Chapter 42

Remorse

During the skirmish not a single musket had been discharged. The
first snatched by Jarl had missed fire, and ere he could seize
another, it was close quarters with him, and no gestures to spare.
His harpoon was his all. And truly, there is nothing like steel in a
fray. It comes and it goes with a will, and is never a-weary. Your
sword is your life, and that of your foe; to keep or to take as it
happens. Closer home does it go than a rammer; and fighting with
steel is a play without ever an interlude. There are points more
deadly than bullets; and stocks packed full of subtle tubes, whence
comes an impulse more reliable than powder.

Binding our prisoners lengthwise across the boat's seats, we rowed
for the canoe, making signs of amity.

Now, if there be any thing fitted to make a high tide ebb in the
veins, it is the sight of a vanquished foe, inferior to yourself in
powers of destruction; but whom some necessity has forced you to
subdue. All victories are not triumphs, nor all who conquer, heroes.

As we drew near the canoe, it was plain, that the loss of their sire
had again for the instant overcome the survivors. Raising hands, they
cursed us; and at intervals sent forth a low, piercing wail, peculiar
to their race. As before, faint cries were heard from the tent. And
all the while rose and fell on the sea, the ill-fated canoe.

As I gazed at this sight, what iron mace fell on my soul; what curse
rang sharp in my ear! It was I, who was the author of the deed that
caused the shrill wails that I heard. By this hand, the dead
man had died. Remorse smote me hard; and like lightning I asked
myself, whether the death-deed I had done was sprung of a virtuous
motive, the rescuing a captive from thrall; or whether beneath that
pretense, I had engaged in this fatal affray for some other, and
selfish purpose; the companionship of a beautiful maid. But
throttling the thought, I swore to be gay. Am I not rescuing the
maiden? Let them go down who withstand me.

At the dismal spectacle before him, Jarl, hitherto menacing our
prisoners with his weapon, in order to intimidate their countrymen,
honest Jarl dropped his harpoon. But shaking his knife in the air,
Samoa yet defied the strangers; nor could we prevent him. His
heathenish blood was up.

Standing foremost in the boat, I now assured the strangers, that all
we sought at their hands was the maiden in the tent. That captive
surrendered, our own, unharmed, should be restored. If not, they must
die. With a cry, they started to their feet, and brandished their
clubs; but, seeing Jarl's harpoon quivering over the hearts of our
prisoners, they quickly retreated; at last signifying their
acquiescence in my demand. Upon