Mary and she returned to the point where the roof sloped, and Elizabeth, slipping to her knees, began to prod at it with the knife.

To her great joy a shower of loose shale fell.

"Help me, Mary; work as hard as you can."

They plied their knives energetically. The missionary, anxious to learn what they were about, joined them, and, having no other implement, lifted a piece of hard rock and prodded at the roof with that. Soon a considerable heap of earth and shale was piled up on the floor. But their tools were poor subst.i.tutes for pickaxes, and Elizabeth feared that there would not be time to block the tunnel effectively before the savages arrived.

All at once there was a tremendous crash, and the girls started back in alarm, not quickly enough to escape some clods of earth that struck them heavily. The loosening of the under layer of the roof had disturbed the ma.s.s above, and there had now fallen upon the floor an immense quant.i.ty of debris which completely blocked the tunnel, and could only be removed with long labour.

Elizabeth gave a cry of joy.

"We are saved for the present," she said. "Come!"

They hurried after the others, whom they overtook just as they reached the opening into the pit.

"We can't stay here," said Elizabeth; "they'll know there must be another entrance, and will discover it as soon as it is light. We must get up into the woods and hide."

"The precipice!" said Mary instantly.

"We could hardly get there in the dark," replied Elizabeth; "it's too dangerous. But we must go as near it as possible, and climb to the top when we can see our way."

They wasted no time, but set up the ladder at once and clambered out of the pit. Their haste was such that none thought of taking with them any of their belongings until Elizabeth, at the last moment, remembered that there were no fruit-trees where they were going. She collected all the food that remained and handed it up to her sisters, together with their kettle and tin cups.

To Fangati was given the task of leading the party through the woods.

Their destination was a little hollow some distance away on the reverse side of the precipice. It was thickly covered with trees, and would afford shelter for the rest of the night. As soon as they dared they would climb to the summit, a feat which in the darkness would be hazardous in the extreme.

Fangati was an unerring guide, and a quarter of an hour's uphill walk brought them to the wooded hollow. Elizabeth and Mary each took an arm of the missionary to a.s.sist him; indeed, Elizabeth felt the need of support herself; her strength was nearly exhausted. Not a word was spoken during the journey. All ears were strained to catch sounds from below. For a time they heard nothing, but presently the cries of the islanders came faintly on the air from afar. These ceased before they reached their shelter, and it seemed that the pursuit was taking another direction.

They sank upon the ground beneath the trees.

"Let us thank G.o.d for all His mercies," said the missionary, and in tones little above a whisper, he uttered a few simple words of grat.i.tude and of entreaty for protection during the night.

"I am filled with amazement at my marvellous deliverance," he said to Elizabeth. "I know Maku and Fangati, but who are you, my dear young ladies, and how came you upon this island? Have you n.o.body else with you? But I am inconsiderate; you must be very weary: doubtless you will tell me all in the morning."

"I am tired," Elizabeth confessed; "but I could not sleep, and the joy of hearing an English voice is greater than I can tell."

There was a sob in her voice. Mary clasped her hand.

"I will tell our story, Bess dear," she said; "lay your head in my lap and rest."

So Mary quietly began to relate the story of their voyage. As she casually mentioned the name of the vessel the missionary interrupted with an exclamation.

"The _Elizabeth_! Was her skipper Captain Barton?"

"Yes," said Mary in surprise. "Did you know Uncle Ben?"

"Know him! He was one of my oldest friends. I met him in London a few days before he sailed; indeed, he offered to bring me back in his own vessel. He mentioned that his nieces were accompanying him. What has happened?"

Mary went on to tell of the wreck, the landing on the island, and the simple outline of their life since.

"Marvellous," said the old man; "and my poor old friend!--you saw nothing of the raft?"

"Nothing. Do you think that there is any chance at all that Uncle Ben was saved?"

"I cannot tell. Strange things happen in the providence of G.o.d. I see the hand of G.o.d in your presence here; but for that I should not have lived another day. We can but trust that my old friend is safe. He may be on one of these many islands. I hope so."

In answer to a question from Mary he related how he had gone from London to San Francisco, and sailed thence in an American ship for the South Pacific. Having made a tour of the mission-stations, he had only reached his own island a few days ago. He had been met on the sh.o.r.e by the natives with every mark of welcome; the absence of the chief was plausibly explained; but the vessel had no sooner departed than he was seized and tied up. He expected instant death, but had been reserved for sacrifice at the ceremonies in connection with the inauguration of the new chief.

"Did they give you food?" asked Tommy.

"Yes, my dear, or I should never have had the strength to profit by your sister's brave deed. Do you know, when I heard her voice, I thought it had been the voice of an angel, speaking to me as the angel spoke to St. Peter in prison. The remembrance of how the apostle was set free was very cheering as I lay waiting for night. Your sister has indeed been an angel of deliverance. I thank G.o.d, who put courage into her heart."

They talked until the light of dawn stole through the trees. Elizabeth had fallen asleep. Without disturbing her the others rose and went to the edge of the clump of woodland, whence a considerable portion of the island was visible. No savages were in sight or hearing. They made a breakfast of fruit, and when Elizabeth awoke, and had eaten, they took their way with many precautions up the steep ascent to the summit of the precipice.

There grew upon it a few palm-trees, which did not afford as good a screen as the clump they had just left. On the other hand it commanded a wider outlook over the sea. They hoped that the savages, failing to discover them, would eventually return to their island. Only when they saw the canoes departing would it be safe to venture down again.

Their situation gave them much anxiety. Their stock of food was small, and they had now another mouth to feed. Already they felt the lack of water. The stream that flowed near the pit and plunged down over the waterfall was too far distant for them to attempt to visit it; and while the savages were on the island the still longer journey to the stream near the site of their original hut was out of the question.

They hoped with all their heart that the intruders would soon depart.

But this hope died as the day wore on. From time to time they heard shouts, now distant, now nearer at hand. Clearly the men were searching for them. Once they were greatly alarmed when they caught sight of dusky figures crossing the open ground below their recent settlement, and knew by their shouts and gestures that they had discovered traces of habitation. The natives had indeed already come upon the pit and searched it. By good fortune they had followed the tracks down to the sh.o.r.e instead of up into the higher ground. They scoured the copse in which the boat and canoe had been placed, and on discovering them hastened along the sh.o.r.e in both directions. No doubt it was only the apparent inaccessibility of the precipice that prevented them from suspecting that as the fugitives' place of refuge.

The day pa.s.sed. The little party lay in the shade of the trees, and kept as still as possible; but they were much distressed by heat and thirst, and at the fall of night the girls felt thoroughly worn out.

Mr. Corke, the missionary, arranged that they should sleep through the night, while he and the two natives kept watch.

Elizabeth was very unwilling that this task should be undergone by the old man; but he a.s.sured her that he was very tough, and had quite recovered from the effects of confinement, owing to the fortunate circ.u.mstance that the islanders had not deprived him of food.

When the next morning broke, and the girls, feeling weak and ill, rose from their hard couches, they were amazed to discover that Mr. Corke was no longer with them.

"Where is he?" asked Elizabeth anxiously.

"He go fetch water," said Maku. "He say mus' have water, so he go down all-same fetch some."

"Why did you let him? Why didn't you wake us?" cried Elizabeth in great distress.

"He say mus' go," persisted the old chief. "He say you do lot fo' he, he do little t'ing fo' you."

Tommy ran to the edge of the plantation to look for the missionary.

Her sisters heard her give a low cry, and next moment she came running back to them, her eyes ablaze with excitement.

"A ship! A ship!" she cried.

The startling news was almost overwhelming. For a moment the girls stood as though rooted to the ground, then they rushed forward, following Tommy, who had already darted back towards the edge. Their hearts leapt within them as they saw, far out at sea, a line of black smoke, and beneath it the low hull of a steamer.

"Is she coming this way?" said Mary anxiously.

"Oh, I do hope so," said Elizabeth. "We must make a signal. Let us tie our handkerchiefs together; Fangati can climb one of the trees with it."

In a few moments Fangati had climbed a tall stem, and tied the three knotted handkerchiefs to a branch projecting towards the sea. Then the girls remembered Mr. Corke, whom in their momentary excitement they had forgotten. There was no sound from below; the natives had certainly not yet seen him, or shouts would have announced their delight.

But his continued absence made the girls ache with dread.