A wild chase—Hope, disappointment, and despair—The sandal-wood trader outwits the man-of-war.  
When the wild-pig, referred to in the last chapter, was first observed, it was standing on the margin of a thicket, from which it had just issued, gazing, with the profoundly philosophical aspect peculiar to that animal, at our four friends, and seeming to entertain doubts as to the propriety of beating an immediate retreat.
 
Before it had made up its mind on this point, Corrie’s eye alighted on it.
 
“Hist!” exclaimed he, with a gesture of caution to his companions. “Look there! we’ve had nothing to eat for an awful time; nothing since breakfast on Sunday morning. I feel as if my interior had been amputated. Oh! what a jolly roast that fellow would make if we could only kill him.”
 
“Wot’s in the pistol?” inquired Bumpus, pointing to the weapon which Corrie had stuck ostentatiously into his belt.
 
“Nothin’,” answered the boy. “I fired the last charge I had into the face of a savage.”
 
“Fling it at him,” suggested Bumpus, getting cautiously up. “Here, hand it to me. I’ve seed a heavy horse-pistol like that do great execution when well aimed by a stout arm.”
 
The pig seemed to have an intuitive perception that danger was approaching, for it turned abruptly round just as the missile left the seaman’s hand, and received the butt with full force close to the root of its tail.
 
A pig’s tendency to shriek on the receipt of the slightest injury is well known. It is therefore not to be wondered at, that this pig went off into the bushes under cover of a series of yells so terrific that they might have been heard for miles round.
 
“I’ll after him,” cried Bumpus, catching up a large stone, and leaping forward a few paces almost as actively as if nothing had happened to him.
 
“Hurrah!” shouted Corrie, “I’ll go too.”
 
“Hold on,” cried Bumpus, stopping suddenly.
 
“Why?” inquired the boy.
 
“’Cause you must stop an’ take care of the gals. It won’t do to leave ’em alone again, you know, Corrie.”
 
This remark was accompanied with an exceedingly huge wink full of deep meaning, which Corrie found it convenient not to notice, as he observed, gravely—
 
“Ah! true. One of us must remain with ’em, poor helpless things—so—so you had better go after the squeaker.”
 
“All right,” said Bumpus, with a broad grin—“Hallo! why, here’s a spear that must ha’ bin dropt by one o’ them savages. That’s a piece o’ good luck anyhow, as the man said when he fund the fi’ pun’ note. Now, then, keep an eye on them gals, lad, and I’ll be back as soon as ever I can; though I does feel rather stiffish. My old timbers ain’t used to such deep divin’, d’ye see.”
 
Bumpus entered the thicket as he spoke, and Corrie returned to console the girls, with the feeling and the air of a man whose bosom is filled with a stern resolve to die, if need be, in the discharge of an important duty.
 
Now, the yell of this particular pig reached other ears besides those of the party whose doings we have attempted to describe. It rang in those of the pirates, who had been sent ashore to hide, like the scream of a steam-whistle, in consequence of their being close at hand, and it sounded like a faint cry in those of Henry Stuart and the missionary, who, with their party, were a long way off, slowly tracing the footsteps of the lost Alice, to which they had been guided by the keen scent of that animated scrap of door-mat, Toozle. The effect on both parties was powerful, but not similar. The pirates, supposing that a band of savages were near them, lay close and did not venture forth until a prolonged silence and strong curiosity tempted them to creep, with slow movements and extreme caution, towards the place whence the sounds had proceeded.
 
Mr Mason and Henry, on the other hand, stopped and listened with intense earnestness, expecting, yet fearing, a recurrence of the cry, and then sprang forward with their party, under the belief that they had heard the voice of Alice calling for help.
 
Meanwhile, Bumpus toiled up the slopes of the mountain, keeping the pig well in view, for that animal having been somewhat injured by the blow from the pistol, could not travel at its ordinary speed. Indeed, Jo would have speedily overtaken it, but for the shaky condition of his own body after such a long fast and such a series of violent shocks, as well mental as physical.
 
Having gained the summit of a hill, the pig, much exhausted, sat down on its hams, and gazed pensively at the ground. Bumpus took advantage of the fact, and also sat down on a stone to rest.
 
“Wot a brute it is,” said he to himself, “I’ll circumvent it yet, though.”
 
Presently, he rose and made as if he had abandoned the chase, and were about to return the way he had come; but, when he had effectually concealed himself from the view of the pig, he made a wide détour, and, coming out suddenly at a spot higher up the mountain, charged down upon the unsuspecting animal with a yell that would have done credit to itself.
 
The pig echoed the yell, and rushed down the hill towards the cliffs, closely followed by the hardy seaman, who, in the ardour of the chase, forgot or ignored his aches and pains, and ran like a greyhound, his hair streaming in the wind, his eyes blazing with excitement, and the spear ready poised for a fatal dart. Altogether, he was so wild and strong in appearance, and so furious in his onset, that it was impossible to believe he had been half dead little more than an hour before, but then, as we have before remarked, Bumpus was hard to kill!
 
For nearly half an hour did the hungry seaman keep up the chase—neither gaining nor losing distance, while the affrighted pig, having its attention fixed entirely on its pursuer, scrambled and plunged forward over every imaginable variety of ground, receiving one or two severe falls in consequence. Bumpus, being warned by its fate, escaped them. At last the two dashed into a gorge and out at the other end, scrambled through a thicket, plunged down a hill, and doubled a high rock, on the other side of which they were met in the teeth by Henry Stuart at the head of his band.
 
The pig attempted to double. Failing to do so, it lost its footing and fell flat on its side. Jo Bumpus threw his spear with violent energy deep into the earth about two feet beyond it, tripped on a stump and fell headlong on the top of the pig, squeezing the life out of its body with the weight of his ponderous frame, and receiving its dying yell into his very bosom.
 
“Hilloa! my stalwart chip of old Neptune,” cried Henry, laughing, “you’ve bagged him this time effectually. Hast seen any of the niggers, or did you mistake this poor pig for one?”
 
“Ay, truly, I have seen them, and given a few of ’em marks that will keep ’em in remembrance of me. As for this pig,” said Jo, throwing the carcase over his shoulder, “I want a bit of summat to eat—that’s the fact; an’ the poor children will be—”
 
“Children,” cried Mr Mason, eagerly, “what do you mean, my man; have you seen any?”
 
“In course I has, or I wouldn’t speak of ’em,” returned Jo, who did not at first recognise the missionary, and no wonder, for Mr Mason’s clothes were torn and soiled, and his face was bruised, bloodstained, and haggard.
 
“Tell me, friend, I entreat you,” said the pastor earnestly, laying his hand on Jo’s arm, “have you seen my child?”
 
“Wot! are you the father o’ the little gal? Why, I’ve seed her only half an hour since. But hold on, lads, come arter me an I’ll steer you to where she is at this moment.”
 
“Thanks be to God,” said Mr Mason, with a deep sigh of relief. “Lead on, my man, and, pray, go quickly.”
 
Bumpus at once led the way to the foot of the cliffs, and went over the ground at a pace that satisfied even the impatience of the bereaved father.
 
While this was occurring on the mountain slopes, the pirates at the foot of the cliffs had discovered the three children, and, finding that no one else was near, had seized them and carried them off to a cave near to which their boat lay on the rocks. They hoped to have obtained some information from them as to what was going on at the other side of the island, but, while engaged in a fruitless attempt to screw something out of Corrie, who was peculiarly refractory, they were interrupted, first by the yells of Bumpus and his pig, and afterwards by the sudden appearance of Henry and his party on the edge of a cliff a short way above the spot where they were assembled. On seeing these, the pirates started to their feet and drew their cutlasses, while Henry uttered a shout and ran down the rocks like a deer.
 
“Shall we have a stand-up fight with ’em, Bill?” said one of the pirates.
 
“Not if I can help it—there’s four to one,” replied the other.
 
“To the boat,” cried several of the men, leading the way, “and let’s take the brats with us.”
 
As Henry’s party came pouring down the hill, the more combatively disposed of the pirates saw at a glance that it would be in vain to attempt a stand, they therefore discharged a scattering volley from their pistols, (happily without effect,) and, springing into their boat, pushed off from the shore, taking the children along with them.
 
Mr Mason was the first to gain the beach. He had hit upon a shorter path by which to descend, and rushing forward, plunged into the sea. Poor little Alice, who at once recognised her father, stretched out her arms towards him, and would certainly have leaped into the sea had she not been forcibly detained by one of the pirates, whose special duty it was to hold her with one hand, while he restrained the violent demonstrations of Corrie with the other.
 
The father was too late, however. Already the boat was several yards from the shore, and the frantic efforts he made in the madness of his despair to overtake it, only served to exhaust him. When Henry Stuart reached the beach, it was with difficulty he prevented those members of his band who carried muskets from firing on the boat. None of them thought for a moment, of course, of making the mad attempt to swim towards her. Indeed, Mr Mason himself would have hesitated to do so ha............