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- 929
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
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- 874
- text
- CHAPTER VII.
WHAT HAPPENED AT HANNAMANOO
On the other side of the island was the large and populous bay of
Hannamanoo, where the men sought might yet be found. But as the sun was
setting by the time the boat came alongside, we got our offshore tacks
aboard and stood away for an offing. About daybreak we wore, and ran
in, and by the time the sun was well up, entered the long, narrow
channel dividing the islands of La Dominica and St. Christina.
On one hand was a range of steep green bluffs hundreds of feet high,
the white huts of the natives here and there nestling like birds’ nests
in deep clefts gushing with verdure. Across the water, the land rolled
away in bright hillsides, so warm and undulating that they seemed
almost to palpitate in the sun. On we swept, past bluff and grove,
wooded glen and valley, and dark ravines lighted up far inland with
wild falls of water. A fresh land-breeze filled our sails, the embayed
waters were gentle as a lake, and every wave broke with a tinkle
against our coppered prow.
On gaining the end of the channel we rounded a point, and came full
upon the bay of Hannamanoo. This is the only harbour of any note about
the island, though as far as a safe anchorage is concerned it hardly
deserves the title.
Before we held any communication with the shore, an incident occurred
which may convey some further idea of the character of our crew.
Having approached as near the land as we could prudently, our headway
was stopped, and we awaited the arrival of a canoe which was coming out
of the bay. All at once we got into a strong current, which swept us
rapidly toward a rocky promontory forming one side of the harbour. The
wind had died away; so two boats were at once lowered for the purpose
of pulling the ship’s head round. Before this could be done, the eddies
were whirling upon all sides, and the rock so near that it seemed as if
one might leap upon it from the masthead. Notwithstanding the
speechless fright of the captain, and the hoarse shouts of the
unappalled Jennin, the men handled the ropes as deliberately as
possible, some of them chuckling at the prospect of going ashore, and
others so eager for the vessel to strike, that they could hardly
contain themselves. Unexpectedly a countercurrent befriended us, and
assisted by the boats we were soon out of danger.
What a disappointment for our crew! All their little plans for swimming
ashore from the wreck, and having a fine time of it for the rest of
their days, thus cruelly nipped in the bud.
Soon after, the canoe came alongside. In it were eight or ten natives,
comely, vivacious-looking youths, all gesture and exclamation; the red
feathers in their head-bands perpetually nodding. With them also came a
stranger, a renegade from Christendom and humanity—a white man, in the
South Sea girdle, and tattooed in the face. A broad blue band stretched
across his face from ear to ear, and on his forehead was the taper
figure of a blue shark, nothing but fins from head to tail.
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