Beela was to warn us of Hobart’s coming by giving a certain bird-call thrice. Christopher’s answering signal would be notice to Beela that Hobart was safe.
The savages, not twenty paces away—at least two dozen stalwart men—were variously squatting, sitting, and lounging. They were in a compact group, and were talking in low voices, but with an animation unusual to the race. I motioned Christopher to follow, and we crept nearer.
Some important news had just been brought by the relief guard.
“And so the king isn’t going to wait for night,” said one, as though the news was surprising.
“That is true,” came the answer. “He fears that the ground will shake at any time. Besides, the storm will likely come again tonight, and the great fire would be impossible then.”
CHAPTER XV.—The Lash in Unwilling Hands.
How We Outwitted the Guard. A Sword Encounter With a Native. Rawley Gives Me a Sensational Surprise. The Tragedy to Mr. Vancouver Delayed.
I WAS absorbed in conjuring up plans for Mr. Vancouver’s rescue; but the more I thought of it, the madder the undertaking seemed. Suppose we should take him; would not the whole island swarm in a search?