Corrie followed him, also on tiptoe, with the broken saber in his right hand, and the cocked pistol in his left, his forefinger being on the trigger, and the muzzle pointing straight at the small of the seaman's back,—if one may be permitted to talk of such an enormous back having any "small" about it!

Poopy entered last, also on tiptoe, trembling violently, holding on with both hands to the waistband of Corrie's trousers, and only restrained from instant flight by her anxieties and her strong love for little Alice.

Thus, step by step, with bated breath and loudly beating hearts, pausing often to listen, and gasping in a subdued way at times, the three friends advanced from the gloom without into the thick darkness within, until their gliding forms were swallowed up.

Now it so happened that the shouts and yells to which we have more than once made reference in this chapter attracted a band of savages who had been put to flight by Henry Stuart's party. These rascals, not knowing what was the cause of so much noise up on the heights, and being much too well acquainted with the human voice in all its modifications to fancy that ghosts had anything to do with it, cautiously ascended towards the cavern, just a few minutes after the disappearance of John Bumpus and his companions.

Here they sat down to hold a palaver. While this was going on, Keona carried Alice in his unwounded arm to the other end of the cave, and, making his exit through a small opening at its inner extremity, bore his trembling captive to a rocky eminence, shaped somewhat like a sugarloaf, on the summit of which he placed her. So steep were the sides of this cone of lava, that it seemed to Alice that she was surrounded by precipices over which she must certainly tumble if she dared to move.

Here Keona left her, having first, however, said, in a low, stern voice:

"If you moves, you dies!"

The poor child was too much terrified to move, even had she dared; for she, too, had heard the unaccountable cries of Poopy, although, owing to distance and the wild nature of these cries, she had failed to recognize the voice. When, therefore, her jailer left her with this threat, she coiled herself up in the smallest possible space, and began to sob.

Meanwhile, Keona re-entered the cavern, with a diabolical grin on his sable countenance, which, although it savored more of evil than of any other quality, had in it, nevertheless, a strong dash of ferocious joviality, as if he were aware that he had got his enemies into a trap, and could amuse himself by playing with them as a cat does with a mouse.

Soon the savage began to step cautiously, partly because of the rugged nature of the ground and the thick darkness that surrounded him, and partly in order to avoid alarming the three adventurers who were advancing towards him from the other extremity of the cavern. In a few minutes he halted; for the footsteps and the whispering voices of his pursuers became distinctly audible to him, although all three did their best to make as little noise as possible.

"Wot a 'orrid place it is!" exclaimed Bumpus, in a hoarse, angry whisper, as he struck his shins violently, for at least the tenth time, against a ledge of rock. "I do b'lieve, boy, that there's nobody here, and that we'd as well 'bout ship and steer back the way we've comed; tho' it is a 'orrible coast for rocks and shoals."

To this, Corrie, not being in a talkative humor, made no reply.

"D'ye hear me, boy?" said Jo, aloud, for he was somewhat shaken again by the dead silence that followed the close of his remark.

"All right; I'm here;" said Corrie, meekly.

"Then why don't ye speak?" said Jo, tartly.

"I'd advise you not to speak so loud," retorted the boy.

"Is the dark 'un there?" inquired Bumpus.

"What d'ye say?"

"The dark 'un; the lump o' charcoal, you know."

"Oh! she's all safe," replied Corrie. "I only hope she won't haul the clothes right off my body; she grips at my waistband like a—"

Here he was cut short by Keona, who gave utterance to a low, dismal wail that caused the blood and marrow of all three to freeze up, and their hearts for a moment to leap into their throats and all but choke them.

"Poopy's gone," gasped Corrie, after a few seconds had elapsed.

There was no doubt of the fact; for besides the relief experienced by the boy, from the relaxing of her grip on his waistband, the moment the wail was heard, the sound of the girl's footsteps, as she flew back to the entrance of the cave was distinctly heard.

Keona waited a minute or two to ascertain the exact position of his enemies, then he repeated the wail, and swelled it gradually out into a fiendish yell that awoke all the echoes of the place. At the same time, guessing his aim as well as he could, he threw a spear and discharged a shower of stones at the spot where he supposed they stood.

There is no understanding the strange workings of the human mind! The very thing that most people would have expected to strike terror to the heart of Bumpus was that which infused courage into his soul. The frightful tones of the savage's voice in such a place did indeed almost prostrate the superstitious spirit of the seaman; but when he heard the spear whiz past within an inch of his ear, and received a large stone full on his chest, and several small ones on other parts of his person, that instant his strength returned to him, like that of Samson when the Philistines attempted to fall upon him. His curiously philosophical mind at once leaped to the conclusion that, although ghosts could yell, and look, and vanish, they could not throw spears or fling stones, and that, therefore, the man they were in search of was actually close beside them.

Acting on this belief, with immense subtlety Bumpus uttered a cry of feigned terror, and fled, followed by the panting Corrie, who uttered a scream of real terror at what he supposed must be the veritable ghost of the place.

But before he had run fifty yards, John Bumpus suddenly came to a dead halt, seized Corrie by the collar, dragged him down behind a rock, and laid his large hand upon his mouth, as being the shortest and easiest way of securing silence, without the trouble of explanation.

As he had anticipated, the soft tread of the savage was heard almost immediately after, as he passed on in full pursuit. He brushed close past the spot where Bumpus crouched, and received from that able-bodied seaman such a blow on the shoulder of his wounded arm as, had it been delivered in daylight, would have certainly smashed his shoulder-blade. As it was, it caused him to stagger, and sent him howling with pain to the mouth of the cavern, whither he was followed by the triumphant Jo, who now made sure of catching him.

But "there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." When Keona issued from the cave, he was received with a shout by the band of savages, who instantly recognized him as their friend by his voice. Poor Poopy was already in their hands, having been seized and gagged when she emerged before she had time to utter a cry. And now they stood in a semicircle, ready to receive all who might come forth into their arms, or on their spear-points, as the case might be.

Bumpus came out like an insane thunderbolt, and Corrie like a streak of lightning. Instantaneously the flash of the pistol, accompanied by its report and a deep growl from Bumpus, increased the resemblance to these meteorological phenomena, and three savages lay stunned upon the ground.

"This way, Corrie!" cried the excited seaman, leaping to a perpendicular rock, against which he placed his back, and raised his fists in a pugilistic attitude, "Keep one or two in play with your broken toothpick, an' I'll floor 'em one after another as they comes up. Now, then, ye black baboons, come on,—all at once, if you like,—an' Jo Bumpus'll show ye wot he's made of!"

Not perceiving very clearly, in the dim light caused by a few stars that flickered among the black and gathering clouds, the immense size and power of the man with whom they had to deal, the savages were not slow to accept this free and generous invitation to "come on." They rushed forward in a body, intending, no doubt, to take the man and boy prisoners; for if they had wished to slay them, nothing would have been easier than to have thrown one or two of their spears at their defenseless breasts.

Bumpus experienced a vague feeling that he had now a fair opportunity of testing and proving his invincibility; yet the desperate nature of the case did not induce him to draw his sword. He preferred his fists, as being superior and much more handy weapons. He received the first two savages who came within reach on the knuckles of his right and left hands, rendering them utterly insensible, and driving them against the two men immediately behind with such tremendous violence that they also were put hors de combat.

This was just what Bumpus had intended and hoped for. The sudden fall of so many gave him time to launch out his great fists a second time. They fell with the weight of sledge-hammers on the faces of two more of his opponents, flattening their noses, and otherwise disfiguring their features, besides stretching them on the ground. At the same time, Corrie flung his empty pistol in the face of a man who attempted to assault his companion on the right flank unawares, and laid him prone on the earth. Another savage, who made the same effort on the left, received a gash on the thigh from the broken saber that sent him howling from the scene of conflict.

Thus were eight savages disposed of in about as many seconds.

But there is a limit to the powers and the prowess of man. The savages, on seeing the fall of so many of their companions, rushed in on Bumpus before he could recover himself for another blow. That is to say, the savages behind pushed forward those in front whether they would or no, and falling en masse on the unfortunate pair, well-nigh buried them alive in black human flesh.

Bumpus's last cry before being smothered was, "Down with the black varmints!" and Corrie's last shout was, "Hooray!"

Thus fell—despite the undignified manner of their fall—a couple of as great heroes as were ever heard of in the annals of war; not excepting even those of Homer himself.

Now, good reader, this maybe all very well for us to describe, and for you to read, but it was a terrible thing for Poopy to witness. Being bound hand and foot, she was compelled to look on; and, to say truth, she did look on with uncommon interest. When her friends fell, however, she expressed her regrets and fears in a subdued shriek, for which she received a sounding slap on the cheek from a young savage who had chosen for himself the comparatively dangerous post of watching her, while his less courageous friends were fighting.

Strange to say, Poopy did not shed more tears (as one might have expected) on receiving such treatment. She had been used to that sort of thing, poor child. Before coming to the service of her little mistress, she had been brought up (it would be more strictly correct to say that she had been kicked, and cuffed, and pinched, and battered up) by a step-mother, whose chief delight was to pull out handfuls of her woolly hair, beat her nose flat (which was adding insult to injury, for it was too flat by nature), and otherwise to maltreat her. When, therefore, Poopy received the slap referred to, she immediately dried her eyes and looked humble. But she did not by any means feel humble. No; a regard for truth compels us to state that, on this particular occasion, Poopy acted the part of a hypocrite. If her hands had been loose, and she had possessed a knife just then—we are afraid to think of the dreadful use to which she would have put it.

The natives spent a considerable time in securely binding their three captives, after which they bore them into the cavern.

Here they kindled a torch, and held a long palaver as to what was to be done with the prisoners. Some counseled instant death, others advised that they should be kept as hostages.

The debate was so long and fierce, that the day had begun to break before it was concluded. It was at length arranged that they should be conveyed alive to their village, there to be disposed of according to the instructions of their chiefs.

Feeling that they had already delayed too long, they placed the prisoners on their shoulders, and bore them swiftly away.

Poor Corrie and his sable friend were easily carried, coiled up like sacks, each on the shoulders of a stalwart savage; but Bumpus, who had required eight men to bind him, still remained unconvinced of his vincibility. He struggled so violently on the shoulders of the four men who bore him, that Keona, in a fit of passion, tinged no doubt with revenge, hit him such a blow on the head with the handle of an ax as caused his brains to sing, and a host of stars to dance before his eyes.

These stars were, however, purely imaginary; for at that time the dawn had extinguished the lesser lights. Ere long, the bright beams of the rising sun suffused the eastern sky with a golden glow. On passing the place where Alice had been left, a couple of the party were sent by Keona to fetch her. They took the unnecessary precaution of binding the poor child, and speedily rejoined their comrades with her in their arms.

The amazement of her friends on seeing Alice was only equaled by her surprise on beholding them. But they were not permitted to communicate with each other. Presently the whole party emerged from the wild mountain gorges, through which they had been passing for some time, and proceeded in single file along a narrow path that skirted the precipices of the coast. The cliffs here were nearly a hundred feet high. They descended sheer down into deep water; in some places even overhung the sea.

Here John Bumpus, having recovered from the stunning effects of the blow dealt him by Keona, renewed his struggles, and rendered the passage of the place not only difficult but dangerous—to himself as well as to his enemies. Just as they reached a somewhat open space on the top of the cliffs, Jo succeeded, by almost superhuman exertion in bursting his bonds. Keona, foaming with rage, gave an angry order to his followers, who rushed upon Bumpus in a body as he was endeavoring to clear himself of the cords. Although John struck out manfully, the savages were too quick for him. They raised him suddenly aloft in their arms, and hurled him headlong over the cliff!

The horror of his friends on witnessing this may easily be imagined; but every other feeling was swallowed up in terror when the savages, apparently rendered bloodthirsty by what they had done, ran towards Alice, and, raising her from the ground, hastened to the edge of the cliff, evidently with the intention of throwing her over also.

Before they, had accomplished their fiendish purpose, however, a sound like thunder burst upon their ears and arrested their steps. This was immediately followed by another crash, and then came a series of single reports in rapid succession, which were multiplied by the echoes of the heights until the whole region seemed to tremble with the reverberation.

At first the natives seemed awe-stricken. Then, on becoming aware that the sounds which originated all this tumult came from the direction of their own village, they dropped Alice on the ground, fled precipitately down the rugged path that led from the heights to the valley, and disappeared, leaving the three captives, bound and helpless, on the cliffs.



CHAPTER XII.

DANGEROUS NAVIGATION AND DOUBTFUL PILOTAGE—MONTAGUE IS HOT, GASCOYNE SARCASTIC.

We now turn to the Talisman, which, it will be remembered, we left making her way slowly through the reefs toward the northern end of the island, under the pilotage of Gascoyne.

The storm, which had threatened to burst over the island at an earlier period of that evening, passed off far to the south. The light breeze which had tempted Captain Montague to weigh anchor soon died away, and before night a profound calm brooded over the deep.

When the breeze fell, Gascoyne went forward, and, seating himself on a forecastle carronade, appeared to fall into a deep reverie. Montague paced the quarter-deck impatiently, glancing from time to time down the skylight at the barometer which hung in the cabin, and at the vane which drooped motionless from the masthead. He acted with the air of a man who was deeply dissatisfied with the existing state of things, and who felt inclined to take the laws of nature into his own hands. Fortunately for nature and himself, he was unable to do this.

Ole Thorwald exhibited a striking contrast to the active, impatient commander of the vessel. That portly individual, having just finished a cigar which the first lieutenant had presented to him on his arrival on board, threw the fag end of it into the sea, and proceeded leisurely to fill a large-headed German pipe, which was the constant companion of his waking hours, and the bowl of which seldom enjoyed a cool moment.

Ole having filled the pipe, lighted it; then leaning over the taffrail, he gazed placidly into the dark waters, which were so perfectly calm that every star in the vault above could be compared with its reflection in the abyss below.

Ole Thorwald, excepting when engaged in actual battle, was phlegmatic, and constitutionally lazy and happy. When enjoying his German pipe he felt impressibly serene, and did not care to be disturbed. He therefore paid no attention to the angry manner of Montague, who brushed past him repeatedly in his hasty perambulations, but continued to gaze downwards and smoke calmly in a state of placid felicity.

"You appear to take things coolly, Mister Thorwald," said Montague, half in jest, yet with a touch of asperity in his manner.

"I always do" (puff) "when the weather's not warm." (Puff, puff.)

"Humph!" ejaculated Montague; "but the weather is warm just now; at least it seems so to me,—so warm that I should not be surprised if a thunder-squall were to burst upon us ere long."

"Not a pleasant place to be caught in a squall," returned the other, gazing through the voluminous clouds of smoke which he emitted at several coral reefs, whose ragged edges just rose to the level of the calm sea without breaking its mirror-like surface; "I've seen one or two fine vessels caught that way, just here abouts, and go right down in the middle of the breakers."

Montague smiled, and the commander-in-chief of the Sandy Cove army fired innumerable broadsides from his mouth with redoubled energy.

"That is not a cheering piece of information," said he, "especially when one has reason to believe that a false man stands at the helm."

Montague uttered the latter part of his speech in a subdued, earnest voice, and the matter-of-fact Ole turned his eyes slowly towards the man at the wheel; but observing that he who presided there was a short, fat, commonplace, and uncommonly jolly-looking seaman, he merely uttered a grunt, and looked at Montague inquiringly.

"Nay: I mean not the man who actually holds the spokes of the wheel, but he who guides the ship."

Thorwald glanced at Gascoyne, whose figure was dimly visible in the fore part of the ship, and then looking at Montague in surprise, shook his head gravely, as if to say, "I'm still in the dark; go on."

"Can Mr. Thorwald put out his pipe for a few minutes, and accompany me to the cabin? I would have a little converse on this matter in private."

Ole hesitated.

"Well, then," said the other, smiling, "you may take the pipe with you, although it is against rules to smoke in my cabin; but I'll make an exception in your case."

Ole smiled, bowed, and thanking the captain for his courtesy, descended to the cabin along with him, and sat down on a sofa in the darkest corner of it. Here he smoked vehemently, while his companion, assuming rather a mysterious air, said, in an undertone:

"You have heard, of course, that the pirate Durward has been seen, or heard of, in these seas?"

Ole nodded.

"Has it ever struck you that this Gascoyne, as he calls himself, knows more about the pirate than he chooses to tell?"

"Never," replied Ole. Indeed, nothing ever did strike the stout commander-in-chief of the forces. All new ideas came to him by slow degrees, and did not readily find admission to his perceptive faculties. But when they did gain an entrance into his thick head, nothing was ever known to drive them out again. As he did not seem inclined to comment on the hint thrown out by his companion, Montague continued, in a still more impressive tone:

"What would you say, if this Gascoyne himself turned out to be the pirate?"

The idea being a simple one, and the proper course to follow being rather obvious, Ole replied, with unwonted promptitude: "Put him in irons, of course, and hang him as soon possible."

Montague laughed. "Truly that would be a vigorous way of proceeding; but as I have no proof of the truth of my suspicions, and as the man is my guest at present, as well as my pilot, it behooves me to act more cautiously."

"Not at all; by no means; you're quite wrong, captain (which is the natural result of being young; all young people go wrong more or less); it is clearly your duty to catch a pirate anyhow you can, as fast as you can, and kill him without delay."

Here the sanguinary Thorwald paused to draw and puff into vitality the pipe which was beginning to die down, and Montague asked:

"But how d'you know he is the pirate?"

"Because you said so," replied his friend.

"Nay; I said that I suspected him to be Durward,—nothing more."

"And what more would you have?" cried Ole, whose calm spirit was ruffled with unusual violence at the thought of the hated Durward being actually within his reach. "For my part, I conceive that you are justified in taking him up on suspicion, trying him in a formal way (just to save appearances) on suspicion and hanging him at once on suspicion. Quite time enough to inquire into the matter after the villain is comfortably sewed up in a hammock with a thirty-pound shot at his heels, and sent to the bottom of the sea for the sharks and crabs to devour. Suspicion is nine points of the law in these regions, Captain Montague, and we never allow the tenth point to interfere with the course of justice one way or another. Hang him, or shoot him if you prefer it, at once; that is what I recommend."

Just as Thorwald concluded this amiable piece of advice, the deep, strong tones of Gascoyne's voice were heard addressing the first lieutenant.

"You had better hoist your royals and skyscrapers, Mr. Mulroy; we shall have a light air off the land presently, and it will require all your canvas to carry the ship round the north point, so as to bring her guns to bear on the village of the savages."

"The distance seems to me very short," replied the lieutenant, "and the Talisman sails faster than you may suppose with a light wind."

"I doubt not the sailing qualities of your good ship, though I could name a small schooner that would beat them in light wind or storm; but you forget that we have to land our stout ally Mr. Thorwald with his men at the Goat's Pass, and that will compel us to lose time,—too much of which has been lost already."

Without reply, the lieutenant turned on his heel, and gave the necessary orders to hoist the additional sails, while the captain hastened on deck, leaving Thorwald to finish his pipe in peace, and ruminate on the suspicions which had been raised in his mind.

In less than half an hour the light wind which Gascoyne had predicted came off the land, first in a series of what sailors term "cat's paws," and then in a steady breeze, which lasted several hours, and caused the vessel to slip rapidly through the still water. As he looked anxiously over the bow, Captain Montague felt that he had placed himself completely in the power of the suspected skipper of the Foam; for coral reefs surrounded him on all sides, and many of them passed so close to the ship's side that he expected every moment to feel the shock that would wreck his vessel and his hopes at the same time. He blamed himself for trusting a man whom he supposed he had such good reason to doubt, but consoled himself by thrusting his hand into his bosom an grasping the handle of a pistol, with which, in the event of the ship striking, he had made up his mind to blow out Gascoyne's brains.

About an hour later, the Talisman was hove-to off the Goat's Pass, and Ole Thorwald was landed with his party at the base of a cliff which rose sheer up from the sea like a wall.

"Are we to go up there?" inquired Ole, in a rueful tone of voice, as he surveyed a narrow chasm to which Gascoyne guided him.

"That is the way. It's not so bad at it looks. When you get to the top, follow the little path that leads along the cliffs northward, and you will reach the brow of a hill from which the native village will be visible. Descend and attack it at once, if you find men to fight with; if not, take possession quietly. Mind you don't take the wrong turn; it leads to places where a wildcat would not venture even in daylight. If you attend to what I have said, you can't go wrong. Good-night. Shove off."

The oars splashed in the sea at the word, and Gascoyne returned to the ship, leaving Ole to lead his men up the Pass as best he might.

It seemed as if the pilot had resolved to make sure of the destruction of the ship that night; for, not content with running her within a foot or two of innumerable reefs, he at last steered in so close to the shore that the beetling cliffs actually seemed to overhang the deck. When the sun rose, the breeze died away; but sufficient wind continued to fill the upper sails, and to urge the vessel gently onward for some time after the surface of the sea was calm.

Montague endeavored to conceal and repress his anxiety as long as possible; but when at length a line of breakers without any apparent opening presented themselves right ahead, he went up to Gascoyne and said, in a stern undertone:

"Are you aware that you forfeit your life if my vessel strikes?"

"I know it," replied Gascoyne, coolly throwing away the stump of his cigar, and lighting a fresh one; "but I have no desire either to destroy your vessel or to lose my life; although, to say truth, I should have no objection, in other circumstances, to attempt the one and to risk the other."

"Say you so?" said Montague, with a sharp glance at the countenance of the other, where, however, he could perceive nothing but placid good humor; "that speech sounds marvelously warlike, methinks in the mouth of a sandal-wood trader."

"Think you, then," said Gascoyne, with a smile of contempt, "that it is only your fire-eating men of war who experience bold impulses and heroic desires?"

"Nay; but traders are not wont to aspire to the honor of fighting the ships that are commissioned to protect them."

"Truly, if I had sought protection from the war-ships of the King of England, I must have sailed long and far to find it," returned Gascoyne. "It is no child's play to navigate these seas, where bloodthirsty savages swarm in their canoes like locusts. Moreover, I sail, as I have told you before, in the China Seas, where pirates are more common than honest traders. What would you say if I were to take it into my head to protect myself?"

"That you were well able to do so," answered Montague, with a smile; "but when I examined the Foam, I found no arms save a few cutlasses and rusty muskets that did not seem to have been in recent use."

"A few bold men can defend themselves with any kind of weapons. My men are stout fellows, not used to flinch at the sound of a round shot passing over their heads."

The conversation was interrupted here by the ship rounding a point and suddenly opening up a view of a fine bay, at the head of which, embosomed in trees and dense underwood, stood the native village of which they were in search.

Just in front of this village lay a small but high and thickly-wooded island, which, as it were, filled up the head of the bay, sheltering it completely from the ocean, and making the part of the sea which washed the shores in front of the houses resemble a deep and broad canal. This stripe of water was wide and deep enough to permit of a vessel of the largest size passing through it; but to any one approaching the place for the first time, there seemed to be no passage for any sort of craft larger than a native canoe. The island itself was high enough to conceal the Talisman completely from the natives until she was within half gunshot of the shore.

Gascoyne still stood on the fore part of the ship as she neared this spot, which was so beset with reefs and rocks that her escape seemed miraculous.

"I think we are near enough for the work that we have to do," suggested Montague, in some anxiety.

"Just about it, Mr. Montague," said Gascoyne, as he turned towards the helm and shouted, "Port your helm."

"Port it is," answered the man at the wheel.

"Steady."

"Back the topsails, Mr. Mulroy."

The sails were backed at once, and the ship became motionless, with her broadside to the village.

"What are we to do now, Mr. Gascoyne?" inquired Montague, smiling in spite of himself at the strange position in which he found himself.

"Fire away at the village as hard as you can," replied Gascoyne, returning the smile.

"What! do you really advise me to bombard a defenseless place, in which, as far as I can see, there are none but women and children."

"Even so," returned the other, carelessly. "At the same time I would advise you to give it them with a blank cartridge."

"And to what purpose such waste of powder?" inquired Montague.

"The furthering of the plans which I have been appointed to carry out," replied Gascoyne, somewhat stiffly, as he turned on his heel and walked away.

The young captain reddened and bit his lip, as he gave the order to load the guns with blank cartridge, and made preparation to fire this harmless broadside on the village. The word to "fire" had barely crossed his lips when the rocks around seemed to tremble with the crash of a shot that came apparently from the other side of the island; for its smoke was visible, although the vessel that discharged it was concealed behind the point. The Talisman's broadside followed so quickly that the two discharges were blended in one.



CHAPTER XIII.

DOINGS ON BOARD THE "FOAM."

The nature of this part of our story requires that we should turn back, repeatedly, in order to trace the movements of the different parties which cooeperated with each other.

While the warlike demonstrations we have described were being made by the British cruiser, the crew of the Foam were not idle.

In consequence of the capture of Bumpus by the savages, Gascoyne's message was, of course, not delivered to Manton, and the first mate of the sandal-wood trader would have known nothing about the fight that raged on the other side of the island on the Sunday but for the three shots, fired by the first lieutenant of the Talisman, which decided the fate of the day.

Being curious to know the cause of the firing, Manton climbed the mountains until he gained the dividing ridge,—which, however, he did not succeed in doing till late in the afternoon, the way being rugged as well as long. Here he almost walked into the midst of a flying party of the beaten savages; but dropping suddenly behind a rock, he escaped their notice. The haste with which they ran, and the wounds visible on the persons of many of them, were sufficient to acquaint the mate of the Foam with the fact that a fight had taken place in which the savages had been beaten; and his knowledge of the state of affairs on the island enabled him to jump at once to the correct conclusion that the Christian village had been attacked.

A satanic smile played on the countenance of the mate as he watched the savages until they were out of sight; then, quitting his place of concealment, he hurried back to the schooner, which he reached some time after nightfall.

Immediately on gaining the deck he gave orders to haul the chain of the anchor short, to shake out the sails, and to make other preparations to avail himself without delay of the light breeze off the land which his knowledge of the weather and the locality taught him to look for before morning.

While his orders were being executed, a boat came alongside with that part of the crew which had been sent ashore by Gascoyne to escape the eye of the British commander. It was in charge of the second mate,—a short, but thick-set, and extremely powerful man, of the name of Scraggs,—who walked up to his superior the moment he came on board, and, in a tone somewhat disrespectful, asked what was going to be done.

"Don't you see?" growled Manton; "we're getting ready to sail."

"Of course I see that," retorted Scraggs, between whom and his superior officer there existed a feeling of jealousy as well as of mutual antipathy, for reasons which will be seen hereafter; "but I should like to know where we are going, and why we are going anywhere without the captain. I suppose I am entitled to ask that much."

"It's your business to obey orders," said Manton, angrily.

"Not if they are in opposition to the captain's orders," replied Scraggs, firmly, but in a more respectful tone; for in proportion as he became more mutinous, he felt that he could afford to become more deferential. "The captain's last orders to you were to remain where you are; I heard him give them, and I do not feel it my duty to disobey him at your bidding. You'll find, too, that the crew are of my way of thinking."

Manton's face flushed crimson, and, for a moment, he felt inclined to seize a handspike and fell the refractory second mate therewith; but the looks of a few of the men who were standing by and had overheard the conversation convinced him that a violent course of procedure would do him injury. Swallowing his passion, therefore, as he best could, he said:

"Come, Mr. Scraggs, I did not expect that you would set a mutinous example to the men; and if it were not that you do so out of respect for the supposed orders of the captain, I would put you in irons at once."

Scraggs smiled sarcastically at this threat, but made no reply, and the mate continued:

"The captain did indeed order me to remain where we are; but I have since discovered that the black dogs have attacked the Christian settlement, as it is called, and you know as well as I do that Gascoyne would not let slip the chance to pitch into the undefended village of the niggers, and pay them off for the mischief they have done to us more than once. At any rate, I mean to go round and blow down their log huts with Long Tom; so you can go ashore if you don't like the work."

Manton knew well, when he made this allusion to mischief formerly done to the crew of the Foam, that he touched a rankling sore in the breast of Scraggs, who in a skirmish with the natives some time before had lost an eye; and the idea of revenging himself on the defenseless women and children of his enemies was so congenial to the mind of the second mate, that his objections to act willingly under Manton's orders were at once removed.

"Ha!" said he, commencing to pace to and fro on the quarter-deck with his superior officer, while the men made the necessary preparations for the intended assault, "that alters the case, Mr. Manton. I don't think, however, that Gascoyne would have taken advantage of the chance to give the brutes what they deserve; for I must say he does seem to be unaccountably chicken-hearted. Perhaps it's as well that he's out of the way. Do you happen to know where he is, or what he's doing?"

"Not I. No doubt he is playing some sly game with this British cruiser, and I dare say he may be lending a hand to the settlers; for he's got some strange interests to look after there, you know" (here both men laughed), "and I shouldn't wonder if he was beforehand with us in pitching into the niggers. He is always ready enough to fight in self-defense, though we can never get him screwed up to the assaulting point."

"Aye, we saw something of the fighting from the hilltops; but as it is no business of ours, I brought the men down, in case they might be wanted aboard."

"Quite right, Scraggs. You're a judicious fellow to send on a dangerous expedition. I'm not sure, however, that Gascoyne would thank you for leaving him to fight the savages alone."

Manton chuckled as he said this, and Scraggs grinned maliciously as he replied:

"Well, it can't exactly be said that I've left him, seeing that I have not been with him since we parted aboard of this schooner; and as to his fightin' the niggers alone, hasn't he got ever so many hundred Christian niggers to help him to lick the others?"

"True," said Manton, while a smile of contempt curled his lip. "But here comes the breeze, and the sun wont be long behind it. All the better for the work we've got to do. Mind your helm there. Here, lads, take a pull at the topsail halyards; and some of you get the nightcap off Long Tom. I say, Mr. Scraggs, should we show them the red, by way of comforting their hearts?"

Scraggs shook his head dubiously. "You forget the cruiser. She has eyes aboard, and may chance to set them on that same red; in which case it's likely she would show us her teeth."

"And what then?" demanded Manton, "are you also growing chicken-hearted? Besides," he added, in a milder tone, "the cruiser is quietly at anchor on the other side of the island, and there's not a captain in the British navy who could take a pinnace, much less a ship, through the reefs at the north end of the island without a pilot."

"Well," returned Scraggs, carelessly, "do as you please. It's all one to me."

While the two officers were conversing, the active crew of the Foam were busily engaged in carrying out the orders of Manton; and the graceful schooner glided swiftly along the coast before the same breeze which urged the Talisman to the north end of the island. The former, having few reefs to avoid, approached her destination much more rapidly than the latter, and there is no doubt that she would have arrived first on the scene of action had not the height and form of the cliffs prevented the wind from filling her sails on two or three occasions.

Meanwhile, in obedience to Manton's orders, a great and very peculiar change was effected in the outward aspect of the Foam. To one unacquainted with the character of the schooner, the proceedings of her crew must have seemed unaccountable as well as surprising. The carpenter and his assistants were slung over the sides of the vessel upon which they plied their screwdrivers for a considerable time with great energy, but, apparently, with very little result. In the course of a quarter of an hour, however, a long narrow plank was loosened, which, when stripped off, discovered a narrow line of bright scarlet running quite round the vessel, a little more than a foot above the water-line. This having been accomplished, they next proceeded to the figurehead, and, unscrewing the white lady who smiled there, fixed in her place a hideous griffin's head, which, like the ribbon, was also bright scarlet. While these changes were being effected, others of the crew removed the boat that lay on the deck, bottom up between the masts, and uncovered a long brass pivot-gun, of the largest caliber, which shone in the saffron light of morning like a mass of burnished gold. This gun was kept scrupulously clean and neat in all its arrangements; the rammers, sponges, screws, and other apparatus belonging to it were neatly arranged beside it, and four or five of its enormous iron shot were piled under its muzzle. The traversing gear connected with it was well greased, and, in short, everything about the gun gave proof of the care that was bestowed on it.

But these were not the only alterations made in the mysterious schooner. Round both masts were piled a number of muskets, boarding-pikes, cutlasses, and pistols, all of which were perfectly clean and bright, and the men—fierce enough and warlike in their aspect at all times—had now rendered themselves doubly so by putting on broad belts with pistols therein, and tucking up their sleeves to the shoulders, thereby displaying their brawny arms as if they had dirty work before them. This strange metamorphosis was finally completed, when Manton, with his own hands, ran up to the peak of the mainsail a bright scarlet flag with the single word "AVENGER" on it in large black letters.

During one of those lulls in the breeze to which we have referred, and while the smooth ocean glowed in the mellow light that ushered in the day, the attention of those on board the Avenger (as we shall call the double-faced schooner when under red colors) was attracted to one of the more distant cliffs, on the summit of which human beings appeared to be moving.

"Hand me that glass," said Manton to one of the men beside him. "I shouldn't wonder if the niggers were up to some mischief there. Ah! just so," he exclaimed, adjusting the telescope a little more correctly, and again applying it to his eye. "They seem to be scuffling on the top of yonder precipice. Now there's one fellow down; but it's so far off that I can't make out clearly what they're about. I say, Mr. Scraggs, get the other glass and take a squint at them; you are further sighted than I am."

"You're right: they are killin' one another up yonder," observed Scraggs, surveying the group on the cliffs with calm indifference.

"Here comes the breeze," exclaimed Manton, with a look of satisfaction. "Now, look alive, lads; we shall be close on the nigger village in five minutes: it's just round the point of this small island close ahead. Come, Mr. Scraggs, we've other business on hand just now than squinting at the scrimmages of these fellows."

"Hold on," cried Scraggs, with a grin; "I do believe they're going to pitch a fellow over that cliff. What a crack he'll come down into the water with, to be sure. It's to be hoped the poor man is dead, for his own sake, before he takes that flight. Hallo!" added Scraggs, with an energetic shout and a look of surprise; "I say, that's one of our men; I know him by his striped flannel shirt. If he would only give up kicking for a second, I'd make out his—Humph! it's all up with him, now, poor fellow, whoever he is."

As he said the last words, the figure of a man was seen to shoot out from the cliff, and, descending with ever-increasing rapidity, to strike the water with terrific violence, sending up a jet of white foam as it disappeared.

"Stand by to lower the gig," shouted Manton.

"Aye, aye, sir," was the hearty response of the men, as some of them sprang to obey.

"Lower away!"

The boat struck water, and its crew were on the thwarts in a moment. At the same time the point of the island was passed, and the native village opened up to view.

"Load Long Tom—double shot!" roared Manton, whose ire was raised not so much at the idea of a fellow-creature having been so barbarously murdered as at the notion of one of the crew of his schooner having been so treated by contemptible niggers. "Away, lads, and pick up that man."

"It's of no use," remonstrated Scraggs; "he's done for by this time."

"I know it," said Manton, with a fierce oath; "bring him in, dead or alive. If the sharks leave an inch of him, bring it to me. I'll make the black villains eat it raw."

