zeal; but not, alas! with much success. For the conjuror,
though his main treasure was gone over to the camp of the enemy, had a
reserve in a certain holy trumpet, which was hidden mysteriously in a
cave on the neighboring hills, not to be looked on by woman under pain
of death; and it was well known, and had been known for generations,
that unless that trumpet, after fastings, flagellations, and other
solemn rites, was blown by night throughout the woods, the palm-trees
would bear no fruit; yea, so great was the fame of that trumpet, that
neighboring tribes sent at the proper season to hire it and the blower
thereof, by payment of much precious trumpery, that so they might be
sharers in its fertilizing powers.

So the Piache announced one day in public, that in consequence of the
impiety of the Omaguas, he should retire to a neighboring tribe, of more
religious turn of mind; and taking with him the precious instrument,
leave their palms to blight, and themselves to the evil spirit.

Dire was the wailing, and dire the wrath throughout the village.
Jack's words were allowed to be good words; but what was the Gospel in
comparison of the trumpet? The rascal saw his advantage, and began
a fierce harangue against the heretic strangers. As he maddened, his
hearers maddened; the savage nature, capricious as a child's, flashed
out in wild suspicion. Women yelled, men scowled, and ran hastily to
their huts for bows and blow-guns. The case was grown critical. There
were not more than a dozen men with Amyas at the time, and they had only
their swords, while the Indian men might muster nearly a hundred. Amyas
forbade his men either to draw or to retreat; but poisoned arrows were
weapons before which the boldest might well quail; and more than one
cheek grew pale, which had seldom been pale before.

"It is God's quarrel, sirs all," said Jack Brimblecombe; "let Him defend
the right."

As he spoke, from Ayacanora's hut arose her magic song, and quivered
aloft among the green heights of the forest.

The mob stood spell-bound, still growling fiercely, but not daring to
move. Another moment, and she had rushed out, like a very Diana, into
the centre of the ring, bow in hand, and arrow on the string.

The fallen "children of wrath" had found their match in her; for her
beautiful face was convulsed with fury. Almost foaming in her passion,
she burst forth with bitter revilings; she pointed with admiration to
the English, and then wit