That is to say, the savages behind pushed forward those in front whether they would or no, and falling _en masse_ on the unfortunate pair, well-nigh buried them alive in black human flesh.
Bumpus's last cry before being smothered was, "Down with the black varmints!" and Corrie's last shout was, "Hooray!" Thus fell--despite the undignified manner of their fall--a couple of as great heroes as were ever heard of in the annals of war; not excepting even those of Homer himself.
Now, good reader, this maybe all very well for us to describe, and for you to read, but it was a terrible thing for Poopy to witness.

Being bound hand and foot, she was compelled to look on; and, to say truth, she did look on with uncommon interest.

When her friends fell, however, she expressed her regrets and fears in a subdued shriek, for which she received a sounding slap on the cheek from a young savage who had chosen for himself the comparatively dangerous post of watching her, while his less courageous friends were fighting.
Strange to say, Poopy did not shed more tears (as one might have expected) on receiving such treatment.

She had been used to that sort of thing, poor child.

Before coming to the service of her little mistress, she had been brought up (it would be more strictly correct to say that she had been kicked, and cuffed, and pinched, and battered up) by a step-mother, whose chief delight was to pull out handfuls of her woolly hair, beat her nose flat (which was adding insult to injury, for it was too flat by nature), and otherwise to maltreat her.