CHAPTER FORTY.
DEFEATED.
Two minutes at the outside must have been the lapse of time before thelast spear held up in defence of the _pah_ was lowered by its braveowner in weakness, despair, or death.
Tomati's men fought with desperate valour, but they were so reduced thatthe enemy were four to one; and as they were driven back step by step,till they were huddled together in one corner of the _pah_, theslaughter was frightful.
Stirred to fury at seeing the poor fellows drop, both Don and Jem hadmade unskilful use of their weapons, for they were unwillingly mingledwith the crowd of defenders, and driven with them into the corner of thegreat enclosure.
One minute they were surrounded by panting, desperate men, using theirspears valorously, as the Greeks might have used theirs in days of old;then there came a rush, a horrible crowding together, a sensation to Donas if some mountain had suddenly fallen on his head to crush out thehideous din of yelling and despairing shrieks, and then all wasdarkness.
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It was still darkness, but the stars were shining brightly overhead,when Don opened his eyes again to begin wondering why his head shouldache so terribly, and he should feel so cold.
Those thoughts were only momentary, for a colder chill ran through himas on both sides of where he lay a low moaning sound arose, as of someone in pain.
"Where am I?" he thought. "What is the matter?"
Then he realised what had happened, for a familiar voice said almost ina whisper,--
"Poor little Sally! I wish she was here with a bit of rag."
"Jem!"
"Mas' Don! Oh! Thank the Lord! Amen! I thought--I thought--Oh! Oh!"
A choking sensation rose in Don's throat, for he could hear close besidehim the brave, true fellow sobbing like a woman.
"Jem! Jem, old chap!" whispered Don. "Don't, pray don't do that."
"I'm a-trying not to as hard as ever I can," whispered the poor fellowhoarsely; "but I've been bleeding like a pig, Mas' Don, and it's made meas weak as a great gal. You see I thought as you was dead."
"No, no, Jem; I'm here safe, only--only my head aches, and I can't getmy hands free."
"No, my lad, more can't I. We're both tied up, hands and legs."
"But the others? Where is Tomati?"
"Don't ask me, my lad."
"Oh, Jem!"
There was a few minutes' awful silence, during which the low moaningsound went on from different places close at hand.
"Where is Ngati?" whispered Don at last.
"Half killed, or dead, Mas' Don," said Jem, sadly. "We're reg'lar beat.But, my word, Mas' Don, I am sorry."
"Sorry? Of course."
"Ah! But I mean for all I said about the poor fellows. I thought theycouldn't fight."
"The women and children, Jem?"
"All prisoners, 'cept some as would fight, and they--"
"Yes--go on."
"They served them same as they did those poor chaps as wouldn't givein."
"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 holethrough my left shoulder, as feels as if it had been bored with a redhot 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 theback 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 uponas 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 afine 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 shutup all the women and children in the big _whare_, what do you think theydid?"
"Kill them?"
"Killed 'em? No. Lit fires, and set to and had a reg'lar feast, anddanced about--them as could!" added Jem with a chuckle. "Some on 'emhad 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, Iknow. 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 chillfrom the icy mountains; and the feeling of bitter despondency which hungover 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 heopened his lips, he felt a cruel, parching, feverish thirst, whichseemed by degrees to pass away as he listened to the low moaning, andthen for a few minutes he lost consciousness.
But it was only to start into wakefulness again, and stare wildly at thefaintly-seen fence of the great _pah_, right over his head, and throughwhich he could see the twinkling of a star.
As he realised where he was once more, he whispered Jem's name again andagain, but a heavy breathing was the only response, and he lay thinkingof home and of his bedroom all those thousand miles away. And as hethought of Bristol, a curious feeling of thankfulness came over him thathis 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 lyinghere on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a setof savages--what would she say?"
A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worstfor 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 wasspared his horror.
And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badlyhurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making himshudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and hefelt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the painand chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeededby a drowsy sensation.
And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he hadrepeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeatingthem as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors ofthat terrible time were as nothing to him then.
The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn