Richard Archer (continued 6)

“How beautiful!” exclaimed Browne, at last, and a soft clear echo, like the voice of the tutelary spirit of the valley, answered, “Beautiful!”

“Hark!” cried Johnny, “what a charming echo. Listen again,” and he shouted “Hurrah!”

“Hurrah!” softly responded the echo, and almost in the same breath a harsh voice, apparently close at hand, and which was evidently not an echo, cried out, “Hillioh—oh!”

We started, and gazed around us, and at each other, in astonishment, but we could see nothing from which this strange exclamation could proceed.

“That,” said Johnny, in a trembling whisper, and seizing Browne’s hand, “that is the voice of the wild Frenchman I heard in the woods near Castle-hill.”

“Yes,” answered Max, gravely, “who knows but there are cannibals here? You had better be careful, Johnny, how you hurrah in the woods.” Max’s manner made me suspect that he possessed some clue to the mystery which the rest of us lacked.

“I don’t care,” answered Johnny, stoutly, while the apprehensive glances which he cast around on every side, hardly agreed with his valiant words, “I shall hurrah in spite of all the savages on the island.”

“Hillioh!—Hillioh!” yelled the same voice, more fiercely than before.

Max burst into a fit of laughter, when following the direction of his eye, we looked up, and espied an enormous parrot perched upon a purau branch, directly over our heads, from which he eyed us with a disdainful and truculent air.

“There’s your wild Frenchman at last, Johnny,” said Max, “I expect he’ll call us to account presently for our treatment of his hat.”

“Don’t give up de sheep!” screamed the parrot.

“Come,” said Max, “what’s the use of trying to talk English: it’s quite plain you’re a Parly-vous.”

“Vive l’empéreur!” shrieked the parrot.

“No doubt you can give us a song, monsieur,” pursued Max; “favour us with ‘Polly put the kettle on,’ s’il vous plait.”

The bird twisted his head round, as though giving earnest attention to what was said; then, after a moment, which from his wise look seemed to be occupied in profoundly considering the reasonableness of the request, he burst forth with—

“Allons enfants de la Patrie Le jour de gloire est arrivée!”

Shrieking out the two lines as though they composed a single word. Apparently satisfied with this display of his accomplishments, he spread his wings, and flew heavily across the lake, alighting not far from the shore, whence we could hear him occasionally uttering a shrill cry.

“Do you see where the parrot is now?” inquired Morton of me, a moment afterwards.

“Yes, I see his green feathers among the foliage, but not very distinctly.”

“Unless I am much mistaken,” pursued he, “there is a shed or building of some kind among the trees, on the other side of the lake, where he has alighted.”

On shifting our ground a little, we could all perceive between the boughs of the trees, something, that did in fact look like a low wooden building, and after a moment’s consultation, it was agreed that Morton and Max should cross the stream, (which could easily be done where it poured into the lake), and reconnoitre, while the rest awaited their report.

By leaping from stone to stone, and wading occasionally for short distances, they picked their way to the other side, and presently disappeared among the casuarinas. After about fifteen minutes they returned to the shore, and called for us to come over, saying that they had discovered a building, which appeared, however, to have been long deserted. Browne took Johnny upon his back, and we forded the rapids as the others had done.

Following Max and Morton, we soon reached a kind of landing-place, half-way between the lake and the top of the ascent, in the centre of which was a low wooden building, surrounded by a rude fence of pointed stakes. Entering through a gate, hung upon leather hinges, we found ourselves in front of the hut. It appeared to be built of timber which had once composed part of a ship, and was put together with considerable skill. The yard was full of rank weeds, and damp masses of lichen and moss hung from the eaves of the house, and covered its roof. The door, which was furnished with a lock and brass-handle, was closed, but not fastened; we opened it, and entered a large square-room, lighted by four windows, two of which had evidently been taken from the stern of a vessel; the remaining two seemed to have once constituted the upper parts of sash-doors. These windows were well put into the sides of the house, and from the appearance of all the work about the room, I inferred that it had been done by persons accustomed to that kind of labour. A pine-table, which had lost half of one leg, and two chairs without backs, composed the entire furniture of this apartment. A rude shelf was fastened against the wall between two of the windows, upon which a number of earthen-ware dishes were arranged. A smaller apartment was partitioned off with rough boards from the first, with which it communicated by a simple opening or doorway, without any door.

In this second room were several low wooden frames, probably designed as bedsteads, ranged side by side, and a large chest stained or painted blue. In one corner stood a small square writing-table, of some dark-coloured wood, with several drawers. In another corner, Max discovered a rusty gridiron and sauce-pan, a small iron pot and a toasting-fork, upon which he pounced with the eagerness of a miser lighting upon hidden treasures. The chest was empty, but a small box, or till, fixed in one end of it, contained a number of vials, a cork-screw, a tin-canister, and a French Bible, upon the last of which Arthur seized with as much avidity as Max had evinced in appropriating the cooking utensils. Johnny pulled open the drawers of the little writing-table, and found a bunch of quills, a spool of green ribbon, a file of invoices and bills of lading, a bottle of ink, and about half a ream of letter-paper, which he declared was just what was wanted for the purpose of writing “our story.”

The place had a gloomy and deserted air, and we unanimously agreed that neither the dwelling nor its location was nearly as pleasant as our own at Castle-hill.

There were several articles which we wished to carry away with us, but we concluded to postpone this until a future visit. Max, however, having once laid hold of the gridiron, seemed extremely loath to part with it again, and, finally yielding to the irresistible fascination which it evidently had for him, he threw it over his shoulder as we started on our return, and brought it away with him. Having been fastidiously purified by repeated scourings and ablutions, it proved very useful in preparing our meals, of which fresh fish frequently formed the principal part.

In the evening, as we sat at the terraced top of Castle-hill, Johnny took seriously in hand the important business of finding appropriate names for the discoveries of the day.

The valley beyond the grove of bread-fruit, he concluded to call “Echo Vale.” For the lake itself, quite a variety of names was suggested, none of which, however, seemed to be entirely satisfactory. After puzzling over the subject a long while without any result, and working himself into quite a nervous and excited state, a happy thought seemed all at once to suggest itself and turning to Arthur, he eagerly demanded what was “the most beautiful lake in all the world?”

“Loch Katrine, to be sure!” said Browne; “some would say Loch Lomond, but that is the second.”

“Lake George!” cried Max, decisively.

“Lake Como, in Switzerland, is said to be, by the tourists and the poets,” answered Arthur, to whom the question had been more particularly addressed.

The last name seemed to please Johnny exceedingly, and after repeating it several times with approbation, he inquired of Arthur, “What it was that Olla, in the Cannibal story, called her pet wood-pigeon?”

“Lai-evi,” answered Arthur.

“And you said that meant Little Captive,” pursued Johnny with great animation, “and the ‘Lai’ means ‘little,’ I suppose?”

“Yes, ‘Lai’ is the diminutive.”

“Well, then, I have it at last! Our lake, though so small, is—”

“Quite a Como for its size,” interrupted Max, “and so it shall be called—”

“Lake Laicomo!” cried Johnny, exultingly.

I am thus particular in mentioning these names, chiefly for the benefit of all persons engaged in the preparation of new editions of the school geographies and atlases; and I take this opportunity, at Johnny’s especial request, to call their attention to the matter, in order that our island and its geographical dimensions may be accurately laid down and described in future works of the kind referred to.

Chapter Twenty Six.

The Removal.

Preparations for the Rainy Season—Going into Winter-Quarters—“Monsieur Paul”—The Patriarch of the Lake.

“Now Winter comes to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his gloomy train Of vapours, clouds, and storms.”

We had now been several months upon the island, and notwithstanding our constant watchfulness, we had not, during all this time, seen a single sail. Of the vast multitudes of vessels that track the ocean in every direction, not one had visited the solitary sea that lay within the boundaries of our horizon; or if any had crossed the verge of the wide circle, her coming and departure had been alike unobserved by us.

And now, by a variety of indications, it was manifest that the winter of the tropical year was at hand. The steady easterly breezes, which, with occasional variations of south-easterly, had hitherto prevailed, were succeeded by violent and fickle winds, blowing sometimes from a dozen different and opposite points of the compass in the course of twenty-four hours. The brief and sudden showers which we had had at intervals for some time past gradually became more heavy and frequent. At length, one calm, sultry day, about noon, a storm, accompanied by thunder and lightning came up, with so little previous notice, that although Arthur and myself were at the time scarcely two hundred yards from the house, we were thoroughly drenched before we could reach it. And this proved to be no mere thunder shower, such as we had already been two or three times surprised by. Scarcely had we got under shelter, when the air grew so dark that it would really have been difficult to see one’s way through the grove. I had never before witnessed any thing like this, and I began to fear that we were going to be visited by one of those terrible hurricanes which sometimes devastate tropical countries. The wind soon commenced blowing with such violence, that the largest and sturdiest of the old trees that surrounded our house, bent and swayed before its fury. Their tops lashed each other overhead, and filled the air with clouds of leaves, whirled away upon the tempest. Large boughs were twisted off like twigs, and strewed the ground in every direction. The creaking and groaning of the trees; the loud flapping of the palm-leaves, like that of a sail loose in the wind; the howling and shrieking of the gale, as it burst in quick, fierce gusts through the forest; with the almost total darkness that enveloped us, were truly appalling.

