essly beyond reach.

Henry understood his feelings well, and knew that the poor missionary
would not cease his efforts until exhaustion should compel him to do so,
in which case his being drowned would be a certainty; for there was
neither boat nor canoe at hand in which to push off to his rescue.

In these circumstances, the youth took the only course that seemed left
to him. He threw off his clothes, and prepared to swim after his friend,
in order to render the assistance of his stout arm when it should be
needed.

"Here, Jakolu!" he cried to one of the natives who stood near him.

"Yes, mass'r," answered the sturdy young fellow, who has been introduced
at an earlier part of this story as being one of the missionary's best
behaved and most active church members.

"I mean to swim after him; so I leave the charge of the party to Mr.
Bumpus there. You will act under his orders. Keep the men together, and
guard against surprise. We don't know how many more of these blackguards
may be lurking among the rocks."

To this speech Jakolu replied by shaking his head slowly and gravely, as
if he doubted the propriety of his young commander's intentions. "You no
can sweem queek nuff to save him," said he.

"That remains to be seen," retorted Henry, sharply; for the youth was
one of the best swimmers on the island,--at least the best among the
whites, and better than many of the natives, although some of the latter
could beat him. "At any rate," he continued, "you would not have me
stand idly by while my friend is drowning, would you?"

"Him's not drownin' yet," answered the matter-of-fact native. "Me 'vise
you to let Jakolu go. Hims can sweem berer dan you. See, here am bit
plank, too,--me take dat."

"Ha! that's well thought of," cried Henry, who was now ready to plunge;
"fetch it me, quick; and mind, Jakolu, keep your eye on me; when I hold
up both hands you'll know that I'm dead beat, and that you must come off
and help us both."

So saying, he seized the small piece of driftwood which the native
brought to him, and, plunging into the sea, struck out vigorously in the
direction in which the pastor was still perseveringly, though slowly,
swimming.

While Henry was stripping, his eye had quickly and intelligently taken
in the facts that were presented to him on the bay. He had seen, on
descending the hill, that the man-of-war had entered the bay and
anchored there, a fact which surprised him greatly, and that the Foa