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PRISONERS OF WAR. | No speaker | Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE.<|quote|>PRISONERS OF WAR.</|quote|>"I wish our old ship | Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE.<|quote|>PRISONERS OF WAR.</|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was | prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE.<|quote|>PRISONERS OF WAR.</|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. | seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE.<|quote|>PRISONERS OF WAR.</|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at | lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE.<|quote|>PRISONERS OF WAR.</|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors | thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE.<|quote|>PRISONERS OF WAR.</|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my | on." "They served them same as they did those poor chaps as wouldn't give in." "How horrible!" "Ah, 'tis horrid, my lad; and I've been wishing we hadn't cut and run. We was better off on board ship." "It's of no use to talk like that, Jem. Are you much hurt?" "Hand's all cut about with that pistol busting, and there's a hole through my left shoulder, as feels as if it had been bored with a red hot poker. But there, never mind. Worse disasters at sea, Mas' Don. Not much hurt, are you?" "I don't know, Jem. I can remember nothing." "Good job for you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE.<|quote|>PRISONERS OF WAR.</|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a | pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE.<|quote|>PRISONERS OF WAR.</|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly | Don Lavington |
"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." | Jem Wimble | FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR.<|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."</|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, | Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR.<|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."</|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid | repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR.<|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."</|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, | back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR.<|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."</|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women | the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR.<|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."</|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken | They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR.<|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."</|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." | them same as they did those poor chaps as wouldn't give in." "How horrible!" "Ah, 'tis horrid, my lad; and I've been wishing we hadn't cut and run. We was better off on board ship." "It's of no use to talk like that, Jem. Are you much hurt?" "Hand's all cut about with that pistol busting, and there's a hole through my left shoulder, as feels as if it had been bored with a red hot poker. But there, never mind. Worse disasters at sea, Mas' Don. Not much hurt, are you?" "I don't know, Jem. I can remember nothing." "Good job for you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR.<|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."</|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to | was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR.<|quote|>"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."</|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to | Don Lavington |
"It is very, very horrible, Jem." | Don Lavington | give these beggars a broadside."<|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem."</|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as | of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."<|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem."</|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was | the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."<|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem."</|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was | only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."<|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem."</|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose | had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."<|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem."</|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the | which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."<|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem."</|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish | wishing we hadn't cut and run. We was better off on board ship." "It's of no use to talk like that, Jem. Are you much hurt?" "Hand's all cut about with that pistol busting, and there's a hole through my left shoulder, as feels as if it had been bored with a red hot poker. But there, never mind. Worse disasters at sea, Mas' Don. Not much hurt, are you?" "I don't know, Jem. I can remember nothing." "Good job for you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."<|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem."</|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being | up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside."<|quote|>"It is very, very horrible, Jem."</|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" | Don Lavington |
"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." | Jem Wimble | is very, very horrible, Jem."<|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."</|quote|>"Yes, it would be a | these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem."<|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."</|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as | terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem."<|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."</|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others | and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem."<|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."</|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and | done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem."<|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."</|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together | to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem."<|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."</|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat | We was better off on board ship." "It's of no use to talk like that, Jem. Are you much hurt?" "Hand's all cut about with that pistol busting, and there's a hole through my left shoulder, as feels as if it had been bored with a red hot poker. But there, never mind. Worse disasters at sea, Mas' Don. Not much hurt, are you?" "I don't know, Jem. I can remember nothing." "Good job for you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem."<|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."</|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." | the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem."<|quote|>"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."</|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; | Don Lavington |
"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." | Don Lavington | sore I can hardly move."<|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."</|quote|>"Yes, and as I was | now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."<|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."</|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going | help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."<|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."</|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and | fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."<|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."</|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in | lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."<|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."</|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to | away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."<|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."</|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," | as if it had been bored with a red hot poker. But there, never mind. Worse disasters at sea, Mas' Don. Not much hurt, are you?" "I don't know, Jem. I can remember nothing." "Good job for you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."<|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."</|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came | "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."<|quote|>"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."</|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your | Don Lavington |
"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." | Jem Wimble | would be a comfort, Jem."<|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."</|quote|>"Yes," said Don, sadly, as | can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."<|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."</|quote|>"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the | is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."<|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."</|quote|>"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind | agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."<|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."</|quote|>"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly | his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."<|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."</|quote|>"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. | moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."<|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."</|quote|>"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in | a red hot poker. But there, never mind. Worse disasters at sea, Mas' Don. Not much hurt, are you?" "I don't know, Jem. I can remember nothing." "Good job for you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."<|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."</|quote|>"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and | you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."<|quote|>"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."</|quote|>"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my | Don Lavington |
"Yes," | Don Lavington | and look at things now."<|quote|>"Yes,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he | nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."<|quote|>"Yes,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men | shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."<|quote|>"Yes,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, | our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."<|quote|>"Yes,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, | he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."<|quote|>"Yes,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where | _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."<|quote|>"Yes,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the | for you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."<|quote|>"Yes,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this | low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now."<|quote|>"Yes,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down | Don Lavington |
said Don, sadly, as he looked round; | No speaker | look at things now." "Yes,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round;</|quote|>"half the men dead, the | when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round;</|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with | I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round;</|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were | old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round;</|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth | felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round;</|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion | right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round;</|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together | you, my lad. One of 'em hit you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round;</|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of | time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly, as he looked round;</|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together | Don Lavington |
"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." | Don Lavington | sadly, as he looked round;<|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."</|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they | things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round;<|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."</|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I | and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round;<|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."</|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their | at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round;<|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."</|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in | time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round;<|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."</|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to | he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round;<|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."</|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon | you over the head with the back of a stone-chopper; and I thought he'd killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round;<|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."</|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was | listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round;<|quote|>"half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."</|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, | Don Lavington |
"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." | Jem Wimble | with the women and children."<|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."</|quote|>They sat together, with their | the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."<|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."</|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, | and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."<|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."</|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a | very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."<|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."</|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that | pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."<|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."</|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just | once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."<|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."</|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty | killed you, so I--" Jem ceased speaking. "Well, go on," whispered Don. "That's all," said Jem, sullenly. "But you were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."<|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."</|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in | that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."<|quote|>"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."</|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How | Don Lavington |
They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. | No speaker | no church--all racked and ruined."<|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.</|quote|>It was a horrible scene, | I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."<|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.</|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors | when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."<|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.</|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before | comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."<|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.</|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready | of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."<|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.</|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign | lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."<|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.</|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple | were going to say what you did when the man struck me." "Was I? Ah, well, I forget now." Don was silent, for Jem had given him something terrible to dwell upon as he tried to think. At last he spoke again. "Where are the enemy, Jem?" "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."<|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.</|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the | it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined."<|quote|>They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.</|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We | Don Lavington |
It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. | No speaker | as a matter of course.<|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.</|quote|>The dead had been dragged | they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.<|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.</|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that | racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.<|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.</|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a | interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.<|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.</|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such | Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.<|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.</|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. | think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.<|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.</|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're | "Enemy, indeed!" growled Jem. "Savages like them don't deserve such a fine name. Brutes!" "But where are they? Did you see what they did?" "See? Yes. Don't ask me." "But where are they?" "Sleep. Drunk, I think. After they'd tied us prisoners all up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.<|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.</|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud | Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course.<|quote|>It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.</|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something | Don Lavington |
