Four miles beyond, after they had rounded a green point of land, a feathery cocoanut-grove ran to the water’s-edge, and they could go no farther. The mate left two men to guard the boat, and the three others went with him; but they were too weak to climb the trees, and had to hack away at the trunks with an ax. Two of them were mere lads who made such bungling work of it that Woodard sent for a couple of the stronger men in the boat, leaving Archibald Miller alone with it. They were busy gathering cocoanuts to carry to sea with them when poor Miller was heard to “scream aloud in the bitterest manner.” The mate ran to the beach and saw his precious boat filled with Malays, who were just shoving off in it. On the sand lay Miller, who had been hacked to death with creeses. David Woodard and four sailors were therefore marooned with no resources whatever, but they talked it over and agreed to try to get to Macassar by land. Leaving the swampy coast, they slowly toiled toward the blue mountains and, afraid of discovery, concluded to hide themselves in the jungle until night. Then with a star for their guide they bore south, but progress was almost impossible, and they lost their bearings in the dense growth. After blundering about in this manner for several nights, they turned toward the sea again in the hope of finding some kind of native boat. They had existed for thirteen days since losing their ship, and it is evident that the indomitable spirit of the mate kept the other men going. “Woodard was himself stout in person,” explains the narrative, “and much accustomed to fatigue and exercise, whence he felt less exhausted, particularly from keeping up his spirits and having his mind constantly engaged.” At length they came to a deep bay between the mountains, and lay hidden all day in a leafy ambush while they watched the Malay fishermen in their canoes. Three of the sailors were taken desperately ill after eating some yellow berries and thought they were about to die; but the mate could not tolerate this kind of behavior, “although his comrades now resembled corpses more than living men.” He used rough language, damned them as worthless swabs if a stomach-ache was to make them lie down and quit, and then went in search of water for them until he found some in a hollow tree. But his strength and courage could haul them along no farther and reluctantly he admitted that they would have to surrender themselves to the natives. [Illustration: WOODARD RAISED HIS EMPTY HANDS TO ASK FOR PEACE AND MERCY]