At last, the adventurous young chief, who had advised killing Felix off-hand on the island, mustered up courage to paddle his own canoe a little nearer, and flung his spear madly in the direction of the gig.  It fell short by ten yards.  He stood eying it angrily.  But the captain, grimly quiet, raising his Winchester to his shoulder without one second’s delay, and marking his man, fired at the young chief as he stood, still half in the attitude of throwing, on the prow of his canoe, an easy aim for fire-arms.  The ball went clean through the savage’s breast, and then ricochetted three times on the water afar off.  The young chief fell stone dead into the sea like a log, and sank instantly to the bottom.

It was a critical moment.  The captain felt uncertain whether the natives would close round them in force or not.  It is always dangerous to fire a shot at savages.  But the Boupari men were too utterly awed to venture on defence.  “He was Tu-Kila-Kila’s enemy,” they cried, in astonished tones.  “He raised his voice against the very high god.  Therefore, the very high god’s friends have smitten him with their lightning.  Their thunderbolt went through him, and hit the water beyond.  How strong is their hand!  They can kill from afar.  They are mighty gods.  Let no man strive to fight against the friends of Tu-Kila-Kila.”

The sailors rowed on and reached the landing-place.  There, half of them, headed by the captain, disembarked in good order, with drawn cutlasses, while the other half remained behind to guard the gig, under the third officer.  The natives also disembarked, a little way off, and, making humble signs of submission with knee and arm, endeavored, by pantomime, to express the idea of their willingness to guide the strangers to their friends’ quarters.

The captain waved them on with his hand.  The natives, reassured, led the way, at some distance ahead, along the paths through the jungle.  The captain had his finger on his six-shooter the while; every sailor grasped his cutlass and kept his revolver ready for action.  “I don’t half like the look of it,” the captain observed, partly to himself.  “They seem to be leading us into an ambuscade or something.  Keep a sharp lookout against surprise from the jungle, boys; and if any native shows fight shoot him down instantly.”

At last they emerged upon a clear space in the front, where a great group of savages stood in a circle, with serried spears, round a large wattled hut that occupied the elevated centre of the clearing.

For a minute or two the action of the savages was uncertain.  Half of the defenders turned round to face the invaders angrily; the other half stood irresolute, with their spears still held inward, guarding a white line of sand with inflexible devotion.

The warriors who had preceded them from the shore called aloud to their friends by the temple in startled tones.  The captain and sailors had no idea what their words meant.  But just then, from the midst of the circle, an English voice cried out in haste, “Don’t fire!  Do nothing rash!  We’re safe.  Don’t be frightened.  The natives are disposed to parley and palaver.  Take care how you act.  They’re terribly afraid of you.”