As they rowed making for the schooner¹ with the light of the westering sun in their eyes, they could see the head of the swimmer as he made back for the shore, and away on the beach near the trees they could see the great gulls² congregated³ around the forms of the four dead men, a boiling of wings above the reef line and against the evening blue of the sky.  
Predatory gulls when feeding on a carcase do not sit and gorge⁴, they are always in motion more or less, especially when they are in great numbers as now. Far at sea and maybe from a hundred miles away guests were still arriving for the banquet spread by death—late comers whose voices went before them sharp on the evening wind, or came up against it weak, remote and filled with suggestions of hunger and melancholy⁵.
 
“God’s truth,” said the beachcomber, spitting as he rowed.
 
They were coming on towards the ship and it was the first word spoken.
 
They had defeat behind them, and even if it were only momentary⁶ defeat, ahead of them lay explanations. How would the remainder of the crew take the killing⁷ of Sru and his companions? There was also the fact that they had lost four divers⁸.
 
The Kermadec was close to them now but not a soul showed on her deck, not even Le Moan, who on sighting the returning boat had slipped into the galley⁹ where she sat crouched¹⁰ in a corner by the copper¹¹ with eyes closed as if asleep.
 
She had told the fellows below that she would warn them on the return of the boat. She had forgotten her promise, her mind was far away, travelling, circling in a nebulous world like a bird lost in a fog, questing for a point to rest on. She knew well that though the boat was returning, this was not the end of things. To-morrow it would all begin again, the destroyed canoes, the implacable firing from the boat; the face of Rantan as he pushed off all told her this. Crouching¹², with closed eyes, she heard the oars¹³, the slight grinding of the boat as it came alongside and the thud of bare feet as Carlin came over the side on to the deck. No voices.
 
The beachcomber had taken in the situation at a glance, the crew were down below, smoking or sleeping, leaving the schooner to look after herself. It was just as well—down there they would have heard nothing of the distant firing, seen nothing of the killing. He knew kanakas, knew as well as though he had been told that as soon as he and............