After a while, however, Hayes and the white traders began to quarrel, and dreadful bloodshed would have followed; for the Pleasant Islanders, who were all devotedly attached to their white masters and were all armed with Snider rifles and cutlasses, were eager for their white men to make an assault upon Hayes and the crew of the _Leonora_. One night they gathered in front of their houses and danced a war-dance, but their white leaders discreetly kept in the background when Hayes appeared coming over toward them. He walked through the throng of natives, and in a very few minutes, although he was unarmed, picked out the biggest man of the lot and gave him a bad mauling about in the presence of every one in the village. One of the traders, a young American of thirty or so, named "Harry," at once declared that he was not going back on the captain, and would stand by him to the last, whereupon the others sullenly withdrew to their respective houses, and the trouble ended for the time. This "Harry" was formerly a boat steerer on an American whaleship, from which he had deserted, and had been living on Pleasant Island for some years. He had four wives, whom he described as "the three Graces, with another chucked in," and though a rough, dare-devil fellow, he was, with the exception of old Harry Terry, the only one of the lot that was not a hopeless drunkard and ruffian. By one of his wives, a native of Sikaiana or Stewart's Island, he had two children, both girls. They were then about eight and ten years of age respectively, and were, I often thought, the loveliest specimens of childish beauty imaginable, and at the moment when their father stepped out from among the other traders and declared his intention of standing by Captain Hayes, each had a heavy navy revolver which their father had given them to carry in case he needed the weapons. In the course of a month or so I had a serious disagreement with Captain Hayes over his treatment of a deputation of Strong's Islanders, and I left the settlement at Utwe, and removed to Leasse, the village at Coquille Harbour. The principal man in the place was a native named Kusis, with whom, and his wife Tulpe and daughter Kinie, I lived during the remainder of my stay on the island. And, although more than twenty-five years have passed and gone since then, I can never forget the kindness, warm-hearted hospitality, and amiability that filled their simple hearts to overflowing. IV