Twice Lost. William Henry Giles Kingston

      “Yes, yes,” said the white boy, looking up at me.

      “Why, you must be English; you have thoroughly understood what I said,” I exclaimed.

      “Me tink so too,” observed Popo.

      The commander, who had been listening to what we had been saying, now called Tamaku aft, and desired him to try if he could understand the white boy, who after he had last spoken seemed abashed, and could not be got to utter a word. Tamaku at once began to ask him questions, which he answered with apparent readiness in the same language, differing but slightly in sound.

      “Can you make out how he came to be among the natives?” asked the commander, when Tamaku and the boy had ceased speaking.

      “He not know much,” answered the Kanaka; “long time wid dem—say dey find him in a boat at sea, and bring him here and make him slavey.”

      “Try and find out his name,” said the commander; “whether it is Tom or Dick, or Jack or Harry.”

      Scarcely had he uttered the last word when the boy exclaimed, “Harry! Harry! dat my name,” and seemed almost overcome by hearing it uttered.

      “Well, Harry, my boy, can’t you talk a little more English? Since you remember your name, tell us something about your father and mother, or any of your other friends,” continued the commander.

      “Father—mother,” repeated the boy, with a look of pleasure, as if they were words once familiar to his tongue.

      “Well done, my boy,” exclaimed the commander, pleased with the result of his experiment; “you’ll remember more words by-and-by, when you get on board. And we’ll not yet pay your drunken friends a visit to let them wish you good-bye.”

      It was difficult to say whether the boy understood him; but, at all events, the commander’s kind tone of voice gave him confidence, and he seemed contented and happy.

      As we had only just time to get round the island, the commander did not put on shore anywhere; also, with so small a party, he thought it imprudent to go among the natives, who might prove hostile—especially if they found that he was carrying off their slaves. Popo and the white boy appeared well-pleased at this; and it was evident that the latter had no great affection for those among whom he had lived so long.

      Frequently during the remainder of the day we heard the boy saying to himself, “Yes, yes—Harry—father—mother,” as if pleased with the sound of those long-forgotten words. Then I was nearly certain that I heard him muttering to himself a verse of a child’s hymn; but the words were indistinct.

      He listened attentively to every word we said, and now and then uttered a word after us.

      “I suspect that in the course of a few days he will be able to tell us more about himself than he can do now,” observed the captain; “in the meantime, we must not bother him too much.”

      We got on board just before darkness set in. Popo was greeted warmly by the whole of the crew, who were delighted to find that he had escaped and to have him back among them again; while Harry, as the white boy was at once called, was received with much curiosity, every one being eager to know who he was and how he had fallen into the hands of the savages. As may be supposed, he had not been many minutes on board before he was rigged out in a shirt and trousers and jacket, with a handkerchief round his neck, and a broad-brimmed hat on his head. He made no objection to putting on the dress, which really became him; and Dick Tillard, who acted as his valet, observed that it was surely not the first time he had been so rigged out.

      Next day, the commander went on shore with a strongly-armed party, taking Tamaku with him, that he might try and obtain further information from the natives. The latter showed no signs of fear, being apparently accustomed to the sight of white men. They inquired what had become of the boys, and demanded to have them back. Tamaku replied that one of them belonged to the ship, and that the other desired to remain on board, so that they could not be given up; but the English commander would make a present to them if they would inform him honestly how they came to have the white boy among them. After this, by Tamaku’s account, they had a long palaver, when the old chief, stepping forward, said that he was ready to declare the truth: that some seven years before, as he and his people were on board a large canoe on their way to this island, they had fallen in with an English boat containing several men and a little boy; but the men had all died; and the little boy had been taken care of, and had lived with them ever since.

      Tamaku had his suspicions that the men had been put to death; however, it was not worth while pressing the matter home on the chief, as, of course, he would have denied it.

      The commander having finished his survey of the island, and obtained all the information respecting the boy which he could collect, we again made sail and stood to the westward.