His memory and example haunted the archipelago like an evil dream for generations. Some thought that he had been borne aloft to heaven by a messenger of the gods, and worshipped him as divine; his cruel tyranny and wars goaded on his worshippers to wild fury of injustice and slaughter. Others who were keener of brain and had perceived the earthly character of their leader and his purposes were incited to like ambitions. The romance of his life was glorified in verse and prose by every new school of literature and fired the imaginations of boyhood to warlike exploits. War, piracy, plunder came to be the favourite forms of dishonesty in the archipelago. It was marvellous how much the peaceful and obscure suffered from the romance of this cabin-boy’s adventures. But no man of the islands dared again to approach the Isle of Devils. Even he whom so many of them reputed a god had been unable to break in; and the mishap to the last fleet had been more bewildering than that to the first. Magical powers were possessed by the inhabitants of this island without a doubt; there seemed to be no limit to their transcendence of the order of nature. Evil they were, and the fear of them the Broolyians had to endure in patience. Nor did it grow less from generation to generation. Fancy never let the stories of the defeat of the great Choktroo rest; they gathered to them features more and more terrible to contemplate. A halo of dread and mystery is far more effective as a fence against human intrusion than a halo of sanctity or even divinity. It cows the miscreant and the brute in the human breast. The duties of the Lilamo in repelling the attacks of men would vanish for hundreds of generations.