The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. | No speaker | pain they now suffered themselves.<|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.</|quote|>Where Don and Jem were | in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.<|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.</|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the | their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.<|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.</|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so | I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.<|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.</|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first | that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.<|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.</|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in | and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.<|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.</|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. | up and shut up all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think they did?" "Kill them?" "Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, and danced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'em had got too many holes in 'em to enjoy dancing much. But, Mas' Don." "Yes, Jem." "Don't ask me to tell you no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.<|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.</|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had | his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves.<|quote|>The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.</|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's | Don Lavington |
Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. | No speaker | a prisoner attempted to move.<|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.</|quote|>"What a shame it seems | threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.<|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.</|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, | ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.<|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.</|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into | wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.<|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.</|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. | "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.<|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.</|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black | he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.<|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.</|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where | no more, my lad. I'm too badly, just now. Think you could go to sleep?" "I don't know, Jem. I don't think so." "I'd say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.<|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.</|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, | now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move.<|quote|>Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.</|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going | Don Lavington |
"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" | Don Lavington | it down to the shore.<|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"</|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should | and they could see through it down to the shore.<|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"</|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. | even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.<|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"</|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was | inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.<|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"</|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." | village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.<|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"</|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much | as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.<|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"</|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing | say, let's try and get ourselves loose, and set to and get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.<|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"</|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction | to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore.<|quote|>"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"</|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one | Don Lavington |
"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" | Jem Wimble | such a glorious morning, Jem!"<|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"</|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. | a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"<|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"</|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather | over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"<|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"</|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my | dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"<|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"</|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the | arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"<|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"</|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to | as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"<|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"</|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a | get away, for I don't think anybody's watching us; but I couldn't go two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"<|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"</|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or | a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"<|quote|>"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"</|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll | Don Lavington |
"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" | Don Lavington | shame 'em. Head hurt much?"<|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"</|quote|>"Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, | I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"<|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"</|quote|>"Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar | to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"<|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"</|quote|>"Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze | the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"<|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"</|quote|>"Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should | bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"<|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"</|quote|>"Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left | repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"<|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"</|quote|>"Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were | two steps, I know. Could you run away by yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"<|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"</|quote|>"Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited | one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"<|quote|>"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"</|quote|>"Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners | Don Lavington |
"Rather pickly." | Jem Wimble | Jem. How is your shoulder?"<|quote|>"Rather pickly."</|quote|>"Rather what?" "Pickly, as if | much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"<|quote|>"Rather pickly."</|quote|>"Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper | portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"<|quote|>"Rather pickly."</|quote|>"Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in | there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"<|quote|>"Rather pickly."</|quote|>"Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so | were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"<|quote|>"Rather pickly."</|quote|>"Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt | and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"<|quote|>"Rather pickly."</|quote|>"Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into | yourself?" "I don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"<|quote|>"Rather pickly."</|quote|>"Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in | worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"<|quote|>"Rather pickly."</|quote|>"Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" | Don Lavington |
"Rather what?" | Don Lavington | is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly."<|quote|>"Rather what?"</|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was | so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly."<|quote|>"Rather what?"</|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt | the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly."<|quote|>"Rather what?"</|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." | the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly."<|quote|>"Rather what?"</|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of | huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly."<|quote|>"Rather what?"</|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to | was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly."<|quote|>"Rather what?"</|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom | don't know," said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly."<|quote|>"Rather what?"</|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds | there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly."<|quote|>"Rather what?"</|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the | Don Lavington |
"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." | Jem Wimble | shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?"<|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."</|quote|>"I wish I could bathe | much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?"<|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."</|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank | fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?"<|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."</|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of | were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?"<|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."</|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down | perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?"<|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."</|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to | them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?"<|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."</|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up | said Don. "I'm not going to try." "Well, but that's stupid, Mas' Don, when you might go somewhere, p'r'aps, and get help." "Where, Jem?" "Ah!" said the poor fellow, after a pause, "I never thought about that." They lay still under the blinking stars, with the wind blowing chill from the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?"<|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."</|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded | making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?"<|quote|>"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."</|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and | Don Lavington |
"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." | Don Lavington | furze bush in a fit."<|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."</|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I | for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."<|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."</|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do | "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."<|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."</|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' | fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."<|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."</|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, | of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."<|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."</|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, | the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."<|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."</|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to | the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."<|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."</|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast | companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit."<|quote|>"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."</|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of | Don Lavington |
"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." | Jem Wimble | bathe it for you, Jem."<|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."</|quote|>"We must try and bear | fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."<|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."</|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. | salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."<|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."</|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at | down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."<|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."</|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much | part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."<|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."</|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. | "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."<|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."</|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, | which hung over Don's spirit seemed to grow darker. His head throbbed violently, and a dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."<|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."</|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke | their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."<|quote|>"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."</|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then | Don Lavington |
"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." | Don Lavington | it. More in her way."<|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."</|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," | wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."<|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."</|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could | a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."<|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."</|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which | "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."<|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."</|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for | dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."<|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."</|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. | was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."<|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."</|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no | dull numbing pain was in his wrists and ankles. Then, too, as he opened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, which seemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."<|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."</|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not | very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."<|quote|>"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."</|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and | Don Lavington |
"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," | Jem Wimble | something to eat and drink."<|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>growled Jem, "that I could | should be so glad of something to eat and drink."<|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here | it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."<|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right | vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."<|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of | many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."<|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." | would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."<|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came | he listened to the low moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."<|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded | was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."<|quote|>"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage | Don Lavington |
