As soon as the man in the silk hat appeared all of the natives began bowing and chanting in chorus, and this they kept up until the strange one lifted his hands and let out a peculiar yell. Then the stranger caught sight of the boys and ran up to them. "Be th' eyes av Saint Patrick!" he cried, in a rich Irish brogue. "Who are ye, now; tell me that?" "An Irishman!" ejaculated Dave, fervently. "Thank Heaven, one man can talk United States." "Who are you?" demanded Bob. At this the Irishman took off the stovepipe, swung it into the air, and made them a profound bow. "Sure, I am Pat Stoodles, grand muck-a-muck av this wild tribe av haythins, castaway sailor from th' bark _Emma D._, high lord av the island, and second cousin av the royal Emperor of Turkey, ha, ha!" And he laughed long and loud, and then shook hands. "Are you putting this on for the natives' benefit?" questioned Bob. "If you are, let me say they don't understand a word." At once a frown crossed Pat Stoodles' face. He was indeed a castaway, and a solitary life of several years had partly turned his brain. When the savages had found him he had acted so strangely that they had fancied he was some inhabitant of the infernal region. At first they had wanted nothing to do with him, but they had ended by making him something of a chief. In their own language they called him the fun-making high lord. Pat Stoodles listened to their talk with interest, but shook his head when they mentioned the _Swallow_. "You are afther bein' mistaken about th' ship," he said. "No ship comes here. What looks loike a ship is a vision in th' heavens, nothin' more!" And he clenched his fists. He had looked so long for a sail when alone that the subject had turned his brain. "Poor chap!" said Bob, in an undertone, "I don't believe he can help us much." "Perhaps he can save our lives." Our hero turned to the Irishman. "What will these natives do with us!" "Sure an' I don't know. Maybe they'll be afther makin' princes av ye, me bould b'ys!" "We would like our liberty." Pat Stoodles shrugged his shoulders. "Ye can gain yer liberty on but wan night av the month," he said. "That is whin th' moon is full an' they be afther havin' the feast av the skulls." They did not know if he was in earnest, or if the talk was that of a crazy man. Having spoken with them for some time, Pat Stoodles turned to the natives and began to jabber at them. Evidently he had learned much of their language, for they listened attentively. Then they brought the boys something to eat and to drink, and tried to make them otherwise comfortable. But they would allow neither of them his liberty. Night came and went, and still the chums remained prisoners of the savages. Pat Stoodles spoke to them a long while in the morning, and at last appeared to believe their story of a ship.