The moments had passed slowly until almost an hour had gone by. Captain Gray was the first to break the long silence with: “I begin to think, that for this time we are safe,” but hardly had the words left his lips when the murmur of voices were heard. The hearts of every member of the little party seemed to stop beating, so intense was their terrible dread. In a moment more the form of a strongly built young savage bounded over the lowest part of the rocky barrier and stood before the horrified group. He was quickly followed by four other natives.
The captain and the rest of the little party sprang to their feet ready to defend themselves, their backs against the rocks, their drawn knives in their hands. But instead of rushing upon them, the young native smiled and pointed to something he carried in his hand, which was a large conch shell, having a curved piece of bright pearl shell attached to it in a curious manner, the whole arrangement being fastened to a long cord of braided grass, and said in a kind voice:
“Fish! Ahleka, Fish! Have no fear of Ahleka.”
The surprise of the little group can be better imagined than described, at hearing very fair English spoken by this stalwart young native, whose skin was a rich nut-brown, and whose only clothing consisted of a strip of braided grass wound about his waist and hanging in a deep fringe half way to the knees. The rest of his body was totally devoid of covering or ornament, except a necklace of claws that encircled his throat. He was a splendid specimen of manhood; tall and straight as a young tree, broad shouldered, muscular and supple.
The strangeness of hearing words they could understand, flow from his lips, in a full musical tone, when they had expected to hear only sounds unintelligible to them, was so great as to make the little party stare at the natives with open-eyed wonder, as Ahleka continued:
“My people will do you no harm. We war not with the children of the lands beyond the seas. But, how came you here? We have found your large waa (canoe) close under the rocks. Did you come from lands beyond the rising of Ka La (pointing to the sun) and, how did so few warriors bring so large a waa so far?”
The natives were regarding curiously the group before them.
Captain Gray answered, “No, we did not come in so small a boat from our land, but our big ship was burned at sea, and nine days have we drifted, until we came upon your island.”
Mabel now broke in with: “Are there white people on your island?”
“White people, daughter of mahina (the moon), what are white people?”
“Why, do you not know? and yet you speak English; we are white people, not brown like yourself and your friends.”
“Are all your people like you, daughter of mahina, as if the light of Ka La shone forever on bright pearls?”
Mabel was a little confused at his admiring glance, but answered: “Yes, do you not see, all my friends are white, also?”
“The two daughters are white, as you say, but not so white are the warriors.”
There was a general laugh at this remark. Etta spoke up for her bronzed father and the two sailors, saying, “they are indeed darker than we, but the rays of the sun made them so, while we live indoors.”
The sailors were indeed very much sun-burned, while Captain Gray was naturally a very dark man. There was no denying the fact that they presented a strong contrast to the two girls, who were both fair, with light hair, particularly Mabel, whose complexion was extremely delicate. On attempting to talk with the other natives, Captain Gray was surprised to find that they understood but a word or two of what was said to them.
“You have not told us yet: are there other of our people living on your island?”
“No, not of your people. My father speaks your tongue. He has taught me to speak it also, but he is of our people.”
“But, if he speaks English he must be an American or an Englishman,” cried Mabel.
“No, said I, not, he is my father. How is he of your people beyond the rising of Ka La. No waa, in all my life before, ever came to our land, nor heard I of any that ever came.”
“But is he dark, like you, or white like us?” persists Mabel, feeling sure that his father must be a white man, having noticed that all of the natives with him were much darker than he.
“He is as thy father,” answered Ahleka, pointing to Captain Gray.
“This is not my father, my father is beyond the rising of the sun. This is the father of my friend,” she said, pointing to Etta.
“Did not your father come from some far country?” inquired the captain.
“Yes. It is said by the people of our village that the fiku (fig) trees have been in blossom many, many times, since my father and two other Alii (chiefs) descended from pale mahina to dwell among our people. They spoke not as our people spoke, but soon learned our language. My father taught me your strange tongue as a pastime, and when I saw the faces of the mahina maidens I spoke it to them. But come let me take you to my father.”
“Not yet,” answered Captain Gray, “we have two more who belong to us and we must wait till they come back, and, besides that we have not eaten yet.”
On hearing this, Ahleka turned and spoke a few words to one of the natives, who quickly started in the direction of the boat. Another native set about rebuilding the fire. The native who had gone to the boat soon returned, bringing a bundle done up in large, green leaves. This he laid upon the ground and proceeded to open, having handed to one of the other natives a number of fish which he had also brought, strung upon a sharp stick. The fish were quickly dressed and wrapped in several layers of the large leaves, when they were placed in the hot ashes to cook, while out of the bundle were produced some delicious looking mangoes, some figs, a large bread fruit which was already cooked, and some tamarinds. These things were intended to be eaten by the fishermen at midday. They also had a couple of gourds to drink from. They quickly spread the meal, using the broad leaves for plates. The repast was almost prepared, when Allen and Harry were seen coming around the point towards the camp. Mabel and Etta ran forward to meet them, breathless to tell them of the strange events that had happened while they had been away. Allen could hardly believe the wonderful story; it seemed incredible that they should have found English-speaking Aborigines. The idea was almost weird. When he had reached Captain Gray and the rest of the party, he found it indeed true.
“Now that we are all together again we had best have something to eat. What have you there Allen?” asked the captain.
Allen had now cut open a couple of the papiea fruit and found them to be juicy and not unpleasant to the taste. They contained a large number of little shot-like seeds, which, at first, he thought to be the part of the fruit to be eaten, but soon found his mistake.
“Take of our food to eat,” said Ahleka, “and when you have eaten and rested, we will go to the village.”
“But do not you and your friends need the food for yourselves?” inquired the captain.
“No, not so, we shall not fish to-day, but shall go with you to my father,” saying which, Ahleka motioned to put the fish upon fresh leaves also, which was deftly done by the native boy who had been attending to the fire. The meal proved a delightful one, the fish juicy and toothsome, the bread fruit a pleasant change from hard tack, the fruits delicious. The gourds had been filled with clear water into which a number of tamarinds were dropped, making a cool, refreshing drink, somewhat acid to the taste.
After having done full justice to what had been provided for them, they began to feel as if, after all, their lot was not such a hard one; so reviving are the effects of a dainty meal.