“So I believe.”
“Then, what I propose is this,” said Jack: “We will run round to the south side of the island, and cut anchor off the Christian village. We are too far away just now to have been descried by any of the savages, so we shall get there unobserved, and have time to arrange our plans before the heathen tribes know of our presence. But, in doing this, we run the risk of being captured by the ill-disposed tribes, and being very ill used, if not—a—”
“Roasted alive and eaten,” cried Peterkin. “Come, out with it, Jack; according to your own showing, it’s well to look the danger straight in the face!”
“Well, that is the worst of it, certainly. Are you prepared, then, to take your chance of that?”
“I’ve been prepared and had my mind made up long ago,” cried Peterkin, swaggering about the deck with his hands thrust into his breeches’ pockets. “The fact is, Jack, I don’t believe that Tararo will be so ungrateful as to eat us; and I’m quite sure that he’ll be too happy to grant us whatever we ask: so the sooner we go in and win the better.”
Peterkin was wrong, however, in his estimate of savage gratitude, as the sequel will show.
The schooner was now put before the wind, and, after making a long run to the south’ard, we put about and beat up for the south side of Mango, where we arrived before sunset, and hove-to off the coral reef. Here we awaited the arrival of a canoe, which immediately put off on our rounding to. When it arrived, a mild-looking native, of apparently forty years of age, came on board, and, taking off his straw hat, made us a low bow. He was clad in a respectable suit of European clothes; and the first words he uttered, as he stepped up to Jack and shook hands with him, were—
“Good day, gentlemen; we are happy to see you at Mango—you are heartily welcome.”
After returning his salutation, Jack exclaimed, “You must be the native missionary teacher of whom I have heard—are you not?”
“I am. I have the joy to be a servant of the Lord Jesus at this station.”
“You’re the very man I want to see, then,” replied Jack; “that’s lucky. Come down to the cabin, friend, and have a glass of wine. I wish particularly to speak with you. My men there” (pointing to Peterkin and me) “will look after your people.”
“Thank you,” said the teacher, as he followed Jack to the cabin, “I do not drink wine or any strong drink.”
“Oh! then, there’s lots of water, and you can have biscuit.”
“Now, ’pon my word, that’s cool!” said Peterkin; “his men, forsooth! Well, since we are to be men, we may as well come it as strong over these black chaps as we can. Hallo, there!” he cried to the half dozen of natives who stood upon the deck, gazing in wonder at all they saw, “here’s for you”; and he handed them a tray of broken biscuit and a can of water. Then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked up and down the deck with an enormous swagger, whistling vociferously.
In about half an hour Jack and the teacher came on deck, and the latter, bidding us a cheerful good evening, entered his canoe and paddled to the shore. When he was gone, Peterkin stepped up to Jack, and, touching his cap, said—
“Well, captain, have you any communications to make to your men?”
“Yes,” cried Jack; “ready about, mind the helm and clew up your tongue, while I con the schooner through the passage in the reef. The teacher, who seems a first-rate fellow, says it’s quite deep, and good anchorage within the lagoon close to the shore.”
While the vessel was slowly advancing to her anchorage, under a light breeze, Jack explained to us that Avatea was still on the island, living amongst the heathens; that she had expressed a strong desire to join the Christians, but Tararo would not let her, and kept her constantly in close confinement.
“Moreover,” continued Jack, “I find that she belongs to one of the Samoan Islands, where Christianity had been introduced long before her capture by the heathens of a neighbouring island; and the very day after she was taken, she was to have joined the church which had been planted there by that excellent body, the London Missionary Society. The teacher tells me, too, that the poor girl has fallen in love with a Christian chief, who lives on an island some fifty miles or so to the south of this one, and that she is meditating a desperate attempt at escape. So, you see, we have come in the nick of time. I fancy that this chief is the fellow whom you heard of, Ralph, at the Island of Emo. Besides all this, the heathen savages are at war among themselves, and there’s to be a battle fought the day after tomorrow, in which the principal leader is Tararo; so that we’ll not be able to commence our negotiations with the rascally chief till the day after.”
The village off which we anchored was beautifully situated at the head of a small bay, from the margin of which trees of every description peculiar to the tropics rose in the richest luxuriance to the summit of a hilly ridge, which was the line of demarcation between the possessions of the Christians and those of the neighbouring heathen chief.
The site of the settlement was an extensive plot of flat land, stretching in a gentle slope from the sea to the mountain. The cottages stood several hundred yards from the beach, and were protected from the glare of the sea by the rich foliage of rows of large Barringtonia and other trees, which girt the shore. The village was about a mile in length, and perfectly straight, with a wide road down the middle, on either side of which
