“I was much to blame, Nat,” he said at last.
“I ought to have been more guarded; but I could not think that these people were so treacherous.”
Chapter Forty.
We secure Fresh Treasures.
Our injuries soon grew better, but though we kept on sailing for days and days past the most tempting-looking spots, we never dared to land, for always as soon as we neared some gloriously-wooded track, all hill, dale, and mountain, and amidst whose trees the glasses showed us plenty of birds, the inhabitants began to cluster on the shore, and when once or twice my uncle said that we would go in nearer and see, the same custom was invariably observed: the people came shouting and dancing about the beach holding out birds and bunches of feathers and shells, making signs for us to land.
There was no need for Ebo to grow excited and cry, “No—no! man-kill! man-kill!” for my uncle laughed and shook his head.
“They must try another way of baiting their traps, Nat,” he would cry laughing. “My head is too sore with blows and memories to be caught again.”
It was always the same. No sooner did the treacherous savages find that we would not land than they rushed to their canoes, and began to pursue us howling and yelling; but the swift-sailed boat was always ready to leave them far behind, and we were only too glad to find that the pleasant brisk breezes stood our friends.