Six savages paddled this rather awkwardly with the blades of oars which had been broken off.

Two of the savages standing erect wore sea-boots, and this sustained the suspicion that they had fallen upon some luckless ship's crew, and also added a hint that they had already visited the _Spray's_ deck, and would now, if they could, try her again.

Their sea-boots, I have no doubt, would have protected their feet and rendered carpet-tacks harmless.

Paddling clumsily, they passed down the strait at a distance of a hundred yards from the sloop, in an offhand manner and as if bound to Fortescue Bay.

This I judged to be a piece of strategy, and so kept a sharp lookout over a small island which soon came in range between them and the sloop, completely hiding them from view, and toward which the _Spray_ was now drifting helplessly with the tide, and with every prospect of going on the rocks, for there was no anchorage, at least, none that my cables would reach.