Naturally enough, the seaman misinterpreted the signal, and there is no doubt that he would have planted his knuckles on the bridge of the nose of the swarthy cannibal had not Henry Stuart made use of his extraordinary powers of speed.  He darted forward, overtook Jo, and, grasping him around the neck with both arms, shouted: 

“It’s a flag of truce, man!”

“You don’t say so?—­well, who’d ha’ thought it?  It don’t look like one; so it don’t.”

With this remark, Jo subsided into a peaceable man.  Pulling a quid out of his pocket, he thrust it into his cheek, and, crossing his arms on his breast, listened patiently—­though not profitably, seeing that he did not understand a word—­to the dialogue that followed.

It will be remembered that poor Mr. Mason, after being saved by Henry, was taken into the gig of the Talisman and put ashore.  After the two vessels had disappeared, as has been already described, Henry at once led his party towards the native village, knowing that Ole Thorwald would require support, all the more that the ship had failed to fulfil her part in the combined movement.

As the almost heartbroken father had no power to render further aid to his lost child, he suffered himself to be led, in a half-bewildered state, along with the attacking party under his young friend.  He was now brought forward to parley with the native chief.

The missionary’s manner and aspect at once changed.  In the hope of advancing the cause of his Master, he forgot, or at least restrained, his own grief for a time.

“What would the chief say to the Christians?” he began, on being confronted with the savage and some of his warriors who crowded round him.

“That he wishes to have done with war,” replied the man.

“That is a good wish; but why did the chief begin war?”

“Keona began it!” said the savage, angrily.  “We thought our wars with the Christians were going to stop.  But Keona is bad.  He put the war spirit into my people.”

Mr. Mason knew this to be true.

“Then,” said he, “Keona deserves punishment.”

“Let him die,” answered the chief; and an exclamation of assent broke from the other natives.  Keona himself, happening to be there, became pale and looked anxious; but remained where he stood, nevertheless, with his arms crossed on his dark breast.  A bandage of native cloth was tied round his wounded arm.  Without saying a word he undid this, tore it off, and allowed the blood to ooze from the reopened wound.

It was a silent appeal to the feelings and the sense of justice of his comrades, and created a visible impression in his favor.

“That wound was received by one who would have been a murderer!” said Mr. Mason, observing the effect of this action.

“He struck me!” cried Keona, fiercely.

“He struck you in defending his own home against a cowardly attack,” answered the missionary.