do but run for safety, and pursued by the
sneering foe, they gained the beach. Thence he sent another
messenger to the Typees offering them another chance to surrender
and pay tribute.

The Typees returned word that they "had driven the whites before them,
that their guns missed fire often, that bullets were not as painful
as stones or spears, that they had plenty of men to spare and the
whites had not. They had counted the boats, knew the number they
would carry, and laughed at the whites."

The Hapaas and other allies came down from the hills and began to
discuss the victory of the Typees, with fear in their voices and a
certain disdain of the whites. Porter ordered his men into the boats
to return to the ship, but scarcely had they reached it when the
Typees rushed on the Hapaas and drove them into the water. Porter
returned to Tai-o-hae.

There he saw no alternative but to whip the Typees soundly. This
time he determined to lack no force, and to go without allies. He
selected two hundred men from his ships and prizes, and, with guides,
upon a moonlight evening started to march overland to Typee Valley.

At midnight they heard the drums beating in Typee Valley. They had
had a fearful march over mountain and dale and around yawning
precipices. Silently they had struggled on, so as to give no hint of
their intention to Typee sentinels or even to a Hapaa village.
Numbers of the Tai-o-hae had followed them, but quietly, and these
now told Porter that the songs floating up from the Typee
settlements were rejoicings at their victory over the Whites and
prayers to the gods to send rain to spoil the guns.

Porter was for descending at once, but the Tai-o-haes warned him
that the path was so steep and dangerous that even in daylight it
would take all their skill to go down it. To attempt it at night
would be inviting death.

The Americans lay down to rest on this height, which commanded Typee
Valley, and shortly rain began to fall in torrents. Cries of joy and
praise to their gods arose from the Typees. Porter and his men,
huddled in puddles, unable to find shelter, and fearful that every
blast of the storm might hurl them from their slippery height, tried
in vain to keep muskets and powder dry.

At daybreak they found half the ammunition useless, and themselves
wearied, while the steepness of the track to the valley, and its
treacherous condition after the rain made it wise to seek the Hapaas
for rest and food. But