The strength of our dwelling was now put to a severer test than its builders had ever anticipated, and it yielded to the force of the wind, so that at times the side-posts stood at an angle of forty-five degrees with the floor; had they been of any material less tough and pliant than the hibiscus, they must have snapped off in an instant. It was well, too, that they had been deeply and firmly planted in the ground, or the whole fabric would have been lifted bodily into the air, and swept away like a withered leaf. As it was, though wrenched and twisted woefully, it stood firm. The thatch, of which Arthur was so proud, and which had hitherto been storm-proof, now opened in many places, and a dozen little streams began to pour in upon us.

Before night, the sound of running waters without was like that of a great spring freshet. Cataracts were leaping on every side from the edges of the height, and a raging and turbid torrent filled the gully that separated the forest from Castle-hill.

The tempest continued for nearly forty-eight hours. By the time it was over, we had quite come to the conclusion, that if this was to be regarded as a foretaste and specimen of what we had to expect during the rainy season, it would never do to think of remaining in our present habitation. Considering this as a timely warning, we resolved, after a formal consultation, to put the deserted cabin by the lake, forthwith into tenantable condition, so as to be ready to take up our winter-quarters there, if we should find it expedient to do so.

On the first fine day, we commenced carrying this resolution into effect, knowing that we had now but little time to lose. The cabin had originally been built substantially, and with a good deal of skill, and it had suffered but little from decay. We had, in fact nothing to do in the way of repairing it, except to rehang the door, which was loose, and partially unhinged, and to mend the roof, which leaked in one or two places. We then cleared the yard from the rank weeds by which it was overgrown, aired the house thoroughly, by setting door and windows open for a day or two, and swept out both apartments with cocoa-nut brooms.

We next, under Arthur’s direction, commenced laying in a stock of provisions. Abundance of ripe bread-fruit could now be procured. We gathered a considerable quantity, which Arthur and Eiulo baked and pounded, and prepared, by burying it under ground, wrapped in leaves, in such a manner that it would keep, as they said, for several months. We also piled up in one corner of the small room, a great heap of cocoa-nuts, with the husks on, in which way they can be preserved fresh a long while. A bushel of candle-nuts, and about the same quantity of taro and patara roots, completed our winter supplies.

Johnny was much dissatisfied with the poverty of these preparations for the rainy season. He thought we ought to have laid in a large stock of salted or smoked fish, besides catching a score or two of turtle, and depositing them safely upon their backs in some convenient place, ready to be converted into soup, at any moment by the magic of Max’s culinary art.

Arthur thought that we need not anticipate a season of continuous storms or steady rains—that though the prevailing weather for some months would be tempestuous, there would nevertheless be some fine days in nearly every week, during which we could venture forth.

Another storm, as violent as the last, fully decided us to make the contemplated removal to the cabin, and that without further delay. Johnny transported thither his entire collection of shells, corals, etcetera, which had now grown to be quite extensive. Arthur carried over an armful of specimens of plants and flowers, which had long been accumulating for an “herbarium.” Max, however, averred that they were a part of the materials for a treatise on “The Botany of Polynesia,” which Arthur cherished the ambitious design of composing, and which was to be published with coloured plate, simultaneously with the history of our adventures. In order that he too might have some indoor occupation during the anticipated bad weather, Max provided himself with a huge log, hacked and sawed with great labour, from a bread-fruit tree, blown down in the last gale, out of which he declared it to be his purpose to build a miniature ship, destined to convey the aforesaid history, together with Arthur’s botanical treatise, to America.

The day fixed for our final migration to “Lake Laicomo,” at length arrived, and taking a farewell for “the season,” of our deserted tenement at Castle-hill, we set out for the cabin, to spend our first night there. It was not without some feelings of regret that we left a spot now become so familiar, to bury ourselves in the woods out of sight of the sea. It seemed almost like going again into exile. Johnny, in particular, felt greatly humiliated, at being obliged to abandon the house which had cost us so much toil, to take refuge in one constructed by others. He seemed to look upon this as a kind of tacit admission of our own utter incapacity to provide for ourselves in that respect.

On arriving at the cabin, we were somewhat surprised to see our democratic friend the parrot, perched over the door, as if waiting to welcome us to our new quarters. He appeared to be in no degree disturbed at our approach, but greeting us with one or two boisterous “Vive Napoleons!” maintained his position until we had passed into the house, when he flew in also, and alighting on the shelf against the wall, seemed to feel as much at home as any one. Johnny sagely suggested that he knew that the rainy season was coming on, and was anxious to establish himself in comfortable quarters until it was over: possibly this supposition did our visitor injustice, by ascribing to him motives more selfish and interested than those by which he was really actuated. It is more charitable to believe, that having been once accustomed to human companionship, and being weary of his solitary life in the woods, where his vocal accomplishments were wasted on the desert air, he now sought our society, as being more congenial to his tastes and education, than that of the feathered denizens of the forest. Be this however as it may, “Monsieur Paul,” (as he called himself), from that time took up his abode with us, and though he would sometimes disappear for days together, he was sure to come back at last, when, if he found the door and windows closed, (as sometimes happened), he would scream, and hurrah for “Sheneral Shackson,” until he gained admittance. One circumstance, which I am sorry to say throws some shade of suspicion upon the pure disinterestedness of his motives, is, that he generally went off at the commencement of fine weather, and returned a little before a storm. This was so uniformly the case, that Max used to prophesy the character of the weather by his movements, and often, when to our eyes there was not the slightest indication of a change, he would say— “There comes Monsieur—look-out for a storm presently”—and it was rarely that he proved mistaken in such predictions.

The second day after our removal, there was a gale, in which great trees were blown down or torn up by the roots. Though shaken by the force of the wind, the cabin was too firmly built to permit any apprehension of its being overthrown; and there were no trees of large size near it, by the fall of which it could be endangered: but we should scarcely have felt safe in our former dwelling.

We now improved every pleasant day to the utmost, in completing our preparations for the period of heavy rains, which Arthur declared to be close at hand. Browne and Morton made a fish-pond by building a dam of loose stones across the rapids below the fall, just where the stream entered the lake. It was soon well-stocked, without any trouble on our part, with fish resembling roach and perch, numbers of which were carried over the fall, and prevented by the dam from escaping into the lake. We also collected a large quantity of bread-fruit bark, and of the fibrous netting which binds the stalk of the cocoa-nut leaf to the trunk, to be worked up in various ways. This singular fabric, which in texture somewhat resembles coarse cotton cloth, is often obtained from the larger trees in strips two or three feet wide. It is strong and durable, and is used by the natives for making bags, and for other similar purposes. Garments too, are sometimes made from it, though for that purpose tappa is preferred. While the leaves are young and tender, this remarkable substance is white and transparent, quite flexible, and altogether a delicate and beautiful fabric, but not sufficiently strong to be put to any useful purpose: as it becomes older and tougher, it assumes a yellow colour, and loses much of its flexibility and beauty. A quantity of hibiscus bark was also collected, to be used in the manufacture of cord for fishing-lines, nets, etcetera.

While the rest of us were actively engaged, under Arthur’s direction, in accumulating a stock of these materials, Max devoted all his energies to the task of capturing an enormous eel which frequented the upper end of the lake. But he exhausted all his ingenuity in this endeavour without success. The monster had a secure retreat among the submerged roots of an old buttress tree, beneath an overhanging bank, from which Max daily lured him forth by throwing crumbs into the water; but, after devouring the food that was thrown to him, he would immediately return to his stronghold under the bank. Max was at great pains to manufacture a fish-hook out of a part of a cork-screw found in the till of the blue chest, by means of which he confidently expected to bring matters to a speedy and satisfactory issue between himself and his wary antagonist. But the latter would not touch the bait that concealed the hook. Driven to desperation by this unexpected discomfiture, Max next made sundry attempts to spear and “harpoon” him, all of which signally failed, so that at the end of the brief interval of fine weather, this patriarch of the lake, whose wisdom seemed to be proportioned to his venerable age and gigantic size, remained proof against all the arts and machinations of his chagrined and exasperated enemy.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

Winter Evenings at Home.

Amusements and Occupations—Story-Telling—The South-Sea Lyceum.

“When the winter nights grow long, And the winds without blow cold, We sit in a ring round the warm wood fire, And listen to stories old.”

Having now brought my story down to the period of our getting into winter-quarters at Lake Laicomo, (where, during the last few weeks, the foregoing portion of this narrative has been written), I shall change my tenses, for the present chapter at least, while I sketch the occupations and amusements by which we endeavour to fill up the time of our imprisonment.

The rainy season is now nearly over, and we have got through it much more comfortably and pleasantly than we anticipated. The few fine days during which we finished our preparations for it, as mentioned in the last chapter, were succeeded, in accordance with Arthur’s prediction, by more than a week of steady rain, and for several weeks there was not a day without rain. During this time, of course, we were thrown entirely upon our indoor resources, and, thanks to the forethought which had provided an abundant store of materials, upon which the ingenuity or industry of each of us could be variously exercised, we have thus far managed to keep pretty busy.

