Long Arrow had not come with us for he was as yet too weak from his wound.  But the Doctor—­always clever at languages—­was already getting familiar with the Indian tongue.  Besides, among the half-dozen Popsipetels who accompanied us to paddle the canoes, was one boy to whom we had taught a little English.  He and the Doctor between them managed to make themselves understood to the Bag-jagderags.  This people, with the terrible parrots still blackening the hills about their stone town, waiting for the word to descend and attack, were, we found, in a very humble mood.

Leaving our canoes we passed up the main street to the palace of the chief.  Bumpo and I couldn’t help smiling with satisfaction as we saw how the waiting crowds which lined the roadway bowed their heads to the ground, as the little, round, angry figure of the Doctor strutted ahead of us with his chin in the air.

At the foot of the palace-steps the chief and all the more important personages of the tribe were waiting to meet him, smiling humbly and holding out their hands in friendliness.  The Doctor took not the slightest notice.  He marched right by them, up the steps to the door of the palace.  There he turned around and at once began to address the people in a firm voice.

I never heard such a speech in my life—­and I am quite sure that they never did either.  First he called them a long string of names:  cowards, loafers, thieves, vagabonds, good-for-nothings, bullies and what not.  Then he said he was still seriously thinking of allowing the parrots to drive them on into the sea, in order that this pleasant land might be rid, once for all, of their worthless carcases.  At this a great cry for mercy went up, and the chief and all of them fell on their knees, calling out that they would submit to any conditions of peace he wished.

Then the Doctor called for one of their scribes—­that is, a man who did picture-writing.  And on the stone walls of the palace of Bag-jagderag he bade him write down the terms of the peace as he dictated it.  This peace is known as The Peace of The Parrots, and—­unlike most peaces—­ was, and is, strictly kept—­even to this day.

It was quite long in words.  The half of the palace-front was covered with picture-writing, and fifty pots of paint were used, before the weary scribe had done.  But the main part of it all was that there should be no more fighting; and that the two tribes should give solemn promise to help one another whenever there was corn-famine or other distress in the lands belonging to either.

This greatly surprised the Bag-jagderags.  They had expected from the Doctor’s angry face that he would at least chop a couple of hundred heads off—­ and probably make the rest of them slaves for life.