Читать книгу Lolóma, or two years in cannibal-land. A story of old Fiji онлайн

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At that moment my enemy shot out from the reeds in my rear. He must have passed the night quite close to me. Animated by his nearness to the quarry, he doubled his speed. I could no longer outrun him. Soon his footfalls on the turf were distinct in my ears. I counted them as I ran, and found he made three paces to my two. Then I heard his labored breathing. I felt his hot breath on my shoulder—the scented oil from his beastly person was in my nostrils. The blood burst from my ears and mouth and bubbled up in my boots (which had been torn and mangled out of all shape) with the exertions I made to reach the cover in view, and I was sure that I should be in the grasp of the foe in a few seconds. Suddenly stooping, on the instinctive impulse of a moment, I seized a pointed stick used for digging yams, which had been left in my path by some agricultural laborer. I dropped on one knee, facing about instantly, and, holding the yam stick as an infantry soldier prepares to receive cavalry with his bayonet, the Fijian ran upon my weapon and impaled himself. With one convulsive gasp, when the shaft entered his breast, he fell dead; and I rolled over by his side, panting, bleeding, and thoroughly exhausted.