I
hastened to take the road to Tent House, from which we were now more
than three leagues distant. I forbade my sons to mention this event, or
our suspicions, to their mother, as I knew it would rob her of all peace
of mind. I tried to console myself. It was possible that chance had
conducted them to the Bay, that they had seen our pretty canoe, and
that, satisfied with their prize, and seeing no inhabitants, they might
not return. Perhaps, on the contrary, these islanders might prove kind
and humane, and become our friends. There was no trace of their
proceedings further than the shore. We called at _The Farm_, on purpose
to examine. All appeared in order; and certainly, if they had reached
here, there was much to tempt them: our cotton mattresses, our osier
seats, and some household utensils that my wife had left here. Our geese
and fowls did not appear to have been alarmed, but were pecking about as
usual for worms and insects. I began to hope that we might get off with
the loss of our canoe,--a loss which might be repaired. We were a
sufficient number, being well armed, not to be afraid of a few savages,
even if they penetrated further into the island, and showed hostile
intentions. I exhorted my sons to do nothing to irritate them; on the
contrary, to meet them with kindness and attention, and to commit no
violence against them unless called on to defend their lives.
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