But you, my readers, shall judge of my feelings.
We landed on an island at the mouth of the gulf, and Yamba made smoke- signals to her friends on the mainland, telling them of our return.

We resolved it would never do to confess we had been _driven back_.

No, we had roamed about and had come back to our dear friends of our own free- will, feeling there was no place like home! just think what a _role_ this was for me to play,--with my whole being thrilling with an agony of helpless rage and bitter disappointment.
This time, however, we did not wait for the blacks to come out and meet us, but paddled straight for the beach, where the chiefs and all the tribe were assembled in readiness to receive us.

The first poignant anguish being passed, and the warmth of welcome being so cordial and excessive (they cried with joy), I began to feel a little easier in my mind and more resigned to inexorable fate.

The usual ceremony of nose- rubbing on shoulders was gone through, and almost every native present expressed his or her individual delight at seeing us again.