Jan made his men stuff medical cotton in their ears. It was a wise precaution. The bird song, muted by the cotton was one of pure hate and the desire for vengeance. Jan remembered that he was a captain and that his men might have cause to resent his discipline. He crept quietly away and hid in the woods.
And at last came the sound of blasters, burst after burst in the clear night air. And then silence, followed by the wild thunder of bird laughter.
"The black one was the first to act," the bird chief said. "He killed the one called the Prophet in a terrible manner, burning off his arms and legs with the blaster.
"Then someone killed the black man, and after that there was a general battle. The foolish spaceman named Jimpson tried to dig a hole in the sand, but 20 of us flew down and picked him up and carried him out to sea. He could not swim. There are now no men and 20 women left, including your woman called Ellen."
The next evening the birdsong did not begin until two moons arose. It was pleasant, calm, full of promise. Without any discussion the spacemen started to walk south along the beach. They had not gone far when they saw the Mohcan women walking toward them. Both parties began to run.
Jan held Ellen in his arms. "I thought it was a sin, what I was feeling for you. Now I know it isn't. The birds are telling us that it isn't, aren't they, darling?"
For answer, Jan kissed her.
Later he talked to all of them. "There are 14 men and 20 women," he said. "There will be polygamy, but there must be no jealousy. We must work everything out reasonably."
"You will be reasonable," the bird chief said. "We have songs which will make you be reasonable."