't you understand
him when he spoke?"

"No--yes--I'm afraid I did," whispered back Don.

"Yes, you did, my lad. He meant it, and he knew it. He has got away."

Don gazed wildly in Jem's eyes, and then bent his head low down to hide
the emotion he felt, for it was nothing to him then that the English
chief was an escaped convict from Norfolk Island. He had been a true
friend and defender to them both; and Don in his misery, pain, and
starvation could only ask himself whether that was the way that he must
escape--the only open road.

It was quite an hour before he spoke again, and then hardly above his
breath.

"Jem," he said, "shall we ever see our dear old home again?"

Jem looked at him wistfully, and tried to answer cheerily, but the
paddles were flashing in the sun, and the canoe was bearing them farther
and farther away to a life of slavery, perhaps to a death of such horror
that he dared not even think of it, much less speak.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

A SEARCH IN THE DARK.

Two days' more water journey within easy reach of the verdant shore,
past inlet, gulf, bay, and island, round jagged points, about which the
waves beat and foamed; and then, amidst shouting, singing, and endless
barbaric triumphal clamour, the captured canoes with their loads of
prisoners and spoil were run up to a black beach, where a crowd of
warriors with their women and children and those of the little
conquering army eagerly awaited their coming.

Utterly worn out, the two English prisoners hardly had the spirit to
scan the beautiful nook, through which a foaming stream of water dashed,
at whose mouth lay several large war canoes, and close by which was the
large open _whare_ with its carven posts and grotesque heads, quite a
village of huts being scattered around.

Similarly placed to that which he had helped to defend, Don could see
upon a shoulder of the hill which ran up behind the _whare_, a great
strongly made _pah_, ready for the tribe to enter should they be
besieged by some enemy.

But the whole scene with its natural beauty, seemed accursed to Don, as
he was half dragged out of the canoe, to stagger and fall upon the
sands--the fate of many of the wounded prisoners, who made no
resistance, but resigned themselves to their fate.

A scene of rejoicing ensued, in the midst of which fires which had been
lighted as soon as the canoes came in sight, were well used by the women
who cooked, and before long a banquet w