Such was the case. Two war canoes and five smaller ones (where they had come from I do not know) made for the starboard side, and the remaining war canoes, with three others, headed for the port side.
"Money," exclaimed my father to the man in charge of the quick-firer, indicating the largest craft that was making obliquely across our bows, "can you manage to put a shot through that fellow's bow?"
"Aye, aye, sir, I'll try."
Calmly, yet deliberately, the gun's crew opened the breech-block and thrust home the gleaming cylinder with its deadly head. Hardly had the breech-block been replaced than Money hung on the sights for a brief second. There was a flash and a roar, and the next moment the shot tore a gaping hole in the stem of the canoe, and, after a series of ricochets, struck the cliff with terrific force, bringing down large masses of rock. The stricken craft immediately became waterlogged, its occupants, all swimmers from their infancy, striking out vigorously for the shore, while the remainder of the boats turned tail in a panic.
"Lower away the whaler and pick up as many as you can," shouted my father, and, in obedience to the order, the men sprang to the falls. The boat had fortunately been already cleared away, so that it was the work of a few moments to lower it.
In spite of their frantic struggles, five of the natives were picked up, tied hand and foot, and brought back to the yacht, where, surrounded by the crew, they were placed on the deck.
"Now for a little moral persuasion," exclaimed my father, and, looking round, he noticed a small grove of coco-palms growing close to the water's edge at a distance of about a quarter of a mile.
"Show them a charge, Money," he continued; "then plank a shot right into the centre of those trees."
The gunner exhibited the projectile, a common shell, to the terrified savages; then, in full view, he placed the charge in the gun.
"Ready, sir!" he announced.