we rapidly shot from the
canoe. The strangers defying us with their spears; several couching
them as if to dart; while others held back their hands, as if to
prevent them from jeopardizing the lives of their countrymen in the
Chamois.

Seemingly untoward events oftentimes lead to successful results: Far
from destroying all chance of rescuing the captive, our temporary
flight, indispensable for the safety of Jarl, only made the success
of our enterprise more probable. For having made prisoners two of the
strangers, I determined to retain them as hostages, through
whom to effect my plans without further bloodshed.

And here it must needs be related, that some of the natives were
wounded in the fray: while all three of their assailants had received
several bruises.

CHAPTER XLII
Remorse

During the skirmish not a single musket had been discharged. The
first snatched by Jarl had missed fire, and ere he could seize
another, it was close quarters with him, and no gestures to spare.
His harpoon was his all. And truly, there is nothing like steel in a
fray. It comes and it goes with a will, and is never a-weary. Your
sword is your life, and that of your foe; to keep or to take as it
happens. Closer home does it go than a rammer; and fighting with
steel is a play without ever an interlude. There are points more
deadly than bullets; and stocks packed full of subtle tubes, whence
comes an impulse more reliable than powder.

Binding our prisoners lengthwise across the boat's seats, we rowed
for the canoe, making signs of amity.

Now, if there be any thing fitted to make a high tide ebb in the
veins, it is the sight of a vanquished foe, inferior to yourself in
powers of destruction; but whom some necessity has forced you to
subdue. All victories are not triumphs, nor all who conquer, heroes.

As we drew near the canoe, it was plain, that the loss of their sire
had again for the instant overcome the survivors. Raising hands, they
cursed us; and at intervals sent forth a low, piercing wail, peculiar
to their race. As before, faint cries were heard from the tent. And
all the while rose and fell on the sea, the ill-fated canoe.

As I gazed at this sight, what iron mace fell on my soul; what curse
rang sharp in my ear! It was I, who was the author of the deed that
caused the shrill wails that I heard. By this hand, the dead
man had died. Remorse smote me hard; and like lightning I asked
myself, whether the death-deed I