e people among whom we had
fallen. I was thankful, indeed, that we were not immediately murdered.
Why the desperadoes allowed us to live was a mystery. The doctor, they
thought, would be useful to them; and perhaps, as Jerry remarked, they
did not think us worth killing. The doctor, he, and I, stood together
near the gangway, with Surley at our feet, waiting what was next to
happen. Meantime the poor wounded Sandwich islander had been handed up,
and placed on the deck forward.

The vessel on board which we found ourselves was a large, handsome
craft, of fully a hundred and eighty tons; and, from her great beam, her
taunt, raking masts, the broad white ribbon outside, and the peculiar
paint and fittings on her deck, she was evidently American. There were
a good many white men among her crew; but there were also many blacks
and mulattoes, of every shade of brown and hue of olive or copper.
Never had I seen people of so many nations and tribes brought together,
while every one of them to my eyes appeared most villainous cut-throats.

We saw the boat go back to the _Dove_ and deposit a couple of more hands
aboard her, and then both vessels hauled their wind and stood away to
the south-west. Just then some of the crew hailed the doctor:--"Here;
your patient seems to be about to slip his cable. You'd better come and
see what's the matter." We accompanied the doctor, and knelt down by
the side of the wounded man, who was evidently dying. He took the
doctor's hand. "You kind to us, but you no help me now," he whispered,
with his failing breath. "If you once more see Mr Callard--my love to
him--I die happy. I trust in Him he taught me to cling to. Once I was
poor savage. He made me rich." These were the poor Kanaka's last
words. A few years ago, and how differently would one of his countrymen
have died! The doctor closed the eyes and arranged the limbs of the
dead man, and threw a handkerchief which he took from his neck over his
face. "There," he said, "he'll not give you any more trouble." The men
said not a word, but walked about as composedly as if nothing had
happened, while we went back to our place near the gangway. Shortly
afterwards, a man, who seemed to be an officer, went forward. "Heave
that corpse overboard," he exclaimed; "why do you let it remain there
cumbering the deck?" The men looked at each other, and then, lifting up
the body of the poor Kanaka, threw it, without form or ceremony, into