eek; then the islanders began to
dismantle the ill-fated ship. By the eighth day all the sails except the
fore and main topsails were unbent and taken ashore.

On the afternoon of this day but half a dozen natives were on board;
they, with the five "boys" (probably lads under eighteen years of age),
and the dwarf sailor before mentioned, were "spelling" for an hour or
so before beginning to unbend the topsails, when, noticing that their
captors were off their guard, the brave little man determined to retake
the ship. In a few minutes he gained over his youthful shipmates to
the attempt; they promised to stand by him to the last. Quietly arming
themselves with axes, with iron belaying pins, with handspikes, with
anything heavy and deadly they could lay their hands upon, they waited
for the signal to begin the attack. Doyle, the bloodstained murderer,
lay upon the skylight under the awning, half asleep and unsuspecting
of danger; his native associates either slept or lounged about the main
deck.

A few hurried, whispered words passed between the six whites; then the
dwarf, carrying an axe negligently in his hand, ascended to the poop
and laid it down on the deck. Then he turned, and his quick seaman's eye
took in the surroundings. The trade wind was blowing freshly, the
ship (she was a full-rigged ship, though under five hundred tons), was
straining at her hempen cable, and the low, palm-clad shore was nearly
two miles away. He picked up the axe and running towards Doyle, buried
the weapon to the head in his bosom!

In less than five minutes the dreadful work was done, and Doyle and the
six Tongans were weltering in their gore upon the very deck which was
still stained by the traces of their own crimes. Before the natives on
shore could realise what had happened, the cable was cut, the topsails
loosed and sheeted home, and the _Portland_ standing out to sea through
the dangerous network of reefs which surrounded the harbour. Her
recapture was a bloody deed, but the law of self-preservation is
inexorable under such circumstances.

Elizabeth Morey, aroused from a troubled slumber by the cries of her
captors, came to the doorway of the chiefs house, and stood watching
the ship, which, though only under her fore and main topsails, was fast
slipping through the water. In two hours the _Portland_ was safe,
and the broken-hearted girl sank upon her knees and wept. She was now
utterly alone, for her negro servant woman had go