"Come on then," cried Jack. "The blacks may have been scared right away, so let's chance it." He led the way to the entrance, where, to the great delight of both, they found another bow lying, and close by one of the melon-headed war-clubs and a bundle of arrows, upon which Ned pounced regardless of danger, while Jack crept to the stones outside and took a long look round, over gully, rock, and patch of forest. But there was nothing living within sight but a couple of flocks of birds, one green, the others milky white, and showing plainly as they flew over against the green trees. "See anything of that lame pig, sir?" said Ned, handing him the arrows to take what he liked. "No; nor the blacks neither." "They're hiding somewhere, sir, and I dare say on the look-out, or I'd be for going to have a look below there." "That would be too risky, Ned. Let's creep to where we can get cover, and then do as you say, keep along the more open part under the trees, and see if we can get round somewhere by the sands." "On you go then, sir, and whatever you do, don't lose a chance of a shot. We must have something to eat, or we can never get back. Oh yes, you're a very beautiful island, no doubt--very well to look at, but I don't think much of a place where you can't find the very fruit as would be a blessing to us now." "And what fruit's that, Ned?" said Jack, as they reached the shelter of the trees about a couple of hundred yards from the mouth of the cave. "Well, sir, I'm not an Irishman, for as far back as I know we all came from Surrey; but I'd give something if I could find a patch of 'em going off at the haulm, ready to be grubbed up and shoved in the ashes of a fire to roast." "What, potatoes?" "Yes, sir, a good big round 'tater would just about fit me now, and I shouldn't fiddle about any nonsense as to trying it on." "There'll be no potatoes for you, Ned, but we may find some wild bananas lower down." "That's a nice comforting way of talking to a poor hungry chap who is going up, Mr Jack; but you keep a good look-out, and we must have a shot at the first thing we see, and then light a fire and cook it, and if that first thing we see happens to be a nigger, sir--well, I'm sorry for him, and I hope he won't be tough!" Ned directed a comical look at his young master as he began to try the bow, holding it in his injured, nerveless grasp, and pulling at the string. "Is it hard, Ned?" "Pretty tidy, sir. Takes a good pull, but I can manage it, and--Hullo! Look at that." He threw the bow, arrows, and spear down, stretched out his left arm to the full extent; drew it in so as to raise the biceps, and then stretched it out again, and began to move it round like the sail of a windmill. "What's the matter with you?" cried Jack. "Are you going mad?" "Pretty nigh, sir. Look at that--and that--and that!" The three "thats" were so many imaginary blows in the air, delivered sharply and with all the man's force.