growled Jem, | No speaker | "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>growled Jem,</|quote|>"that I could eat one | something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>growled Jem,</|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not | ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>growled Jem,</|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the | being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>growled Jem,</|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one | prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>growled Jem,</|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid | "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>growled Jem,</|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, | moaning, and then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>growled Jem,</|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the | Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>growled Jem,</|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle | Don Lavington |
"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." | Jem Wimble | hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem,<|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."</|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they | eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem,<|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."</|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his | Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem,<|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."</|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There | into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem,<|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."</|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple | possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem,<|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."</|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among | as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem,<|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."</|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, | then for a few minutes he lost consciousness. But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem,<|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."</|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, | making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem,<|quote|>"that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."</|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall | Don Lavington |
"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" | Don Lavington | all at once, of course."<|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"</|quote|>Don nodded his head in | o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."<|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"</|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken | and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."<|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"</|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy | when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."<|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"</|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her | to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."<|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"</|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." | interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."<|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"</|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite | wakefulness again, and stare wildly at the faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."<|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"</|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a | of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course."<|quote|>"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"</|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the | Don Lavington |
Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. | No speaker | What are they doing there?"<|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.</|quote|>There were about fifty of | once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"<|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.</|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running | How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"<|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.</|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a | I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"<|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.</|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I | a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"<|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.</|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads | and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"<|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.</|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face | faintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and through which he could see the twinkling of a star. As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again and again, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"<|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.</|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and | escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"<|quote|>Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.</|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough | Don Lavington |
There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. | No speaker | like so much glistening silver.<|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.</|quote|>"That's it, is it?" said | which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.<|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.</|quote|>"That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, | course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.<|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.</|quote|>"That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose | try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.<|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.</|quote|>"That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited | Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.<|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.</|quote|>"That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there | church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.<|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.</|quote|>"That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give | only response, and he lay thinking of home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as he thought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him that his mother was in ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son. "What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set of savages--what would she say?" A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.<|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.</|quote|>"That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, | broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver.<|quote|>There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.</|quote|>"That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their | Don Lavington |
"That's it, is it?" | Jem Wimble | tribe was in the water.<|quote|>"That's it, is it?"</|quote|>said Jem. "They came over | canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.<|quote|>"That's it, is it?"</|quote|>said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going | great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.<|quote|>"That's it, is it?"</|quote|>said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm | was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.<|quote|>"That's it, is it?"</|quote|>said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on | you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.<|quote|>"That's it, is it?"</|quote|>said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a | had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.<|quote|>"That's it, is it?"</|quote|>said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with | before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.<|quote|>"That's it, is it?"</|quote|>said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don | But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water.<|quote|>"That's it, is it?"</|quote|>said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen | Don Lavington |
said Jem. | No speaker | water. "That's it, is it?"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"They came over land, and | conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by | one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," | the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where | Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the | raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. | thinking that fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. | matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed | Don Lavington |
"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." | Jem Wimble | it, is it?" said Jem.<|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."</|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's | was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem.<|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."</|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; | the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem.<|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."</|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't | volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem.<|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."</|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various | I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem.<|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."</|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time | inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem.<|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."</|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and | fate had done its worst for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave. But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem.<|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."</|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling | quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem.<|quote|>"They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."</|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being | Don Lavington |
"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" | Don Lavington | they'll do as they like."<|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. | by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."<|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that | keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."<|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. | enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."<|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of | suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."<|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, | there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."<|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at | he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."<|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment | badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."<|quote|>"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a | Don Lavington |
"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." | Jem Wimble | nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."</|quote|>"I'm afraid so," said Don, | as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."</|quote|>"I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to | comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."</|quote|>"I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going | and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."</|quote|>"I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments | and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."</|quote|>"I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came | ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."</|quote|>"I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the | been far worse, for his mother was spared his horror. And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."</|quote|>"I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, | when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."</|quote|>"I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some | Don Lavington |
"I'm afraid so," | Don Lavington | I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."<|quote|>"I'm afraid so,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly. "I've been | face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."<|quote|>"I'm afraid so,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his | it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."<|quote|>"I'm afraid so,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where | shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."<|quote|>"I'm afraid so,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, | growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."<|quote|>"I'm afraid so,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and | prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."<|quote|>"I'm afraid so,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the | his companion badly hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."<|quote|>"I'm afraid so,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly | together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."<|quote|>"I'm afraid so,"</|quote|>said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose | Don Lavington |
said Don, sadly. | No speaker | Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly.</|quote|>"I've been trying to make | the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly.</|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's | "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly.</|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe | the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly.</|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects | I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly.</|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of | even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly.</|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For | hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly.</|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, | Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so,"<|quote|>said Don, sadly.</|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For | Don Lavington |
"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." | Don Lavington | afraid so," said Don, sadly.<|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."</|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. | s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly.<|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."</|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. | land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly.<|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."</|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One | canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly.<|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."</|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and | one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly.<|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."</|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite | uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly.<|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."</|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a | low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly.<|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."</|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown | the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly.<|quote|>"I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."</|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be | Don Lavington |
"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." | Jem Wimble | but I can't see either."<|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."</|quote|>Don was already looking, for | and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."<|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."</|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited | nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."<|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."</|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled | by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."<|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."</|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one | Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."<|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."</|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of | a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."<|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."</|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and | seemed to come back, and he felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."<|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."</|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about | they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."<|quote|>"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."</|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's | Don Lavington |
Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. | No speaker | bad job. Lookye yonder now."<|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.</|quote|>This went on for hours | Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."<|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.</|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of | by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."<|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.</|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to | canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."<|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.</|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the | they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."<|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.</|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but | of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."<|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.</|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down | time that passed off, and the pain and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded by a drowsy sensation. And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of that terrible time were as nothing to him then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."<|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.</|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was | suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."<|quote|>Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.</|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. | Don Lavington |
