She
knew that nearly all of those not on watch were sleeping with the
injured men in the saloon, and now she understood the reason. The ship
was being attacked by Indians, and not altogether unexpectedly. The
savages had stolen alongside in their canoes under the cloak of night.
Perhaps they were already on board in overwhelming numbers. Poor girl,
she murmured a prayer while she hurriedly drew on her boots and ulster.
There seemed to be no end to the evils which assailed the _Kansas_, and
she dreaded this new terror more than the mad fury of the seas. But,
if the men were fighting for their lives and her's, she must help, too.
That was clear. She had a weapon, a loaded revolver, which she had
picked up from beneath a boat's tarpaulin lying on the spar deck. She
opened her door and peered out. She could not see any one, and the
rattle of a hail-storm overhead effectually dulled any other noise.
But several shots fired again in the fore part of the ship were audible
above the din of the pelting hail. So she ran that way, with the fine
courage of one who fears yet goes on, and her eyes pierced the shadows
with a tense despair in them.
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