ere related to each other by
blood, and were known by the same name. The old woman had gone down into
the Typee valley the day before, and was now, with three chiefs, her sons,
on a visit to her kinsmen.

As the old king's wife left him, Jimmy again came up to Toby, and told him
that he had just talked the whole matter over with the natives, and there
was only one course for him to follow. They would not allow him to go back
into the valley, and harm would certainly come to both him and me, if he
remained much longer on the beach. "So," said he, "you and I had better go
to Nukuheva now overland, and to-morrow I will bring Tommo, as they call
him, by water; they have promised to carry him down to the sea for me
early in the morning, so that there will be no delay."

"No, no," said Toby desperately, "I will not leave him that way; we must
escape together."

"Then there is no hope for you," exclaimed the sailor, "for if I leave you
here on the beach, as soon as I am gone you will be carried back into the
valley, and then neither of you will ever look upon the sea again." And
with many oaths he swore that if he would only go to Nukuheva with him
that day, he would be sure to have me there the very next morning.

"But how do you know they will bring him down to the beach to-morrow, when
they will not do so to-day?" said Toby. But the sailor had many reasons,
all of which were so mixed up with the mysterious customs of the
islanders, that he was none the wiser. Indeed, their conduct, especially
in preventing him from returning into the valley, was absolutely
unaccountable to him; and added to everything else was the bitter
reflection, that the old sailor, after all, might possibly be deceiving
him. And then again he had to think of me, left alone with the natives,
and by no means well. If he went with Jimmy, he might at least hope to
procure some relief for me. But might not the savages who had acted so
strangely, hurry me off somewhere before his return? Then, even if he
remained, perhaps they would not let him go back to the valley where I
was.

Thus perplexed was my poor comrade; he knew not what to do, and his
courageous spirit was of no use to him now. There he was, all by himself,
seated upon the broken canoe--the natives grouped around him at a distance,
and eyeing him more and more fixedly.

"It is getting late," said Jimmy, who was standing behind the rest.
"Nukuheva is far off, and I cannot cross the Happar co