We have twisted a great store of cord for fishing-lines, nets, and other purposes, from the supply of hibiscus bark previously laid in. We have also manufactured more than a dozen pairs of serviceable moccasins, with no other materials than cocoa-nut cotton and bread-fruit bark. Browne has made a chess-board, and rudely but elaborately carved a complete set of men, of gigantic size, in which he has evinced much skill and ingenuity, and a vast deal of perseverance. The castles are mounted upon the backs of elephants, which Johnny innocently mistook for enormous swine with two tails apiece. The knights are provided with shields, bearing Saint Andrew’s cross and the thistle for a device, and would have been arrayed, without doubt, in kilt and tartan had it been possible. The bishops wear grotesque-looking cocked hats, intended for mitres, and their countenances are so singularly truculent and unprepossessing, that Max accuses the artist of having in this petty way, evinced “his Scottish and Presbyterian spite against Episcopacy.”

Morton has, among other things, made a couple of nets, and a mortar and pestle for pounding bread-fruit and taro.

Max’s time and attention have been chiefly devoted to the manufacture of a variety of warlike weapons, among which are four or five formidable bludgeons, which he styles “Feejee war-clubs,” made from the hard and ponderous wood of the casuarina. He has also worked a good deal, at intervals, upon the huge log, out of which the “Messenger ship” is to be constructed.

Arthur has been more usefully employed in contriving two frames or stands, designed as candlesticks for holding the native substitute for candles, which substitute consists simply of a cocoa-nut stalk, some eighteen inches long, strung with candle-nuts. These nuts are of about the size of a horse-chestnut, and contain a considerable quantity of oil: they are the fruit of one of the largest and most magnificent trees of our island. One nut will burn from five to ten minutes, according to its size, and if they are pressed closely together upon the stalk, the flame communicates readily from one to another, affording a tolerably clear and steady light until the entire string is consumed.

To supply the place of Johnny’s jacket and trousers, which are completely worn out, Arthur has made, from two or three large strips of cocoa-nut cotton, a garment resembling the South American “poncho,” being a loose wrapper, with a circular aperture through which the head of the wearer is to be thrust. It is by no means an elegant article of apparel, and Johnny was at first inclined to look upon it with disfavour. But upon being informed that it was in all respects, except the material of which it was made, like the “tiputa,” formerly worn by the Tahitian chiefs and men of note, he became fully reconciled to it.

These, (which I mention merely as a sample of our industrial labours), and similar tasks, furnish us occupation during the day. As soon as it gets dark, we set out the broken-legged table in the middle of the room, and lighting three or four skewers of candle-nuts, amuse or employ ourselves in a variety of ways. Browne and Morton frequently sit down to a game of chess, or seizing a couple of Max’s “Feejee war-clubs,” practise the broad-sword exercise, in which Browne, who has some skill in fencing, occasionally gives lessons to the rest.

Arthur has opened an evening-school, in which he teaches Eiulo reading and writing, and gives Johnny instruction in botany and conchology, using his “herbarium,” and Johnny’s collection of shells, for the purpose of illustration. He also writes a good deal, and asks Eiulo many questions respecting the customs, ceremonies, and traditions of Tewa. Occasionally, during such conversations, when he makes a note of something new or striking, Max laughs, and says, that in addition to the great work on the botany of Polynesia, Arthur designs to enlighten the world with a learned treatise on the “Traditions and Superstitions of the South-Sea Islanders.”

Johnny either re-arranges his “collection,” or plays jack straws with Eiulo, or devotes himself to the education of the parrot.

As for me, I have hitherto amused myself during the evenings in writing up “the narrative,” and occasionally reading portions of it aloud, claiming, however, the privilege of skipping such passages as I think proper. It having been solemnly resolved that the “history of our adventures” must be written in the form of a “regular desert island story,” to use Johnny’s expression, and divided into chapters, Max insists that the commencement of each chapter should be furnished with a poetical motto, and offers, in the capacity of a dictionary of quotations, to furnish scraps of rhyme for that purpose, to order, in any quantity required, and at the shortest notice, upon merely being informed of the sentiment with which the motto is desired to harmonise.

After hearing the narrative thus far, with the exception of such portions as I have thought proper to omit, Max expresses strong distrust of my fairness and impartiality as a historian. He accuses me in particular, of having done him injustice by omitting some of his most remarkable exploits, as well as many brilliant sayings upon a great variety of subjects. He declares that I do not understand and appreciate him—that I am incapable of doing so; and that I have unjustly, though perhaps unintentionally, represented him as a trifling, light-minded sort of person. I have, therefore, felt bound to record this protest of the injured party, but having just read it to him, he pronounces it unsatisfactory, and an aggravation of the original wrong.

Sometimes, as a variation of our evening amusements, we put out the lights, and sit and tell stories in the dark. Browne’s memory is stored with an unfailing supply of marvellous tales and legends, founded upon Scottish history and tradition, or the habits and superstitions of the people; some relate to wraiths, warnings, second sight, etcetera; some illustrate the prowess of Scottish heroes and worthies, from Bruce and Wallace, right down to Johnny Armstrong and Rob Roy Macgregor; others, again, are wild and tragical tales of covenanting times, or of the sufferings endured, and the dangers encountered by his countrymen, for their religious faith, from the time of the murder of “holy Patrick Hamilton, the first Scottish martyr,” to the forays of prelatical moss-troopers, and the butcheries of Claverhouse, in later days.

The chief point of all Browne’s narratives, however various their subjects, is to illustrate the superiority of Scotland, and every thing Scottish, from martyrs to mendicants, and from heroes to highwaymen, over all the rest of the world in general, and the sister kingdom in particular. I was greatly amused by one of his stories, which related how a Scottish border-robber outwitted and plundered an English professional brother. In his patriotic resolution to uphold the superiority of his country in all respects, Browne was not even willing to allow that the pilferers and marauders south of the Tweed, could at all compare in address and audacity, with those who enjoyed the advantage of having been bred to the north of it.

Max, too, was, (at least in Johnny’s estimation), a famous story-teller, almost equal in fact to Schehezerade, of the Thousand and One Nights. His stories, however, were of an entirely different character from those of Browne. They had no savour of historic or traditionary truth,—no relation to actual life,—and in this consisted their great charm. Their subject matter, was the wonderful exploits of bold knights-errant, sallying forth, attended by their trusty esquires, in search of high adventures; their chivalrous encounters with other knights in mortal quarrel, or for the honours of the tourney; their incredible feats of strength and valour in the rescue of captive maidens, wandering princesses, and distressed damsels, from all sorts of unheard-of perils, and in the redress of all manner of grievances, by whomsoever suffered. In his more romantic flights he described exploits yet more perilous than these,—conflicts with giants and ogres,—the storming and demolishing of enchanted castles, defended by scaly griffins, and fire-breathing dragons, backed by the potent spells and incantations of some hostile magician. To such narratives Johnny would willingly listen by the hour. Any trifling anachronisms or inconsistencies, which sometimes occurred, never troubled him in the least. If some of Max’s knights, equipped with sword and shield, and sheathed in mail, were also expert at fire-arms, and handled a rifle or a revolver, like a Kentuckian, Johnny respected and admired them all the more on account of these varied accomplishments, and never troubled the narrator with any vexatious demand for explanations.

At first Max had been greatly piqued at the slight interest which Johnny seemed to feel in the fate of his heroes. The fact was, that he had become so familiar with that department of literature, and was so accustomed to see the hero come safely out of the most horrible and unheard-of dangers, that he regarded it as quite a matter of course, and there was now no such thing as alarming him for his safety. It was to no purpose that Max surrounded his heroes with fierce and numerous foes; Johnny took it quite coolly, expecting him to cut his way out as a hero should. It was in vain to cover him with wounds—a hero’s wounds are never mortal. Cast him away upon an iron-bound coast in the midst of a hurricane—Johnny knew that one would escape: drown a hero! who ever heard of such a thing! Max at length resented this indifference, by suddenly becoming quite tragical, and actually despatching two or three heroes with very little ceremony. The first of these unfortunate gentlemen perished, if I remember correctly, by “a tremendous backstroke of a two-handed, double-edged sword, that severed his head from his body.” At this sentence, which seemed pretty decisive, Johnny was somewhat staggered, but, immediately recovering himself, he bade Max “go on,” expecting, I verily believe, that it would turn out that the head was not in fact quite cut off or that if it was, it would, like that of the physician Dubin, in the Arabian Nights, be again set upon the shoulders, and life restored by the healing virtue of some potent medicament. Great was his astonishment and consternation, on being made at last to comprehend, that the hero was actually dead; which fact he did not, however, appear fully to realise, until Max, to put the matter beyond doubt, buried him with great funereal pomp and ceremony, and erected over his remains a splendid monument, with an inscription recording his exploits and his valour. This method of proceeding, Max judiciously followed up, by giving a tragical termination to his romances, often enough to keep Johnny reminded that his heroes at any rate were mortal.

In addition to these resources for our evenings, we have the semi-weekly meetings of “The South-Sea Lyceum,” which was organised soon after the commencement of the rainy season, and of which Arthur is the president having been twice unanimously elected to that dignified and responsible office. Recitations or declamations, essays, and debates upon questions previously selected, constitute the regular exercises at these meetings. Browne possesses quite a talent for dramatic recitation, and he has Shakespeare almost by heart, which circumstances, early on the voyage out, earned for him the nickname of “Shaks.” At nearly every session of the “Lyceum,” he is either among the regular appointees for a recitation, or is called out by acclamation for a voluntary one. Max shines chiefly in debate, in which he is always ready to take either side, of any question. Indeed he sometimes speaks on both sides of the same question, and displays his ingenuity by refuting his own arguments.