This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. | No speaker | value in the savage eye.<|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.</|quote|>Then there seemed to be | down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.<|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.</|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being | and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.<|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.</|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no | his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.<|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.</|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk | sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.<|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.</|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced | it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.<|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.</|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, | then. The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER FORTY ONE. PRISONERS OF WAR. "I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.<|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.</|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to | it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye.<|quote|>This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.</|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, | Don Lavington |
Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. | No speaker | and deep in the water.<|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.</|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, | canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.<|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.</|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said | and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.<|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.</|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite | of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.<|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.</|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed | the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.<|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.</|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows | it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.<|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.</|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in | these beggars a broadside." "It is very, very horrible, Jem." "Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.<|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.</|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, | "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water.<|quote|>Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.</|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one | Don Lavington |
"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," | Jem Wimble | a short time before absent.<|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Wonder whether they've | and the party busy there a short time before absent.<|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." | laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.<|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so | man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.<|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the | nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.<|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the | How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.<|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a | our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.<|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the | smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent.<|quote|>"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For | Don Lavington |
said Jem. | No speaker | now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your | absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no | into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that | tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, | she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to | am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive | now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, | old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For | Don Lavington |
"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." | Jem Wimble | suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem.<|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."</|quote|>But no one but the | to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem.<|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."</|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and | canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem.<|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."</|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh | were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem.<|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."</|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a | know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem.<|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."</|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at | should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem.<|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."</|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He | that stiff and sore I can hardly move." "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem.<|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."</|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, | growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem.<|quote|>"Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."</|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in | Don Lavington |
But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. | No speaker | got your pistol and cutlash."<|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.</|quote|>For some time this was | said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."<|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.</|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at | the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."<|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.</|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the | Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."<|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.</|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage | the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."<|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.</|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire | and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."<|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.</|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time | "Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem." "Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be, and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at things now." "Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."<|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.</|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear | it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."<|quote|>But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.</|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and | Don Lavington |
For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. | No speaker | to laugh and talk aloud.<|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.</|quote|>Just at that moment, however, | of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.<|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.</|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing | but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.<|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.</|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the | there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.<|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.</|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, | excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.<|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.</|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and | _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.<|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.</|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. | with the women and children." "And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there arn't no church--all racked and ruined." They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances, which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter of course. It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded, but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.<|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.</|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and | the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud.<|quote|>For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.</|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came | Don Lavington |
Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. | No speaker | threatening gesture with his spear.<|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.</|quote|>For some time past it | tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.<|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.</|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that | head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.<|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.</|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the | unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.<|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.</|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of | canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.<|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.</|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so | "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.<|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.</|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each | inflict the pain they now suffered themselves. The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.<|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.</|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us | of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear.<|quote|>Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.</|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading | Don Lavington |
For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. | No speaker | edge of the sands below.<|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.</|quote|>The fire was too far | being carried on at the edge of the sands below.<|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.</|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but | that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.<|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.</|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to | with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.<|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.</|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy | of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.<|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.</|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at | sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.<|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.</|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full | an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner attempted to move. Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken, and they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.<|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.</|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the | there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.<|quote|>For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.</|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could | Don Lavington |
The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. | No speaker | as combustible matter had caught.<|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.</|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, | died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.<|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.</|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the | festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.<|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.</|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them | blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.<|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.</|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the | talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.<|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.</|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a | deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.<|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.</|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. | they could see through it down to the shore. "What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!" "Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.<|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.</|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame | cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.<|quote|>The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.</|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed | Don Lavington |
The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. | No speaker | seemed to be going on.<|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.</|quote|>The noise and shouting had | as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.<|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.</|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some | fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.<|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.</|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking | and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.<|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.</|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing | in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.<|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.</|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were | from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.<|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.</|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up | just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?" "Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?" "Rather pickly." "Rather what?" "Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.<|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.</|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get | Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on.<|quote|>The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.</|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery | Don Lavington |
The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. | No speaker | them dropping off to sleep.<|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.</|quote|>He did not move his | their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.<|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.</|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the | increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.<|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.</|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. | a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.<|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.</|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and | opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.<|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.</|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could | and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.<|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.</|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few | So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a furze bush in a fit." "I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem." "Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way." "We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and, ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.<|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.</|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing | of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep.<|quote|>The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.</|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of | Don Lavington |
