“Yes, perfectly, Ready; but I am now, I must confess, really frightened; if anything was to happen to you, what a misery it would be!”

  “There is no help for it, William. Water must, if possible, be procured, and now is a better time to make the attempt than later, when they may be more on the watch; they have left off their work, and are busy eating; if I meet any one, it will only be a woman.”

  Ready went for the barrico, a little cask, which held six or seven gallons of water. He put on the head-dress and war-cloak of the savage; and, taking the barrico on his shoulder, and the spear in his hand, the poles which barred the door were softly removed by William, and after ascertaining that no one was concealed beneath the palisades, Ready pressed William’s hand, and set off across the cleared space outside of the stockade, and gained the cocoa-nut trees. William, as directed, closed the door, passed one pole through the inner door-posts for security, and remained on the watch. He was in an awful state of suspense, listening to the slightest noise, even the slight rustling by the wind of the cocoa-nut boughs above him made him start; there he continued for some minutes, his gun ready cocked by his side.

  It is time that he returned, thought William; the distance is not 100 yards, and yet I have heard no noise. At last he thought he heard footsteps coming very softly. Yes, it was so. Ready was returning, and without any accident. William had his hand upon the pole, to slip it on one side and open the door, when he heard a scuffle and a fall close to the door. He immediately threw down the pole, and opened it just as Ready called him by name. William seized his musket and sprang out; he found Ready struggling with a savage, who was uppermost, and with his spear at Ready’s breast. In a second William levelled and fired, and the savage fell dead.

  “Take the water in quick, William,” said Ready in a faint voice. “I will contrive to crawl in if I can.”

  William caught up the barrico of water, and took it in; he then hastened to Ready, who was on his knees. Mr Seagrave, hearing the musket fired, had run out, and finding the stockade door open, followed William, and seeing him endeavouring to support Ready, caught hold of his other arm, and they led him tottering into the stockade; the door was then immediately secured, and they went to his assistance.

  “Are you hurt, Ready?” said William.

  “Yes, dear boy, yes; hurt to death, I fear: his spear went through my breast. Water, quick, water!”

  “Alas! that we had some,” said Mr Seagrave.

  “We have, papa,” replied William; “but it has cost us dearly.”

  William ran for a pannikin, and taking out the bung, poured some water out of the barrico and gave it to Ready, who drank it with eagerness.

  “Now, William, lay me down on these cocoa-nut boughs; go and give some water to the others, and when you have all drunk, then come to me again. Don’t tell Mrs Seagrave that I’m hurt. Do as I beg of you.”

  “Papa, take the water — do pray,” replied William; “I cannot leave Ready.”

  “I will, my boy,” replied Mr Seagrave; “but first drink yourself.”

  William, who was very faint, drank off the pannikin of water, which immediately revived him, and then, while Mr Seagrave hastened with some water to the children and women, occupied himself with old Ready, who breathed heavily, but did not speak.

  Chapter Sixty Five.

  After returning twice for water, to satisfy those in the house, Mr Seagrave came to the assistance of William, who had been removing Ready’s clothes to ascertain the nature of the wound he had received.

  “We had better move him to where the other cocoa-nut boughs lie; he will be more comfortable there,” said William.

  Ready whispered, “More water.” William gave him some more and then, with the assistance of his father, Ready was removed to a more comfortable place. As soon as they laid him there, Ready turned on his side, and threw up a quantity of blood.

  “I am better now,” said he in a low voice; “bind up the wound, William; an old man like me has not much blood to spare.”

  Mr Seagrave and William then examined the wound; the spear had gone deep into the lungs. William threw off his shirt, tore it up into strips, and then bound up the wound so as to stop the effusion of blood.

  Ready, who at first appeared much exhausted with being moved about, gradually recovered so as to be able to speak in a low voice, when Mrs Seagrave came out of the house.

  “Where is that brave, kind man?” cried she, “that I may bless him and thank him.”

  Mr Seagrave went to her, and caught her by the arm. “He is hurt, my dear; and very much hurt. I did not tell you at the time.”

  Mr Seagrave related what had occurred, and then led her to where Ready was lying. Mrs Seagrave knelt by his side, took his hand, and burst into tears.

  “Don’t weep for me,” said Ready; “my days have been numbered; I’m only sorry that I cannot any more be useful to you.”

  “Dear good man,” said Mrs Seagrave, “whatever may be our fates, and that is for the Almighty to decide for us, as long as I have life, what you have done for me and mine shall never be forgotten.”

  Mrs Seagrave then bent over him, and kissing his forehead, rose and retired weeping into the house.

  “William,” said Ready, “I can’t talk now; raise my head a little, and then leave me. You have not looked round lately. Come again in about half an hour. Leave me now, Mr Seagrave; I shall be better if I doze a little.”

  They complied with Ready’s request; went up to the planks, and examined carefully all round the stockade; at last they stopped.

  “This is a sad business, William,” said Mr Seagrave.