These meetings have thus far been exceedingly pleasant, and on many a night when the driving rain was beating upon roof and window, and the wind was howling dismally around our solitary cabin, all has seemed bright and cheerful within, as Max and Morton carried on a spirited debate, or Browne declaimed Wolsey’s soliloquy, or “To be, or not to be, that is the question.”

The minutes of one meeting of the Lyceum may answer as a sample of their entertainments:—

Recitation, (by Johnny), Lines supposed to have been written by Alexander Selkirk, “I am monarch of all I survey,” etcetera.

Recitation, (by Browne), Clarence’s Dream.

Essay, (by the President), on the traditions of a Deluge, to be found among the Polynesian tribes.

Essay, (by myself), The theory of the formation and structure of Coral Islands.

Debate. Question: Is childhood the happiest period of human life?

Affirmative maintained by Max, negative by Morton.

Summing up of the arguments by the President and decision by him in the negative.

Reading of the Polynesian Intelligencer, by the Editor, (Max).

Recitation, (by Eiulo), a Tewan War-song, in the original.

After the first protracted rain was over, there were frequent intervals of fine weather, which lasted sometimes several days. But we found on going forth, that a change had taken place in the condition of things, which rendered any long excursion, even during these intervals, entirely out of the question.

Considerable streams poured down from the higher ground toward the interior, and traversed the island at short distances, presenting formidable barriers to all travelling. The ground was everywhere so miry that it was difficult to avoid sinking above the ankles at every step.

As the season advanced it became still worse, and at length we confined ourselves almost entirely to the house. Lately, however, there has been a very perceptible improvement; the rains have become lighter, and less frequent, and the season is evidently drawing towards its close. We are already discussing our plans for the summer, and have resolved upon a thorough exploration of the island, as soon as the fine weather has been long enough established to remove the effects of the heavy rains.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

The Separation.

Our Seclusion Invaded—Spring in the Tropics—The Excursion and its Consequences.

“Reviving Nature bounds as from her birth: The sun is in the heavens, and life on earth; Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam, Health in the breeze, and freshness in the stream.”

I resume my narrative, under circumstances widely different from those in which the preceding chapter was written. The events of the last few days have completely changed the aspect of affairs in our little world. The peace, the seclusion, the security, with which in our minds it had hitherto been invested, exist no longer. Our quiet life, so free from vicissitudes and alarms, as to seem almost monotonous, has been rudely broken into, and in a few days we are to take a step which cannot fail to be attended with consequences momentous to us, but whether fraught with good or evil, it is impossible to foresee. This, however, is anticipating the regular course of events.

It is scarcely credible, how short a time after the cessation of the rains, sufficed to remove every trace of their effects. Three or four days of sunshine seemed to restore things to nearly the condition in which we found them on first reaching the island.

It is true the vegetation now had a fresher look than before, and slender brooks still murmured through ravines usually dry; the lake, too, formerly so limpid, was somewhat discoloured by the turbid streams running into it from the surrounding heights; but the standing pools of water had evaporated, and the ground had, in most places, become once more firm and dry.

As soon as the weather was fairly established, we made several excursions in various directions, though not to any considerable distance. On visiting Castle-hill, we found nothing left of our house there, except the foundation; the entire framework, having been swept away by the wind. A large candle-nut tree, just before the door, had been struck by lightning, and the blasted and blackened trunk, sadly marred the beauty of the spot.

Arthur had selected a favourable location on the margin of the lake near the fish-pond, for a taro and patara patch; and we spent several days in ransacking the neighbouring woods for roots with which to stock it. Yams, we had not yet succeeded in finding, though they are indigenous in most of the Polynesian islands, and we had made diligent search for them in the localities where they are usually found.

One fine morning, soon after the cessation of the rains, Arthur proposed an expedition into the interior, following the course of the stream upward towards its source. In addition to the general object of exploration, he had in view the discovery of the much-coveted vegetable last-mentioned, there being one large variety of it, which is found growing wild among the mountains, or upon the sides of the hills of the interior. All received the suggestion with cordial approval, being particularly pleased with the proposed route, along the banks of the brook. Johnny, exulting in his recovered liberty, after the long imprisonment of the winter, and anticipating all sorts of wonderful discoveries in the vegetable, floral, and ornithological departments, at once enlisted Eiulo and himself as members of the party of exploration.

As we were about to enter a region with the resources of which, in the way of provisions, we knew nothing, we considered it a measure of wise precaution to fortify ourselves against the fatigues of the journey, by a hearty breakfast of broiled fish and roasted taro. This important duty having been conscientiously attended to, our remaining preparations occupied but little time, and we set out at an early hour.

Johnny, equipped with his longest bow, and an abundant stock of arrows, in readiness for the appearance of anything in the shape of a jackal or a tiger-cat, marched valiantly in advance, while Eiulo, in the capacity of armour-bearer, or trusty esquire, followed, carrying his cutlass. Next, carefully surveying the ground we passed over, came Arthur, with a bag upon his arm, and a basket of cocoa-nut leaflets in his hand, ready for the reception of the yams, when found, and of all sorts of roots, plants, and botanical specimens, that might be discovered in the meantime.

Max was armed to the teeth, as though in preparation for a pitched battle. By his side, in a belt of hibiscus bark, was stuck his cutlass: in one hand he carried a “spear,” and in the other, one of his “Feejee war-clubs.” Morton and myself were provided with a cutlass apiece; and Browne, without having encumbered himself even to that extent, strolled leisurely along with his hands in his pockets, whistling “blue-bonnets over the border.”

It was now the spring of the tropical year: the deciduous trees were renewing their verdure, and were covered with young shoots, and bursting leaf-buds. Even the evergreens—though they change but little throughout the year, and the old leaves and the new, the blossoms and the ripe fruit, may be seen upon the same tree at almost every season, looked brighter and fresher than before the rains. The earth was carpeted with beautiful grasses, mingled with tufts of moss, and bunches of fern. Blue and white flowers were scattered about almost as profusely as the “pinkster blossoms,” in April, in the woods at home; and in sheltered places, the modest cape-jasmine was beginning to unfold its fragrant leaves. A delightful freshness filled the air, and there was as yet, at this early hour, nothing to remind us that we were beneath the fervent skies of the burning zone.

Rejoicing and exhilarated at finding himself in the woods once more, Johnny ran furiously hither and thither, closely attended by Eiulo, gathering wild-flowers, ferns and mosses; chasing bugs, beetles, and butterflies; and letting fly his arrows at every unfortunate member of the feathered community that came within the range of his archery. In every thicket and almost at every step, he came upon something to call forth the most boisterous exclamations of surprise or delight. He was manifestly in the state of mind declared by the poet to be so eminently happy and desirable—

“To all exhilarating influences, Of earth and heaven alive!”

Scarcely a moment passed, that he did not come running all aglow and out of breath to Arthur, with eager questions about something or other which he had just seen, and then dash off again into the forest without waiting for a reply, where fresh explosions of admiration or wonder, would soon announce new, and if possible, still more astounding discoveries.

The shores of the stream were picturesque and varied. For the first half-mile from our starting-point, it wound between smooth grassy banks, adorned with scattered clumps of trees. It then entered a dense wood, where its channel was a rugged ravine, inclosed between steep rocks of black basalt. Here, the scraggy, ill-conditioned trees were crowded together, and overgrown with gigantic creepers. The branches, reaching across from the opposite shores, were interlaced and matted into thick masses, almost excluding the light of day. Max here displayed his agility, by laying hold of a long bough which extended from bank to bank, and walking “hand over hand” across the stream that flowed darkly and sluggishly some twelve or fifteen feet below.

We were an hour at the least, in toiling through this tangled wood, though it did not extend more than half a mile. After leaving it behind us, frequent rapids showed that we were steadily ascending as we proceeded. Birds, such as we had not before seen on the island, and which reminded me of some of my old acquaintances of the New England woods, perched upon the trees, or flew familiarly around us. One or two, of the woodpecker tribe, looked wonderfully natural and home-like, as they sat industriously drumming upon hollow logs. Another, a small, brown bird, with modest plumage, surprised and delighted me, by a clear, full whistle, that sounded not unlike that of our own robin redbreast. We also saw numbers of a species of pigeon with black bills, slate-coloured bodies, and a ruff of white feathers about the neck. One of these Johnny brought down with his bow, besides wounding very seriously, (as he alleged), a considerable number of others. The woodpeckers and whistlers enjoyed a temporary immunity from his formidable shafts, reluctantly granted them at my intercession in their behalf, on the score of old associations.

About an hour before noon we reached a spot where the stream was divided by a rocky islet, around which it spread out like a small lake. A grove, of a very peculiar appearance, and seeming to consist of a single tree, sheltered and overspread the entire spot.