He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. | No speaker | steal a look at Jem.<|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.</|quote|>But at that time it | a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.<|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.</|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes | low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.<|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.</|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and | up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.<|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.</|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of | at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.<|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.</|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly | cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.<|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.</|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and | eat and drink." "I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these here savages. Not all at once, of course." "Look, Jem. What are they doing there?" Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.<|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.</|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem | other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem.<|quote|>He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.</|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and | Don Lavington |
But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. | No speaker | began looking at the prisoners.<|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.</|quote|>Don seemed to be reading | snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.<|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.</|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight | He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.<|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.</|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were | low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.<|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.</|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and | had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.<|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.</|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest | laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.<|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.</|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, | eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so much glistening silver. There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.<|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.</|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel | stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.<|quote|>But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.</|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered | Don Lavington |
Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. | No speaker | a peculiarly hard, wild way.<|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.</|quote|>But he could not look | them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.<|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.</|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, | a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.<|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.</|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly | in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.<|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.</|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed | increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.<|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.</|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and | seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.<|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.</|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting | busy there running to and fro, and the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing, for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.<|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.</|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear | Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way.<|quote|>Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.</|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and | Don Lavington |
But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. | No speaker | and tried to look elsewhere.<|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.</|quote|>For they were reading each | as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.<|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.</|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, | of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.<|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.</|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and | greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.<|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.</|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the | a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.<|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.</|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering | the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.<|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.</|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these | of the huge war canoes was run down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.<|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.</|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. | blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere.<|quote|>But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.</|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder | Don Lavington |
For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. | No speaker | and looked shame-faced and horrified.<|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.</|quote|>At last each snatched his | at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.<|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.</|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch | hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.<|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.</|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly | Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.<|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.</|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest | off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.<|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.</|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed | movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.<|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.</|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and | left to keep her by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the water. "That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.<|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.</|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do | caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified.<|quote|>For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.</|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied | Don Lavington |
At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. | No speaker | to turn Don deadly pale.<|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.</|quote|>At such times, in spite | roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.<|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.</|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could | he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.<|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.</|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased | both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.<|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.</|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards | now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.<|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.</|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at | Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.<|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.</|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh | "They came over land, and now they're going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like." "Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?" "Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.<|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.</|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." | chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.<|quote|>At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.</|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all | Don Lavington |
At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. | No speaker | of merriment which came up.<|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.</|quote|>At last Jem ceased to | and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.<|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.</|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the | effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.<|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.</|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour | sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.<|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.</|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the | a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.<|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.</|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I | the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.<|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.</|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He | that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead." "I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either." "More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.<|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.</|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get | to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up.<|quote|>At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.</|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike | Don Lavington |
At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. | No speaker | shown some sign of excitement.<|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.</|quote|>All through the rest of | else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.<|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.</|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after | merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.<|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.</|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the | too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.<|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.</|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks | both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.<|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.</|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did | had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.<|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.</|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame | Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now." Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.<|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.</|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all | and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.<|quote|>At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.</|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd | Don Lavington |
All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. | No speaker | his chest, and sitting motionless.<|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.</|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly | before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.<|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.</|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the | the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.<|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.</|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was | and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.<|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.</|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported | peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.<|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.</|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down | The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.<|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.</|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they | from the various huts. One man bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.<|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.</|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the | with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless.<|quote|>All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.</|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. | Don Lavington |
The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. | No speaker | loudly to where they were.<|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.</|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged | of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.<|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.</|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and | before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.<|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.</|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. | themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.<|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.</|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did | hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.<|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.</|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as | chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.<|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.</|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much | the savage eye. This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter, till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being filled up and deep in the water. Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.<|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.</|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting | as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were.<|quote|>The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.</|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the | Don Lavington |
Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. | No speaker | was frantic in the extreme.<|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.</|quote|>"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a | off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.<|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.</|quote|>"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. | rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.<|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.</|quote|>"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did | upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.<|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.</|quote|>"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. | the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.<|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.</|quote|>"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as | smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.<|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.</|quote|>"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid | shore, and the party busy there a short time before absent. "Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder whether they've got your pistol and cutlash." But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.<|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.</|quote|>"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for | when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme.<|quote|>Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.</|quote|>"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon | Don Lavington |
"Ugh!" | Jem Wimble | supported themselves upon their spears.<|quote|>"Ugh!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder | of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.<|quote|>"Ugh!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You | Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.<|quote|>"Ugh!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, | rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.<|quote|>"Ugh!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I | they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.<|quote|>"Ugh!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I | when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.<|quote|>"Ugh!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even | prisoners sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.<|quote|>"Ugh!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there | could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears.<|quote|>"Ugh!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. | Don Lavington |
ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. | No speaker | themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.</|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I | the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.</|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here | and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.</|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, | when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.</|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, | imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.</|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as | to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.</|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must | sat crouched together, talking in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.</|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of | away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.</|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear | Don Lavington |
