But Borckman made no reply and sullenly went about his work.  There was little wind in the bay, and the Arangi slowly forged in and dropped anchor in thirty fathoms.  So steep was the slope of the harbour bed from the beach that even in such excessive depth the Arangi’s stern swung in within a hundred feet of the mangroves.

Van Horn continued to cast anxious glances at the wooded shore.  For Su’u had an evil name.  Since the schooner Fair Hathaway, recruiting labour for the Queensland plantations, had been captured by the natives and all hands slain fifteen years before, no vessel, with the exception of the Arangi, had dared to venture into Su’u.  And most white men condemned Van Horn’s recklessness for so venturing.

Far up the mountains, that towered many thousands of feet into the trade-wind clouds, arose many signal smokes that advertised the coming of the vessel.  Far and near, the Arangi’s presence was known; yet from the jungle so near at hand only shrieks of parrots and chatterings of cockatoos could be heard.

The whaleboat, manned with six of the boat’s crew, was drawn alongside, and the fifteen Su’u boys and their boxes were loaded in.  Under the canvas flaps along the thwarts, ready to hand for the rowers, were laid five of the Lee-Enfields.  On deck, another of the boat’s crew, rifle in hand, guarded the remaining weapons.  Borckman had brought up his own rifle to be ready for instant use.  Van Horn’s rifle lay handy in the stern sheets where he stood near Tambi, who steered with a long sweep.  Jerry raised a low whine and yearned over the rail after Skipper, who yielded and lifted him down.

The place of danger was in the boat; for there was little likelihood, at this particular time, of a rising of the return boys on the Arangi.  Being of Somo, No-ola, Langa-Langa, and far Malu they were in wholesome fear, did they lose the protection of their white masters, of being eaten by the Su’u folk, just as the Su’u boys would have feared being eaten by the Somo and Langa-Langa and No-ola folk.

What increased the danger of the boat was the absence of a covering boat.  The invariable custom of the larger recruiting vessels was to send two boats on any shore errand.  While one landed on the beach, the other lay off a short distance to cover the retreat of the shore party, if trouble broke out.  Too small to carry one boat on deck, the Arangi could not conveniently tow two astern; so Van Horn, who was the most daring of the recruiters, lacked this essential safeguard.

Tambi, under Van Horn’s low-uttered commands, steered a parallel course along the shore.  Where the mangroves ceased, and where high ground and a beaten runway came down to the water’s edge, Van Horn motioned the rowers to back water and lay on their oars.  High palms and lofty, wide-branched trees rose above the jungle at this spot, and the runway showed like the entrance of a tunnel into the dense, green wall of tropical vegetation.