Here we concluded to halt, beginning by this time to feel quite tired, and inclined to rest. The water was shallow at this point, and Max wading over to the little island, presently called upon us to follow him if we wished to behold “a veritable banyan tree.” Whether a banyan or not, (Arthur pronounced it to be a species of barren fig), it was certainly a wonderful specimen of vegetation. The main trunk, springing up in the centre of the islet, was nearly three feet in diameter. At the height of some fifteen feet from the ground, large branches extended horizontally in every direction. From these branches, at regular intervals, pendulous, vine-like shoots sprouted and grew downwards until they reached the ground, where they took root, and gradually increasing in size formed new trunks or pillars, to support a further extension of the branches. This process of growth had gone on until the tree had overrun the entire island, resembling a flat roof of green branches, resting upon rows of columns. Some of the perpendicular shoots had not yet reached the ground, others had just taken root, and were slender and flexible, while many of the older ones rivalled the parent stem in size, and could not easily be distinguished from it.

While we rested here, a pair of the little brown songsters alighted among the branches of the “banyan,” and entertained us with a vocal performance, in which they took up the strain alternately, responding to each other, and occasionally uniting in a chorus.

Max now declared himself savagely hungry, and commenced exploring the neighbourhood in search of something eatable. But no fruit-bearing trees were to be found, and he returned from his foraging expedition protesting that the country was a perfect desert, and declaring that he for one would not proceed a step farther until he took up the line of march for home. We were all of the opinion that we had done enough for one day, and it was agreed that after resting ourselves a short time we should commence our return.

Meantime, Arthur caught sight of some trees upon a ridge of land a short distance further up the stream, whose foliage resembled, as he thought, that of the “auti,” or cloth plant. Saying that he would return in a few moments, he walked along the west bank of the brook in the direction of the ridge, followed by Johnny and Eiulo, who seemed as animated and unwearied as ever. Presently they turned a bend in the stream, and we lost sight of them. For lack of more interesting occupation, I began to count the stems of the grove-tree. There were seventeen, of large size, and a great number of smaller ones. Max discovered a deep pool at the lower end of the islet, in which were a number of fish, marked like yellow perch: and as he had a fishing-line of Eiulo’s manufacture, in his pocket he amused himself by angling, using wood-beetles for bait. Morton and Browne hunted up four flat stones, and commenced pitching quoits.

After half an hour passed in these various ways, we began to wonder at Arthur’s long delay, and to grow impatient for his return. I had counted every stem of the banyan-fig, great and small. Max had become quite disgusted with angling for fish, which were too wary, or too well-fed, to favour him with even a nibble. Browne, after being beaten for five successive games, had very naturally lost his interest in the sport, and tossed his quoits into the brook.

Another half-hour passed, and still the absentees failed to make their appearance. Max now professed to be suffering from the pangs of hunger, and longed for the sight even of the much-abused cocoa-nut tree. At last our patience being utterly exhausted, we resolved to go in search of Arthur and his suite, whose protracted absence greatly surprised us.

On reaching the point, or bend, behind which they had disappeared, we hallooed loudly, but there was no answer. As we proceeded, the ground became very rough and broken, and the bed of the brook was full of loose rocks. A little further on, the noise of a waterfall was heard, and after one or two more turns, we reached a spot where the stream leaped down a precipice some twenty feet. Our further progress in the direction we were pursuing was barred by a wall of rock; an active and fearless climber might, it is true, have scaled it by the aid of the stunted shrubs and jutting crags upon its face, but we knew that Arthur accompanied by Eiulo and Johnny, could not have passed on by any such route.

Proceeding to the left, along the foot of the precipice, and pausing at short intervals to repeat our halloos, we at last reached a wide fissure in the rock, by scrambling through which we gained the higher level. This was in all probability a part of the ridge which Arthur had seen from the islet. We now returned along the brow of the precipice until we came to the waterfall, where we shouted again, but still without getting any answer. To push the search further in this direction seemed useless, for it was morally certain that Arthur would not have continued beyond this point up the stream; the understanding with which he had left us, forbade any such supposition.

We began now to feel alarmed, and to fear that some accident had befallen them, though of what nature we were at a loss to conjecture. Morton suggested the possibility that they had taken the opposite bank of the brook, and that while we were looking for them, they might have returned to the islet. This seemed not improbable, and striving hard to convince ourselves that it must be so, we regained the lower level by the same pass through which we had ascended, and hastened along the base of the height, and down the shore of the stream till we reached the islet again. But our companions were not there. Still, they might have returned during our absence, and supposing that we had started homeward, proceeded after us. We were greatly perplexed what course to pursue. If we delayed our return much longer, we should not be able to reach the cabin before night set in: the wilderness around seemed to contain nothing that could serve as food, and we should have to fast as long as we remained in it. Then, too, our waiting longer could be of no benefit to the others, even if they had not yet returned to the islet. Upon finding us gone, they would know at once that we had set out for home, and there was no possibility of their mistaking their way thither.

We concluded, accordingly, to return without further delay. Browne cut a stout stick, and planted it in the sand at the margin of the brook, arranging a number of large pebbles at its foot, in the form of a hand, with the index finger pointing homeward. We then set out at a brisk pace, with some hope, but little actual expectation, of overtaking our companions on the war.

We soon reached the thick wood with its matted undergrowth, and the old and knotted vines twining like enormous reptiles around the trunks of the trees; and so slow was our progress through it, that when we emerged into the open country it was nearly sunset. The remaining distance was more rapidly accomplished. As we drew nigh to the cabin, I began to look anxiously for the appearance of the missing ones. Each moment I expected to see Johnny rushing towards us with a laughing boast of having “beaten us home.” But no one came forth to meet us, and I thought that the valley had never before looked so lonely.

It was not, however, entirely deserted. The parrot was perched in solitary state upon the eaves of the cabin, and as we opened the gate, he flapped his wings, and croaked forth in dismal tones a sentence which Johnny, little dreaming of its present application, had been at much pains to teach him:— “Poor Paul’s lonesome!” he cried, “they’re all gone—all gone!”

Chapter Twenty Nine.

The Search.

Home Sweet Home—Max on Moonlight—Following a Trail—The Concealed Canoe.

“Where’er thou wanderest, canst thou hope to go Where skies are brighter, or the earth more fair? Dost thou not love these aye-blue streams that flow, These spicy forests, and this golden air? “O yes! I love these woods, these streams so clear, Yet from this fairy region I would roam, Again to see my native hills—thrice dear! And seek that country, of all countries,—Home.”

Max hastened to collect fuel, and kindle a fire, in order to prepare some food. Assuming, as usual, the entire superintendence and control of the culinary department, and every thing connected therewith, he set Browne to work washing and scraping tara-roots, despatched me after a fresh supply of fuel, and sent Morton with the hand-net down to the fish-pond to take out a couple of fish for a broil. But while thus freely assigning tasks to the rest of us, with the composed air of one accustomed to the exercise of unquestioned authority, he by no means shrunk from his own fair share of the work; and having got the fire burning cleverly by the time that Morton returned with the fish, he rolled up his sleeves, and with an air of heroic fortitude, commenced the necessary, but somewhat unpleasant process of cleaning them.

Night had now set in, but the sky being perfectly clear, and the moon at her full, it was scarcely darker than at early twilight.

Max seemed to prolong his culinary operations to the utmost, either from pure love of the employment, or with the still lingering hope, that our companions might yet arrive in time to partake of our supper.

At last however, it became apparent that the cookery could not, without serious detriment, be longer protracted. The bursting skin of the taro revealed the rich mealy interior, and eloquently proclaimed its readiness to be eaten. The fish were done to a turn, and filled the cabin with a savoury odour, doubly grateful to our nostrils after a twelve hours’ fast. Max declared with a sigh, that another moment upon the gridiron would ruin them, and he was reluctantly compelled to serve up the repast without further delay, when, notwithstanding our growing anxiety on account of Arthur’s absence, we made a hearty meal. After feeding Monsieur Paul, and setting by some food in readiness for our companions when they should arrive, as we still hoped they would do in the course of the evening, we went out to a spot above the cascade, where Morton and Browne had arranged some rude fragments of basalt, so as to form a semicircle of seats, which, if less comfortable than well-cushioned arm-chairs would have been, might at any rate be considered in decidedly better “rural taste,” and in more harmonious keeping with the character of the surrounding scene.

From this point we could trace the windings of the brook for some distance in one direction, while below us, in the opposite one, spread the moonlit lake, reflecting in its mirror-like surface the dark masses of foliage that fringed its shores. It was one of those tranquil, dreamy nights, known only in tropical countries. A subtle fragrance of fresh buds and blossoms filled the air. The light streamed in a silvery flood upon the tufted tops of the groves; while in the solemn shade beneath, the serried trunks reared themselves in long ranks, like the grey columns of some Gothic ruin.

As we sat listening to the murmur of the waterfall, the rustling of the trees, and the distant and muffled booming of the surf, I fell into a dreamy reverie, which was at length dissipated by Browne’s voice—

“Can any thing be more beautiful than this scene at this moment!” exclaimed he, “and yet I do not know when I have experienced such a weariness of it all—such an intense longing for home, as I feel to-night.”

“I shall begin to believe in mesmeric sympathy,” said Morton, “I was myself just thinking of home. Home, sweet home!” and he heaved a long-drawn sigh.

Yes! the charm and illusion of our island life had long ended. We were tired of tropical luxuriance, and eternal summer. Glowing skies, and landscapes like a picture, had almost ceased to gratify even the eye. I longed for a glimpse of a rugged New England hill once more. A gnarled New England oak, though stripped by wintry winds of every leaf, would be a sight more grateful to me, than all those endless groves of waving palms.

