The danger was very real, for the brown girls' estimation of the attentions of the white men was open and unblushing, and tended to irritation on the part of discarded brown lovers.
Captain Cathie, in one of his bluffer moments, bluntly suggested wholesale marriage as a preventive of irregularities, and the starting of a new race on that basis, instancing the Pitcairners as typical resultants. But Blair bade him postpone any such notions until the islanders had at all events attained to some degree of civilisation.
"Trained and educated, there is no reason why our island girls should not make excellent wives," said he; "but the time is not ripe yet. Nothing but bitterness and disillusion can come of the mingling of natures so opposite. Meanwhile, if our lads can stand the test they will be all the better for it."
Nothing serious happened—outwardly at any rate, though it is not impossible that a good deal went on of which the authorities were not aware—until, one day, one of the men was missing, and no one knew—or at all events would say—what had become of him.
Captain Cathie discovered the lapsus when he had his men out for drill on the beach.
"Where's Sandy Lean?" he asked.
No answer, but covert grins from the rest, and flashes of laughter from the girls who were watching—laughter which evoked a growl from the brown men.
"Very well! We'll deal with Sandy afterwards. Fall in, men! 'Tention!" and the drill proceeded.
When it was over, the captain questioned two or three of them as to Sandy's probable whereabouts, but got nothing out of them. So he marched over to Blair's quarters, where the four heads of the community were hammering away at the language, Ha'o giving and receiving, and Matti straightening out kinks.
"Sandy Lean's away, Mr. Blair, and I can't get track of him," announced the captain.