contains an account of the desperate circumstances of the prisoners.
five hours passed away, during which the savages continued to paddle almost without intermission, and our hero with his friends lay fast bound in the bottom of the canoe. they suffered great pain from the swelling of their limbs and the tightening of the cords that bound them; but although larry o’hale, in the exasperation of his spirit, gave vent to one or two howls, accompanied by expressions that were the reverse of complimentary, no attention was paid to them until the island towards which they steered was reached.
the instant the canoe touched the sand the captives were lifted out—their hands and feet were tied together in a bunch, and, each being slung on a stout pole as one might sling a bundle, they were carried up to a native village on the margin of a wood. on the way, wandering will could see that the beach swarmed with natives—a fact, however, of which his ears had already assured him, for the air was filled with yells of delight as the captives were successively lifted out of the canoe. he also observed that the island appeared to be a large one, for he got a glimpse of a huge mountain rising over the tree tops. neither he nor any of his comrades, however, had time to make many observations, for they were hurried up the beach and into the village, where they were thrown down under a rudely built hut which was covered with broad leaves.
here the cords that fastened them were unloosed; but if this for a moment raised the hope that they were about to be set free, they were quickly undeceived by the savages, who rebound their hands behind them. our hero, captain dall, mr cupples, larry o’hale, and muggins, were then fastened with cords of cocoa-nut fibre to the several posts of the hut in such a manner that they could stand up or lie down at pleasure. george goff, old bob, and the others were led away. seeing that they were about to be separated, captain dall suddenly called out, “farewell, lads,” in a tone so sad, that goff looked back at him in surprise, but his captors forced him away before he could reply.
“you think we won’t see them again?” said osten, when they were left alone.
“i think not. from what i know of those savages, i fear they have taken our comrades away to be sacrificed, and that our own time will soon come.”
something between a groan and a growl escaped from o’hale when this was said.
“cudn’t we break thim ropes, and run amuck amongst the murtherin’ blackguards,” he exclaimed, seizing the rope that bound him with his teeth and endeavouring to tear it—an effort which it is needless to say was futile, and nearly cost him a tooth.
“it’s of no use, larry,” said the captain; “we can’t help ourselves. if the lord don’t help us, we’re dead men.”
although will osten was much depressed, not to say alarmed, by what he heard, he could not help wondering why the captain had so suddenly lost his buoyant spirit. at the time when a slow death by starvation had stared him in the face, he had not only retained his own heartiness of spirit, but had kept up wonderfully the spirits of his companions. now, however—when, as will thought, they had the chance of escaping by stratagem or by force from their captors, or, at the worst, of selling their lives dearly—his spirit seemed to have utterly forsaken him. yet the captain was only despondent—not despairing. he had seen the deeds of savages in former years, and knew that with them there was seldom a long period between the resolve to kill and the accomplishment of the crime. he feared for the lives of his shipmates, and would have given his right hand at that moment to have been free to aid them, but the attempts of himself and his comrades to break their bonds were fruitless, so, after making one or two desperate efforts, they sat down doggedly to await their fate.
it might have been a curious study to have noted the different spirit in which these unfortunate men submitted to their unavoidable doom on that occasion. the captain sat down on a log of wood that chanced to be near him, folded his hands quietly on his knees, allowed his head to sink forward on his chest, and remained for a long time quite motionless. will osten, on the other hand, stood up at first, and, leaning his head on his arm against the wall of the hut, appeared to be lost in reverie. doubtless he was thinking of home; perhaps reproaching himself for the manner and spirit in which he had quitted it—as many a poor wanderer has done before when too late! he quickly changed his thoughts, however, and, with them, his position: sat down and got up frequently, frowned, clenched his hands, shook his head, stamped his foot, bit his lips, and altogether betrayed a spirit ill at ease. mr cupples, whose soul had from the moment of their capture given way to the deepest possible dejection, lay down, and, resting his elbow on the floor and his head on his hand, gazed at his comrades with a look so dreadfully dolorous that, despite their anxiety, they could hardly suppress a smile. as for muggins and o’hale, the former, being a phlegmatic man and a courageous, sat down with his back against the wall, his hands thrust into his pockets, and a quid in his cheek, and shook his head slowly from side to side, while he remarked that every one had to die once, an’ when the time came no one couldn’t escape and that was all about it! poor larry o’hale could not thus calm his mercurial spirit. he twisted his hard features into every possible contortion, apostrophised his luck, and his grandmother, and ould ireland in the most pathetic manner, bewailed his fate, and used improper language in reference to savages in general, and those of the south seas in particular, while, at intervals, he leaped up and tried to tear his bonds asunder.