“I cannot believe,” resumed Browne, “that we are destined to waste our days in this lonely spot, elysium as it is, of external beauty. We have faculties and desires, which can find no scope here, and which are perishing for lack of exercise. Still it is possible. But it is a dreary, dreary thought! I can now feel the pathos of the words of the ancient mariner on coming in sight of his native land—

“‘Oh dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk?— Is this mine own countree? “‘We drifted o’er the harbour bar And I with sobs did pray— O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep away!’”

Browne recited the lines with a power and feeling, that affected even the matter-of-fact Morton; Max hastened to show that he was above being so easily moved.

“All this comes,” cried he, “of lying here under the trees in the moonlight. Moonlight certainly has a tendency to make people melancholy and sentimental; it also makes them do foolish things. The most absurd and unreasonable notions I ever entertained, came into my head by moonlight, and wouldn’t go away. Only twenty-five minutes ago, we were quite a rational, practical set of persons, eating our supper, (a well-cooked supper, too, though I say it myself), with a keen appetite, like Christians. And now, we have fallen to sighing and quoting poetry, and Browne waxes quite pathetic at the touching thought of getting a glimpse once more, of the smoky chimneys of Glasgow! Finally, I have nearly caught the infection myself, and unless I escape out of the moonlight presently, I dare say I also shall become quite lack-a-daisical, and commence a poetical apostrophe to my native village of Hardscrabble—or rather to plump little Susan Somers, my first love, at the ‘madam’s’ school, who affected my weak mind and susceptible heart to that extent, that in her bewildering presence my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, while I grew red in the face like a perplexed turkey gobbler. But what can have become of Arthur and the rest? Unless something had happened to them, they must have returned before now.”

A little before midnight we retired to the cabin to sleep, having first agreed, that in the morning three of us should proceed up the stream again, to make a thorough search for our companions, the fourth remaining behind until near noon, when, if the absentees had not yet returned, he should set out to join the others at the islet below the falls, which we fixed upon as the rendezvous.

In the morning, lots were drawn to determine which of us should remain at the cabin, and that duty fell to Morton. The rest of us, having armed ourselves, and prepared a supply of taro and bread-fruit, sufficient, as we supposed, for several days, set out, soon after sunrise. Our progress was much more rapid than it had been when we first went over the ground, as we now had a definite object in view, and pressed steadily forward, without allowing any thing to interrupt or delay us. In an hour and a half after starting, we came in sight of the islet. Opposite it was the stake which Browne had planted in the sand, just as we had left it. We pushed on up the stream to the cascade, and crossing to the right bank, we began to skirt the base of the rocky wall on that side, looking carefully around for some traces of our companions.

We had proceeded in this way, about one hundred yards from the brook, when I picked up one of Johnny’s arrows in a tuft of fern. This was conclusive evidence that we were upon the right track. A little farther on, was a piece of marshy ground, and here we made a startling discovery. In the soft soil, several foot-prints could be plainly distinguished. Some were coarse, shapeless impressions, precisely such as would be made by the rude moccasins worn by Arthur and Johnny. Others were the prints of naked feet, and some of these were of far too large a size to be made by either of the three. This discovery affected us for the moment like an electric shock, and we stood looking at one another without speaking, and scarcely breathing, while the very beating of our hearts might be heard.

Browne was the first to recover himself, when he commenced a close examination of all the tracks. The piece of ground upon which they could be traced, extended some thirty yards, and after a careful scrutiny of the whole of it, we became convinced that at least four persons, besides our three companions, had recently passed over it. All the tracks were not in the same direction, and from finding those of precisely the same size lying in opposite directions, we inferred that some of these persons, at least, had passed and repassed the spot.

The most distressing surmises as to the cause of the disappearance of our companions, now began to suggest themselves. We were so astounded by this decisive evidence of the presence of strangers upon the island, that we scarcely knew what to do next, but at last concluded to return to the islet and await Morton’s arrival, being anxious to avoid the risk of any further division of our numbers. We accordingly retraced our way thither: supposing that Morton would have set out before we could reach the cabin, and that we might pass each other on the way without knowing it, if we should proceed down the stream to meet him, we remained quietly at the islet, keeping a vigilant and somewhat nervous look-out on every side.

He arrived about noon, having started rather sooner than had been agreed upon. On being informed of the tracks which had been discovered, he said that we ought at once to trace them as far as we were able. “We must not rest,” said he, “until we know something more of this, even if we have to traverse every inch of ground on the island.”

Browne was inclined to infer from the foot-prints, that the interior, and the eastern part of the island, of which we as yet knew nothing, were inhabited, and that our companions had fallen into the hands of the natives.

“Let us, in the first place, find, if possible, where they are. We can then judge what is to be done, if indeed we can do any thing,” said Morton, “and now for the place where the tracks you speak of are to be seen.”

Grasping our weapons, which were no longer to be regarded as a useless incumbrance, we once more proceeded up the brook, and soon reached the piece of low ground before mentioned. We again narrowly inspected the tracks: Morton measured them with a twig, and concluded, as we had previously done, that these were the foot-prints of at least seven persons—there being that number of clearly different sizes. Three of these were without doubt the tracks of Arthur, Johnny, and Eiulo. The impressions made by the moccasins of the two former led only in one direction, (from the stream), while those of the naked feet, (or of some of them), were in two opposite directions. Following these tracks eastward along the rocky ridge, we soon came to firm dry ground, where footsteps could no longer be traced. But by a minute scrutiny, we were still able to detect slight but decisive indications of the course of the party whose trail we were endeavouring to follow.

In one place, a bunch of spreading ferns had been trodden down, and the long graceful fronds bruised and broken: in another, a cluster of crushed wild-flowers betrayed a recent footstep. A little further on, we came to a wide, meadow-like expanse, where the grass and weeds grew rank and tall, and through this the path of a considerable party could be readily traced. Gradually becoming accustomed to this species of minute investigation, as we continued carefully to practise it, we soon grew so expert and skilful, that things very slight in themselves, and which would ordinarily have altogether escaped notice, sufficed to guide and direct us.

The path trodden through the meadow, led to the foot of an ascent, up which we followed the trail slowly and with difficulty, the soil being hard, and the vegetation scanty. On gaining the top, we found that we had reached the eastern, or south-eastern extremity of the island, and the sea spread before us, almost at our feet. The trail led directly towards the edge of a steep bank, just above the shore, near which we lost it altogether. Morton leaped down the bank some ten or twelve feet, while the rest of us were looking round for easier and more gradual means of descent. Finding a stunted tree springing from the lower ground, close against the bluff, I leaped among its spreading branches, and climbed down its trunk to the shore, where I found Morton searching for some traces of the party which we had tracked almost to the edge of the height.

In a moment we were joined by Max and Browne, who had clambered down the face of the bank by the assistance of the shrubs and bushes growing upon it.

“It is useless,” said Browne, “to look here for the trail we have lost. If they descended to the shore, it must have been in some place where Johnny and Eiulo could have got down.”

“The track seemed to lead directly to the sea,” said Morton, “and you must consider that a party of savages would not find much of an obstacle in such a bank as this, and would scarcely be as careful as ourselves of the safety of Johnny and Eiulo. In fact, I suppose they would hand or drop them down such a height, without scruple or ceremony. What I now begin to fear is, that our unfortunate companions have fallen into the hands of a party of savages, landing here for some transient purpose, and have been carried off by them.”

At this moment an exclamation from Max, who had walked a little way along the beach, announced some discovery, and turning round we saw him beckoning to us.

“What is that?” said he, when we had joined him, stooping down, and pointing towards a clump of stunted trees, growing in an angle or indentation, where the bluff fell back for a short distance from the shore, “is it not a canoe drawn up under the trees?”

It was not easy to distinguish the object clearly, on account of the thickness of the foliage. After waiting a moment, and looking carefully about, being satisfied that there was no one in the vicinity, we approached the spot. Max was not mistaken; a large canoe, capable of holding fifteen or twenty persons, was lying among the bushes, where it had evidently been placed for concealment. In the bottom were a number of carved paddles, a mast wound about with a mat-sail, several calabashes containing water, and some cocoa-nuts.

Having hastily noted these particulars, we withdrew to a short distance, behind a rock detached from the bank, and surrounded by a dense growth of tangled shrubbery, to hold a consultation.

From the position in which we found the canoe, with no dwelling near that we could see, and from the circumstance of its containing water and provisions, we inferred that it did not belong to persons inhabiting the island, or this portion of it at any rate. There was at least a probability of its belonging to the party which we had tracked so nearly to the spot, and that they were now somewhere in the neighbourhood.

“This canoe must be destroyed,” said Morton, after a moment of silence, “and we had better set about it at once.”

This proposition seemed a bold and a somewhat strange one. Browne demanded the object of such a proceeding.

“Unless we do this,” answered Morton, “our companions, if they are still alive, and in the power of the savages, may be carried away from the island before our eyes, and separated from us for ever. As long as they are here, within our reach, there is hope of our being able to rescue them; if not by force, then by some device or stratagem. At the worst, we only run some unnecessary risk, by what I propose. Could we ever forgive ourselves if Arthur should be carried off through our having omitted a precaution calculated to prevent it?”

