The women lay to their
oars like men, and the boat leaped like a flying-fish through the surf
into deep water. Forgetting, in the excitement of the moment, the
object they had in view, the poor things shouted and laughed with glee;
but they dipped their oars with sad irregularity, and the boat began to
rock in a violent manner. Then Young's wife, Susannah, caught what in
nautical parlance is called "a crab;" that is, she missed her stroke and
fell backwards into the bottom of the boat.

With that readiness to render help which was a characteristic of these
women, Christian's widow, Mainmast, leaped up to assist the fallen
Susannah. It only wanted this to destroy the equilibrium of the boat
altogether. It turned bottom up in a moment, and left the female crew
floundering in the sea.

To women of civilised lands this might have been a serious accident, but
to these Otaheitan ladies it was a mere trifle. Each had been able to
swim like a duck from earliest childhood. Indeed, it was evident that
some of their own little ones were equally gifted, for several of them,
led by Sally, plunged into the surf and went out to meet their parents
as they swam ashore.

The men laughed heartily, and, after securing the boat and hauling it up
on the beach, returned to the settlement, whither the women had gone
before them to change their garments.

This incident effectually cured the native women of any intention to
escape from the island, at least by boat, but it did not tend to calm
their feelings. On the contrary, it seemed to have the effect of
filling them with a thirst for vengeance, and they spent part of that
day in whispered plottings against the men. They determined to take
their lives that very night.

While they were thus engaged, their innocent offspring were playing
about the settlement at different games, screaming at times with
vehement delight, and making the palm-groves ring with laughter. The
bright sun shone equally upon the heads that whirled with merriment and
those that throbbed with dark despair.

Suddenly, in the midst of her play, little Sally came to an abrupt
pause. She missed little Matt Quintal from the group.

"Where's he gone, Charlie?" she demanded of her favourite playmate,
whose name she had by that time learned to pronounce.

"I dunno," answered Charlie, whose language partook more of the nautical
tone of Quintal than of his late father.

"D'you know, Dan'l?" she asked of little M