What followed surprised me beyond measure. The chief rushed up, put out his foot, gave me a shove, and hurled me flat on the sand. Before I could arise he had motioned to another native, and this fellow promptly came and sat on my back, thus holding me down!
I might have stood such treatment, rather than risk bloodshed, but the attack was more than Matt Gory could stand. His hot Irish blood boiled instantly, and raising his club he hit the fellow on top of me a blow that all but knocked him senseless.
"Yez will sit on him, will yez?" he cried. "Take that, an' look out that yez don't git another that's worse, bedad!" and he stepped back and stood at bay.
A fierce, blood-curdling yell went up, and almost a score of war clubs and spears were brandished in the air.
"Now you've put your foot into it!" ejaculated Tom Dawson. "Come, let us retreat, before it is too late!"
By pure good luck, we tore ourselves free from the natives who sought to hold us back. Dawson was already running for the forest. Gory now followed, and I came behind. With another yell, twice as loud as before, the Tagals came after us, launching several spears as they did so.
