Then the men in the boats lose their heads, and are pouring volleys of
musketry into the crowds.
"It is hopeless," mutters Cook to Phillips; but amid a shower of stones
above the whooping of the savages, he turns with his back to the crowd,
and shouts for the two small boats to cease firing and pull in for the
marines. His caution came too late.
His back is to his assailants. An arm reached out--a hand with a
dagger; and the dagger rips quick as a flash under Cook's
shoulder-blade. He fell without a groan, face in the water, and was
hacked to pieces {205} before the eyes of his men. Four marines had
already fallen. Phillips and Ledyard and the rest jumped into the sea
and swam for their lives. The small boats were twenty yards out.
Scarcely was Phillips in the nearest, when a wounded sailor, swimming
for refuge, fainted and sank to the bottom. Though half stunned from a
stone blow on his head and bleeding from a stab in the back, Phillips
leaped to the rescue, dived to bottom, caught the exhausted sailor by
the hair of the head and so snatched him into the boat.
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