form an elevation above the water; then birds
have come, dropped seeds, and formed their nests, and dwelt there; and
timber and plants floating about have been cast on shore, and their
vitality not yet destroyed, have taken root; and more coral and shells
have been heaved up and ground fine by the toiling waves to form a
beach; and thus a fit dwelling-place for man has been formed. Nearing
the sandy beach we heave-to for soundings, but finding none, the ship
stands off, while Phineas and I, with Tom Tar and our boat's crew, well
armed, pull in with the intention of landing. This the surf will not
let us do; and as we are lying off on our oars, presently, from out of
the bushes, rush a herd of savages with spears and clubs, which they
flourish furiously, making signs to us to be gone. We pull on, however,
and find an opening in the reef, through which we get close to the
beach. The natives shout and gesticulate more vehemently than ever.
They declare (so Taro interprets) that we come for no good purpose, and
that they want no strangers. Phineas hopes that they may possess pearls
with which to trade, so we row in, he standing up in the bows of the
boat, holding up a looking-glass and a string of glass beads in one
hand, while he keeps his musket ready in the other. He is bold, and
leaping on shore, approaches the natives. At first the savages retire;
then one advances, stops, gazes at the supercargo, and with a loud
shout, flourishing his club, rushes towards him. Phineas, flinging down
the looking-glass and the beads, springs back, firing his musket in the
air. The savage is upon him. In another moment that huge club will
have dashed out his brains. I see his danger. I have no thought but to
save him--no feeling that I am about to slay a fellow-creature. I raise
my musket to my shoulder and fire, taking good aim. The savage falls.
Phineas, shouting to us to give the Indians a volley, is hauled in. The
men obey as the Indians, with terrific howls, rush towards us. Five
more fall, some in the water, which is tinged with their blood, others
on the land. Our passions are up. Golding urges us to load and fire
again. Having thus done, we pull away. Says Golding, "They'll not
meddle another time with strangers who peaceably visit their shores to
trade." We leave ten or twelve poor heathens dead or wounded on their
native strand. My thoughts are sad. The face of that hapless savage as
he turned his eye on me