"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." | Jem Wimble | shudder as he turned away.<|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."</|quote|>"So did I, Jem," sighed | "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.<|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."</|quote|>"So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, | despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.<|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."</|quote|>"So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to | to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.<|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."</|quote|>"So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and | shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.<|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."</|quote|>"So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of | a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.<|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."</|quote|>"So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been | quite indifferent to their fate; and this indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began to laugh and talk aloud. For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.<|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."</|quote|>"So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to | chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away.<|quote|>"You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."</|quote|>"So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay | Don Lavington |
"So did I, Jem," | Don Lavington | shot some of those chaps."<|quote|>"So did I, Jem,"</|quote|>sighed Don; "so did I." | I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."<|quote|>"So did I, Jem,"</|quote|>sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, | their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."<|quote|>"So did I, Jem,"</|quote|>sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, | the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."<|quote|>"So did I, Jem,"</|quote|>sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge | his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."<|quote|>"So did I, Jem,"</|quote|>sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold | which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."<|quote|>"So did I, Jem,"</|quote|>sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks | a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."<|quote|>"So did I, Jem,"</|quote|>sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not | from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps."<|quote|>"So did I, Jem,"</|quote|>sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know | Don Lavington |
sighed Don; | No speaker | chaps." "So did I, Jem,"<|quote|>sighed Don;</|quote|>"so did I." "Well, just | have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem,"<|quote|>sighed Don;</|quote|>"so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just | Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem,"<|quote|>sighed Don;</|quote|>"so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, | Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem,"<|quote|>sighed Don;</|quote|>"so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which | chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem,"<|quote|>sighed Don;</|quote|>"so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in | and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem,"<|quote|>sighed Don;</|quote|>"so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we | face was so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem,"<|quote|>sighed Don;</|quote|>"so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to | came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem,"<|quote|>sighed Don;</|quote|>"so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only | Don Lavington |
"so did I." | Don Lavington | did I, Jem," sighed Don;<|quote|>"so did I."</|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, | some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don;<|quote|>"so did I."</|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, | a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don;<|quote|>"so did I."</|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these | exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don;<|quote|>"so did I."</|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a | sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don;<|quote|>"so did I."</|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for | in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don;<|quote|>"so did I."</|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; | so lined in curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don;<|quote|>"so did I."</|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a | turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don;<|quote|>"so did I."</|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming | Don Lavington |
"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" | Jem Wimble | sighed Don; "so did I."<|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"</|quote|>They listened, and could hear | chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I."<|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"</|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and | he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I."<|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"</|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to | of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I."<|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"</|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said | through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I."<|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"</|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could | hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I."<|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"</|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, | curves that it seemed to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I."<|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"</|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even | attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I."<|quote|>"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"</|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they | Don Lavington |
They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. | No speaker | shot the lot. Hark, there!"<|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.</|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down | with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"<|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.</|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I | able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"<|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.</|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, | and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"<|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.</|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell | food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"<|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.</|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said | he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"<|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.</|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a | poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"<|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.</|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a | his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"<|quote|>They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.</|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." | Don Lavington |
"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." | Jem Wimble | burst of shouting and laughing.<|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking | listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.<|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and | must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.<|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They | the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.<|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing | loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.<|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't | could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.<|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' | evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.<|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was | to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.<|quote|>"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don | Don Lavington |
"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." | Don Lavington | look at these here fellows."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."</|quote|>They sat gazing at their | feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."</|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that | now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."</|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror | away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."</|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in | up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."</|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and | were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."</|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me | the opposite effect, and this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."</|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers | by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."</|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, | Don Lavington |
They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. | No speaker | horrible, and we must escape."<|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.</|quote|>"They must be all drunk, | been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."<|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.</|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a | my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."<|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.</|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one | all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."<|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.</|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a | suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."<|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.</|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing | perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."<|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.</|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' | who spoke out angrily enough to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his spear. Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."<|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.</|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great | and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape."<|quote|>They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.</|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean | Don Lavington |
"They must be all drunk, Jem," | Don Lavington | which has finished a meal.<|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem,"</|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh | torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.<|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem,"</|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. | fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.<|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem,"</|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. | just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.<|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem,"</|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and | misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.<|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem,"</|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I | trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.<|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem,"</|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do | and his fellows mounted on a stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.<|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem,"</|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured | that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.<|quote|>"They must be all drunk, Jem,"</|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used | Don Lavington |
whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. | No speaker | must be all drunk, Jem,"<|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.</|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," | has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem,"<|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.</|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look | at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem,"<|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.</|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would | 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem,"<|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.</|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on | with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem,"<|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.</|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, | of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem,"<|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.</|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have | stage at one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem,"<|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.</|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate | off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem,"<|quote|>whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.</|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, | Don Lavington |
"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," | Jem Wimble | shudder of horror and loathing.<|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"</|quote|>said Jem, with a look | whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.<|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"</|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used | gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.<|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"</|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who | I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.<|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"</|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they | slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.<|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"</|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing | of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.<|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"</|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them | upon their spears, gazing down at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.<|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"</|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then | not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing.<|quote|>"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"</|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think | Don Lavington |
said Jem, with a look of disgust. | No speaker | "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"<|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust.</|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell | shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"<|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust.</|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of | to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"<|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust.</|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed | there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"<|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust.</|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I | minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"<|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust.</|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know | not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"<|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust.</|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we | at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"<|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust.</|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the | strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that,"<|quote|>said Jem, with a look of disgust.</|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our | Don Lavington |
"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." | Jem Wimble | with a look of disgust.<|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."</|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and | Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust.<|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."</|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate | eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust.<|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."</|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock | burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust.<|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."</|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what | backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust.<|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."</|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the | Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust.<|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."</|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of | the edge of the sands below. For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught. The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as the work of destruction seemed to be going on. The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust.<|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."</|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to | without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust.<|quote|>"Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."</|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between | Don Lavington |
