They stand around the boat, their weight against it, alert, and waiting in eager attention for the word of command. A shout from the headman, and in a moment they have pushed the big boat out into the water, have leaped into it, grasped the paddles, and are pulling like mad. The first breaker strikes the boat a blow that staggers it: the spirits must have been very angry. They are through it; but the boat is nearly half full of water and is not straight. The headman throws himself upon the oar, but alas! with such force that the becket attaching it to the stern is wrenched off. They are now at the mercy of the next breaker, a fearful one, which sweeps them ashore with violence, whirling the boat round, and then rolling it over and over upon the beach. As the water recedes we see them lying scattered at random upon the sand. They get up slowly as if half dazed; and one of them lies unconscious as the next wave washes over him, matting his hair with the wet sand. And there lies the brave headman badly bruised, the flesh torn from his leg, exposing the bone from the knee down. But one poor boy has fought his last fight with the wild sea. Many fights he has won, but the spirits have beaten him this time. “Oh, boys,” he says, “I’m hurt. I can’t get up. I can’t even move. I’m afraid my back is broken.” So it was indeed: his back was broken. Late in the night he died, the other boys sobbing like children as they stood around him. Next day they buried him; and that evening they got off to the ship. As they approached, the wind wafted to us the sound of a native dirge, weird and plaintive, which they were chanting for their dead brother. I feel bound to tell the sequel of this incident. The next day the sea was so bad that it seemed useless and foolish to attempt to land. The boys presented themselves in a body before a certain one of the officers and said: “Mastah, them sea he be bad too much. We no be fit for land cargo. S’pose we try, we go loss all cargo, and plenty man’s life. So please excuse to-day, Mastah; for we think to-morrow go be fine.” The answer they received was a volley of profanity and curses. “Just because one of them was killed they all turn cowards,” said one. “Always thinking of themselves!” said another. With many such shrewd observations, and sundry moral exhortations to bravery, the boats were lowered and they were ordered into them. But on these same steamers there are brave men and kind-hearted. On this particular morning the purser boldly protested. “If they are cowards,” said he, “what are we? For notwithstanding the demands of business, not one of us has ventured ashore for many days. I’m no coward myself,” he continued, “but I confess that those boys put my bravery to shame. They are the bravest boys in the world. Neither do I believe that they are bound to risk their lives in such a sea as this for a shilling a day.” While he was speaking some one shouted: “There goes the first boat.”