the midshipman, “for here they come again. – Yes, May; we hear them.”
The lieutenant’s command was given directly after, and again a volley rang out, this time to check the enemy’s advance and drive them back so thoroughly that the silence was once more intense; and as the party stood with strained ears, listening, Murray uttered an exclamation.
“What is it, Mr Murray?”
“Firing, sir. I heard shots.”
“Are you sure?”
“I heerd it too, sir,” said the injured man.
“Attention there!” said the lieutenant sharply.
“One, two, and three from the left make ready. Present – Fire!”
The three shots rang out like one, and directly after they were replied to, the reports sounding faintly enough but perfectly distinguishable through the distance.
The lieutenant waited while twenty could be counted, and then ordered the men to fire again. This drew forth a reply, and so evidently from the same direction that the order was given for the party to march; but directly after the lieutenant called Halt, for from behind them and quite plainly from the direction they were leaving, came the deep-toned thud of a heavy gun.
Chapter Eleven.
“The Smoke’s Lifting.”
“Well done, Seafowl!” said the lieutenant, and the men gave a cheer which drew forth a “Silence!” from the officer.
“You’re holloaing before you’re out of the wood, my lads,” he said. “Ah, there they go again – nearer too. Those must be Mr Munday’s or Mr Dempsey’s men. Halt, and stand fast, my lads. Let’s give them a chance to join, and then we can retire together. No doubt, Mr Murray, about the direction we ought to take.”
“No, sir,” replied the midshipman, “and we are going to be quite out of our misery soon.”
“What do you mean, my lad?”
“The smoke’s lifting, sir.”
“To be sure, my lad, it is. A cool breeze too – no – yes, that’s from the same direction as the Seafowl’s recall shot. If it had been from the forest we might have been stifled, after all.”
The signals given from time to time resulted in those who had fired coming before long within hail, and the men who now joined proved to be a conjunction of the second lieutenant’s and boatswain’s, who had met after a long estrangement in the smoke, and without the loss of a man. Then, as the smoke was borne back by the now increasing sea breeze, the general retreat became less painful. They could breathe more freely, and see their way through the burned forest in the direction of the anchored sloop.
It was a terribly blackened and parched-up party, though, that struggled on over the still smoking and painfully heated earth. For they had no option, no choice of path. The forest that lay to left and right was too dense to be attempted. There were doubtless paths known to the natives, but they were invisible to the retreating force, which
