attracted the attention of a passing ship. Two good nine-pounders would soon
send our foes in all directions. We relieved each other in watching during the
night, and by sunrise we were all completely worn out. The third day was one of
weariness and thirst under the burning rays of the tropical sun. That day we ate
the last of our ship biscuit and were reduced to a few drops of water each.
Starvation was staring us in the face. There was but one alternative, and that was
to descend and make a fight for our boat on the beach. The bo’s’n volunteered
with three men to descend the defile and reconnoitre. Armed only with their
cutlasses and a short axe, they worked their way carefully down in the shadow of
the rocks, while we kept watch above.
All was quiet for a time; then there arose a tumult of cries, oaths, and yells. The
captain gave the order, and pell-mell down the rift we clambered, some dropping
their muskets in their hurried descent, one of which exploded in its fall. The
bo’s’n had found the beach and our boat guarded by six pirates, who were
asleep. Four of these they succeeded in throttling. We pushed the boat into the
surf, expecting every moment to see one of the praus glide around the projecting
reef that separated the two inlets. We could plainly hear their cries and yells as
they discovered our escape, and with a “heigh-ho-heigh!” our long-boat shot out
into the placid ocean, sending up a shower of phosphorescent bubbles. We bent
our backs to the oars as only a question of life or death can make one. With each
stroke the boat seemed almost to lift itself out of the water. Almost at the same
time a long dark line, filled with moving objects, dashed out from the shadow of
the cliffs, hardly a hundred yards away.
It was a glorious race over the dim waters of that tropical sea. I as a boy could
not realize what capture meant at the hands of our cruel pursuers. My heart beat
high, and I felt equal to a dozen Illanums. My thoughts travelled back to New
England in the midst of the excitement. I saw myself before the open arch fire in
a low-roofed old house, that for a century had withstood the fiercest gales on the
old Maine coast, and from whose doors had gone forth three generations of sea-
captains. I saw myself on a winter night relating this very story of adventure to
an old gray-haired, bronzed-faced father, and a mother whose parting kiss still
lingered on my lips, to my younger brother, and sister. I could feel their
undisguised admiration as I told of my fight with pirates in the Bornean sea. It is
wonderful how the mind will travel. Yet with my thoughts in Maine, I saw and
felt that the Illanums were gradually gaining on us. Our men were weary and