n ignorance of the fate that had befallen her son.

"What would she say--what would she think, if she knew that I was lying
here on the ground, a prisoner, and wounded--here at the mercy of a set
of savages--what would she say?"

A short time before Don had been thinking that fate had done its worst
for him, and that his position could not possibly have been more grave.
But he thought now that it might have been far worse, for his mother was
spared his horror.

And then as he lay helpless there, and in pain, with his companion badly
hurt, and the low moan of some wounded savage now and then making him
shudder, the scene of the desperate fight seemed to come back, and he
felt feverish and wild. But after a time that passed off, and the pain
and chill troubled him, but only to pass off as well, and be succeeded
by a drowsy sensation.

And then as he lay there, the words of the old, old prayers he had
repeated at his mother's knee rose to his lips, and he was repeating
them as sleep fell upon his weary eyes; and the agony and horrors of
that terrible time were as nothing to him then.

The Adventures of Don Lavington--by George Manville Fenn

CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

PRISONERS OF WAR.

"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give
these beggars a broadside."

"It is very, very horrible, Jem."

"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and
comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like
one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."

"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."

"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be,
and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at
things now."

"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the
others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."

"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there
arn't no church--all racked and ruined."

They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at
the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly
silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances,
which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter
of course.

It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded,
but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were
now helpless prisoners had taken part