  William shook his head. “He would not let me go,” replied he; “I wish he had. I fear that he is much hurt.”

  “I should say that he cannot recover, William. We shall miss him to-morrow if they attack us.”

  “I hardly know what to say, papa; but I feel that since we have been relieved, I am able to do twice as much as I could have done before.”

  “I feel the same, but still with such a force against us, two people cannot do much.”

  “If my mother and Juno load the muskets for us,” replied William, “we shall at all events do as much now as we should have been able to do if there were three, so exhausted as we should have been.”

  “Perhaps so; at all events we will do our best, for we fight for our lives and for those most dear to us.”

  William went softly up to Ready, and found that he was dozing; he therefore did not disturb him, but returned to his father. Now that their thirst had been appeased, they all felt the calls of hunger. Juno and William went and cut off steaks from the turtle, and fried them; they all made a hearty meal, and perhaps never had they taken one with so much relish in their lives.

  It was nearly daylight, when William, who had several times been softly up to Ready, found him with his eyes open.

  “How do you find yourself, Ready?” said William.

  “I am quiet and easy, William, and without much pain; but I think I am sinking, and shall not last long. Recollect that if you are obliged to escape from the stockade, you take no heed of me, but leave me where I am. I cannot live, and were you to move me, I should only die the sooner.”

  “I had rather die with you, than leave you, Ready.”

  “No, that is wrong; you must save your mother, and your brothers and sister; promise me that you will do as I wish.”

  William hesitated.

  “I point out to you your duty, William. I know what your feelings are, but you must not give way to them; promise me this, or you will make me very miserable.”

  William squeezed Ready’s hand; his heart was too full to speak.

  “They will come at daylight, William; you have not much time to spare; climb to the look-out, and wait there till day dawns; watch them as long as you can, and then come and tell me what you have seen.”

  Ready’s voice became faint after this exertion of speaking so much.

  William immediately climbed up the cocoa-nut tree, and waited there till daylight. At the dawn of day, he perceived that the savages were at work, that they had collected all the faggots together opposite to where the old house had stood, and were very busy in making arrangements for the attack. At last, every one shouldered a faggot, and commenced their advance towards the stockade; William immediately descended and called his father, who was talking with Mrs Seagrave. The muskets were all loaded, and Mrs Seagrave and Juno took their posts below the planking, to reload them as fast as they were fired.

  “We must fire upon them as soon as we are sure of not missing, William,” said Mr Seagrave, “for the more we check their advance, the better.”

  When the first savages were within fifty yards, they both fired, and two of the men dropped; they continued to fire as their assailants came up, with great success for the first ten minutes; after which the savages advanced in a larger body, and took the precaution to hold the faggots in front of them, for some protection as they approached. By these means they gained the stockade in safety, and commenced laying their faggots. Mr Seagrave and William still kept up an incessant fire upon them, but not with so much success as before.

  Although many fell, the faggots were gradually heaped up, till they almost reached to the holes between the palisades, through which they pointed their muskets; and as the savages contrived to slope them down from the stockade to the ground, it was evident that they meant to mount up and take them by escalade. At last, it appeared as if all the faggots had been placed, and the savages retired farther back, to where the cocoa-nut trees were still standing.

  “They have gone away, father,” said William; “but they will come again, and I fear it is all over with us.”

  “I fear so too, my boy,” replied Mr Seagrave; “they are only retreating to arrange for a general assault, and they now will be able to gain an entrance. I almost wish that they had fired the faggots; we might have escaped as Ready pointed out to us, but now I fear we have no chance.”

  “Don’t say a word to my mother,” said William; “let us defend ourselves to the last, and if we are overpowered it is the will of God.”

  “I should like to take a farewell embrace of your dear mother,” said Mr Seagrave; “but, no; it will be weakness just now. Here they come, William, in a swarm. Well, God bless you, my boy; we shall all, I trust, meet in Heaven!”

  The whole body of savages were now advancing from the cocoa-nut wood in a solid mass; they raised a yell, which struck terror into the hearts of Mrs Seagrave and Juno, yet they flinched not. The savages were again within fifty yards of them, when the fire was opened upon them; the fire was answered by loud yells, and the savages had already reached to the bottom of the sloping pile of faggots, when the yells and the reports of the muskets were drowned by a much louder report, followed by the crackling and breaking of the cocoa-nut trees, which made both parties start with surprise; another and another followed, the ground was ploughed up, and the savages fell in numbers.

  “It must be the cannon of a ship, father,” said William; “we are saved — we are saved!”

  “It can be nothing else; we are saved, and by a miracle!” replied Mr Seagrave in utter astonishment.

  The savages paused in the advance, quite stupefied; again, again, again, the report of the loud guns boomed through the air, and the round-shot and grape came whizzing and tearing through the cocoa-nut grove; at this last broadside, the savages turned, and fled towards their canoes: not one was left to be seen.

