And, sure enough, I soon saw a movement in the grass just on top of the island, which is called Bonet Island and is one hundred and thirty-six feet high.

I fired several shots over the place, but saw no other sign of the savages.

It was they that had moved the grass, for as the sloop swept past the island, the rebound of the tide carrying her clear, there on the other side was the boat, surely enough exposing their cunning and treachery.

A stiff breeze, coming up suddenly, now scattered the canoes while it extricated the sloop from a dangerous position, albeit the wind, though friendly, was still ahead.
The _Spray_, flogging against current and wind, made Borgia Bay on the following afternoon, and cast anchor there for the second time.

I would now, if I could, describe the moonlit scene on the strait at midnight after I had cleared the savages and Bonet Island.