In the confusion of the moment he took refuge with the rest, in the
canoes. The survivors of the crew now sallied forth, and discharged some
of the deck-guns, which did great execution among the canoes, and drove
all the savages to shore.
For the remainder of the day no one ventured to put off to the ship,
deterred by the effects of the fire-arms. The night passed away without
any further attempts on the part of the natives. When the day dawned,
the Tonquin still lay at anchor in the bay, her sails all loose and
flapping in the wind, and no one apparently on board of her. After a
time, some of the canoes ventured forth to reconnoitre, taking with them
the interpreter.
They paddled about her, keeping cautiously at a distance, but growing
more and more emboldened at seeing her quiet and lifeless. One man
at length made his appearance on the deck, and was recognized by the
interpreter as Mr. Lewis. He made friendly signs, and invited them on
board. It was long before they ventured to comply. Those who mounted
the deck met with no opposition; no one was to be seen on board; for Mr.
Lewis, after inviting them, had disappeared. Other canoes now pressed
forward to board the prize; the decks were soon crowded, and the sides
covered with clambering savages, all intent on plunder.
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