  “We are saved!” cried Mr Seagrave, leaping off the plank and embracing his wife, who sank down on her knees, and held up her clasped hands in thankfulness to Heaven.

  William had hastened up to the look-out on the cocoa-nut tree, and now cried out to them below, as the guns were again discharged:

  “A large schooner, father; she is firing at the savages, who are at the canoes; they are falling in every direction: some have plunged into the water; there is a boat full of armed men coming on shore; they are close to the beach, by the garden-point. Three of the canoes have got off full of men; there go the guns again; two of the canoes are sunk, father; the boat has landed, and the people are coming up this way.” William then descended from the look-out as fast as he could.

  As soon as he was down, he commenced unbarring the door of the stockade. He pulled out the last pole just as he heard the feet of their deliverers outside. He threw open the door, and, a second after, found himself in the arms of Captain Osborn.

  Chapter Sixty Six.

  Before we wind up this history, it will be as well to state to my young readers how it was that Captain Osborn made his appearance at so fortunate a moment. It will be recollected how a brig came off the island some months before this, and the great disappointment that the party on the island experienced in her not making her appearance again. The fact was, that those on board of the brig had not only seen their signals, but had read the name of the “Pacific” upon the flag hoisted; but the heavy gale which came on drove them so far to the southward, that the master of the brig did not consider that he should do his duty to his owners, if he lost so much time in beating up for the island again. He therefore decided upon making all sail for Sydney, to which port he was bound.

  When Captain Osborn was put into the boat by Mackintosh and the seamen of the Pacific, he was still insensible; but he gradually recovered, and after a stormy night, Captain Osborn was so far recovered as to hear from Mackintosh what had taken place, and why it was that he found himself in an open boat at sea. The next morning the wind moderated, and they were fortunate enough to fall in with a vessel bound to Van Diemen’s Land, which took them all on board.

  From the account given by Mackintosh, Captain Osborn had no doubt in his mind but that the Seagrave family had perished, and the loss of the vessel, with them on board, was duly reported to the owners. When at Van Diemen’s Land, Captain Osborn was so much taken with the beauty and fertility of the country, and perhaps not so well inclined to go to sea again after such danger as he had incurred in the last voyage, that he resolved to purchase land and settle there. He did so, and had already stocked his farm with cattle, and had gone round to Sydney in a schooner to await the arrival of a large order from England which he had sent for, when the brig arrived and reported the existence of some white people on the small island, and also that they had hoisted a flag with the name Pacific worked on it.

  Captain Osborn, hearing this, went to the master of the brig, and questioned him. He found the latitude and longitude of the island to be not far from that of the ship when she was deserted, and he was now convinced that, by some miracle, the Seagrave family had been preserved. He therefore went to the Governor of New South Wales, and made him acquainted with the facts which had been established, and the Governor instantly replied, that the government armed schooner was at his service, if he would himself go in quest of his former shipmates. Inconvenient as the absence at that time was to Captain Osborn, he at once acquiesced, and in a few days the schooner sailed for her destination. She arrived off the island on the same morning that the fleet of canoes with the savages effected their landing, and when William made the remark to Ready as they were hastening into the stockade, that there was another vessel under sail off the garden-point, had Ready had time to put his eye to the telescope, he would have discovered that it was the schooner.

  The schooner stood in to the reefs, and then hauled off again, that she might send her boat in to sound for an anchorage. The boat, when sounding, perceived the canoes and the savages, and afterwards heard the report of firearms on the first attack. On her return on board the schooner, they stated what they had seen and heard, and their idea that the white people on the island were being attacked by the savages. As the boat did not return on board till near dusk, they had not time to canvas, the question when the night attack was made, and they again heard the firing of the muskets. This made Captain Osborn most anxious to land as soon as possible, but as the savages were in such numbers, and the crew of the schooner did not consist of more than twenty-five men, the commander considered it was rash to make the attempt. He did, however, show the utmost anxiety to bring his schooner to an anchor, so as to protect his men, and then agreed that they should land.

  The boat had reported deep water and good anchorage close to the garden-point, and every preparation was made for running at daylight on the following morning; but unfortunately, it fell calm for the best part of the day, and it was not until the morning after, just as the savages were making their last attack upon the stockade, that she could get in. As soon as she did, she opened the fire of her carronades, and the result is already known.

  My readers must, if they can, imagine the joy of Mr and Mrs Seagrave when they beheld their old friend Captain Osborn. All danger was now over; the party who had landed with him went out under the command of the mate, to ascertain if there were any more of the savages to be found; but, except the dead and dying, all had escaped in some of the smaller canoes. Captain Osborn remained with the Seagraves, and they informed him of the state of poor old Ready, whom William had gone to attend as soon as Captain Osborn was engaged with his father and mother. Captain Osborn hurried out to see him; Ready knew his voice, for his eyes were already so dim that he could not see.

  “That is Captain Osborn, I know,” said Ready in a faint voice. “You have come in good time, sir; I knew you would come, and I always said so: you have the thanks of a dying man.”