As the young armorer held back, not knowing but what it was the intention of the savages to murder him as soon as he should appear, the King added, impatiently:
"What for no come? No hurt you—heap plenty all dead. King him save you make plenty gun—you come."
When John, sick at heart, followed Maquina outside, he saw the natives throwing overboard the mutilated bodies of the crew. Concerning John they had evidently been posted by the chief, for when they caught sight of the boy they patted him on the head and shoulders, and turned the palms of their hands toward him as signs of friendship. John was now directed to enter the King's canoe, which, followed by several others, paddled to that part of the coast, about two miles distant, where a stream of fresh water emptied into the bay, and to which the mate and sailors had gone just after breakfast with the water-casks. It was only when the boats neared the spot that John realized the mission of the painted savages, whose restless eyes swept the length of the beach, while their sinewy arms plied the paddles that drove their boats of bark with surprising quickness over the smooth water. The ship's launch was soon made out hauled up on the white sand, but the crew were nowhere in sight, and it was evident that they were hidden by the bushes that fringed the beach. Before the canoes had effected a landing the mate and his men emerged from the undergrowth, rolling the water-casks in the direction of the boat. Catching sight of the little fleet that now, at a sign from the chief, advanced slowly toward them, the seamen halted suspiciously; but Maquina waved a green branch before him as a token that his errand was one of peace, and the sailors started down to the beach to meet them.
Up to this time John had remained passive, crushed under the recollection of the awful end that had overtaken the Captain and men who had remained on board; but now, resolved to warn his shipmates even at the risk of his life, he jumped to his feet, waved his arms to attract their attention, and was about to cry to them, when a blow from the King's war-club upon the back of his head tumbled him senseless into the bottom of the canoe. When John opened his eyes some time after this, it was to meet Maquina's triumphant gaze, and to hear that individual say:
"How John? Now can make heap noise—no hear—all dead. Maquina he plenty big chief."
When the canoes returned to the village they were met by the entire population, who welcomed them with shouts of joy and war-songs chanted to an accompaniment played on their tomtoms, these instruments consisting of the dry skin of a seal stretched over a hollow shape of wood. Towards John the kindest treatment was shown, but the King explained that he was a slave, and that he must obey his orders and not try to escape, otherwise he would be given to the old women to be tortured. The chief wound up his harangue in this way: "Much good boy John. Maquina plenty big chief—heap friends. John make spear, make gun, make heap plenty all Maquina. No never go way—stay old man—heap good. Ugh!"
Finding that he was free to go about as he pleased, John threw his tired and aching body down under a tree, and surrendered his mind to bitter reflections. Only a few hours before yonder ship had been animated with a happy crew, speculating, as they worked, about the queer presents they proposed to purchase for friends and sweethearts when the ship arrived in the pig-tailed kingdom, for it had been Captain Salter's intention to proceed to China for a cargo of tea after trading with the Indians. Now the only human beings on board the ill-fated Boston were the savages left by the King to guard the great treasure that made Maquina the richest lord among all the chiefs on the northwest coast. Throughout the long afternoon the boy was left alone to nurse his sorrow and despair. He knew that few vessels visited this far-away, uncivilized land, and that years might elapse without offering him a chance of escape from his captors. Mother and father would long wait for his return. Brothers and sisters were likely to grow to manhood and womanhood without seeing the brother they remembered last as a sailor-boy, kissing them good-by beneath the vine-encircled porch of their modest home on the morning when the good ship Boston opened her white wings and glided out of the harbor to the hearty chorusing of the seamen as they pulled upon the ropes.
When evening came, the King, who had been on board the vessel, approached the boy, saying:
"John come—plenty eat—sleep Maquina's tepee. To-morrow make big tomahawk chop off head—-Maquina heap big chief."
Whereupon the King took John by the hand and led him to his hut, inside of which the chief's wives had arranged the evening meal. To please the King, poor John made a show of eating; then asked permission to lie down on one of the skins scattered around on the floor, to which request Maquina nodded an assent, and the boy stretched his tired limbs upon the rug, and in spite of his aching head, soon fell asleep. He was awakened by the King prodding him with the handle of his spear. For a few moments the strangeness of his surroundings dazed him, then, with the larger recovery of his faculties, the bitter truth was forced upon him. Choking back a sob, he returned Maquina's salutation, and followed him out of the hut to find that the morning had come and that the village was astir. After breakfast the King told John that he was to accompany him to the ship and bring the forge on shore, explaining his purpose in this way: