Chapter Twenty Two.The Rendezvous—An Episode—Peculiar Circumstances—and Other Matters.About five or six days’ sail from the scene of our tale there lies one of those small rocks or islets with which the breast of the Pacific is in many places thickly studded.It is a lonely coral isle, far removed from any of its fellows, and presenting none of those grand features which characterise the island on which the settlement of Sandy Cove was situated. In no part does it rise more than thirty feet above the level of the sea; in most places it is little more than a few feet above it. The coral reefs around it are numerous; and as many of them rise to within a few feet of the surface, the navigation in its neighbourhood is dangerous in the extreme.At the time of which we write, the vegetation of the isle was not very luxuriant. Only a few clusters of cocoa-nut palms grew here and there over its otherwise barren surface. In this respect it did not resemble most of the other islands of the Pacific. Owing partly to its being out of the usual course of ships, and partly to the dangerous reefs already referred to, the spot was never approached by vessels, or, if a ship happened to be driven towards it, she got out of its way as speedily as possible.This was the rendezvous of the pirates, and was named by them the Isle of Palms.Here, in caverns hollowed out of the coral rock, Gascoyne had been wont to secrete such goods and stores as were necessary for the maintenance of his piratical course of life, and to this lone spot did Manton convey his prisoners after getting rid of his former commander. Towards this spot, also, did Gascoyne turn the prow of the cutterWaspin pursuit of his mutinous first mate.Manton, for reasons best known to himself, (certainly not from goodness of heart,) was kind to his captives to the extent of simply letting them alone. He declined to hold any intercourse whatever with Captain Montague, and forbade him to speak with the men upon pain of being confined to his berth. The young people were allowed to do as they pleased, so long as they kept out of the way.On reaching the Isle of Palms the pirates at once proceeded to take in those stores of which they stood in need. The harbour into which the schooner ran was a narrow bay, on the shores of which the palm trees grew sufficiently high to prevent her masts from being seen from the other side of the island. Here the captives were landed, but as Manton did not wish them to witness his proceedings, he sent them across the islet under the escort of a party who conveyed them to the shores of a small bay. On the rocks in this bay lay the wreck of what once had been a noble ship. It was now completely dismantled. Her hull was stove in by the rocks. Her masts and yards were gone, with the exception of their stumps and the lower part of the main-mast, to which the main-yard still hung with a ragged portion of the mainsail attached to it.A feeling of depression filled the breast of Montague and his companions as they came in sight of this wreck, and the former attempted to obtain some information in regard to her from his conductors, but they sternly bade him ask no questions. Some time afterwards he heard the story of this vessel’s fate. We shall record it here.Not many months prior to the date of our tale, theAvengerhappened to have occasion to run down to the Isle of Palms. Gascoyne was absent at the time. He had been landed at Sandy Cove, and had ordered Manton to go to the rendezvous for supplies. On nearing the isle a storm arose. The wind was fair, however, and the schooner ran for her destination under close reefed sails. Just before reaching it they fell in with a large full-rigged ship, which, on sighting the schooner, ran up her flag half-mast high as a signal of distress. She had sprung a leak and was sinking.Had the weather been calmer the pirates would have at once boarded the vessel and carried her as a prize into the harbour, but the sea ran so high that this was impossible. Manton therefore ran down as close to the side of the merchantman, (for such she seemed to be,) as enabled him to hail her through the speaking trumpet. When sufficiently near he demanded her name and destination.“TheBrilliant, from Liverpool, bound for the Sandwich Islands. And you?”“TheFoam—from the Feejees—for Calcutta. What’s wrong with you?”“Sprung a leak; is there anchorage in the bay?” sang out the captain of the merchantman.“No, it’s too shoal for a big ship. Bear away round to the other side of the island. You’ll find good holding ground there—I will shew you the way.”The pirate accordingly conducted the unsuspecting stranger away from the only safe harbour in the island, and led him through a complete labyrinth of reefs and rocks to the bay on the other side, in which he knew full well there was scarcely enough of water to float his own little schooner.With perfect confidence in his guide, the unfortunate captain of the merchantman followed until both vessels were in the comparatively still and sheltered water of the bay. Here Manton suddenly put down the helm, brought his vessel up to the wind and allowed the stranger to pass him.“Hold on about sixty fathoms farther and then let go your anchor,” he shouted, as the ship went steadily on to her doom.“Ay, ay, and thank ’ee,” cried the captain, who had already taken in nearly all sail and was quite prepared to anchor.But Manton knew that before twenty fathoms more should be passed over by the ship she would run straight on a coral reef, which rose to within about five feet of the surface of the sea. In an exposed place this reef would have formed a line of breakers, but in its sheltered position the water gave no indication of its existence. The gale, though not blowing direct into the bay, entered it in a sufficiently straight line to carry the ship onward with great speed, notwithstanding the reduction made in her canvas.“Stand by to let go the anchor,” cried her captain.That was his last order. Scarcely had the words passed his lips when the ship struck with a shock that caused her to quiver like a leaf from stem to stern. All the top-masts with their yards and rigging went over the side, and, in one instant the fine vessel was a total wreck!The rest of the story is soon told. The pirates shewed their true colours, ran alongside and took possession without opposition, for the crew of the merchantman were so overwhelmed by the suddenness and appalling nature of the calamity that had befallen them that they had no heart to resist.Of course it was out of the question that the crew of theBrilliantcould be allowed to remain on the island. Some of the pirates suggested that they should be put on a raft, towed to leeward of the island, and, when out of sight of it, be cast adrift to float about until they should be picked up or get blown on one of the numerous islands that lay to the southward of the rendezvous. Manton and Scraggs advocated this plan, but the better-disposed among the men protested against such needless cruelty, and suggested that it would be better to put them into the long-boat of the ship, bandage their eyes, then tow them out of sight of land and cast them loose to steer where they pleased.This plan was adopted and carried into execution. Then the pirates returned, and at their leisure unloaded and secured the cargo of their prize. It was richer than they had anticipated, being a miscellaneous cargo of valuable commodities for the trading stores of some of the South Sea merchants and settlers.The joy felt by the pirates on making this discovery, was all the benefit that was ever derived from these ill-gotten gains by any one of those who had a hand in that dastardly deed. Long before they had an opportunity of removing the goods thus acquired, the career of theAvengerhad terminated. But we must not anticipate our story.On a green knoll near the margin of this bay, and in full view of the wreck, a rude tent or hut was constructed by the pirates out of part of an old sail which had been washed ashore from the wreck, and some broken spars. A small cask of biscuit and two or three blankets were placed in it, and here the captives were left to do as they pleased until such time as Manton chose to send for them. The only piece of advice that was given to them by their surly jailer was, that they should not on any pretence whatever cross the island to the bay in which the schooner lay at anchor.“If ye do,” said the man who was the last of the party to quit them, “ye’ll wish ye hadn’t—that’s all. Take my advice and keep yer kooriosity in yer breeches’ pockets.”With this caution they were left to their own devices and meditations.It was a lovely calm evening at sunset when our four unfortunate friends were thus left alone in these strange circumstances. The effect of their forlorn condition was very different on each. Poopy flung herself down on the ground, inside the tent, and began to sob; Alice sat down beside her, and wept silently; whilst Montague, forgetting his own sorrows in his pity for the poor young creatures who had been thus strangely linked to him in affliction, sat down opposite to Alice, and sought to comfort her.Will Corrie, feeling that he could do nothing to cheer his companions in the circumstances, and being unable to sit still, rose, and going out at the end of the tent, both sides of which were open, stood leaning on a pole, and contemplated the scene before him.In a small creek, or indentation of the shore, close to the knoll on which the tent stood, two of the pirates were working at a boat which lay there. Corrie could not at first understand what they were about, but he was soon enlightened, for, after hauling the boat as far out of the water as they could, they left her there, and followed their comrades to the other side of the island, carrying the oars along with them.The spirit that dwelt in Corrie’s breast was a very peculiar one. Up to this point in his misfortunes the poor boy had been subdued—overwhelmed by the suddenness and the terrible nature of the calamity that had befallen him—or rather, that had befallen Alice, for, to do him justice, he only thought of her. Indeed, he carried this feeling so far that he had honestly confessed to himself, in a mental soliloquy, the night on which he had been captured, that he did not care one straw for himself, or Poopy, or Captain Montague—that his whole and sole distress of mind and body was owing to the grief into which Alice had been plunged. He had made an attempt to comfort her one night on the voyage to the Isle of Palms, when she and Poopy and he were left alone together; but he failed. After one or two efforts he ended by bursting into tears, and then, choking himself violently with his own hands, said that he was ashamed of himself, that he wasn’t crying for himself but for her, (Alice,) and that he hoped she wouldn’t think the worse of him for being so like a baby. Here he turned to Poopy, and in a most unreasonable manner began to scold her for being at the bottom of the whole mischief, in the middle of which he broke off, said that he believed himself to be mad, and vowed he would blow out his own brains first, and those of all the pirates afterwards. Whereupon he choked, sobbed again, and rushed out of the cabin as if he really meant to execute his last awful threat.But poor Corrie only rushed away to hide from Alice the irrepressible emotions that nearly burst his heart. Yes, Corrie was thoroughly subdued by grief. But the spring was not broken, it was only crushed flat by the weight of sorrow that lay like a millstone on his youthful bosom.The first thing that set his active brain a-going once more—thereby overturning the weight of sorrow and causing the spring of his peculiar spirit to rebound—was the sight of the two pirates hauling up the boat and carrying off the oars.“Ha! that’s your game is it?” muttered the boy between his teeth, and grasping the pole with both hands as if he wished to squeeze his fingers into the wood. “You don’t want to give us a chance of escaping, don’t you, eh! is that it? You think that because we’re a small party, and the half of us females, that we’re cowed, and won’t think of trying any other way of escaping, do you? Oh yes, that’s what you think; you know it, you do,but you’re mistaken,” (he became terribly sarcastic and bitter at this point;) “you’ll find that you have gotmento deal with, that you’ve not only caught a tartar, buttwotartars—one o’ them being ten times tartarer than the other. Oh, if—”“What’s all that you’re saying, Corrie?” said Montague, stepping out of the tent at that moment.“O captain,” said the boy, vehemently, “I wish I were a giant!”“Why so, lad?”“Because then I would wade out to that wreck, clap my shoulder to her bow, shove her into deep water, carry you, and Alice, and Poopy aboard, haul out the main-mast by the roots, make an oar of it, and scull out to sea, havin’ previously fired off the biggest gun aboard of her, to let the pirates know what I was doing.”Corrie’s spirit was in a tumultuous and very rebellious state. He was half inclined to indulge in hysterical weeping, and more than half disposed to give way to a burst of savage glee. He spoke with the mantling blood blazing in his fat cheeks, and his two eyes glittering like those of a basilisk. Montague could not repress a smile and a look of admiration as he said to our little hero—“Why, Corrie, if you were a giant it would be much easier to go to the other side of the island, wring off the heads of all the pirates, and, carrying me on your shoulders, and Alice and Poopy in your coat-pockets, get safely aboard of theFoam, and ho! for Sandy Cove.”“So it would,” said Corrie, gravely. “I did not think of that, and it would be a far pleasanter way than the other.”“Ah! Corrie, I fear that you are a very bloodthirsty fellow.”“Of course I am when I’ve pirates to deal with. I would kill them every man, without a thought.”“No you wouldn’t, my boy. You couldn’t do it in cold blood, even although they are bad men.”“I don’t know that,” said Corrie, dubiously. “I would do it without more feeling than I would have in killing a cat.”“Did you ever kill a cat?” asked Montague.“Never,” answered Corrie.“Then how can you tell what your feelings would be if you were to attempt to do it. I remember once, when I was a boy, going out to hunt cats.”“O Captain Montague, surelyyounever hunted cats,” exclaimed Alice, who came out of the tent with a very pale face, and uncommonly red eyes.“Yes, indeed, I didonce—but I never did it again. I caught one, a kitten, and set off with a number of boys to kill it; but as we went along it began to play with my neck-tie and topurr! Our hearts were softened, so we let it go. Ah! Corrie, my boy, never go hunting cats,” said Montague, earnestly.“Did I say I was going to?” replied Corrie, indignantly.Montague laughed, and so did Alice, at the fierce look the boy put on.“Corrie,” said the former, “I’m sure that you would not kill a pirate in cold blood, any more than you would kill a kitten—would you?”“I’m not sure o’ that,” said Corrie, half laughing, but still looking fierce. “In the first place, my blood is never cold when I’ve to do with pirates; and, in the second place, pirates are not innocent creatures covered with soft hair—and they don’t purr!”This last remark set Alice into a fit of laughter, and drew a faint “Hee! hee!” from Poopy, who had been listening to the conversation behind the canvas of the tent.Montague took advantage of this improved state of things. “Now, Alice,” said he, cheerfully, “do you and Poopy set about spreading our blanket-tablecloth and getting supper laid out. It is but a poor one,—hard biscuit and water,—but there is plenty of it, and, after all, that is the main thing. Meanwhile Corrie and I will saunter along shore and talk over our plans. Cheer up, my little girl, we will manage to give these pirates the slip somehow or other, you may depend upon it.”“Corrie,” said Montague, when they were alone. “I have spoken cheeringly to Alice, because she is a little girl and needs comfort, but you and I know that our case is a desperate one, and it will require all our united wisdom and cleverness to effect our escape from these rascally pirates.”The commander of theTalismanpaused, and smiled in spite of himself at the idea of being placed in circumstances that constrained him to hold a consultation, in matters that might involve life and death, with a mere boy! But there was no help for it; besides, to say truth, the extraordinary energy and courage that had been displayed by the lad, combined with a considerable amount of innate sharpness in his character, tended to create a feeling that the consultation might not be altogether without advantage. At all events, it was better to talk over their desperate position even with a boy, than to confine his anxieties to his own breast.But although Montague had seen enough of his young companion to convince him that he was an intelligent fellow, he was not prepared for the fertility of resource, the extremity of daring, and the ingenuity of device, that were exhibited by him in the course of that consultation.To creep over in the dead of night, knife in hand, and attack the pirates while asleep, was one of the least startling of his daring propositions; and to swim out to the wreck, set her on fire, and get quietly on board theAvengerwhile all the amazed pirates should have rushed over to see what could have caused such a blaze, cut the cable and sail away, was among the least ingenious of his devices.These two talked long and earnestly while the shades of evening were descending on the Isle of Palms—and in the earnestness of their talk, and the pressing urgency of their case, the man almost forgot that his companion was a boy, and the boy never for a moment doubted that he himself, in everything but years, was a man.It was getting dark when they returned to the tent, where they found that Alice and Poopy had arranged their supper with the most scrupulous care and nicety. These too, with the happy buoyancy of extreme youth, had temporarily forgotten their position, and, when their male companions entered, were deeply engaged in a private game of a “tea party,” in which hard biscuit figured as bun, and water was made to do duty for tea. In this latter part of the game, by the way, the children did but carry out in jest a practice which is not altogether unknown in happier circumstances and in civilised society.
About five or six days’ sail from the scene of our tale there lies one of those small rocks or islets with which the breast of the Pacific is in many places thickly studded.
It is a lonely coral isle, far removed from any of its fellows, and presenting none of those grand features which characterise the island on which the settlement of Sandy Cove was situated. In no part does it rise more than thirty feet above the level of the sea; in most places it is little more than a few feet above it. The coral reefs around it are numerous; and as many of them rise to within a few feet of the surface, the navigation in its neighbourhood is dangerous in the extreme.
At the time of which we write, the vegetation of the isle was not very luxuriant. Only a few clusters of cocoa-nut palms grew here and there over its otherwise barren surface. In this respect it did not resemble most of the other islands of the Pacific. Owing partly to its being out of the usual course of ships, and partly to the dangerous reefs already referred to, the spot was never approached by vessels, or, if a ship happened to be driven towards it, she got out of its way as speedily as possible.
This was the rendezvous of the pirates, and was named by them the Isle of Palms.
Here, in caverns hollowed out of the coral rock, Gascoyne had been wont to secrete such goods and stores as were necessary for the maintenance of his piratical course of life, and to this lone spot did Manton convey his prisoners after getting rid of his former commander. Towards this spot, also, did Gascoyne turn the prow of the cutterWaspin pursuit of his mutinous first mate.
Manton, for reasons best known to himself, (certainly not from goodness of heart,) was kind to his captives to the extent of simply letting them alone. He declined to hold any intercourse whatever with Captain Montague, and forbade him to speak with the men upon pain of being confined to his berth. The young people were allowed to do as they pleased, so long as they kept out of the way.
On reaching the Isle of Palms the pirates at once proceeded to take in those stores of which they stood in need. The harbour into which the schooner ran was a narrow bay, on the shores of which the palm trees grew sufficiently high to prevent her masts from being seen from the other side of the island. Here the captives were landed, but as Manton did not wish them to witness his proceedings, he sent them across the islet under the escort of a party who conveyed them to the shores of a small bay. On the rocks in this bay lay the wreck of what once had been a noble ship. It was now completely dismantled. Her hull was stove in by the rocks. Her masts and yards were gone, with the exception of their stumps and the lower part of the main-mast, to which the main-yard still hung with a ragged portion of the mainsail attached to it.
A feeling of depression filled the breast of Montague and his companions as they came in sight of this wreck, and the former attempted to obtain some information in regard to her from his conductors, but they sternly bade him ask no questions. Some time afterwards he heard the story of this vessel’s fate. We shall record it here.
Not many months prior to the date of our tale, theAvengerhappened to have occasion to run down to the Isle of Palms. Gascoyne was absent at the time. He had been landed at Sandy Cove, and had ordered Manton to go to the rendezvous for supplies. On nearing the isle a storm arose. The wind was fair, however, and the schooner ran for her destination under close reefed sails. Just before reaching it they fell in with a large full-rigged ship, which, on sighting the schooner, ran up her flag half-mast high as a signal of distress. She had sprung a leak and was sinking.
Had the weather been calmer the pirates would have at once boarded the vessel and carried her as a prize into the harbour, but the sea ran so high that this was impossible. Manton therefore ran down as close to the side of the merchantman, (for such she seemed to be,) as enabled him to hail her through the speaking trumpet. When sufficiently near he demanded her name and destination.
“TheBrilliant, from Liverpool, bound for the Sandwich Islands. And you?”
“TheFoam—from the Feejees—for Calcutta. What’s wrong with you?”
“Sprung a leak; is there anchorage in the bay?” sang out the captain of the merchantman.
“No, it’s too shoal for a big ship. Bear away round to the other side of the island. You’ll find good holding ground there—I will shew you the way.”
The pirate accordingly conducted the unsuspecting stranger away from the only safe harbour in the island, and led him through a complete labyrinth of reefs and rocks to the bay on the other side, in which he knew full well there was scarcely enough of water to float his own little schooner.
With perfect confidence in his guide, the unfortunate captain of the merchantman followed until both vessels were in the comparatively still and sheltered water of the bay. Here Manton suddenly put down the helm, brought his vessel up to the wind and allowed the stranger to pass him.
“Hold on about sixty fathoms farther and then let go your anchor,” he shouted, as the ship went steadily on to her doom.
“Ay, ay, and thank ’ee,” cried the captain, who had already taken in nearly all sail and was quite prepared to anchor.
But Manton knew that before twenty fathoms more should be passed over by the ship she would run straight on a coral reef, which rose to within about five feet of the surface of the sea. In an exposed place this reef would have formed a line of breakers, but in its sheltered position the water gave no indication of its existence. The gale, though not blowing direct into the bay, entered it in a sufficiently straight line to carry the ship onward with great speed, notwithstanding the reduction made in her canvas.
“Stand by to let go the anchor,” cried her captain.
That was his last order. Scarcely had the words passed his lips when the ship struck with a shock that caused her to quiver like a leaf from stem to stern. All the top-masts with their yards and rigging went over the side, and, in one instant the fine vessel was a total wreck!
The rest of the story is soon told. The pirates shewed their true colours, ran alongside and took possession without opposition, for the crew of the merchantman were so overwhelmed by the suddenness and appalling nature of the calamity that had befallen them that they had no heart to resist.
Of course it was out of the question that the crew of theBrilliantcould be allowed to remain on the island. Some of the pirates suggested that they should be put on a raft, towed to leeward of the island, and, when out of sight of it, be cast adrift to float about until they should be picked up or get blown on one of the numerous islands that lay to the southward of the rendezvous. Manton and Scraggs advocated this plan, but the better-disposed among the men protested against such needless cruelty, and suggested that it would be better to put them into the long-boat of the ship, bandage their eyes, then tow them out of sight of land and cast them loose to steer where they pleased.
This plan was adopted and carried into execution. Then the pirates returned, and at their leisure unloaded and secured the cargo of their prize. It was richer than they had anticipated, being a miscellaneous cargo of valuable commodities for the trading stores of some of the South Sea merchants and settlers.
The joy felt by the pirates on making this discovery, was all the benefit that was ever derived from these ill-gotten gains by any one of those who had a hand in that dastardly deed. Long before they had an opportunity of removing the goods thus acquired, the career of theAvengerhad terminated. But we must not anticipate our story.
On a green knoll near the margin of this bay, and in full view of the wreck, a rude tent or hut was constructed by the pirates out of part of an old sail which had been washed ashore from the wreck, and some broken spars. A small cask of biscuit and two or three blankets were placed in it, and here the captives were left to do as they pleased until such time as Manton chose to send for them. The only piece of advice that was given to them by their surly jailer was, that they should not on any pretence whatever cross the island to the bay in which the schooner lay at anchor.
“If ye do,” said the man who was the last of the party to quit them, “ye’ll wish ye hadn’t—that’s all. Take my advice and keep yer kooriosity in yer breeches’ pockets.”
With this caution they were left to their own devices and meditations.
It was a lovely calm evening at sunset when our four unfortunate friends were thus left alone in these strange circumstances. The effect of their forlorn condition was very different on each. Poopy flung herself down on the ground, inside the tent, and began to sob; Alice sat down beside her, and wept silently; whilst Montague, forgetting his own sorrows in his pity for the poor young creatures who had been thus strangely linked to him in affliction, sat down opposite to Alice, and sought to comfort her.
Will Corrie, feeling that he could do nothing to cheer his companions in the circumstances, and being unable to sit still, rose, and going out at the end of the tent, both sides of which were open, stood leaning on a pole, and contemplated the scene before him.
In a small creek, or indentation of the shore, close to the knoll on which the tent stood, two of the pirates were working at a boat which lay there. Corrie could not at first understand what they were about, but he was soon enlightened, for, after hauling the boat as far out of the water as they could, they left her there, and followed their comrades to the other side of the island, carrying the oars along with them.
The spirit that dwelt in Corrie’s breast was a very peculiar one. Up to this point in his misfortunes the poor boy had been subdued—overwhelmed by the suddenness and the terrible nature of the calamity that had befallen him—or rather, that had befallen Alice, for, to do him justice, he only thought of her. Indeed, he carried this feeling so far that he had honestly confessed to himself, in a mental soliloquy, the night on which he had been captured, that he did not care one straw for himself, or Poopy, or Captain Montague—that his whole and sole distress of mind and body was owing to the grief into which Alice had been plunged. He had made an attempt to comfort her one night on the voyage to the Isle of Palms, when she and Poopy and he were left alone together; but he failed. After one or two efforts he ended by bursting into tears, and then, choking himself violently with his own hands, said that he was ashamed of himself, that he wasn’t crying for himself but for her, (Alice,) and that he hoped she wouldn’t think the worse of him for being so like a baby. Here he turned to Poopy, and in a most unreasonable manner began to scold her for being at the bottom of the whole mischief, in the middle of which he broke off, said that he believed himself to be mad, and vowed he would blow out his own brains first, and those of all the pirates afterwards. Whereupon he choked, sobbed again, and rushed out of the cabin as if he really meant to execute his last awful threat.
But poor Corrie only rushed away to hide from Alice the irrepressible emotions that nearly burst his heart. Yes, Corrie was thoroughly subdued by grief. But the spring was not broken, it was only crushed flat by the weight of sorrow that lay like a millstone on his youthful bosom.
The first thing that set his active brain a-going once more—thereby overturning the weight of sorrow and causing the spring of his peculiar spirit to rebound—was the sight of the two pirates hauling up the boat and carrying off the oars.
“Ha! that’s your game is it?” muttered the boy between his teeth, and grasping the pole with both hands as if he wished to squeeze his fingers into the wood. “You don’t want to give us a chance of escaping, don’t you, eh! is that it? You think that because we’re a small party, and the half of us females, that we’re cowed, and won’t think of trying any other way of escaping, do you? Oh yes, that’s what you think; you know it, you do,but you’re mistaken,” (he became terribly sarcastic and bitter at this point;) “you’ll find that you have gotmento deal with, that you’ve not only caught a tartar, buttwotartars—one o’ them being ten times tartarer than the other. Oh, if—”
“What’s all that you’re saying, Corrie?” said Montague, stepping out of the tent at that moment.
“O captain,” said the boy, vehemently, “I wish I were a giant!”
“Why so, lad?”
“Because then I would wade out to that wreck, clap my shoulder to her bow, shove her into deep water, carry you, and Alice, and Poopy aboard, haul out the main-mast by the roots, make an oar of it, and scull out to sea, havin’ previously fired off the biggest gun aboard of her, to let the pirates know what I was doing.”
Corrie’s spirit was in a tumultuous and very rebellious state. He was half inclined to indulge in hysterical weeping, and more than half disposed to give way to a burst of savage glee. He spoke with the mantling blood blazing in his fat cheeks, and his two eyes glittering like those of a basilisk. Montague could not repress a smile and a look of admiration as he said to our little hero—
“Why, Corrie, if you were a giant it would be much easier to go to the other side of the island, wring off the heads of all the pirates, and, carrying me on your shoulders, and Alice and Poopy in your coat-pockets, get safely aboard of theFoam, and ho! for Sandy Cove.”
“So it would,” said Corrie, gravely. “I did not think of that, and it would be a far pleasanter way than the other.”
“Ah! Corrie, I fear that you are a very bloodthirsty fellow.”
“Of course I am when I’ve pirates to deal with. I would kill them every man, without a thought.”
“No you wouldn’t, my boy. You couldn’t do it in cold blood, even although they are bad men.”
“I don’t know that,” said Corrie, dubiously. “I would do it without more feeling than I would have in killing a cat.”
“Did you ever kill a cat?” asked Montague.
“Never,” answered Corrie.
“Then how can you tell what your feelings would be if you were to attempt to do it. I remember once, when I was a boy, going out to hunt cats.”
“O Captain Montague, surelyyounever hunted cats,” exclaimed Alice, who came out of the tent with a very pale face, and uncommonly red eyes.
“Yes, indeed, I didonce—but I never did it again. I caught one, a kitten, and set off with a number of boys to kill it; but as we went along it began to play with my neck-tie and topurr! Our hearts were softened, so we let it go. Ah! Corrie, my boy, never go hunting cats,” said Montague, earnestly.
“Did I say I was going to?” replied Corrie, indignantly.
Montague laughed, and so did Alice, at the fierce look the boy put on.
“Corrie,” said the former, “I’m sure that you would not kill a pirate in cold blood, any more than you would kill a kitten—would you?”
“I’m not sure o’ that,” said Corrie, half laughing, but still looking fierce. “In the first place, my blood is never cold when I’ve to do with pirates; and, in the second place, pirates are not innocent creatures covered with soft hair—and they don’t purr!”
This last remark set Alice into a fit of laughter, and drew a faint “Hee! hee!” from Poopy, who had been listening to the conversation behind the canvas of the tent.
Montague took advantage of this improved state of things. “Now, Alice,” said he, cheerfully, “do you and Poopy set about spreading our blanket-tablecloth and getting supper laid out. It is but a poor one,—hard biscuit and water,—but there is plenty of it, and, after all, that is the main thing. Meanwhile Corrie and I will saunter along shore and talk over our plans. Cheer up, my little girl, we will manage to give these pirates the slip somehow or other, you may depend upon it.”
“Corrie,” said Montague, when they were alone. “I have spoken cheeringly to Alice, because she is a little girl and needs comfort, but you and I know that our case is a desperate one, and it will require all our united wisdom and cleverness to effect our escape from these rascally pirates.”
The commander of theTalismanpaused, and smiled in spite of himself at the idea of being placed in circumstances that constrained him to hold a consultation, in matters that might involve life and death, with a mere boy! But there was no help for it; besides, to say truth, the extraordinary energy and courage that had been displayed by the lad, combined with a considerable amount of innate sharpness in his character, tended to create a feeling that the consultation might not be altogether without advantage. At all events, it was better to talk over their desperate position even with a boy, than to confine his anxieties to his own breast.
But although Montague had seen enough of his young companion to convince him that he was an intelligent fellow, he was not prepared for the fertility of resource, the extremity of daring, and the ingenuity of device, that were exhibited by him in the course of that consultation.
To creep over in the dead of night, knife in hand, and attack the pirates while asleep, was one of the least startling of his daring propositions; and to swim out to the wreck, set her on fire, and get quietly on board theAvengerwhile all the amazed pirates should have rushed over to see what could have caused such a blaze, cut the cable and sail away, was among the least ingenious of his devices.
These two talked long and earnestly while the shades of evening were descending on the Isle of Palms—and in the earnestness of their talk, and the pressing urgency of their case, the man almost forgot that his companion was a boy, and the boy never for a moment doubted that he himself, in everything but years, was a man.
It was getting dark when they returned to the tent, where they found that Alice and Poopy had arranged their supper with the most scrupulous care and nicety. These too, with the happy buoyancy of extreme youth, had temporarily forgotten their position, and, when their male companions entered, were deeply engaged in a private game of a “tea party,” in which hard biscuit figured as bun, and water was made to do duty for tea. In this latter part of the game, by the way, the children did but carry out in jest a practice which is not altogether unknown in happier circumstances and in civilised society.
Chapter Twenty Three.Plans Partially Carried Out—The Cutter’s Fate—And A Serious Misfortune.The cutter was a fast sailer, and although the pirate schooner had left Sandy Cove nearly two days before her, theWasp, having had a fair wind, followed close on her heels. TheAvengercast anchor in the harbour of the Isle of Palms on the morning of her fifth day out; theWaspsighted the island on the evening of the same day.It was not Gascoyne’s purpose to run down at once and have a hand to hand fight with his own men. He felt that his party was too weak for such an attempt, and resolved to accomplish by stratagem what he could not hope to compass by force. He therefore hove-to the instant the tops of the palm-trees appeared on the horizon, and waited till night should set in and favour his designs.“What do you intend to do?” inquired Henry Stuart, who stood on the deck watching the sun as it sank into the ocean behind a mass of golden clouds, in which, however, there were some symptoms of stormy weather.“I mean to wait till it is dark,” said Gascoyne, “and then run down and take possession of the schooner.”Henry looked at the pirate captain in surprise, and not without distrust. Ole Thorwald, who was smoking his big German pipe with great energy, looked at him with undisguised uneasiness.“You speak as if you had no doubt whatever of succeeding in this enterprise, Mr Gascoyne,” said the latter.“Ihaveno doubt,” replied Gascoyne.“I do believe you’re right,” returned Thorwald, smoking furiously as he became more agitated. “I make no question but your villains will receive you with open arms. What guarantee have we, Mister Gascoyne, or Mister Durward, that we shall not be seized and made to walk the plank, or perform some similarly fantastic feat—in which, mayhap, our feet will have less to do with the performance than our necks—when you get into power?”“You have no guarantee whatever,” returned Gascoyne, “except the word of a pirate!”“You say truth,” cried Ole, springing up and pacing the deck with unwonted energy, while a troubled and somewhat fierce expression settled on his usually good-humoured countenance. “You say truth, and I think we have been ill-advised when we took this step—for my part, I regard myself as little better than a maniac for putting myself obstinately, not to say deliberately, into the very jaws of a lion, perhaps I should say a tiger. But mark my words, Gascoyne,aliasDurward,” (here he stopped suddenly before the pirate, who was leaning in a careless attitude against the mast, and looked him full in the face,) “if you play us false, as I have no hesitation in saying I believe that you fully intend to do, your life will not be worth a pewter shilling.”“I am yet in your power, Mr Thorwald,” said Gascoyne; “if your friends agree to it, I cannot prevent your putting about and returning to Sandy Cove. But in that case the missionary’s childwill be lost!”“I do not believe that my child’s safety is so entirely dependent on you,” said Mr Mason, who had listened in silence to the foregoing dialogue; “she is in the hands of that God on whom you have turned your back, and with whom all things are possible. But I feel disposed to trust you, Gascoyne, and I feel thus, because of what was said of you by Mrs Stuart, in whose good sense I place implicit confidence. I would advise Mr Thorwald to wait patiently until he sees more cause than he does at present for distrust.”Gascoyne had turned round and, during the greater part of this speech, had gazed intently towards the horizon.“We shall have rough weather to-night,” said he; “but our work will be done before it comes, I hope. Up with the helm now, Henry, and slack off the sheets; it is dark enough to allow us to creep in without being observed. Manton will of course be in the only harbour in the island; we must therefore go round to the other side and take the risk of running on the reefs.”“Risk!” exclaimed Henry; “I thought you knew all the passages about the island?”“So I do, lad—all the passages; but I don’t profess to know every rock and reef in the bottom of the sea. Our only chance is to make the island on the south side, where there are no passages at all except one that leads into a bay; but if we run into that, our masts will be seen against the southern sky, even from the harbour where the schooner lies. If we are seen, they will be prepared for us, in which case we shall have a desperate fight with little chance of success and the certainty of much bloodshed. We must therefore run straight for another part of the shore, not far from the bay I have referred to, and take our chance of striking. Ithinkthere is enough of water to float this little cutter over the reefs, but I am not sure.”“Think! sure!” echoed Thorwald, in a tone of exasperated surprise; “and if wedostrike, Mr Gascoyne, do you mean us to go beg for mercy at the hands of your men, or to swim back to Sandy Cove?”“If we strike I shall take the boat, land with the men, and leave the cutter to her fate. TheAvengerwill suffice to take us back to Sandy Cove.”Ole was rendered speechless by the coolness of this remark, so he relieved himself by tightening his belt and spouting forth volcanoes of smoke.Meanwhile, the cutter had run to within a short distance of the island. The night was rendered doubly dark by the rapid spreading of those heavy clouds which indicated the approach of a squall, if not a storm.“This is well,” said Gascoyne in a low tone to Henry Stuart, who stood near him; “the worse the storm is to-night the better for the success of our enterprise. Henry, lad, I’m sorry you think so badly of me.”Henry was taken aback by this unexpected remark, which was made in a low sad tone.“Can I think too badly of one who confesses himself to be apirate?” said Henry.“The confession is at least in my favour. I had no occasion to confess, nor to give myself up to you.”“Give yourself up! It remains to be seen whether you mean to do that or not.”“Do you not believe me, Henry? Do you not believe the account that I gave of myself to you and your mother?”“How can I?” said the young man, hesitatingly.“Your mother believed me.”“Well, Gascoyne, to tell you the plain truth, Idofeel more than half inclined to believe you; and I’m sorry for you—I am, from my soul. You might have led a different life—you might even do so yet.”“You forget,” said Gascoyne, smiling sadly, “I have given myself up, and you are bound to prevent my escaping.”Henry was perplexed by this reply. In the enthusiasm of his awakened pity he had for a moment forgotten the pirate in the penitent. Before he could reply, however, the cutter struck violently on a rock, and an exclamation of alarm and surprise burst from the crew, most of whom were assembled on deck.“Silence!” cried Gascoyne in a deep sonorous tone, that was wonderfully different from that in which he had just been speaking to Henry; “get out the boat. Arm yourselves and jump in. There is no time to lose.”“The cutter is hard and fast,” said Henry; “if this squall does not come on, or if it turns out to be a light one, we may get her off.”“Perhaps we may, but I have little hope of that,” returned Gascoyne. “Now, lads, are you all in the boat? Come, Henry, get in at once.”“I will remain here,” said Henry.“For what end?” said Gascoyne, in surprise.“The cutter belongs to a friend; I do not chose to forsake her in this off-hand manner.”“But nothing can save her, Henry.”“Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I will do what I can. She moves a little. If she is lifted over this reef while we are on shore, she will be carried out to sea and lost, and that must not be allowed. Leave me here till you land the men, and then send the boat back with two of them. We will put some of the cutter’s ballast into it and try to tow her off. It won’t take half-an-hour, and that will not interfere with your plans, I should think, for the whole night lies before us.”Seeing that he was determined, Gascoyne agreed, and left the cutter, promising to send off the boat directly. But it took half-an-hour to row from theWaspto the shore, and before the half of that time had elapsed, the storm which had been impending burst over the island.It was much more violent than had been expected. The cutter was lifted over the reef by the first wave, and struck heavily as she slid into deep water. Then she rushed out to sea before the gale. Henry seized the helm and kept the little vessel right before the wind. He knew nothing of the sea around, and the intense darkness of the night prevented his seeing more than a dozen yards beyond the bow.It was perhaps as well that he was kept in ignorance of what awaited him, for he was thus spared at least the anticipation of what appeared certain destruction. He fancied that the rock over which he had been carried was the outer reef of the island. In this he was mistaken. The whole sea around and beyond him was beset with reefs, which at that moment were covered with foam. Had daylight revealed the scene, he would have been appalled. As it was, he stood stoutly and hopefully to the helm while the cutter rushed wildly on her doom.Suddenly she struck with terrific violence, and Henry was hurled to the deck. Leaping up, he sprang again to the helm and attempted to put about, but the shock had been so great that the whole framework of the little craft was dislocated. The fastenings of the rudder had been torn out, and she was unmanageable. The next wave lifted her over the reef and the gale swept her away.Even then the hopes of the young man did not quite fail him. He believed that the last reef had now been passed, and that he would be driven out to the open sea, clear at least of immediate danger. It was a vain hope. In another moment the vessel struck for the third time, and the mast went over the side. Again and again she rose and fell with all her weight on the rocks. The last blow burst out her sides, and she fell to pieces, a total wreck, leaving Henry struggling with the waves.He seized the first piece of wood that came in his way, and clung to it. For many hours he was driven about and tossed by the winds and waves until he began to feel utterly exhausted, but he clung to the spar with the tenacity of a drowning man. In those seas the water is not so cold as in our northern climes, so that men can remain in it for a great length of time without much injury. There are many instances of the South Sea Islanders having been wrecked in their canoes, and having spent not only hours but days in the water, clinging to broken pieces of wood, and swimming for many miles, pushing these before them.When, therefore, the morning broke, and the bright sun, shone out, and the gale had subsided, Henry found himself still clinging to the spar, and although much weakened, still able to make some exertion to save himself.On looking round he found that numerous pieces of the wreck floated near him, and that the portion to which he clung was the broken lower-mast. A large mass of the deck, with part of the gunwale attached to it, lay close beside, him, held to the mast by one of the shrouds. He at once swam to this, and found it sufficiently large to sustain his weight, though not large enough to enable him to get quite out of the water. While here, half-in and half-out of the water, his first act was to fall on his knees and thank God for sparing his life, and to pray for help in that hour of need.Feeling that it would be impossible to exist much longer unless he could get quite out of the water so as to allow the sun to warm his chilled frame, he used what strength remained in him to drag towards him several spars that lay within his reach. These he found to be some of the rough timbers that had lain on the deck of the cutter to serve as spare masts and yards. They were, therefore, destitute of cordage, so that it was not possible to form a secure raft. Nevertheless, by piling them together on the top of the broken portion of the deck, he succeeded in constructing a platform which raised him completely out of the water.The heat of the sun speedily dried his garments, and as the day wore on the sea went down sufficiently to render the keeping of his raft together a matter of less difficulty than it was at first. In trying to make some better arrangement of the spars on which he rested, he discovered the corner of a sail sticking between two of them. This he hauled out of the water, and found it to be a portion of the gaff. It was a fortunate discovery; because, in the event of long exposure, it would prove to be a most useful covering. Wringing it out, he spread it over the logs to dry.The doing of all this occupied the shipwrecked youth so long, that it was nearly mid-day before he could sit down on his raft and think calmly over his position. Hunger now began to remind him that he was destitute of food; but Henry had been accustomed, while roaming among the mountains of his island home, to go fasting for long periods of time. The want of breakfast, therefore, did not inconvenience him much; but before he had remained inactive more than ten minutes, the want of sleep began to tell upon him. Gradually he felt completely overpowered by it. He laid his head on one of the spars at last, and resigned himself to an influence he could no longer resist.It was evening before he awoke from that slumber. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon, and the red clouds that remained behind were beginning to deepen, as night prepared to throw her dark mantle over the sea. A gull wheeled over the youth’s head and uttered a wild cry as he awoke, causing him to start up with a feeling of bewildered uncertainty as to where he was.The true nature of his position was quickly forced upon him. A dead calm now prevailed. Henry gazed eagerly, wistfully round the horizon. It was an unbroken line; not a speck that resembled a sail was to be seen. Remembering for the first time that his low raft would be quite invisible at a very short distance, he set about erecting a flag. This was easily done. Part of his red shirt was torn off and fastened to a light spar, the end of which he stuck between the logs. Having set up his signal of distress he sat down beside it, and, drawing part of the sail over his shoulders, leaned on the broken part of the bulwark, and pondered his forlorn condition.It was a long, sad reverie into which poor Henry Stuart fell that evening. Hope did not, indeed, forsake his breast—for hope is strong in youth; but he was too well acquainted with the details of a sailor’s life and risks to be able to shut his eyes to the real dangers of his position. He knew full well that if he should be cast on any of the inhabited islands of the South Seas (unless it might be one of the very few that had at that time accepted the Gospel) he would certainly be killed by the savages, whose practice it is to slay and eat all unfortunates who chance to be wrecked and cast upon their shores. But no islands were in sight, and it was possible that he might be left to float on the boundless ocean until the slow and terrible process of starvation did its work, and wore away the life which he felt to be so fresh and strong within him.When he thought of this he shuddered, and reverted, almost with a feeling of pleasure, to the idea that another storm might spring up ere long, and by dashing his frail raft to pieces, bring his life to a speedy termination. His hopes were not very clear even tohis own mind. He did indeed hope, because he could not help it; but what it was that he hoped for would have puzzled him to state. A passing ship finding him in a part of the Pacific where ships were not wont to pass was, perhaps, among the least animating of all his hopes.But the thoughts that coursed through the youth’s brain that night were not centred alone upon the means or the prospects of deliverance. He thought of his mother,—her gentleness, her goodness, her unaccountable partiality for Gascoyne; but more than all, he thought of her love for himself. He thought, too, of his former life—his joys, his sorrows, and his sins. As he remembered these last, his soul was startled, and he thought of his God and his Saviour as he had never thought before. Despite his efforts to restrain them, tears, but not unmanly tears,wouldflow down his cheeks as he sat that evening on his raft; meditated on the past, the present, and the future, and realised the terrible solemnity of his position—without water or food—almost without hope—alone on the deep. (See Frontispiece.)
The cutter was a fast sailer, and although the pirate schooner had left Sandy Cove nearly two days before her, theWasp, having had a fair wind, followed close on her heels. TheAvengercast anchor in the harbour of the Isle of Palms on the morning of her fifth day out; theWaspsighted the island on the evening of the same day.
It was not Gascoyne’s purpose to run down at once and have a hand to hand fight with his own men. He felt that his party was too weak for such an attempt, and resolved to accomplish by stratagem what he could not hope to compass by force. He therefore hove-to the instant the tops of the palm-trees appeared on the horizon, and waited till night should set in and favour his designs.
“What do you intend to do?” inquired Henry Stuart, who stood on the deck watching the sun as it sank into the ocean behind a mass of golden clouds, in which, however, there were some symptoms of stormy weather.
“I mean to wait till it is dark,” said Gascoyne, “and then run down and take possession of the schooner.”
Henry looked at the pirate captain in surprise, and not without distrust. Ole Thorwald, who was smoking his big German pipe with great energy, looked at him with undisguised uneasiness.
“You speak as if you had no doubt whatever of succeeding in this enterprise, Mr Gascoyne,” said the latter.
“Ihaveno doubt,” replied Gascoyne.
“I do believe you’re right,” returned Thorwald, smoking furiously as he became more agitated. “I make no question but your villains will receive you with open arms. What guarantee have we, Mister Gascoyne, or Mister Durward, that we shall not be seized and made to walk the plank, or perform some similarly fantastic feat—in which, mayhap, our feet will have less to do with the performance than our necks—when you get into power?”
“You have no guarantee whatever,” returned Gascoyne, “except the word of a pirate!”
“You say truth,” cried Ole, springing up and pacing the deck with unwonted energy, while a troubled and somewhat fierce expression settled on his usually good-humoured countenance. “You say truth, and I think we have been ill-advised when we took this step—for my part, I regard myself as little better than a maniac for putting myself obstinately, not to say deliberately, into the very jaws of a lion, perhaps I should say a tiger. But mark my words, Gascoyne,aliasDurward,” (here he stopped suddenly before the pirate, who was leaning in a careless attitude against the mast, and looked him full in the face,) “if you play us false, as I have no hesitation in saying I believe that you fully intend to do, your life will not be worth a pewter shilling.”
“I am yet in your power, Mr Thorwald,” said Gascoyne; “if your friends agree to it, I cannot prevent your putting about and returning to Sandy Cove. But in that case the missionary’s childwill be lost!”
“I do not believe that my child’s safety is so entirely dependent on you,” said Mr Mason, who had listened in silence to the foregoing dialogue; “she is in the hands of that God on whom you have turned your back, and with whom all things are possible. But I feel disposed to trust you, Gascoyne, and I feel thus, because of what was said of you by Mrs Stuart, in whose good sense I place implicit confidence. I would advise Mr Thorwald to wait patiently until he sees more cause than he does at present for distrust.”
Gascoyne had turned round and, during the greater part of this speech, had gazed intently towards the horizon.
“We shall have rough weather to-night,” said he; “but our work will be done before it comes, I hope. Up with the helm now, Henry, and slack off the sheets; it is dark enough to allow us to creep in without being observed. Manton will of course be in the only harbour in the island; we must therefore go round to the other side and take the risk of running on the reefs.”
“Risk!” exclaimed Henry; “I thought you knew all the passages about the island?”
“So I do, lad—all the passages; but I don’t profess to know every rock and reef in the bottom of the sea. Our only chance is to make the island on the south side, where there are no passages at all except one that leads into a bay; but if we run into that, our masts will be seen against the southern sky, even from the harbour where the schooner lies. If we are seen, they will be prepared for us, in which case we shall have a desperate fight with little chance of success and the certainty of much bloodshed. We must therefore run straight for another part of the shore, not far from the bay I have referred to, and take our chance of striking. Ithinkthere is enough of water to float this little cutter over the reefs, but I am not sure.”
“Think! sure!” echoed Thorwald, in a tone of exasperated surprise; “and if wedostrike, Mr Gascoyne, do you mean us to go beg for mercy at the hands of your men, or to swim back to Sandy Cove?”
“If we strike I shall take the boat, land with the men, and leave the cutter to her fate. TheAvengerwill suffice to take us back to Sandy Cove.”
Ole was rendered speechless by the coolness of this remark, so he relieved himself by tightening his belt and spouting forth volcanoes of smoke.
Meanwhile, the cutter had run to within a short distance of the island. The night was rendered doubly dark by the rapid spreading of those heavy clouds which indicated the approach of a squall, if not a storm.
“This is well,” said Gascoyne in a low tone to Henry Stuart, who stood near him; “the worse the storm is to-night the better for the success of our enterprise. Henry, lad, I’m sorry you think so badly of me.”
Henry was taken aback by this unexpected remark, which was made in a low sad tone.
“Can I think too badly of one who confesses himself to be apirate?” said Henry.
“The confession is at least in my favour. I had no occasion to confess, nor to give myself up to you.”
“Give yourself up! It remains to be seen whether you mean to do that or not.”
“Do you not believe me, Henry? Do you not believe the account that I gave of myself to you and your mother?”
“How can I?” said the young man, hesitatingly.
“Your mother believed me.”
“Well, Gascoyne, to tell you the plain truth, Idofeel more than half inclined to believe you; and I’m sorry for you—I am, from my soul. You might have led a different life—you might even do so yet.”
“You forget,” said Gascoyne, smiling sadly, “I have given myself up, and you are bound to prevent my escaping.”
Henry was perplexed by this reply. In the enthusiasm of his awakened pity he had for a moment forgotten the pirate in the penitent. Before he could reply, however, the cutter struck violently on a rock, and an exclamation of alarm and surprise burst from the crew, most of whom were assembled on deck.
“Silence!” cried Gascoyne in a deep sonorous tone, that was wonderfully different from that in which he had just been speaking to Henry; “get out the boat. Arm yourselves and jump in. There is no time to lose.”
“The cutter is hard and fast,” said Henry; “if this squall does not come on, or if it turns out to be a light one, we may get her off.”
“Perhaps we may, but I have little hope of that,” returned Gascoyne. “Now, lads, are you all in the boat? Come, Henry, get in at once.”
“I will remain here,” said Henry.
“For what end?” said Gascoyne, in surprise.
“The cutter belongs to a friend; I do not chose to forsake her in this off-hand manner.”
“But nothing can save her, Henry.”
“Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I will do what I can. She moves a little. If she is lifted over this reef while we are on shore, she will be carried out to sea and lost, and that must not be allowed. Leave me here till you land the men, and then send the boat back with two of them. We will put some of the cutter’s ballast into it and try to tow her off. It won’t take half-an-hour, and that will not interfere with your plans, I should think, for the whole night lies before us.”
Seeing that he was determined, Gascoyne agreed, and left the cutter, promising to send off the boat directly. But it took half-an-hour to row from theWaspto the shore, and before the half of that time had elapsed, the storm which had been impending burst over the island.
It was much more violent than had been expected. The cutter was lifted over the reef by the first wave, and struck heavily as she slid into deep water. Then she rushed out to sea before the gale. Henry seized the helm and kept the little vessel right before the wind. He knew nothing of the sea around, and the intense darkness of the night prevented his seeing more than a dozen yards beyond the bow.
It was perhaps as well that he was kept in ignorance of what awaited him, for he was thus spared at least the anticipation of what appeared certain destruction. He fancied that the rock over which he had been carried was the outer reef of the island. In this he was mistaken. The whole sea around and beyond him was beset with reefs, which at that moment were covered with foam. Had daylight revealed the scene, he would have been appalled. As it was, he stood stoutly and hopefully to the helm while the cutter rushed wildly on her doom.
Suddenly she struck with terrific violence, and Henry was hurled to the deck. Leaping up, he sprang again to the helm and attempted to put about, but the shock had been so great that the whole framework of the little craft was dislocated. The fastenings of the rudder had been torn out, and she was unmanageable. The next wave lifted her over the reef and the gale swept her away.
Even then the hopes of the young man did not quite fail him. He believed that the last reef had now been passed, and that he would be driven out to the open sea, clear at least of immediate danger. It was a vain hope. In another moment the vessel struck for the third time, and the mast went over the side. Again and again she rose and fell with all her weight on the rocks. The last blow burst out her sides, and she fell to pieces, a total wreck, leaving Henry struggling with the waves.
He seized the first piece of wood that came in his way, and clung to it. For many hours he was driven about and tossed by the winds and waves until he began to feel utterly exhausted, but he clung to the spar with the tenacity of a drowning man. In those seas the water is not so cold as in our northern climes, so that men can remain in it for a great length of time without much injury. There are many instances of the South Sea Islanders having been wrecked in their canoes, and having spent not only hours but days in the water, clinging to broken pieces of wood, and swimming for many miles, pushing these before them.
When, therefore, the morning broke, and the bright sun, shone out, and the gale had subsided, Henry found himself still clinging to the spar, and although much weakened, still able to make some exertion to save himself.
On looking round he found that numerous pieces of the wreck floated near him, and that the portion to which he clung was the broken lower-mast. A large mass of the deck, with part of the gunwale attached to it, lay close beside, him, held to the mast by one of the shrouds. He at once swam to this, and found it sufficiently large to sustain his weight, though not large enough to enable him to get quite out of the water. While here, half-in and half-out of the water, his first act was to fall on his knees and thank God for sparing his life, and to pray for help in that hour of need.
Feeling that it would be impossible to exist much longer unless he could get quite out of the water so as to allow the sun to warm his chilled frame, he used what strength remained in him to drag towards him several spars that lay within his reach. These he found to be some of the rough timbers that had lain on the deck of the cutter to serve as spare masts and yards. They were, therefore, destitute of cordage, so that it was not possible to form a secure raft. Nevertheless, by piling them together on the top of the broken portion of the deck, he succeeded in constructing a platform which raised him completely out of the water.
The heat of the sun speedily dried his garments, and as the day wore on the sea went down sufficiently to render the keeping of his raft together a matter of less difficulty than it was at first. In trying to make some better arrangement of the spars on which he rested, he discovered the corner of a sail sticking between two of them. This he hauled out of the water, and found it to be a portion of the gaff. It was a fortunate discovery; because, in the event of long exposure, it would prove to be a most useful covering. Wringing it out, he spread it over the logs to dry.
The doing of all this occupied the shipwrecked youth so long, that it was nearly mid-day before he could sit down on his raft and think calmly over his position. Hunger now began to remind him that he was destitute of food; but Henry had been accustomed, while roaming among the mountains of his island home, to go fasting for long periods of time. The want of breakfast, therefore, did not inconvenience him much; but before he had remained inactive more than ten minutes, the want of sleep began to tell upon him. Gradually he felt completely overpowered by it. He laid his head on one of the spars at last, and resigned himself to an influence he could no longer resist.
It was evening before he awoke from that slumber. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon, and the red clouds that remained behind were beginning to deepen, as night prepared to throw her dark mantle over the sea. A gull wheeled over the youth’s head and uttered a wild cry as he awoke, causing him to start up with a feeling of bewildered uncertainty as to where he was.
The true nature of his position was quickly forced upon him. A dead calm now prevailed. Henry gazed eagerly, wistfully round the horizon. It was an unbroken line; not a speck that resembled a sail was to be seen. Remembering for the first time that his low raft would be quite invisible at a very short distance, he set about erecting a flag. This was easily done. Part of his red shirt was torn off and fastened to a light spar, the end of which he stuck between the logs. Having set up his signal of distress he sat down beside it, and, drawing part of the sail over his shoulders, leaned on the broken part of the bulwark, and pondered his forlorn condition.
It was a long, sad reverie into which poor Henry Stuart fell that evening. Hope did not, indeed, forsake his breast—for hope is strong in youth; but he was too well acquainted with the details of a sailor’s life and risks to be able to shut his eyes to the real dangers of his position. He knew full well that if he should be cast on any of the inhabited islands of the South Seas (unless it might be one of the very few that had at that time accepted the Gospel) he would certainly be killed by the savages, whose practice it is to slay and eat all unfortunates who chance to be wrecked and cast upon their shores. But no islands were in sight, and it was possible that he might be left to float on the boundless ocean until the slow and terrible process of starvation did its work, and wore away the life which he felt to be so fresh and strong within him.
When he thought of this he shuddered, and reverted, almost with a feeling of pleasure, to the idea that another storm might spring up ere long, and by dashing his frail raft to pieces, bring his life to a speedy termination. His hopes were not very clear even tohis own mind. He did indeed hope, because he could not help it; but what it was that he hoped for would have puzzled him to state. A passing ship finding him in a part of the Pacific where ships were not wont to pass was, perhaps, among the least animating of all his hopes.
But the thoughts that coursed through the youth’s brain that night were not centred alone upon the means or the prospects of deliverance. He thought of his mother,—her gentleness, her goodness, her unaccountable partiality for Gascoyne; but more than all, he thought of her love for himself. He thought, too, of his former life—his joys, his sorrows, and his sins. As he remembered these last, his soul was startled, and he thought of his God and his Saviour as he had never thought before. Despite his efforts to restrain them, tears, but not unmanly tears,wouldflow down his cheeks as he sat that evening on his raft; meditated on the past, the present, and the future, and realised the terrible solemnity of his position—without water or food—almost without hope—alone on the deep. (See Frontispiece.)
Chapter Twenty Four.An Unexpected Meeting—Doings on the Isle of Palms—Gascoyne’s Despair.It was not without some difficulty that the boat reached the shore after the squall burst upon them. On landing, the party observed, dark though it was, that their leader’s countenance wore an expression of the deepest anxiety; yet there were lines upon it that indicated the raging of conflicting passions which he found it difficult to restrain.“I fear me,” said Ole Thorwald in a troubled voice, “that our young friend Henry Stuart is in danger.”“Lost!” said Gascoyne, in a voice so low and grating that it startled his hearers.“Say not so,” said Mr Mason, earnestly. “He is a brave and a clever youth, and knows how to manage the cutter until we can row back and fetch him ashore.”“Row back!” exclaimed Gascoyne, almost fiercely.“Think you that I would stand here idle if our boat could live in such a sea as now rolls on the rocks? TheWaspmust have been washed over the reef by this time. She may pass the next without being dashed to pieces, but she is too rickety to stand the third. No, there is no hope!”While he spoke the missionary’s eyes were closed, and his lips moved as if in silent prayer. Seizing Gascoyne nervously by the arm, he said— “You cannot tell that there is no hope. That is known only to One who has encouraged us to ‘hope against hope.’ Henry is a stout youth and a good swimmer. He may succeed in clinging to some portion of the wreck.”“True, true,” cried Gascoyne, eagerly grasping at this hope, slight though it was. “Come, we waste time. There is but one chance. The schooner must be secured without delay. Lads, you will follow Mr Thorwald. Do whatever he bids you. And now,” he added, leading the merchant aside, “the time for action has come. I will conduct you to a certain point on the island where you will remain concealed among the bushes until I return to you.”“And suppose you never return to us, Mister Gascoyne?” said Ole, who regarded every act of the pirate captain with suspicion.“Then you will remain there till you are tired,” answered Gascoyne, with some asperity, “and after that, do what you please.”“Well, well, I am in your power,” retorted the obdurate Norseman; “make what arrangements you please, I will carry them out until—”Here Ole thought fit to break off, and Gascoyne, without taking notice of the remark, went on in a few hurried sentences to explain as much of his plan as he thought necessary for the guidance of his suspicious ally.This done, he led the whole party to the highest part of the island, and made them lie in ambush there while he went forward alone to reconnoitre. The night was admirably suited to their purpose. It was so dark that it was extremely difficult to perceive objects more than a few yards off, and the wind howled so furiously among the palms that there was no danger of being overheard in the event of their speaking too loud or stumbling over fallen trees.Gascoyne, who knew every rock and tree on the Isle of Palms, went rapidly down the gentle slope that intervened between him and the harbour in which theFoamlay at anchor. Dark though it was, he could see the taper masts and yards of his vessel traced dimly against the sky.The pirate’s movements now became more cautious. He stepped slowly, and paused frequently to listen. At last he went down on his hands and knees and crept forward for a considerable distance in that position, until he reached a ledge of rocks that overhung the shore of the bay. Here he observed an object like a round lump of rock, lying a few yards before him, on a spot where he was well aware no such rock had previously existed. It moved after a moment or two. Gascoyne knew that there were no wild animals of any kind on the island, and, therefore, at once jumped to the conclusion that this must needs be a human being of some sort. Drawing his knife he put it between his teeth, and creeping noiselessly towards the object in question laid his strong hand on the neck of the horrified Will Corrie.That adventurous and desperate little hero having lain sleepless and miserable at the feet of Alice until the squall blew the tent over their heads, got up and assisted Montague to erect it anew in a more sheltered position, after which, saying that he meant to take a midnight ramble on the shore to cool his fevered brow, he made straight for the sea, stepped knee-deep into the raging surf, and bared his breast to the furious blast.This cooled him so effectually that he took to running along shore in order to warm himself. Then it occurred to him that the night was particularly favourable for a sly peep at the pirates. Without a moment’s hesitation he walked and stumbled towards the high part of the island, at which he arrived just half-an-hour before Gascoyne reached it. He had seen nothing, however, and was on the point of advancing still further in his explorations, when he was discovered as we have seen.Gascoyne instantly turned the boy over on his back, and nipped a tremendous yell in the bud by grasping his wind-pipe.“Why, Corrie!” exclaimed Gascoyne in surprise, at the same time loosening his grip, though still holding the boy down.“Ah! you villain, you rascally pirate.Iknow you, I—”The pipe was gently squeezed at this point, and the sentence abruptly cut short.“Come, boy, you must not speak so loud. Enemies are near. If you don’t behave I’ll have to throttle you. I have come from Sandy Cove with a party to save you and your friends.”Corrie did not believe a word of this. He knew, or at least he supposed, that Gascoyne had left the schooner, not having seen him since they sailed from Sandy Cove; but he knew nothing of the manner in which he had been put ashore.“It won’t do, Gascoyne,” gasped poor Corrie, on being permitted again to use his wind-pipe. “You may kill me, but you’ll never cow me. I don’t believe you, you cowardly monster.”“I’ll have to convince you then,” said Gascoyne, suddenly catching the boy in his arms, and bearing him swiftly away from the spot.Corrie struggled like a hero, as he was. He tried to shout, but Gascoyne’s right hand again squeezed the wind-pipe; he attempted to bite, but the same hand easily kept the refractory head in order; he endeavoured to kick and hit, but Gascoyne’s left hand encircled him in such a comprehensive embrace and pressed him so powerfully to his piratical bosom that he could only wriggle. This he did without ceasing, until Gascoyne suddenly planted him on his feet, panting and dishevelled, before the astonished faces of Frederick Mason and Ole Thorwald.It is not necessary to describe in detail the surprise of all then and there assembled, the hurried conversation, and the cry of joy with which the missionary received the information that Alice was safe and within five minutes’ walk of the spot on which he stood. Suffice it to say, that Corrie was now convinced of the good faith of Gascoyne, whom he at once led, along with Mr Mason, to the tent where Alice and her friends slept—leaving Thorwald and his men where they were, to await further orders.The cry of wild delight with which Alice sprang into her father’s arms might have been destructive of all Gascoyne’s plans had not the wind carried it away from the side of the island where the pirate schooner lay. There was now no time to be lost. After the first embrace, and a few hurried words of blessing and thanksgiving, the missionary was summoned to a consultation.“I will join you in this enterprise, Mr Gascoyne,” said Montague. “I believe what you say to be true, besides, the urgency of our present danger leaves me no room for choice. I am in your power. I believe that in your present penitent condition you are willing to enable us to escape from your former associates; but I tell you frankly that, if ever I have an opportunity to do so, I will consider it my duty to deliver you over to justice.”“Time is too precious to trifle thus,” said Gascoyne, hurriedly. “I have already said that I will deliver myself up—not however toyou, but to Mr Mason—after I have rescued the party, so that I am not likely to claim any consideration from you on account of the obligation which you seem to think my present act will lay you under. But you must not accompany me just now.”“Why not?”“Because your presence may be required here. You and Mr Mason will remain where you are to guard the girls, until I return. All that I have to ask is, that you be in readiness to follow me at a moment’s notice when the time comes.”“Of course what you arrangemustbe agreed to,” said Montague.“Come, Corrie, I will require your assistance. Follow me,” said the pirate captain, as he turned and strode rapidly away.Corrie was now thoroughly convinced of the good intentions of Gascoyne, so he followed him without hesitation. Indeed, now that he had an opportunity of seeing a little more of his gigantic companion, he began to feel a strange kind of pity and liking for him, but he shuddered and felt repelled when he thought of the human blood in which his hands must have been imbrued, for as yet he had not heard of the defence of himself which Gascoyne had made in the widow’s cottage. But he had not much time to think, for in a few minutes they came upon Ole Thorwald and his party.“Follow me quietly,” said Gascoyne. “Keep in single file and close together, for if we are separated here we shall not easily get together again.”Leading them over the same ground that he had formerly traversed, Gascoyne conducted his party to the shores of the bay where theFoamlay at anchor. Here he made them keep close in the bushes, with directions to be ready to act the instant he should call on them to do so.“But it would comfort me mightily, Mister Gascoyne,” said Thorwald in a somewhat troubled voice, “if you would give me some instructions or advice as to what I am to do in the event of your plans miscarrying. I care nought for a fair fight in open field, but I do confess to a dislike of being brought to the condition ofnot knowing what to do.”“It won’t matter much what you do, Mr Thorwald,” said Gascoyne, gravely. “If my plans miscarry, you will be killed every soul of you. You’ll not have the ghost of a chance of escaping.”Ole opened his eyes uncommonly wide at this. “Well,” said he at length, with a sigh of resignation, “it’s some comfort to know that one can only be killed once.”Gascoyne now proceeded leisurely to strip off his shirt, thereby displaying a chest, back, and arms in which the muscles were developed to an extent that might have made Hercules himself envious. Kicking off his boots, he reduced his clothing to a pair of loose knee-breeches.“’Tis a strange time to indulge in a cold bath!” murmured Thorwald, whose state of surprise was beginning to render him desperately ironical.Gascoyne took no notice of this remark, but calling Corrie to his side, said—“Can you swim, boy?”“Yes, like a duck.”“Can you distinguish the stern of the schooner?”“I can.”“Listen, then. When you see a white sheet waved over the taffrail, throw off your jacket and shirt and swim out to the schooner. D’ye understand?”“Perfectly,” replied the boy, whose decision of manner and action grew with the occasion.“And now, Mr Thorwald,” said Gascoyne, “I shall swim off to the schooner. If, as I expect, the men are on shore in a place that I wot of and with which you have nothing to do, well and good, I will send a boat for you with muffled oars—but, mark you, let there be no noise in embarking or in getting aboard the schooner. If, on the other hand, the men are aboard, I will bring a boat to you myself, in which case silence will not be so necessary, and your fighting powers shall be put to the proof.”Without waiting for a reply, the pirate captain walked down the sloping beach and waded slowly into the dark sea. His motions were so noiseless and stealthy that those who watched him with eager eyes could only discern a figure moving gradually away from them and melting into the thick gloom.Fierce though the storm was outside, the sheltered waters of the bay were almost calm, so that Gascoyne had no difficulty in swimming off to theFoamwithout making any noise. As he drew near, a footstep on the deck apprised him that there was at least a watch left. A few seconds later a man leaned over the low bulwarks of the vessel on the side on which the swimmer approached.“Hist! what sort o’ brute’s that?” he exclaimed, seizing a handspike that chanced to be near him and hurling it at the head of the brute.The handspike fell within a yard of Gascoyne, who, keeping up his supposed character, made a wild splash with his arms and dived like a genuine monster of the deep. Swimming under water as vigorously as he could, he endeavoured to gain the other side of the vessel before he came up; but, finding that this was impossible, he turned on his back and allowed himself to rise gently until nothing but his face appeared above the surface. By this means he was enabled to draw a full breath, and then, causing himself to sink, he swam under water to the other side of the schooner and rose under her quarter.Here he paused a minute to breathe, then glided with noiseless strokes to the main chains, which he seized hold of, and, under their shelter, listened intently for at least five minutes.Not a sound was to be heard on board save the footstep of the solitary watchman who slowly paced the deck, and now and then beguiled the tedium of his vigil by humming a snatch of a sea song.Gascoyne now felt assured that the crew were ashore enjoying themselves, (as they were wont to do,) in one of the artificial caverns where their goods were concealed. He knew, from his own former experience, that they felt quite secure when once at anchor in the harbour of the Isle of Palms; it was therefore probable that all of them had gone ashore except this man who had been left to take care of the vessel.Gascoyne now drew himself slowly up into the chains, and remained there for a few seconds in a stooping position, keeping his head below the level of the bulwarks while he squeezed the water out of his lower garments. This done, he waited until the man on deck came close to where he stood, when he sprang on him with the agility of a tiger, threw him down, and placed his hand on his mouth.“It will be your wisest course to be still, my man,” said Gascoyne, sternly. “You know who I am, and you know what I can do when occasion requires. If you shout when I remove my hand from your mouth you die.”The man seemed to be quite aware of the hopelessness of his case, for he quietly submitted to have his mouth bound with a handkerchief and his hands and feet tied with cords. A few seconds sufficed to accomplish this, after which Gascoyne took him up in his arms as if he had been a child, carried him below, and laid him on one of the cabin lockers. Then, dragging a sheet off one of the beds, he sprang up on deck and waved it over the stern.“That’s the signal for me,” said Corrie, who had watched for it eagerly—“now, uncle Ole, mind you obey orders—you’re rather inclined to be mutinous, and that won’t pay to-night. If you don’t look out, Gascoyne will pitch into you, old boy.”Master Corrie indulged in these impertinent remarks while he was stripping off his jacket and shirt. The exasperated Thorwald attempted to seize him by the neck and shake him, but Corrie flung his jacket in his face, and sprang down the beach like a squirrel. He had wisdom enough, however, to say and do all this in the quietest possible manner, and when he entered the sea he did so with as much caution as Gascoyne himself had done, insomuch that he seemed to melt away like a mischievous sprite.In a few minutes he was alongside of theFoam; caught a rope that was thrown to him, and quickly stood on the deck.“Well done, Corrie. Clamber over the stern, and slide down by that rope into the little boat that floats there. Take one of the oars, which you will find muffled, and scull to the shore and bring off Thorwald and his men. And, hark ’ee, boy, bring off my shirt and boots. Now, look alive; your friend Henry Stuart’s life may depend on it.”“Henry’s life!” exclaimed Corrie in amazement.“Come, no questions. His life may depend on your promptitude.”Corrie wanted no stronger motive for speed. In a state of surprise mingled with anxious forebodings, he leaped over the stern and was gone in a moment.The distance between the shore and the schooner being very short, the boat was quickly alongside, and the party, under stout Ole Thorwald, took possession of their prize. Meanwhile Gascoyne had set the jib and fore-topsail, which latter had been left hanging loose from the yard, so that by hauling out the sheets slowly and with great care, the thing was done without noise. The cable was then cut, the boat manned, and theFoamglided out of the bay like a phantom ship.The moment she got beyond the shelter of the palms her sails filled, and in a few minutes she was rushing through the water at the rate of ten or eleven knots an hour.Gascoyne stood at the helm and guided her through the intricacies of the dangerous coast with consummate skill, until he reached the bay where the wrecked ship lay. Here he lay to, and sent the boat ashore for the party that had been left at the tent. They were waiting anxiously for his return; great therefore was their astonishment when he sent a message inviting them to go on board theFoam.The instant they embarked Gascoyne put about, and, ordering the mainsail to be hoisted and one of the reefs to be shaken out of the topsail, ran round to windward of the island, with the foam flying in great masses on either side of the schooner, which lay over so much before the gale that it was scarcely possible to stand on the deck.The manner in which the pirate captain now acted was calculated to fill the hearts of those whose lives seemed to hang in his hands with alarm if not dismay. His spirit seemed to be stirred within him. There was indeed no anger either in his looks or tones, but there was a stern fixedness of purpose in his manner and aspect which aroused, yet repelled, the curiosity of those around him. Even Ole Thorwald and Montague agreed that it was best to let him alone, for although they might overcome his great physical force by the united strength of numbers, the result would certainly be disastrous, as he was the only one who knew the locality.On reaching the windward side of the island he threw the schooner up into the wind, and ordered the large boat to be hoisted out and put in the water, Gascoyne issued his commands in a quick loud voice, and Ole shook his head as if he felt that this overbearing manner proved what he had expected, namely, that when the pirate got aboard his own vessel he would come out in his true colours.Whatever men felt or thought, there was no hesitation in rendering prompt obedience to that voice. The large boat was hoisted off the brass pivot gun amidships and lowered into the water. Then Gascoyne gave the helm to one of the men, with directions to hold it exactly as it then lay, and, hurrying down below, speedily returned, to the astonishment of every one, with a man in his arms.“Now, Connway,” said Gascoyne, as he cut the cords that bound the man and removed the handkerchief from his mouth, “I’m a man of few words, and to-night have less time than usual to speak. I set you free. Get into that boat—one oar will suffice to guide it—the wind will drive it to the island. I send it as a parting gift to Manton and my former associates. It is large enough to hold them all. Tell them that I repent of my sins, and the sooner they do the same the better. I cannot now undo the evil I have done them. I can only furnish the means of escape, so that they may have time and opportunity to mend their ways, and, hark ’ee, the sooner they leave this plane the better. It will no longer be a safe retreat. Farewell!”While he was speaking he led the man by the arm to the side of the schooner, and constrained him to get into the boat. As he uttered the last word he cut the rope that held it, and let it drop astern.Gascoyne immediately resumed his place at the helm, and once more the schooner was running through the water, almost gunwale under, towards the place where theWasphad been wrecked.Without uttering a word of explanation, and apparently forgetful of every one near him, the pirate continued during the remainder of that night to steer theFoamout and in among the roaring breakers, as if he were trying how near he could venture to the jaws of destruction without actually plunging into them. As the night wore on the sky cleared up, and the scene of foaming desolation that was presented by the breakers in the midst of which they flew, was almost enough to appal the stoutest heart.The crew looked on in moody silence. They knew that their lives were imperilled, but they felt that they had no resource. No one dared to address the silent, stern man who stood like an iron statue at the helm the whole of that night. Towards morning, he steered out from among the dangerous coral reefs and ran south, straight before the wind.Then Corrie summoned up courage, and, going aft to Gascoyne, looked up in his face and said—“You’re searching for Henry, I think?”“Yes, boy. I am,” answered the pirate, and a gleam of kindliness crossed his face for a moment, but it was quickly chased away by a look of deep anxiety, and Corrie retired.Now that the danger of the night was over, all the people on board became anxious to save Henry or ascertain his fate; but although they searched the ocean far and wide, they saw not a vestige of him or of theWasp. During this period Gascoyne acted like a bewildered man. He never quitted the helm, night nor day. He only ate a biscuit now and then when it was brought to him, and he did not answer when he was spoken to.Every one felt sympathy with the man who seemed to mourn so deeply for the lost youth.At last Montague went up to him and said in a gentle voice—“I fear that Henry is gone.”Gascoyne started as if a sword had pierced him. For one moment he looked fiercely in the young captain’s face; then an expression of the deepest sadness overspread his countenance as he said—“Do you think there is no hope?”“None,” said Montague. “I grieve to give pain to one who seems to have been an intimate friend of the lad.”“He was the son of my oldest and best friend. What would you advise, Mr Montague?”“I think—that is to say, don’tyouthink—that it would be as well to put about now?”Gascoyne’s head dropped on his chest, and for some moments he stood speechless, while his strong hands played nervously with the tiller that they had held so long and so firmly. At last he looked up and said, in a low voice— “I resign the schooner into your hands, Mr Montague.”Then he went slowly below, and shut himself up in his cabin.Montague at once put down the helm, and, pointing the schooner’s prow northward, steered for the harbour of Sandy Cove.
It was not without some difficulty that the boat reached the shore after the squall burst upon them. On landing, the party observed, dark though it was, that their leader’s countenance wore an expression of the deepest anxiety; yet there were lines upon it that indicated the raging of conflicting passions which he found it difficult to restrain.
“I fear me,” said Ole Thorwald in a troubled voice, “that our young friend Henry Stuart is in danger.”
“Lost!” said Gascoyne, in a voice so low and grating that it startled his hearers.
“Say not so,” said Mr Mason, earnestly. “He is a brave and a clever youth, and knows how to manage the cutter until we can row back and fetch him ashore.”
“Row back!” exclaimed Gascoyne, almost fiercely.
“Think you that I would stand here idle if our boat could live in such a sea as now rolls on the rocks? TheWaspmust have been washed over the reef by this time. She may pass the next without being dashed to pieces, but she is too rickety to stand the third. No, there is no hope!”
While he spoke the missionary’s eyes were closed, and his lips moved as if in silent prayer. Seizing Gascoyne nervously by the arm, he said— “You cannot tell that there is no hope. That is known only to One who has encouraged us to ‘hope against hope.’ Henry is a stout youth and a good swimmer. He may succeed in clinging to some portion of the wreck.”
“True, true,” cried Gascoyne, eagerly grasping at this hope, slight though it was. “Come, we waste time. There is but one chance. The schooner must be secured without delay. Lads, you will follow Mr Thorwald. Do whatever he bids you. And now,” he added, leading the merchant aside, “the time for action has come. I will conduct you to a certain point on the island where you will remain concealed among the bushes until I return to you.”
“And suppose you never return to us, Mister Gascoyne?” said Ole, who regarded every act of the pirate captain with suspicion.
“Then you will remain there till you are tired,” answered Gascoyne, with some asperity, “and after that, do what you please.”
“Well, well, I am in your power,” retorted the obdurate Norseman; “make what arrangements you please, I will carry them out until—”
Here Ole thought fit to break off, and Gascoyne, without taking notice of the remark, went on in a few hurried sentences to explain as much of his plan as he thought necessary for the guidance of his suspicious ally.
This done, he led the whole party to the highest part of the island, and made them lie in ambush there while he went forward alone to reconnoitre. The night was admirably suited to their purpose. It was so dark that it was extremely difficult to perceive objects more than a few yards off, and the wind howled so furiously among the palms that there was no danger of being overheard in the event of their speaking too loud or stumbling over fallen trees.
Gascoyne, who knew every rock and tree on the Isle of Palms, went rapidly down the gentle slope that intervened between him and the harbour in which theFoamlay at anchor. Dark though it was, he could see the taper masts and yards of his vessel traced dimly against the sky.
The pirate’s movements now became more cautious. He stepped slowly, and paused frequently to listen. At last he went down on his hands and knees and crept forward for a considerable distance in that position, until he reached a ledge of rocks that overhung the shore of the bay. Here he observed an object like a round lump of rock, lying a few yards before him, on a spot where he was well aware no such rock had previously existed. It moved after a moment or two. Gascoyne knew that there were no wild animals of any kind on the island, and, therefore, at once jumped to the conclusion that this must needs be a human being of some sort. Drawing his knife he put it between his teeth, and creeping noiselessly towards the object in question laid his strong hand on the neck of the horrified Will Corrie.
That adventurous and desperate little hero having lain sleepless and miserable at the feet of Alice until the squall blew the tent over their heads, got up and assisted Montague to erect it anew in a more sheltered position, after which, saying that he meant to take a midnight ramble on the shore to cool his fevered brow, he made straight for the sea, stepped knee-deep into the raging surf, and bared his breast to the furious blast.
This cooled him so effectually that he took to running along shore in order to warm himself. Then it occurred to him that the night was particularly favourable for a sly peep at the pirates. Without a moment’s hesitation he walked and stumbled towards the high part of the island, at which he arrived just half-an-hour before Gascoyne reached it. He had seen nothing, however, and was on the point of advancing still further in his explorations, when he was discovered as we have seen.
Gascoyne instantly turned the boy over on his back, and nipped a tremendous yell in the bud by grasping his wind-pipe.
“Why, Corrie!” exclaimed Gascoyne in surprise, at the same time loosening his grip, though still holding the boy down.
“Ah! you villain, you rascally pirate.Iknow you, I—”
The pipe was gently squeezed at this point, and the sentence abruptly cut short.
“Come, boy, you must not speak so loud. Enemies are near. If you don’t behave I’ll have to throttle you. I have come from Sandy Cove with a party to save you and your friends.”
Corrie did not believe a word of this. He knew, or at least he supposed, that Gascoyne had left the schooner, not having seen him since they sailed from Sandy Cove; but he knew nothing of the manner in which he had been put ashore.
“It won’t do, Gascoyne,” gasped poor Corrie, on being permitted again to use his wind-pipe. “You may kill me, but you’ll never cow me. I don’t believe you, you cowardly monster.”
“I’ll have to convince you then,” said Gascoyne, suddenly catching the boy in his arms, and bearing him swiftly away from the spot.
Corrie struggled like a hero, as he was. He tried to shout, but Gascoyne’s right hand again squeezed the wind-pipe; he attempted to bite, but the same hand easily kept the refractory head in order; he endeavoured to kick and hit, but Gascoyne’s left hand encircled him in such a comprehensive embrace and pressed him so powerfully to his piratical bosom that he could only wriggle. This he did without ceasing, until Gascoyne suddenly planted him on his feet, panting and dishevelled, before the astonished faces of Frederick Mason and Ole Thorwald.
It is not necessary to describe in detail the surprise of all then and there assembled, the hurried conversation, and the cry of joy with which the missionary received the information that Alice was safe and within five minutes’ walk of the spot on which he stood. Suffice it to say, that Corrie was now convinced of the good faith of Gascoyne, whom he at once led, along with Mr Mason, to the tent where Alice and her friends slept—leaving Thorwald and his men where they were, to await further orders.
The cry of wild delight with which Alice sprang into her father’s arms might have been destructive of all Gascoyne’s plans had not the wind carried it away from the side of the island where the pirate schooner lay. There was now no time to be lost. After the first embrace, and a few hurried words of blessing and thanksgiving, the missionary was summoned to a consultation.
“I will join you in this enterprise, Mr Gascoyne,” said Montague. “I believe what you say to be true, besides, the urgency of our present danger leaves me no room for choice. I am in your power. I believe that in your present penitent condition you are willing to enable us to escape from your former associates; but I tell you frankly that, if ever I have an opportunity to do so, I will consider it my duty to deliver you over to justice.”
“Time is too precious to trifle thus,” said Gascoyne, hurriedly. “I have already said that I will deliver myself up—not however toyou, but to Mr Mason—after I have rescued the party, so that I am not likely to claim any consideration from you on account of the obligation which you seem to think my present act will lay you under. But you must not accompany me just now.”
“Why not?”
“Because your presence may be required here. You and Mr Mason will remain where you are to guard the girls, until I return. All that I have to ask is, that you be in readiness to follow me at a moment’s notice when the time comes.”
“Of course what you arrangemustbe agreed to,” said Montague.
“Come, Corrie, I will require your assistance. Follow me,” said the pirate captain, as he turned and strode rapidly away.
Corrie was now thoroughly convinced of the good intentions of Gascoyne, so he followed him without hesitation. Indeed, now that he had an opportunity of seeing a little more of his gigantic companion, he began to feel a strange kind of pity and liking for him, but he shuddered and felt repelled when he thought of the human blood in which his hands must have been imbrued, for as yet he had not heard of the defence of himself which Gascoyne had made in the widow’s cottage. But he had not much time to think, for in a few minutes they came upon Ole Thorwald and his party.
“Follow me quietly,” said Gascoyne. “Keep in single file and close together, for if we are separated here we shall not easily get together again.”
Leading them over the same ground that he had formerly traversed, Gascoyne conducted his party to the shores of the bay where theFoamlay at anchor. Here he made them keep close in the bushes, with directions to be ready to act the instant he should call on them to do so.
“But it would comfort me mightily, Mister Gascoyne,” said Thorwald in a somewhat troubled voice, “if you would give me some instructions or advice as to what I am to do in the event of your plans miscarrying. I care nought for a fair fight in open field, but I do confess to a dislike of being brought to the condition ofnot knowing what to do.”
“It won’t matter much what you do, Mr Thorwald,” said Gascoyne, gravely. “If my plans miscarry, you will be killed every soul of you. You’ll not have the ghost of a chance of escaping.”
Ole opened his eyes uncommonly wide at this. “Well,” said he at length, with a sigh of resignation, “it’s some comfort to know that one can only be killed once.”
Gascoyne now proceeded leisurely to strip off his shirt, thereby displaying a chest, back, and arms in which the muscles were developed to an extent that might have made Hercules himself envious. Kicking off his boots, he reduced his clothing to a pair of loose knee-breeches.
“’Tis a strange time to indulge in a cold bath!” murmured Thorwald, whose state of surprise was beginning to render him desperately ironical.
Gascoyne took no notice of this remark, but calling Corrie to his side, said—
“Can you swim, boy?”
“Yes, like a duck.”
“Can you distinguish the stern of the schooner?”
“I can.”
“Listen, then. When you see a white sheet waved over the taffrail, throw off your jacket and shirt and swim out to the schooner. D’ye understand?”
“Perfectly,” replied the boy, whose decision of manner and action grew with the occasion.
“And now, Mr Thorwald,” said Gascoyne, “I shall swim off to the schooner. If, as I expect, the men are on shore in a place that I wot of and with which you have nothing to do, well and good, I will send a boat for you with muffled oars—but, mark you, let there be no noise in embarking or in getting aboard the schooner. If, on the other hand, the men are aboard, I will bring a boat to you myself, in which case silence will not be so necessary, and your fighting powers shall be put to the proof.”
Without waiting for a reply, the pirate captain walked down the sloping beach and waded slowly into the dark sea. His motions were so noiseless and stealthy that those who watched him with eager eyes could only discern a figure moving gradually away from them and melting into the thick gloom.
Fierce though the storm was outside, the sheltered waters of the bay were almost calm, so that Gascoyne had no difficulty in swimming off to theFoamwithout making any noise. As he drew near, a footstep on the deck apprised him that there was at least a watch left. A few seconds later a man leaned over the low bulwarks of the vessel on the side on which the swimmer approached.
“Hist! what sort o’ brute’s that?” he exclaimed, seizing a handspike that chanced to be near him and hurling it at the head of the brute.
The handspike fell within a yard of Gascoyne, who, keeping up his supposed character, made a wild splash with his arms and dived like a genuine monster of the deep. Swimming under water as vigorously as he could, he endeavoured to gain the other side of the vessel before he came up; but, finding that this was impossible, he turned on his back and allowed himself to rise gently until nothing but his face appeared above the surface. By this means he was enabled to draw a full breath, and then, causing himself to sink, he swam under water to the other side of the schooner and rose under her quarter.
Here he paused a minute to breathe, then glided with noiseless strokes to the main chains, which he seized hold of, and, under their shelter, listened intently for at least five minutes.
Not a sound was to be heard on board save the footstep of the solitary watchman who slowly paced the deck, and now and then beguiled the tedium of his vigil by humming a snatch of a sea song.
Gascoyne now felt assured that the crew were ashore enjoying themselves, (as they were wont to do,) in one of the artificial caverns where their goods were concealed. He knew, from his own former experience, that they felt quite secure when once at anchor in the harbour of the Isle of Palms; it was therefore probable that all of them had gone ashore except this man who had been left to take care of the vessel.
Gascoyne now drew himself slowly up into the chains, and remained there for a few seconds in a stooping position, keeping his head below the level of the bulwarks while he squeezed the water out of his lower garments. This done, he waited until the man on deck came close to where he stood, when he sprang on him with the agility of a tiger, threw him down, and placed his hand on his mouth.
“It will be your wisest course to be still, my man,” said Gascoyne, sternly. “You know who I am, and you know what I can do when occasion requires. If you shout when I remove my hand from your mouth you die.”
The man seemed to be quite aware of the hopelessness of his case, for he quietly submitted to have his mouth bound with a handkerchief and his hands and feet tied with cords. A few seconds sufficed to accomplish this, after which Gascoyne took him up in his arms as if he had been a child, carried him below, and laid him on one of the cabin lockers. Then, dragging a sheet off one of the beds, he sprang up on deck and waved it over the stern.
“That’s the signal for me,” said Corrie, who had watched for it eagerly—“now, uncle Ole, mind you obey orders—you’re rather inclined to be mutinous, and that won’t pay to-night. If you don’t look out, Gascoyne will pitch into you, old boy.”
Master Corrie indulged in these impertinent remarks while he was stripping off his jacket and shirt. The exasperated Thorwald attempted to seize him by the neck and shake him, but Corrie flung his jacket in his face, and sprang down the beach like a squirrel. He had wisdom enough, however, to say and do all this in the quietest possible manner, and when he entered the sea he did so with as much caution as Gascoyne himself had done, insomuch that he seemed to melt away like a mischievous sprite.
In a few minutes he was alongside of theFoam; caught a rope that was thrown to him, and quickly stood on the deck.
“Well done, Corrie. Clamber over the stern, and slide down by that rope into the little boat that floats there. Take one of the oars, which you will find muffled, and scull to the shore and bring off Thorwald and his men. And, hark ’ee, boy, bring off my shirt and boots. Now, look alive; your friend Henry Stuart’s life may depend on it.”
“Henry’s life!” exclaimed Corrie in amazement.
“Come, no questions. His life may depend on your promptitude.”
Corrie wanted no stronger motive for speed. In a state of surprise mingled with anxious forebodings, he leaped over the stern and was gone in a moment.
The distance between the shore and the schooner being very short, the boat was quickly alongside, and the party, under stout Ole Thorwald, took possession of their prize. Meanwhile Gascoyne had set the jib and fore-topsail, which latter had been left hanging loose from the yard, so that by hauling out the sheets slowly and with great care, the thing was done without noise. The cable was then cut, the boat manned, and theFoamglided out of the bay like a phantom ship.
The moment she got beyond the shelter of the palms her sails filled, and in a few minutes she was rushing through the water at the rate of ten or eleven knots an hour.
Gascoyne stood at the helm and guided her through the intricacies of the dangerous coast with consummate skill, until he reached the bay where the wrecked ship lay. Here he lay to, and sent the boat ashore for the party that had been left at the tent. They were waiting anxiously for his return; great therefore was their astonishment when he sent a message inviting them to go on board theFoam.
The instant they embarked Gascoyne put about, and, ordering the mainsail to be hoisted and one of the reefs to be shaken out of the topsail, ran round to windward of the island, with the foam flying in great masses on either side of the schooner, which lay over so much before the gale that it was scarcely possible to stand on the deck.
The manner in which the pirate captain now acted was calculated to fill the hearts of those whose lives seemed to hang in his hands with alarm if not dismay. His spirit seemed to be stirred within him. There was indeed no anger either in his looks or tones, but there was a stern fixedness of purpose in his manner and aspect which aroused, yet repelled, the curiosity of those around him. Even Ole Thorwald and Montague agreed that it was best to let him alone, for although they might overcome his great physical force by the united strength of numbers, the result would certainly be disastrous, as he was the only one who knew the locality.
On reaching the windward side of the island he threw the schooner up into the wind, and ordered the large boat to be hoisted out and put in the water, Gascoyne issued his commands in a quick loud voice, and Ole shook his head as if he felt that this overbearing manner proved what he had expected, namely, that when the pirate got aboard his own vessel he would come out in his true colours.
Whatever men felt or thought, there was no hesitation in rendering prompt obedience to that voice. The large boat was hoisted off the brass pivot gun amidships and lowered into the water. Then Gascoyne gave the helm to one of the men, with directions to hold it exactly as it then lay, and, hurrying down below, speedily returned, to the astonishment of every one, with a man in his arms.
“Now, Connway,” said Gascoyne, as he cut the cords that bound the man and removed the handkerchief from his mouth, “I’m a man of few words, and to-night have less time than usual to speak. I set you free. Get into that boat—one oar will suffice to guide it—the wind will drive it to the island. I send it as a parting gift to Manton and my former associates. It is large enough to hold them all. Tell them that I repent of my sins, and the sooner they do the same the better. I cannot now undo the evil I have done them. I can only furnish the means of escape, so that they may have time and opportunity to mend their ways, and, hark ’ee, the sooner they leave this plane the better. It will no longer be a safe retreat. Farewell!”
While he was speaking he led the man by the arm to the side of the schooner, and constrained him to get into the boat. As he uttered the last word he cut the rope that held it, and let it drop astern.
Gascoyne immediately resumed his place at the helm, and once more the schooner was running through the water, almost gunwale under, towards the place where theWasphad been wrecked.
Without uttering a word of explanation, and apparently forgetful of every one near him, the pirate continued during the remainder of that night to steer theFoamout and in among the roaring breakers, as if he were trying how near he could venture to the jaws of destruction without actually plunging into them. As the night wore on the sky cleared up, and the scene of foaming desolation that was presented by the breakers in the midst of which they flew, was almost enough to appal the stoutest heart.
The crew looked on in moody silence. They knew that their lives were imperilled, but they felt that they had no resource. No one dared to address the silent, stern man who stood like an iron statue at the helm the whole of that night. Towards morning, he steered out from among the dangerous coral reefs and ran south, straight before the wind.
Then Corrie summoned up courage, and, going aft to Gascoyne, looked up in his face and said—
“You’re searching for Henry, I think?”
“Yes, boy. I am,” answered the pirate, and a gleam of kindliness crossed his face for a moment, but it was quickly chased away by a look of deep anxiety, and Corrie retired.
Now that the danger of the night was over, all the people on board became anxious to save Henry or ascertain his fate; but although they searched the ocean far and wide, they saw not a vestige of him or of theWasp. During this period Gascoyne acted like a bewildered man. He never quitted the helm, night nor day. He only ate a biscuit now and then when it was brought to him, and he did not answer when he was spoken to.
Every one felt sympathy with the man who seemed to mourn so deeply for the lost youth.
At last Montague went up to him and said in a gentle voice—
“I fear that Henry is gone.”
Gascoyne started as if a sword had pierced him. For one moment he looked fiercely in the young captain’s face; then an expression of the deepest sadness overspread his countenance as he said—
“Do you think there is no hope?”
“None,” said Montague. “I grieve to give pain to one who seems to have been an intimate friend of the lad.”
“He was the son of my oldest and best friend. What would you advise, Mr Montague?”
“I think—that is to say, don’tyouthink—that it would be as well to put about now?”
Gascoyne’s head dropped on his chest, and for some moments he stood speechless, while his strong hands played nervously with the tiller that they had held so long and so firmly. At last he looked up and said, in a low voice— “I resign the schooner into your hands, Mr Montague.”
Then he went slowly below, and shut himself up in his cabin.
Montague at once put down the helm, and, pointing the schooner’s prow northward, steered for the harbour of Sandy Cove.