CHAPTER VIII.
ATTACKED BY THE TAGALS.
"Woora camba, woora!"
Such was the war cry which was raised,—or, at least, that is how it sounded to me. Then came the spears, and Gory gave a yell.
"Oi'm kilt!" he gasped. "Oi'm a dead mon!"
"No, you're not!" I answered. "That spear only nipped your ear. Hurry up, or you will be killed, for certain!" and I grabbed him by the arm.
We had a lead of fifty feet and the Tagals were lessening this steadily, when, to frighten them, Tom Dawson turned and fired a pistol shot over their heads.
The effect was instantaneous. All of the natives came to a standstill and several began to retreat.
"I thought that would fetch 'em," puffed the first mate. "I reckon they don't know much about fire-arms."
But Dawson was mistaken, as we found out
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