"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." | Don Lavington | could hardly see or move."<|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I | eating all day till they could hardly see or move."<|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike | they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."<|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes | of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."<|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. | hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."<|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all | the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."<|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, | only sank directly after into a state of moody apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them dropping off to sleep. The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."<|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the | was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move."<|quote|>"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, | Don Lavington |
"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." | Jem Wimble | couldn't get drunk without drink."<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."</|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?" | all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."</|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what | and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."</|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and | now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."</|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was | looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."</|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But | with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."</|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being | shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased, to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds, Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."</|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was | other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink."<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."</|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped | Don Lavington |
"Knowing what you do, Jem?" | Don Lavington | in Africa and not here."<|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what | do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."<|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you | wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."<|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; | them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."<|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and | of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."<|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a | new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."<|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. | curiously furtive manner to steal a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."<|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who | Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."<|quote|>"Knowing what you do, Jem?"</|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can | Don Lavington |
"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." | Jem Wimble | "Knowing what you do, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."</|quote|>Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; | in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."</|quote|>Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to | Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."</|quote|>Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a | all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."</|quote|>Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy | Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."</|quote|>Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we | about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."</|quote|>Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but | a look at Jem. He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."</|quote|>Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird | shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?"<|quote|>"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."</|quote|>Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as | Don Lavington |
Don shuddered. | No speaker | I can see you do."<|quote|>Don shuddered.</|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too | It's what you know too. I can see you do."<|quote|>Don shuddered.</|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." | rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."<|quote|>Don shuddered.</|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all | men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."<|quote|>Don shuddered.</|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and | stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."<|quote|>Don shuddered.</|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a | _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."<|quote|>Don shuddered.</|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." | as to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."<|quote|>Don shuddered.</|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as | a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do."<|quote|>Don shuddered.</|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, | Don Lavington |
"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." | Don Lavington | see you do." Don shuddered.<|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."</|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we | you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered.<|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."</|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These | as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered.<|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."</|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we | till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered.<|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."</|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish | most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered.<|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."</|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a | partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered.<|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."</|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of | try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered.<|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."</|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was | and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered.<|quote|>"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."</|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty | Don Lavington |
"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" | Jem Wimble | horrid even to think about."<|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"</|quote|>There was a sound of | "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."<|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"</|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the | as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."<|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"</|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we | nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."<|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"</|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as | he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."<|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"</|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when | a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."<|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"</|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but | he found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were, snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners. But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly hard, wild way. Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."<|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"</|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall | a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."<|quote|>"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"</|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, | Don Lavington |
There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. | No speaker | can't stand this. There, listen!"<|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll | I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"<|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if | it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"<|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, | not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"<|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em | and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"<|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, | I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"<|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last | his sight plunged deeply into the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to look elsewhere. But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered, and looked shame-faced and horrified. For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"<|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other | Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!"<|quote|>There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ | Don Lavington |
"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" | Jem Wimble | a sluggish state of torpidity.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"</|quote|>"The same as you will, | only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"</|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied | for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"</|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we | but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"</|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that | man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"</|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into | here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"</|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, | For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale. At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"</|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I | torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"</|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its | Don Lavington |
"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," | Don Lavington | lot. What do you say?"<|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"</|quote|>replied Don. "No." "No, it | spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"<|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"</|quote|>replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. | way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"<|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"</|quote|>replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. | sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"<|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"</|quote|>replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder | rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"<|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"</|quote|>replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in | that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"<|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"</|quote|>replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, | each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"<|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"</|quote|>replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, | of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?"<|quote|>"The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"</|quote|>replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the | Don Lavington |
replied Don. | No speaker | will, if you think, Jem,"<|quote|>replied Don.</|quote|>"No." "No, it is, Mas' | say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"<|quote|>replied Don.</|quote|>"No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't | into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"<|quote|>replied Don.</|quote|>"No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean | sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"<|quote|>replied Don.</|quote|>"No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the | people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"<|quote|>replied Don.</|quote|>"No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, | huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"<|quote|>replied Don.</|quote|>"No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a | prisoners, Don to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"<|quote|>replied Don.</|quote|>"No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; | must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem,"<|quote|>replied Don.</|quote|>"No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, | Don Lavington |
"No." | Don Lavington | you think, Jem," replied Don.<|quote|>"No."</|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, | same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don.<|quote|>"No."</|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do | sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don.<|quote|>"No."</|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a | we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don.<|quote|>"No."</|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners | stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don.<|quote|>"No."</|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others | which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don.<|quote|>"No."</|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few | to close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don.<|quote|>"No."</|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you | beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don.<|quote|>"No."</|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were | Don Lavington |
"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." | Jem Wimble | think, Jem," replied Don. "No."<|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."</|quote|>"But only let us have | as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No."<|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."</|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them | state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No."<|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."</|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away | was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No."<|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."</|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything | as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No."<|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."</|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, | has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No."<|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."</|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of | close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment which came up. At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No."<|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."</|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. | Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No."<|quote|>"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."</|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of | Don Lavington |
"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." | Don Lavington | such a thing as that."<|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."</|quote|>"Sorry?" said Jem, between his | of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."<|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."</|quote|>"Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred | you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."<|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."</|quote|>"Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must | was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."<|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."</|quote|>"Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of | here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."<|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."</|quote|>"Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It | shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."<|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."</|quote|>"Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men | At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."<|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."</|quote|>"Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in | Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that."<|quote|>"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."</|quote|>"Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in | Don Lavington |
