"Bad. But what's that noise? That shouting?"

"Papuans attacking the ship."

"Oh, yes," said Panton faintly. "I remember now. They followed us and shot me down. Ah! I should have liked to have one turn at the fellow who drew a bow at me. Hark! they're fighting."

"Fighting! Yes; and oh! it is dreadful to have to lie here and not be able to help."

"Yes, I should like to help our fellows," sighed Panton, "Drew is there, I suppose?"

"Yes, of course. Hark! they've begun firing."

They lay listening for some minutes, and then Panton suddenly exclaimed,--

"I'm weak and faint as can be, but I can't lie like this. Look here, Lane, old chap; if those blacks get the best of it, they'll come down here and murder us."

"Without mercy," said Oliver, with a groan.

"Well, wounded men have helped the fighting before now. Don't you think you and I could do our little bit now?"

"I don't feel as if I could raise an arm," said Oliver, "but I'll have a try."

"So will I. It's of no use to lie here fancying one has been wounded by poisoned arrows. I shall think of nothing but paying those fellows out.

The guns are there on that locker."

"And the cartridge bags with them," said Oliver.

"Then here goes."

"Hist!"

"What is it?" whispered back Panton.

"Some one is trying that window."

There was no mistake about the matter, for the grating as of a great piece of wood was heard, followed by a cracking sound like the point of a spear being inserted in a crevice so as to wrench open the dead-light.

The young men looked at each other, and Panton reached out his sound arm, setting his teeth hard as he tried to master the agony he felt in his effort, and succeeded in grasping one gun.

The rest was easy: by its help he drew the other within reach--their own guns which had been thrown down there when they were brought into the cabin. In another minute he had the cartridge satchels as well, and pushed one and his gun to Oliver. They both examined the breeches to see that they were properly loaded, listening the while to the crackling, wrenching noise.

Meanwhile the sounds from without increased. There was plenty of firing going on from the deck, answered by savage yelling and the dull sounds of blows, as arrow and spear kept on striking the woodwork and flying over the protected bulwarks to the deck.

"Haven't got a foot on board yet," whispered Panton, faintly.

"No; it sounds as if they were climbing up, and our fellows kept knocking them backward. Oh, if I were only strong enough to go up and see."

"I'd give anything to be there," said Panton, with his eyes brightening.

"I say," said Oliver, hoa.r.s.ely; "does it come natural to fellows to want to kill as soon as they get hurt and fighting's going on?"

"I suppose so. It seems to take all the fear out of you, and you don't care for anything. I say--look out!"

For at that moment there was a sharp splitting sound at the cabin window, the dead-light fell over with a sharp crack, and as a couple of savage grinning faces appeared, Oliver held out his gun with one hand as if it had been a pistol, and without attempting to raise his head from the rough pillow on which it lay, drew trigger.

The effect was instantaneous. One moment the two Papuans were there, the next they were gone, and a heavy thick smoke rose towards the ceiling.

"Hit them?" said Panton, excitedly.

"Must have hit them, or they wouldn't have dropped. But some of the pellets were sure to go home, for it was loaded with small shot."

"You were too quick for me," said Panton, huskily, as Oliver reloaded, opening the breech as the gun lay across him, only one hand being at liberty for the task.

"Think they'll come again?" said Oliver, through his teeth, for the recoil of the gun had horribly jarred his injured arm, and there were moments when he felt as if his senses were leaving him in a swoon.

"Yes, they'll come again, and I must have a shot this time. Am I loaded with small shot too? I forget. My head is so horribly muddled."

"Yes, I think so. Look out. I'm not ready."

Panton was looking out, and he, too, saw the top of a mop-headed savage's fuzz begin to appear softly over the edge of the window, then dart up quickly and bob down again, after its owner had made a quick observation.

"Don't fire; he'll come back."

Lane was quite right, for a hand holding a spear was raised now, the weapon poised ready to be hurled into the cabin. Then the head of the holder appeared and bobbed down once more.

"Too quick, don't fire," said Oliver, hoa.r.s.ely. "Wait, and we'll fire together."

"No, no," said Panton, faintly. "I must have this one."

Up came the bead again sharply, the spear was poised, and, holding on by the sill with one hand, the savage drew back to give force to his throw, which was intended for Panton, who lay there as if in a nightmare, completely paralysed, feeling that he ought to fire to save his friend, but unable to hold his gun steady for a moment, and to draw trigger.

At last. _Bang_! A terrible yell; the spear dropped on the sill, the point was then jerked upwards, and struck the top of the window as the savage fell headlong, leaving the opening clear once more.

"Did--I hit him?" said Panton, faintly.

"Yes, he went down at once. Quick, load again. Another will be up directly."

He was quite right, but Panton did not stir; he lay back senseless, the recoil of the fired piece having sent so agonising a pang through him too that he turned sick and fainted dead away; and this just as a couple more spear-armed savages dragged themselves up and began to climb through. In fact, one was dimly seen half in before Oliver could shake off his feeling of lethargy and steady the gun for another shot.

The report sounded deafening in the confined cabin, filling it far more with smoke, which Oliver lay trying hard to penetrate as he wondered at the silence which had now fallen.

The window was open and no enemy was to be seen as the smoke slowly rose and floated out through the door, carried by the current of air which set in through the window, and as there was no fresh alarm the young naturalist lay listening, till all at once steps were heard, and the mate's voice saluted him,--

"Well, how's the wound? Hear all our noise and firing?"

"Yes," said Oliver, slowly, "I heard."

"But, hallo! what's the meaning of this? I thought that dead-light was put up? and what! Guns?"