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Its every flaunt seemed to beckon brave worshippers from far across the sea to the forlorn island on which it was patiently waving. An uneventful week passed. A Nedrite who had escaped from the Island of Oolooz brought word to King Pootoo that the enemy was completing preparation for a stupendous assault, but a close watch on the sea failed to reveal signs of the approach.
At last the Oolooz leader, a blood-covered savage as large as Pootoo, led his men up to the breastworks, driving the defenders into the trenches and down the gentle slope. Triumph was theirs apparently, and their yelling was full of it. But inch by inch Pootoo fought them back. Once the king looked helplessly at Hugh, as if praying for him as a god to exert his influence in the unequal struggle.
King Pootoo, the picture of despair, stood knee-deep in the water. As the sailors pushed off, he threw up his hands and wailed aloud; and then the whole tribe behind him fell grovelling in the sand. Two white-robed figures flung themselves in the water and grasped the gunwales as the boat moved away.
As the ships were returning, on the 31st, from these islands to Annamooka, the Resolution was very near running full upon a low sandy isle, called Pootoo Pootooa, surrounded with breakers.
A native with a big white umbrella was constantly at his side and King Pootoo was in personal command of the workmen as "sub-boss." Ridgeway jocosely characterized his hundred workmen as "Micks," and they had become expert wielders of the wooden pick, shovel and crowbar.
The messengers had seen the enemy, by that time entering the pass from the north. In an instant Hugh's little army was in a state of wild perturbation. One could have heard the gnashing of teeth had he walked among the groups receiving final orders from King Pootoo. Silence reigned again the silence of death.
As they walked slowly across the little plain, followed by the oarsmen, they became cognizant of an extraordinary commotion in the village. Pootoo and a dozen men came running toward them excitedly. "What's up, I wonder?" cried Hugh. "It is the enemy. I know they have been sighted," she exclaimed breathlessly. And she was right.
Guards stationed on the summits of the gate posts constantly watched the sea for the approach of the great flotilla from Oolooz. King Pootoo had long been preparing to resist the attack. There were at least five hundred able-bodied men in his band, and Hugh could not but feel a thrill of admiration as he looked upon the fierce, muscular warriors and their ugly weapons.
Ridgeway and his eager followers were fully prepared for the assault. The prospect was now assuming the appearance of a European war cloud all talk and no fight. But as King Pootoo insisted in vague earnestness that the informer was trustworthy, precautionary measures were not relaxed at any time. Hugh was now the possessor of a heavy sword made of the metallic-like wood.
A sudden shriek broke on the stillness, causing him to leap as if some one had struck him violently. Then there was a succession of yells and the rushing of feet. He glanced nervously toward the trenches. A dozen Oolooz men were flying back toward the main body, while not a sign of Pootoo or his men was visible. They had delivered a few spears and had dropped back into the trench.
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