"Sorry?" | Jem Wimble | if we slay a few."<|quote|>"Sorry?"</|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth. | we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."<|quote|>"Sorry?"</|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of | you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."<|quote|>"Sorry?"</|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be | too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."<|quote|>"Sorry?"</|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the | Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."<|quote|>"Sorry?"</|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did | of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."<|quote|>"Sorry?"</|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly | make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."<|quote|>"Sorry?"</|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the | Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."<|quote|>"Sorry?"</|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along | Don Lavington |
said Jem, between his teeth. | No speaker | we slay a few." "Sorry?"<|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth.</|quote|>"I mean a hundred of | shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?"<|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth.</|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon | will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?"<|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth.</|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder | but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?"<|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth.</|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which | don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?"<|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth.</|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there | 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?"<|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth.</|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a | themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?"<|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth.</|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the bottom of the canoe." "It | too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?"<|quote|>said Jem, between his teeth.</|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered | Don Lavington |
"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." | Jem Wimble | said Jem, between his teeth.<|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."</|quote|>They sat listening till the | we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth.<|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."</|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at | replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth.<|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."</|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most | into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth.<|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."</|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon | to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth.<|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."</|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes | didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth.<|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."</|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the | imagined was false, or else the prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement. At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth.<|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."</|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the bottom of the canoe." "It would drown the innocent and the guilty, Jem." "Ay, that's so, my lad. I say, Mas' Don, arn't you hungry?" | off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth.<|quote|>"I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."</|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at | Don Lavington |
They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. | No speaker | and get away we will."<|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.</|quote|>Into these they were forced | as we can get away; and get away we will."<|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.</|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in | let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."<|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.</|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, | me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."<|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.</|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the | it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."<|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.</|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the | in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."<|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.</|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined | any pretence about the matter. He stared speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting motionless. All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to where they were. The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."<|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.</|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the bottom of the canoe." "It would drown the innocent and the guilty, Jem." "Ay, that's so, my lad. I say, Mas' Don, arn't you hungry?" "Yes, I suppose so, Jem. Not hungry; but I feel as if I have had no food. I am too miserable to be hungry." "So am I sometimes when my shoulder burns; at other times I feel as if I could eat wood." They sat in silence as the moon rose higher, and the long lines of paddles in the different boats looked more weird and strange, while in the distance a mountain top that stood above the long black line of trees flashed in the moonlight as if emitting silver fire. "Wonder where they'll take us?" said Jem, at last. "To their _pah_, I suppose," replied Don, dreamily. "I s'pose they'll give us something to eat when we get | but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."<|quote|>They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.</|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst | Don Lavington |
Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. | No speaker | rode lightly on the swell.<|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.</|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I | the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.<|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.</|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered | the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.<|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.</|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and | that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.<|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.</|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection | say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.<|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.</|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward | the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.<|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.</|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who | in a way that was frantic in the extreme. Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.<|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.</|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the bottom of the canoe." "It would drown the innocent and the guilty, Jem." "Ay, that's so, my lad. I say, Mas' Don, arn't you hungry?" "Yes, I suppose so, Jem. Not hungry; but I feel as if I have had no food. I am too miserable to be hungry." "So am I sometimes when my shoulder burns; at other times I feel as if I could eat wood." They sat in silence as the moon rose higher, and the long lines of paddles in the different boats looked more weird and strange, while in the distance a mountain top that stood above the long black line of trees flashed in the moonlight as if emitting silver fire. "Wonder where they'll take us?" said Jem, at last. "To their _pah_, I suppose," replied Don, dreamily. "I s'pose they'll give us something to eat when we get there, eh?" "I suppose so, Jem. I don't know, and I feel too miserable even to try and think." "Ah," said Jem; "that's how those poor women and the wounded prisoners feel, Mas' Don; | said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.<|quote|>Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.</|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a | Don Lavington |
"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," | Jem Wimble | dragged in over the side.<|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"</|quote|>muttered Jem. "They arn't men, | and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.<|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"</|quote|>muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." | constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.<|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"</|quote|>muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided | prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.<|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"</|quote|>muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one | fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.<|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"</|quote|>muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy | "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.<|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"</|quote|>muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down | about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.<|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"</|quote|>muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the bottom of the canoe." "It would drown the innocent and the guilty, Jem." "Ay, that's so, my lad. I say, Mas' Don, arn't you hungry?" "Yes, I suppose so, Jem. Not hungry; but I feel as if I have had no food. I am too miserable to be hungry." "So am I sometimes when my shoulder burns; at other times I feel as if I could eat wood." They sat in silence as the moon rose higher, and the long lines of paddles in the different boats looked more weird and strange, while in the distance a mountain top that stood above the long black line of trees flashed in the moonlight as if emitting silver fire. "Wonder where they'll take us?" said Jem, at last. "To their _pah_, I suppose," replied Don, dreamily. "I s'pose they'll give us something to eat when we get there, eh?" "I suppose so, Jem. I don't know, and I feel too miserable even to try and think." "Ah," said Jem; "that's how those poor women and the wounded prisoners feel, Mas' Don; but they're only copper-coloured blacks, and we're whites. We | what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.<|quote|>"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"</|quote|>muttered Jem. "They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as | Don Lavington |
muttered Jem. | No speaker | I killed some of 'em,"<|quote|>muttered Jem.</|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, | side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"<|quote|>muttered Jem.</|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did | the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"<|quote|>muttered Jem.</|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the | feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"<|quote|>muttered Jem.</|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two | think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"<|quote|>muttered Jem.</|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the | you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"<|quote|>muttered Jem.</|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the | leaned their backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"<|quote|>muttered Jem.</|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the bottom of the canoe." "It would drown the innocent and the guilty, Jem." "Ay, that's so, my lad. I say, Mas' Don, arn't you hungry?" "Yes, I suppose so, Jem. Not hungry; but I feel as if I have had no food. I am too miserable to be hungry." "So am I sometimes when my shoulder burns; at other times I feel as if I could eat wood." They sat in silence as the moon rose higher, and the long lines of paddles in the different boats looked more weird and strange, while in the distance a mountain top that stood above the long black line of trees flashed in the moonlight as if emitting silver fire. "Wonder where they'll take us?" said Jem, at last. "To their _pah_, I suppose," replied Don, dreamily. "I s'pose they'll give us something to eat when we get there, eh?" "I suppose so, Jem. I don't know, and I feel too miserable even to try and think." "Ah," said Jem; "that's how those poor women and the wounded prisoners feel, Mas' Don; but they're only copper-coloured blacks, and we're whites. We can't afford | do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em,"<|quote|>muttered Jem.</|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke | Don Lavington |
"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts." | Jem Wimble | some of 'em," muttered Jem.<|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts."</|quote|>It did not take long, | a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem.<|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts."</|quote|>It did not take long, for there was plenty of | rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem.<|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts."</|quote|>It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own | guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem.<|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts."</|quote|>It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient | shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem.<|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts."</|quote|>It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the | too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem.<|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts."</|quote|>It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as | backs against the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon their spears. "Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches! Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew I must have shot some of those chaps." "So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I." "Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!" They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing. "That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look at these here fellows." "Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must escape." They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed, their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal. "They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of horror and loathing. "No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire, and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on eating all day till they could hardly see or move." "Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without drink." "Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking; and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here." "Knowing what you do, Jem?" "Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see you do." Don shuddered. "Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about." "Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't stand this. There, listen!" There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity. "Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem.<|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts."</|quote|>It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were disturbed. The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes onward. Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat. Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream. For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars mechanically as the canoe glided on. "It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--" "What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him that he was awake. "Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting. "I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them, and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to us, Mas' Don." "I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no chance of that." "Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a hole in the bottom of the canoe." "It would drown the innocent and the guilty, Jem." "Ay, that's so, my lad. I say, Mas' Don, arn't you hungry?" "Yes, I suppose so, Jem. Not hungry; but I feel as if I have had no food. I am too miserable to be hungry." "So am I sometimes when my shoulder burns; at other times I feel as if I could eat wood." They sat in silence as the moon rose higher, and the long lines of paddles in the different boats looked more weird and strange, while in the distance a mountain top that stood above the long black line of trees flashed in the moonlight as if emitting silver fire. "Wonder where they'll take us?" said Jem, at last. "To their _pah_, I suppose," replied Don, dreamily. "I s'pose they'll give us something to eat when we get there, eh?" "I suppose so, Jem. I don't know, and I feel too miserable even to try and think." "Ah," said Jem; "that's how those poor women and the wounded prisoners feel, Mas' Don; but they're only copper-coloured blacks, and we're whites. We can't afford to feel as they do. Look here, my | by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and kill the lot. What do you say?" "The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No." "No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as that." "But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few." "Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will." They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell. Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity, others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side. "Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem.<|quote|>"They arn't men, Mas' Don, but savage beasts."</|quote|>It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little unfortunates into silence. As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water, and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards, the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore. Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came on rapidly, and the water flashed as its | Don Lavington |
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