“Is that a man mounting to the mizen cross-trees?
“Yes, it is a man.
“Is that a spyglass glittering in his hand? Yes, surely it must be.
“He waves his cap; he shouts to the people on deck; he descends; all is bustle in the ship; a boat is lowered to the water; men spring into it; the oars are dipped; the men give way; the boat heads for the spot where we are standing; we are discovered! O, God be praised! at last, at last!
“The boat cuts through the water quickly; it nears us; again we see white human faces; again we hear human speech in a familiar tongue.
“‘In oars!’—the boat touches the rocks, and we are there to take the painter, and to make her fast.
“Two of the men spring out; a man rises in the stern; he shades his eyes with his hands, as if to protect them from the glaring sun, and stares at us, and then at the savages, who—of both sexes, and of every age and size—surround us. Then he calls out, ‘Is there a white man in that crowd?’
“‘Yes, sir; two of them.’
“‘I thought so from the motions,’ says the man. Then he stared at me again, and cried: ‘Is that the lubber Hardy, of the Blackbird?’
“‘Yes, sir; it is,’ I answered.