Long, long he thought to get away,
Hard was his living, poor his hut,
Upon all heights they watches put.
A stranger to this island came
To sell tobacco, perhaps a sham;
For after all his roll was sold,
He daily through the island stroll’d,
And to the hut one day drew nigh;
Then Raaza swore he was a spy,
And cockt his pistol, him to shoot,