Straightway he struck into a heroic ballad of a sea-fight, in a high, tottering tenor. The song dealt with Spanish swagger and English daring, with bloody decks, falling spars, and flying splinters. Harding joined in the chorus with a booming bass. Clotworthy and the commander soon followed. Kingswell's voice was clear and strong and wonderfully melodious. Ouenwa's eyes glowed and his muscles trembled. Though the words held no meaning for him, the rollicking, dashing swing of the tune fired his excitable blood. He forgot all about Panounia, and the suspected village on the river so near at hand ceased to trouble him. He beat time to the singing with his moccasined feet, and clapped his hands together in rhythmic appreciation of his comrades' efforts. In time the ballad was finished. The last member of the craven crew of the Teressa Maria had tasted English steel and been tossed to the sharks. Then Master Kingswell sprang to his feet and sang a sentimental ditty. It was of roses and fountains, of latticed windows and undying affection. The air was captivating. The singer's voice rang tender and clear. Old Tom Bent remembered lost years. Harding thought of a Devon orchard, and of a Devon lass at work harvesting the ruddy fruit. Clotworthy saw a cottage beside a little wood, and a woman and a little child gazing seaward and westward from the door.
For several seconds after the last note had died away, the little company remained silent and motionless, fully occupied with its various thoughts. Ouenwa was the first to break the spell of the song. He laid his hand on Kingswell's arm with a quick gesture, and leaned toward him.
"Canoe," he whispered.
The sound that had caught Ouenwa's attention was repeated—a short rap, like the inadvertent striking of a paddle against a gunwale. They all heard it, and, with as little noise as possible, set to work at getting out cutlasses and loading muskets. Kingswell crawled forward and whispered with old Tom Bent. The boatswain nodded and turned to Harding. That sturdy young seaman crawled to the bows and placed his hands on the hawser of the forward anchor. He looked aft. Kingswell, who had returned to his seat at the tiller, leaned over the stern and cut the manilla rope that tethered the boat at that end. Harding immediately pulled on his rope until he was directly over the light bow anchor. Then, strongly and slowly, and without noise, he brought the four-fingered iron up and into the bows. They were free of the bottom, anyway, and with the loss of only one anchor. Kingswell breathed a sigh of relief.
The Pelican drifted, and the crew stared into the fog, with wide eyes and alert ears. Then, to seaward and surely not ten yards away, sounded a plover-call. Kingswell signalled to Bent to man the seaward side and Clotworthy and Harding the other. They rested the barrels of their great matchlocks on the gunwales. Suddenly the prow of a canoe pierced the curtain of fog not four yards from Tom Bent. He touched the match to the short fuse. There was a terrific report, and a chorus of wild yells. In the excitement that followed, the others discharged their pieces. Kingswell grabbed an oar, slipped it into a notch beside the tiller and began to "scull" the boat seaward. The men reloaded their muskets and peered into the fog. They heard splashings and cries on all sides, but could see nothing. Ouenwa, standing erect, discharged arrow after arrow at the hidden enemy.
The splashings grew fainter, and the cries ceased entirely. Kingswell passed the oar which he had been using to Harding, and told the men to lay aside their muskets and row. Ouenwa let fly his last arrow, in the names of his murdered father and grandfather.
For a long and weary time the Pelican lay off the hidden land, shrouded in fog and silence. A few hours before sunset a wind from the west found her out, drove away the fog, and disclosed the sea and the coast and the open sky.
"Pull her head 'round," commanded Kingswell, "and hoist the sail. We are going back to have a look at that village."
The men obeyed eagerly. They were itching for a chance to repay the savages for the fright in the dark.