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Seeing this, some of our men were for hostilities: but I restrained them and we made our meal from a barrel of biscuit, eating in silence while the natives chewed away at the pork. The meal over, we fell to work and finished the second tent without opposition, though curiosity drew some of our visitors so near as to hamper the workmen. When thrust aside they showed no resentment, but after a minute drew near again and impeded us as badly as ever.

Towards nightfall the main body drew off–whither, the fog did not reveal: but one or two entered the tents with us, hung around while we supped, and without the least invitation stretched themselves down to sleep. I own that this impudence tried my temper sorely, and Obed–the only one of us who knew some scraps of the language of these Indians– went so far as to remonstrate with them. But if they understood, they gave no sign of understanding: and we resolved to forbear from violence, at least so long as Captain Wills and his three comrades remained away from our main body and exposed to any vengeance these savages might wreak.

And our fears for the Captain were justified about 4 a.m. by a report of firearms in the direction of the ship. I sprang to the door and waved a torch, and in a minute or so our comrades came running in through a shower of stones and lances, several of which struck the tents. The natives, it appeared, had attempted to plunder the ship. At great risk Obed ran out to seek one of the toens and reason with him: but the mischief happened too quickly. Some of our men caught up their muskets and fired. Our assailants at once broke up and fled; and half-a-dozen of us charged down to the water’s edge, where we saw a score and more with torches, busily setting fire to the ship. They too dispersed before us, leaving two of their number dead on the field and carrying off several wounded. But we came too late to save the Independence, which was already ablaze in a dozen different places; nor could we make any effort against the flames, for we knew not how sorely we might be wanted at the tents.

So we returned and spent the rest of the night in great discomfort, the blaze of the ship colouring the fog all around, but showing us nothing. Soon after daybreak the weather lifted a little, and what we saw discouraged us yet further. For, except the beach on which we were encamped, we found the whole coast covered with thick forest to the water’s edge; while our boats, in which we might have made shift to escape, had been either fired or taken off by the savages. At 10 a.m., therefore, Captain Wills called a council of war, and informed us that he could think of no better plan than to push on for a harbour (its name, if I mistake not, was Gray’s Harbour) lying about seventy miles to the southward, where a ship of the Company was due to call early in the spring. Obed remembered it, and added that the journey might be quickly made, since his map showed no creek or river that promised to impede us, and the Indians were not likely to annoy us while the camp and the remains of the barque afforded any plunder. Accordingly we packed up, and having destroyed what muskets and weapons we did not want and thrown our spare gunpowder into the sea, shortly after noon began our march through the forest.

We were nineteen persons in all: and each of us carried two muskets, a pistol and some pounds of ammunition, besides his share of the provisions. The only ones more lightly laden were Margit and Captain Wills. The latter, indeed, could with pain manage to walk at all, and so clogged the pace of the party that we made but eight miles before night-fall, when we halted in an open space, set watches, and passed the night with no more discomfort than came from the severe cold.