Morton’s decision and earnestness prevailed; while he undertook the work of destroying the canoe, Max, Browne, and I, stationed ourselves at different points around the spot, so as to give timely notice of the approach of any person. He devoted himself to his task with such vigour, that in a very few moments he had completely broken up the bottom of the canoe, by repeated blows of a stone as heavy as he could lift in both hands. Not content with this, he disengaged the outrigger, and threw it, together with the mast and sail, into the sea.

Chapter Thirty.

The Rencontre.

The Two Leaders—An Unexpected Meeting—The Council of War—And what followed.

“Now screw your courage to the sticking point.” “With many a stiff thwack, many a bang, Hard crab-tree and old iron rang; While none who saw them could divine To which side conquest would incline.”

I had climbed to the top of the bank as my look-out station, while the work of demolishing the canoe was going forward, and on perceiving that Morton had accomplished his task, I was about to descend again, when taking a final sweeping glance to the north and east, I observed several figures moving rapidly along the beach, at a point somewhat less than a quarter of a mile distant, of which my position commanded a view, and coming towards us. In consequence of the indented character of the shore, and the height of the bank bordering it for some distance, they passed out of sight almost instantly.

Without losing a moment, I sprang down to the shore to communicate what I had seen. Max, who had been posted upon the beach to keep a look-out northward, ran up at the same time, having also caught sight of the persons approaching us, as they came round a projecting point.

We now looked hurriedly around for some place of concealment, and Morton pointed out a cluster of shrubs and rank weeds upon the verge of the bluff just above us, from which, without any risk of being seen ourselves, we could command a view of the shore and those passing along it. There was but little time for deliberation or choice, and hastily summoning Browne from his post, where he was still on the watch, we scaled the almost perpendicular face of the height, with an ease and celerity which would have been impossible under circumstances of less excitement.

In the spot which Morton had designated, tall grass and flaunting weeds fringed the edge of the bluff, and we threw ourselves down among them, and awaited, with almost suspended breath, the approach of the persons I had seen.

We were scarcely settled in our hiding-place, when a half-naked figure, swinging a short club in one hand, rushed into view. Another, and another followed, until I had counted seven of them. They were well-made, athletic men, of a fine olive colour, with long straight hair falling over their shoulders. The maro, which is a sort of fringed belt, was their only clothing, and they carried spears and clubs of some dark-grained wood.

Among them was one striking figure. It was that of an old man, of large and powerful frame, and a marked and resolute countenance, the expression of which reminded me of an old lion which I had seen in some itinerant menagerie, years ago. His massive head was covered with a tangled mass of iron-grey hair that streamed like a mane over his broad shoulders. The club which he carried might have served Hercules himself; it certainly would have severely tasked the strength of an ordinary man to wield it. I observed that all of them seemed to breathe quickly as though they had been running, or exerting themselves violently in some way; and the old man, who came last looked backward once or twice, as they came opposite us, in a way that caused me to suppose that they were pursued. The one who had first come in sight, went towards the spot where the canoe was concealed, and upon seeing its condition, uttered an exclamation of surprise that quickly brought the others around him, when they all commenced gesticulating, and talking in a low key, looking cautiously about every moment, as though apprehensive that the perpetrators of the mischief might still be lurking near.

The old man, however, neither talked nor gesticulated, but stooping down, he examined the canoe narrowly, as if to ascertain the precise extent of the injury done, and whether it admitted of any remedy. When he had completed his inspection he arose, and shaking his head sorrowfully, uttered some expression, which, accompanied as it was by a threatening gesture with his ponderous club, sounded much like an emphatic imprecation. Morton, who was crouching close beside me, peering cautiously through the tufts of grass, at what was going on below, gave a nervous start, as though the consciousness of the leading part he had taken in the mischief so recently wrought, made him consider himself the special object of the old giant’s fury. One of them having gone back a little way along the beach, as if to reconnoitre, now returned in haste, and made some announcement, upon hearing which the old man waved his hand, and the others immediately started off upon a full run along the shore towards the south-west; he then followed them at a somewhat less hurried pace.

“They are certainly pursued, judging from their actions,” whispered Morton, “let us keep quiet, and see what comes next.”

But a few minutes had passed, when half a dozen savages, resembling in their appearance and equipments those we had just seen, came in sight, running at full speed, but with the air of pursuers rather than of fugitives. Straggling bands of two or three each followed at short intervals, all probably belonging to the same party, but scattered in the heat of the chase. Altogether, there must have been as many as fifteen or twenty of them. A tall, wild-looking savage, large-framed, but gaunt as a greyhound, and with a kind of fierce energy in all his movements, seemed to be the leader of the pursuing party. Just below us on the beach, he turned and gave some order to a portion of his followers, speaking with great rapidity, and pointing towards the bluff; after which he darted off again along the shore at a speed that seemed really marvellous. Those to whom he had spoken, immediately began, as if in obedience to the order just given, to climb the bank, not a dozen yards from the spot where we were lying.

The object of this movement undoubtedly was, to anticipate and frustrate any attempt on the part of the fugitives, to escape, by quitting the shore and making towards the interior. The party thus detached had probably been directed to continue the chase, keeping to the higher ground. If so, they would pass quite near our place of concealment, and there was some danger of our being discovered, to avoid which, we crouched close to the ground, and remained perfectly silent and motionless. The point where the savages were attempting to ascend was steep and difficult, and several of them, apparently to disencumber themselves for the effort of climbing, threw their clubs and spears before them to the top. One of these weapons, a short, heavy club, fell near me, and fearing that the owner might come to seek it, I hastily cast it to a conspicuous place, free from vegetation, a little distance from the bank, and nearer the spot where they were scaling it. But the savage had probably noticed where it first fell, for the next moment some one came running directly towards the place, and just as I was expecting to see him stumble into the midst of us, a deep guttural exclamation announced that we were discovered. Any further attempt at concealment was clearly idle, and we sprang up at once; the man was within three yards of us; he seemed quite as much startled as ourselves at so sudden a rencontre, and after standing for a minute looking at us, he turned and ran off to his fellows.

“They will be back directly in a body,” said Browne, “and we must decide quickly what we are to do—whether to trust ourselves in their power, or to make such resistance as we can, if they undertake to meddle with us.”

“I doubt if it would be safe to trust them,” said Morton, “at any rate I don’t like the idea of risking it. There are but five or six of them; the rest are far enough off by this time.”

“I wish Arthur were here,” said Browne, anxiously; “he understands them and their ways, and could tell us what we ought to do. I don’t know what the probability is of their injuring us if we throw aside our arms and submit ourselves to them, and therefore I am loth to take the responsibility of deciding the matter.”

Meantime the savages appeared to be also holding a consultation. They stood at a short distance talking rapidly, and pointing towards us. At length they began to approach the spot where we stood, but slowly, and with some apparent hesitation.

“Well,” said Browne, “we must come to a decision quickly.”

“I distrust them entirely,” exclaimed Morton, “I am for acting on the defensive.”

“And I also,” said Max, “I have no faith in them: but perhaps they won’t stop to interfere with us after all.”

“Very well, then,” said Browne, “we will fight if we must. But let us stand strictly on the defensive, and offer them no provocation.”

I could not help regarding this determination as unwise, but it was the mind of the majority; and the present was no time for divided or uncertain counsels. I therefore kept my thoughts to myself, and grasping my cutlass, prepared for what was to follow.

Browne and Max were armed with the “Feejee war-clubs,” of the latter’s manufacture: they were long, heavy bludgeons, of the wood of the casuarina, rather too ponderous to be wielded with one hand by a person of ordinary strength. Morton and I were provided with cutlasses, which we had preferred as being lighter and more convenient to carry.

The savages were armed with spears and short clubs, the former of which they presented towards us as they advanced.

I confess that my heart began to thump against my breast with unwonted and unpleasant rapidity and violence. I dare say it was the same with my companions; but externally we were perfectly composed and steady.

“There are just five of them,” said Browne, “two antagonists for me, and one apiece for the rest of you. If any one interferes with my two I shall consider it a personal affront.”

“Confound those long spears!” exclaimed Max, with a disturbed air, “they have a mighty uncomfortable look, with those fish-bone barbs at the end of them.”

The still more “uncomfortable” thought that those fish-bone barbs were perhaps poisoned, suggested itself to me, but I considered it expedient to say nothing on the subject at the present juncture.

“Pshaw!” cried Browne, “the long spears are easily managed, if you will only remember my fencing-lessons, and keep your nerves steady. It is the simplest thing in the world to put aside a thrust from such a weapon: depend upon it, those short clubs will prove much more dangerous.”

The savages, having now had a sufficient opportunity to note our equipments, and our youthful appearance, quickly lost all hesitation, and came confidently forward until they stood facing us, at the distance of but ten or twelve feet. Then, seeing that we maintained a defensive attitude, they paused, and one of them, stepping a little before the rest, spoke to us in a loud and authoritative voice, at the same time motioning us to throw aside our weapons.

“Can’t you muster a few words of their heathen talk, Archer?” said Browne, “perhaps if we could only understand one another, we should find there is no occasion for us to quarrel. It seems so irrational to run the risk of having our brains knocked out, if it can be avoided.”

