Lanty was by this time trying to drag Victorine over the rocks and
through the water. The poor Parisienne was very helpless, falling,
hurting herself, and screaming continually; and trebly, when a couple
of natives seized upon her, and dragged her ashore, where they
immediately snatched away her mantle and cap, pulled off her gold chain
and cross, and tore out her earrings with howls of delight.

Lanty, struggling on, was likewise pounced upon, and bereft of his fine
green and gold livery coat and waistcoat, which, though by no means his
best, and stained with the sea water, were grasped with ecstasy,
quarrelled over, and displayed in triumph. The steward had secured a
rope by which he likewise reached the shore, only to become the prey of
the savages, who instantly made prize of his watch and purse, as well
as of almost all his garments. The five unfortunate survivors would
fain have remained huddled together, but the natives pointing to some
huts on the hillside, urged them thither by the language of shouts and
blows.

'Faith and I'm not an ox,' exclaimed Lanty, as if the fellow could have
understood him, 'and is it to the shambles you're driving me?'

'Best not resist! There's nothing for it but to obey them,' said the
steward, 'and at least there will be shelter for the child.'

No objection was made to his lifting her in his arms, and he carried
her, as the party, half-drowned, nearly starved and exhausted, stumbled
on along the rocky paths which cut their feet cruelly, since their
shoes had all been taken from them. Lanty gave what help he could to
the Abbe and Victorine, who were both in a miserable plight, but ere