thus several hours were spent. evening approached, and darkness set in; still no one came near the prisoners. during this period, however, they heard the continual shouting and singing of the savages, and sometimes caught a glimpse of them through crevices between the logs of which the hut was built. it was not possible for them to ascertain what they were about, however, until night set in, when several large fires were lighted, and then it could be seen that they were feasting and dancing. suddenly, in the midst of the din, an appalling shriek was heard. it was quickly succeeded by another and another. then the yells of the revellers increased in fury, and presently a procession of them was observed approaching the hut, headed by four men bearing a sort of stage on their shoulders.
the shrieks had struck like a death-chill to the hearts of the prisoners. no one spoke, but each had recognised familiar tones in the terrible cries. for the first time some of them began to realise the fact that they were really in the hands of murderers, and that the bloody work had actually begun. great drops of sweat rolled down the face of muggins as he gazed in horror through one of the crevices, and his broad chest heaved convulsively as he exclaimed, “god be merciful to us, it’s george goff!” this was too true. on the stage, carried by four natives, sat the unfortunate seaman. it required no second glance to tell that his spirit had fled, and that nothing but a corpse sat swaying there, supported by means of a pole, in a sitting posture. the cannibals were conveying it to their temple, there to cut it up and prepare it for that dreadful feast which is regarded as inexpressibly repulsive by all the human race except these islanders of the south seas, who, incredible though it may appear, absolutely relish human flesh as a dainty morsel.
at sight of this, poor will osten, who had never quite believed in such terrible things, sank down on his knees with a deep groan, and, for the first time in his life, perhaps, prayed earnestly.
o’hale’s spirit blazed up in ungovernable fury. like a wild beast, he tore and wrenched at the rope which bound him, and then, finding his efforts unavailing, he flung himself on the ground, while deep sobs burst at intervals from his oppressed heart.
a few minutes elapsed; then there was a rush of footsteps without, accompanied by fierce yells and the waving of torches. the prisoners leaped up, feeling almost instinctively that there hour had come. a moment later and the hut was filled with natives. all were naked, with the exception of a small piece of cloth round their loins. they were tatooed, however, and painted nearly from head to foot.
the prisoners were instantly seized and overpowered, and preparations were being rapidly made to carry them away, when a shout was heard outside, and a remarkably tall, powerful, and thickly painted savage sprang in. he pushed the natives violently aside, and gave some stern orders to those who held the prisoners. the immediate result was, that the latter were released and allowed to rise, although their hands were still bound behind them. meanwhile the tall savage, standing beside them, harangued his comrades with great energy of tone and action.
while this was going on, larry o’hale whispered excitedly to his companions—
“howld on, lads, a bit. sure i’ve burst the ropes at last. the moment i git howld o’ that blackguard’s knife i’ll cut yer lashin’s. stand by for a rush.”
as larry spoke, the tall savage drew the knife referred to from his girdle, and, glancing over his shoulder, said in english—
“keep quiet, lads. i’ll do my best to save ’ee; but if you offer to fight, you’re dead men all in five minutes.”
amazement, if no other feeling had operated, would have rendered the prisoners perfectly quiet after that. they waited in deep anxiety and wonder, while the tall savage continued his harangue, at the conclusion of which his hearers uttered an expressive grunt or growl, as if of assent, and then they all filed out of the hut, leaving the prisoners alone with their deliverer.
