We now sail round this island of Atiu, in hopes of finding a landing-place, but none appears--a coral reef surrounds the whole. Still our bold supercargo is anxious to land, and so while the ship stands off and on, I take him, with Taro as interpreter, towards the shore, in the long boat, in which we have a gun mounted. We pull in as close as we may venture outside the surf. Numerous natives are on the shore. Taro beckons, and three small canoes are launched. They paddle swiftly through the surf, and come alongside. Those on the shore stand waving green branches as a sign of amity, so Golding determines to land with Taro. Away they go, and as I may not quit the boat, I watch them anxiously. They land in safety, and vast numbers of the natives instantly close round them. I see them borne up by the throng away from the beach, and then lose sight of them. Two hours pass away, and they do not appear. I begin to dread that they have been cut off. I wait another hour. Just as I am about to return to the ship, the canoes are launched. As they approach, to my disappointment I do not see our shipmates. "The Indians are just thinking that they will knock us on the head," I hear one of my men say. "It will be our fault if we let them," I answer, not feeling, however, altogether satisfied that the man was wrong, yet unwilling to show any fear; "we'll let them know what we can do if they play us tricks. Hand me the slow match." There was a clump of palm-trees close down to the beach. I step forward to the gun, and have the boat's head put towards the shore. On come the Indian canoes paddling rapidly through the surf--the men shouting and shrieking, and whirling their paddles round their heads. I am unwilling to injure the poor wretches. I aim instead at the trees. The white splinters start off on either side from a palm-tree struck by the shot. The effect is like magic, the Indians' threatening shrieks are changed to cries of terror, and in hot haste they dash back through the surf towards the shore. Still we are left in doubt as to the fate of our friends. It is clear that we cannot land to go to their assistance. But I resolve not to give them up. We rest on our oars watching the beach. At length we see a concourse of people coming over a ridge of sand which shuts out the view of the interior from us. Golding and Taro appear in the midst of them. The savages seem to be paying them great respect, and Golding bows with infinite condescension now on one side, now on the other. Canoes are launched, they step into them, and the obedient natives come paddling off to us through the surf. Golding steps on board and signs to the Indians to return. "Now, Harvey, get on board as fast as we can," says he. "It has been a question in my mind all day whether we were to be treated as gods, or to be cooked and eaten; and even now I don't feel quite comfortable on the subject. Your