I shook my head: the few phrases which I had picked up from Arthur and Eiulo, could be of no use for the present purpose, even if they should be understood.

The spokesman, a sinewy, hard-favoured savage, whose native ugliness was enhanced by two scars that seamed his broad squat face, repeated the words he had before uttered, in a higher key, and with a still more imperative air, accompanying what he said, with gestures, which sufficiently explained what he required.

“If I understand you, my friend,” said Browne, appearing to forget in the excitement of the moment that what he was saying would be utterly unintelligible to the person he addressed, “If I understand you, your demand is unreasonable. Throw away your own weapons first; you are the most numerous party:” and he imitated the gestures which the other had made use of.

The savage shook his head impatiently, and keeping his eyes steadfastly fixed upon Browne, he began to speak in a quiet tone. But I saw that though looking at Browne, his words were addressed to his companions, who gradually spread themselves out in front of us and without making any openly hostile demonstrations, handled their weapons in what seemed to me a suspicious manner.

“Be on your guard,” said I, speaking in my ordinary tone, and without looking round, “I am sure they are meditating sudden mischief.”

Scarcely were the words uttered, when, with the quickness of lightning, the spokesman hurled his club at Browne, narrowly missing his head, then bringing his spear into a horizontal position, he made a thrust full at his chest with his whole force.

Browne, however, was on his guard, and knocking aside the point of the spear, he swung round his long club; and, before the other could draw back, brought it down with such effect upon his right shoulder that his arm fell powerless to his side, and the spear dropped from his grasp. Browne promptly set his foot upon it, and the owner, astonished and mortified, rather than intimidated at his repulse, shrunk back without any attempt to regain it.

This attack was so sudden, and so soon foiled—being but a blow aimed, parried, and returned, in a single breath—that no one on either side had an opportunity to interfere or join in it. The other savages now uttered a yell, and were about to rush upon us: but the leader, as he appeared to be, motioned them back, and they drew off to a short distance. If we were for a moment inclined to hope that we should now be left unmolested, we soon learned the groundlessness of such an expectation. The discomfited savage, instead of being discouraged by the rough treatment he had received, was only rendered more dangerous and resolute by it; and he prepared to renew the attack at once, having taken from one of his companions a club somewhat heavier and longer than his own.

“I wish,” said Max, drawing a long breath as he eyed these ominous proceedings, “that we had a few of Colt’s revolvers, to keep these fellows at a respectable distance: I confess I don’t like the notion of coming to such close quarters with them as they seem to contemplate.”

“A genuine Yankee wish!” answered Browne, grasping his club with both hands, and planting himself firmly, to receive the expected onset; “to make it completely in character you have only to wish, in addition, for a mud breastwork, or a few cotton bags, between us and our friends yonder.”

“Which I do, with all my heart!” responded Max, fervently.

“Let Kaiser Maximilien represent the high Dutch on this occasion,” said Morton, edging himself forward abreast of Browne, who had stationed himself a trifle in advance of the rest of us; “he has no claim to speak for the Yankees except the mere accident of birth. Archer and I will uphold the honour of the stars and stripes without either revolvers or cotton bags.”

“Fair play!” cried Max, pushing Browne aside, “I won’t have you for a breastwork at any rate, however much I may desire one of turf or cotton bales.” And we arranged ourselves side by side.

“Really,” said Morton, with a faint apology for a smile, “it appears that we have to do with tacticians—they are going to outflank us.” This remark was caused by our antagonists separating themselves; the leader advancing directly towards us, while the others approached, two on the right and two on the left.

“Well,” said Browne, “we shall have to form a hollow square, officers in the centre, as the Highlanders did at Waterloo, and then I shall claim the privilege of my rank.”

But our pleasantry was, as may easily be imagined, rather forced. Our adversaries were now evidently bent upon mischief, and thoroughly in earnest. We were none of us veterans, and notwithstanding an assumption of coolness, overstrained and unnatural under the circumstances, our breath came thick and painfully with the intense excitement of the moment.

At a signal from their scarred leader, the savages rushed upon us together. I can give no very clear account of the confused struggle that ensued, as I was not at the time in a state of mind favourable to calm and accurate observation. A few blows and thrusts were exchanged; at first cautiously, and at as great a distance as our weapons would reach; then more rapidly and fiercely, until we became all mingled together, and soon each of us was too fully occupied in defending himself to be able to pay much attention to any thing else. At the commencement of the attack I was standing next to Browne, who being evidently singled out by his former opponent, advanced a step or two to meet him. He skilfully parried several downright blows from the heavy club of the latter, who in his turn dodged a swinging stroke which Browne aimed at his head, and instantly closed with him. The next moment they went whirling past me towards the edge of the bank, locked together in a desperate grapple, which was the last that I saw of them. I was assailed at the outset by an active and athletic savage, armed with a short club. He was exceedingly anxious to close, which I, quite naturally, was as desirous to prevent, knowing that I should stand no chance in such a struggle, against his superior weight and strength. While I was doing my best to keep him off with my cutlass, and he was eagerly watching an opportunity to come to closer quarters, Morton, locked in the grasp of a brawny antagonist, came driving directly between us, where they fell together, and lay rolling and struggling upon the ground at our feet. My opponent, abandoning me for a moment, was in the act of aiming a blow at Morton’s head, when I sprang forward, and cut him across the forehead with my cutlass. The blood instantly followed the stroke, and gushing in torrents over his face, seemed to blind him: he struck three or four random blows in the air, then reeled and fell heavily to the ground. Throwing a hasty glance around, I perceived Max among some bushes at a little distance defending himself with difficulty against a savage, who attacked him eagerly with one of those long spears, towards which he entertained such an aversion. Browne was nowhere to be seen. Morton and his strong antagonist were still grappling on the ground, but the latter had gained the advantage, and was now endeavouring, while he held Morton under him, to reach a club lying near, with which to put an end to the struggle. Another of the enemy was sitting a few steps off apparently disabled, with the blood streaming from a wound in the neck. I hastened to Morton’s assistance, whereupon his opponent, seeing my approach, sprang up and seized the club which he had been reaching after. But Morton gained his feet almost as soon as the other, and instantly grappled with him again. At this moment I heard Max’s voice, in a tone of eager warning, calling, “Look-out, Archer!” and turning, I saw the savage I supposed to be disabled, with uplifted arm, in the very act of bringing down his club upon my head. I have a confused recollection of instinctively putting up my cutlass, in accordance with Browne’s instructions for meeting the “seventh” stroke in the broad-sword exercise. I have since become convinced by reflection, (to say nothing of experience), that the principles of the broad-sword exercise, however admirable in themselves, cannot be applied without some modification when iron-wood clubs, with huge knobs of several pounds’ weight at the ends of them, are substituted for claymores. However, I had no time then to make the proper distinctions, and as instead of dodging the blow, I endeavoured to parry it, my guard was beaten down—and that is all that I can relate of the conflict, from my own knowledge and personal observation.

Chapter Thirty One.

Reconnoitring by Night.

The Search Renewed—The Captives—Atollo and the Tewans.

“Trembling, they start and glance behind At every common forest-sound— The whispering trees, the moaning wind, The dead leaves falling to the ground; As on with stealthy steps they go, Each thicket seems to hide the foe.”

From the moment when startled by Max’s warning cry, I turned and saw the uplifted club of the savage suspended over my head, all is blank in my memory, until opening my eyes with a feeling of severe pain, and no distinct consciousness where I was, I found Browne and Max bending over me, my head being supported upon the knee of the former.

“Well, how do you feel?” inquired he.

I stared at him a minute or two without answering, not understanding very clearly what was the matter with me, though having at the same time a vague impression that all was not quite right. Gradually I collected my ideas, and at length, when Browne repeated his question the third time, I had formed a pretty correct theory as to the cause of my present supine attitude, and the unpleasant sensations which I experienced.

“I feel rather queer about the head and shoulders,” I said, in answer to his inquiry: “I must have got a pretty severe blow. I suppose!”

“Yes,” said Max, whose uneasy look ill agreed with his words and manner, “see what it is to be blessed with a tough cranium; such a whack would have crushed mine like an egg-shell; but it has only enlarged your bump of reverence a little.”

“Nothing serious has happened, then—no one is badly hurt,” said I, trying to look around; but the attempt gave my neck so severe a wrench, and caused such extreme pain, that I desisted.

“No one has received any worse injury than yourself,” answered Browne—“at least, none of us.”

“And the savages—what has become of them?”

“We have nothing to apprehend from them at present, I think—they have been gone but a short time, and Morton is in the tree yonder, keeping watch for their return—do you feel now as if you can stand up and walk?”

“Certainly, I can; with the exception of the pain in my head, and a stiffness about the neck and shoulders, I am all right, I believe.” And in order to convince Browne, who seemed somewhat sceptical on the point, notwithstanding my assurances, I got up and walked about—carrying my head somewhat rigidly, I dare say, for it gave me a severe twinge at every movement.

“Well,” said he, “since that is the case, I think the wisest thing we can do is to leave this neighbourhood at once.”

While Max went to summon Morton from his post of observation, Browne gave me a brief and hurried account of what had occurred after I had been felled, as related.

He, and the leader of the savages, whom I had last seen struggling upon the brink of the height, had gone over it together; the latter, falling underneath, had been severely bruised, while Browne himself received but little injury.