On the trail of the pirates, stealing noiselessly down the war-
path, which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, come the
redskins, every one of them with his eyes peeled. They carry
tomahawks and knives, and their naked bodies gleam with paint and
oil. Strung around them are scalps, of boys as well as of
pirates, for these are the Piccaninny tribe, and not to be
confused with the softer-hearted Delawares or the Hurons. In the
van, on all fours, is Great Big Little Panther, a brave of so
many scalps that in his present position they somewhat impede his
progress. Bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger,
comes Tiger Lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right.
She is the most beautiful of dusky Dianas [Diana = goddess of the
woods] and the belle of the Piccaninnies, coquettish [flirting],
cold and amorous [loving] by turns; there is not a brave who
would not have the wayward thing to wife, but she staves off the
altar with a hatchet. Observe how they pass over fallen twigs
without making the slightest noise. The only sound to be heard
is their somewhat heavy breathing. The fact is that they are all
a little fat just now after the heavy gorging, but in time they
will work this off. For the moment, however, it constitutes
their chief danger.

The redskins disappear as they have come like shadows, and soon
their place is taken by the beasts, a great and motley
procession: lions, tigers, bears, and the innumerable smaller
savage things that flee from them, for every kind of beast, and,
more particularly, all the man-eaters, live cheek by jowl on the
favoured island. Their tongues are hanging out, they are hungry
to-night.