ndred native Christians, who, when the assaults of their unconverted
brethren were made, armed themselves--as they were wont to do in days
gone by--with formidable clubs, stone hatchets, and spears. "What means
the boy!" exclaimed Ole, laying down a book which he had been reading,
and thrusting his spectacles up on his broad bald forehead.

"Exactly what the boy says," replied Master Corrie.

"Then add something more to it, pray."

Thorwald said this in a mild tone, but he suddenly seized the handle of
an old pewter mug which the lad knew, from experience, would certainly
reach his head before he could gain the door if he did not behave; so he
became polite, and condescended to explain his errand more fully.

"So, so," observed the descendant of the sea-kings, as he rose and
slowly buckled on a huge old cavalry sabre, "there is double mischief
brewing this time. Well, we shall see--we shall see. Go, Corrie, my
boy, and rouse up Terrence and Hugh and--"

"The whole army, in short," cried the boy, hastily--"you're so awfully
slow, uncle, you should have been born in the last century, I think."

Farther remark was cut short by the sudden discharge of the pewter mug,
which, however, fell harmlessly on the panel of the closing door as the
impertinent Corrie sped forth to call the settlement to arms.

CHAPTER SIX.

SUSPICIONS ALLAYED AND RE-AWAKENED.

Gascoyne, followed by his man Jo Bumpus, sped over the rugged mountains
and descended the slopes on the opposite side of the island soon after
nightfall, and long before Captain Montague, in his large and
well-manned boat, could pull half way round in the direction of the
sequestered bay where the _Foam_ lay quietly at anchor.

There was not a breath of wind to ruffle the surface of the glassy sea,
as the captain of the sandal-wood trader reached the shore and uttered a
low cry like the hoot of an owl. The cry was instantly replied to, and
in a few minutes a boat crept noiselessly towards the shore, seeming, in
the uncertain light, more like a shadow than a reality. It was rowed by
a single man. When within a few yards of the shore, the oars ceased to
move, and the deep stillness of the night was scarcely broken by the low
voice of surly Dick demanding--"Who goes there?"

"All right, pull in," replied Gascoyne, whose deep bass voice sounded
sepulchral in the almost unearthly stillness. It was one of those dark
oppressively quiet nights which make one feel a