I left my brother in Ritchie’s hands, and soon he had him snug in bed.
There was more moonlight to-night, but still the moon had a struggle for it.
I happened to be looking behind me towards the bay where we had left the good old Salamander, and Ritchie was looking too—both thinking the same thoughts perhaps—when suddenly a huge pear-shaped column of fire-rays shot up into the sky, then gradually died away. We spoke not, but listened, till over the water came a dull crashing rumble, the like of which I had never heard before. The sound died away among the hills like thunder.
“She’s gone,” said one of the men, and for a few moments all lay on their oars.
“Ay, right enough,” said Ritchie, “and there’s more’n a score o’ them sea-fiends gone with her, I’ll warrant.
“It’s the gunpowder we were taking to Honolulu that’s done it,” he continued.
“A pity,” I said, “we did not throw that overboard.”
“I dunno so much about that. Those Indian savages would have had to die sometime. It’s just as well now, as before they do more mischief.”
I laughed.
“That is queer philosophy,” I said; “we should never do evil, nor wish for evil, that good may come. I wonder how they managed it.”