In two or three hours the savages appeared in great numbers, bloody and furious, and in their chronic state of foaming at the mouth.  “They rushed in upon us, shouting ‘Nickalees?  Nickalees?’ (Un Ingles.) To which we replied ‘Espania.’  But they cried the more fiercely ’No Espania, Nickalees!’ and being greatly enraged thereat, seized upon all Trunks and Chests and our cloathes upon our Backs, leaving us each only a pair of old Breeches, except Robert Barrow, my wife, and child, from whom they took nothing.”  The king, or Cassekey, as Dickenson calls him, distinguished by a horse-tail fastened to his belt behind, took possession of their money and buried it, at which the good Quaker spares not his prayers for punishment on all pagan robbers, quite blind to the poetic justice of the burial, as the money had been made on land stolen from the savages.  The said Cassekey also set up his abode in their tent; kept all his tribe away from the woman and child and aged man; kindled fires; caused, as a delicate attention, the only hog remaining on the wreck to be killed and brought to them for a midnight meal; and, in short, comported himself so hospitably, and with such kindly consideration toward the broad-brimmed Quaker, that we are inclined to account him the better-bred fellow of the two, in spite of his scant costume of horse-tail and belt of straw.  As for the robbery of the ship’s cargo, no doubt the Cassekey had progressed far enough in civilization to know that to the victors belong the spoils.  Florida, for two years, had been stricken down from coast to coast by a deadly famine, and in all probability these cannibals returned thanks to whatever God they had for this windfall of food and clothes devoutly as our forefathers were doing at the other end of the country for the homes which they had taken by force.  There is a good deal of kinship among us in circumstances, after all, as well as in blood.  The chief undoubtedly recognized a brother in Dickenson, every whit as tricky as himself, and would fain, savage as he was, have proved him to be something better; for, after having protected them for several days, he came into their tent and gravely and with authority set himself to asking the old question, “Nickalees?”

“To which, when we denied, he directed his Speech to the Aged Man, who would not conceal the Truth, but answered in Simplicity, ‘Yes.’  Then he cried in Wrath ‘Totus Nickalees!’ and went out from us.  But returned in great fury with his men, and stripped all Cloathes from us.”

However, the clothes were returned, and the chief persuaded them to hasten on to his own village.  Dickenson, suspecting foul play as usual, insisted on going to Santa Lucia.  There, the Indian told him, they would meet fierce savages and undoubtedly have their throats cut, which kindly warning was quite enough to drive the Quaker to Santa Lucia headlong.  He was sure of the worst designs on the part of the cannibal, from a strange glance which he fixed upon the baby as he drove them before him to his village, saying with a treacherous laugh, that after they had gone there for a purpose he had, they might go to Santa Lucia as they would.