Meantime we were watching with deep interest the approach of the strangers, expecting any moment we might be called on to engage in deadly conflict with them, should they discover us and be inclined for war.  Cousin Silas had, however, charged us on no account to commence hostilities till it was evident that they would not allow us to retain peaceable possession of our island.  As they drew near they lowered their large mat sail, and took to their paddles.  We held our breath with anxiety, for we could count nearly forty people on board the canoe. Besides the men, there were both women and children.  The men were tall, fine-looking fellows; some had on turbans and cloaks, and all had wide kilts of native cloth, and the women were decently habited in petticoats.  We observed among them spears, and bows and arrows, and two or three muskets, which they held up conspicuously above their heads. As they approached the shore they looked about, apparently to discover any signs of inhabitants.  Perhaps their quick sight had shown them our hut and flag-staff.  On they came.  They passed the passage through the reef, and running the canoe on to the smooth sand, both men and women leaped out, and began to haul her up on the beach.  Now was the time to appear before them, and to attack them if they gave signs of hostility; but just as we were going to rush out to take them by surprise, they had hauled up their canoe sufficiently high to prevent the possibility of her drifting away, and then one and all, climbing up the beach, fell down on their knees, lifting up their hands and bursting forth into a hymn of praise.  There could be no doubt about it; the words were strange to our ears, but the tune was one well-known to us all.  Then one--the eldest of the party--uttered a prayer in a deep and solemn voice, all the rest joining afterwards in a response.  About that, also, there could be no doubt.