"And how he afterward found the savage who made it, and how disturbed he was to learn that he was not really monarch of all he surveyed?
"Yes; well?"
"Well, I've been through a similar experience, only more so. This island is not uninhabited as we supposed. There are savages on it, and they are not tame savages either, like Crusoe's man Friday, but decidedly savage savages. My man Thursday is, at any rate. You see I call him Thursday because I first saw him yesterday, and that was Thursday. That's the way Crusoe hit upon a name for his savage, you remember?"
"Yes, but tell us about it," said Jack.
"Listen, then. You know I went out to the rice patch and brought in one load. Then I went for another, and after I filled the trowsers, I concluded that I'd walk down toward the shore and return by that route. As I went along by the edge of the rice patch about sunset, I saw a footprint, just as Crusoe did, but I didn't study it long, for presently its owner appeared. He was a big savage, and black as night, and not in the least peaceful. Indeed he seemed very angry with me for some reason, for he came running toward me, jabbering in his strange language and setting his dog on me. I ran as fast as I could toward that piece of woods over beyond the rice swamp—more than a mile away from here, you remember, and on the other side of the island. I had a good start, but it was a close shave. As I approached the woods I picked out the tree I meant to climb, and when I got to it I went up faster than I ever climbed before, for the big ugly dog was close behind me. He jumped up after me, but I drew up my leg and he missed the foot he wanted.
"I was tired, and was awfully out of breath; but I thought I had only to wait until the big negro should come up—I could see him coming. Then I would argue the matter with him and get him to be reasonable and call off his dog. You see I took him for a negro, and didn't suspect that he was a savage. I soon found out my mistake, however, for when he came up and began swearing at me—I'm sure it was swearing, though, of course, I couldn't understand a word of it—I found that he talked Savage and didn't understand a word of English.
"I was in a fix. My tree was about a mile and a half from camp, even if you measure the distance in a bee line, so there was no use in shouting for assistance. There stood the raving savage jabbering at me, and threatening me with his club; and, worse still, there stood his dog at the foot of the tree waiting for a dish of Charley Black for supper. I reasoned with the savage, but he didn't understand me any more than I understood him. The more I talked the madder he got. Then I remembered having read somewhere something about the 'eloquent language' of gestures, signs, and all that, which all human beings are supposed to understand, so I tried that awhile. I shrugged my shoulders, waved my hands about, motioned to him to call off his dog and go home, and did other things of the sort; but it wasn't of the least use. That savage persisted in misunderstanding me, and his dog got madder and madder. Finally, just to see if the benighted idiot could understand sign language at all, I put my thumb to my nose and twiddled my fingers at him, at the same time shaking my other fist. He understood that, and took further offence at it. In his rage he tried to climb my tree to get at me, but he was a rather clumsy climber and made little head-way. When he got within reach I struck him a sudden blow with your trowsers, Jack, which, being filled chock full of rice, made a pretty good club. He dropped like a shot squirrel, and his dog, thinking that I had fallen, made a rush for him. For a moment I flattered myself that now I should get away while the savage and the dog were explaining matters to each other; but in that I was disappointed. The dog found out his mistake instantly, and the savage got up, madder than ever. It was getting dark by that time, but the savage thought he would have a game of bat and ball with me while the light lasted, anyhow, so he took good aim and threw his club at me. I caught it a sharp blow with your trowsers, and knocked it back to him. He threw again with the same result. The third throw went wide of the mark, and so I missed, but it didn't matter, for there was no catching out to be done in that game—I suppose the savage don't understand the rules of bat and ball.