This ferocious threat was interlarded with and followed by a series of terrible oaths, which we think it inadvisable to repeat.

"Starboard!" he shouted to the man at the helm, as soon as the boat shot away on its mission of mercy.

"Starboard it is."

"Steady!"

While he gave these orders, Manton sighted the brass gun carefully, and, just as the schooner's head came up to the wind, he applied the match.

Instantly a cloud of smoke obscured the center of the little vessel, as if her powder magazine had blown up, and a deafening roar went ringing and reverberating from cliff to cliff as two of the great iron shot were sent groaning through the air and pitched right into the heart of the village.

It was this tremendous shot from Long Tom, followed almost instantaneously by the broadside of the Talisman, that saved the life of Alice,—possibly the lives of her young companions also; that struck terror to the hearts of the savages, causing them to converge towards their defenseless homes from all directions, and that apprised Ole Thorwald and Henry Stuart that the assault on the village had commenced in earnest.



CHAPTER XIV.

GREATER MYSTERIES THAN EVER—A BOLD MOVE AND A NARROW ESCAPE.

We return now to the Talisman.

The instant the broadside of the cruiser burst with such violence, and in such close proximity, on Manton's ears, he felt that he had run into the very jaws of the lion; and that escape was almost impossible. The bold heart of the pirate quailed at the thought of his impending fate, but the fear caused by conscious guilt was momentary; his constitutional courage returned so violently as to render him reckless.

It was too late to put about and avoid being seen; for, before the shot was fired, the schooner had already almost run into the narrow channel between the island and the shore. A few seconds later, she sailed gracefully into view of the amazed Montague, who at once recognized the pirate vessel from Gascoyne's faithful description of her, and hurriedly gave orders to load with ball and grape, while a boat was lowered in order to slew the ship more rapidly so as to bring her broadside to bear on the schooner.

To say that Gascoyne beheld all this unmoved would be to give a false impression of the man. He knew the ring of his great gun too well to require the schooner to come in sight in order to convince him that his vessel was near at hand. When, therefore, she appeared, and Montague turned to him with a hasty glance of suspicion and pointed to her, he had completely banished every trace of feeling from his countenance, and sat on the taffrail puffing his cigar with an air of calm satisfaction. Nodding to Montague's glance of inquiry, he said:

"Aye, that's the pirate. I told you he was a bold fellow; but I did not think he was quite so bold as to attempt this!"

To do Gascoyne justice, he told the plain truth here; for, having sent a peremptory order to his mate, by John Bumpus, not to move from his anchorage on any account whatever, he was not a little surprised as well as enraged at what he supposed was Manton's mutinous conduct. But, as we have said, his feelings were confined to his breast; they found no index in his grave face.

Montague suspected, nevertheless, that his pilot was assuming a composure which he did not feel; for from the manner of the meeting of the two vessels, he was persuaded that it was as little expected on the part of the pirates as of himself. It was with a feeling of curiosity, therefore, as to what reply he should receive, that he put the question, "What would Mr. Gascoyne advise me to do now?"

"Blow the villains out of the water," was the quick answer. "I would have done so before now, had I been you."

"Perhaps you might, but not much sooner," retorted the other, pointing to the guns which were ready loaded, while the men stood at their stations, matches in hand, only waiting for the broadside to be brought to bear on the little vessel, when an iron shower would be sent against her which must, at such short range, have infallibly sent her to the bottom.

The mate of the pirate schooner was quite alive to his danger, and had taken the only means in his power to prevent it. Close to where his vessel lay, a large rock rose between the shore of the large island and the islet in the bay which has been described as separating the two vessels from each other. Owing to the formation of the coast at this place, a powerful stream ran between the rock and this islet at low tide. It happened to be flowing out at that time like a mill-race. Manton saw that the schooner was being sucked into this stream. In other circumstances, he would have endeavored to avoid the danger; for the channel was barely wide enough to allow even a small craft to pass between the rocks; but now he resolved to risk it.

He knew that any attempt to put the schooner about would only hasten the efforts of the cruiser to bring her broadside to bear on him. He also knew that, in the course of a few seconds, he would be carried through the stream into the shelter of the rocky point. He therefore ordered the men to lie down on the deck; while, in a careless manner, he slewed the big brass gun round, so as to point it at the man-of-war.

Gascoyne at once understood the intended maneuver of his mate; and, in spite of himself, a gleam of triumph shot from his eyes. Montague himself suspected that his prize was not altogether so sure as he had deemed it; and he urged the men in the boat to put forth their utmost efforts. The Talisman was almost slewed into position, when the pirate schooner was observed to move rapidly through the water, stern foremost, in the direction of the point. At first Montague could scarcely credit his eyes; but when he saw the end of the main boom pass behind the point, he became painfully alive to the fact that the whole vessel would certainly follow in the course of a few seconds. Although the most of his guns were still not sufficiently well pointed, he gave the order to fire them in succession. The entire broadside burst in this manner from the side of the Talisman, with a prolonged and mighty crash or roar, and tore up the waters of the narrow channel.

Most of the iron storm passed close by the head of the pirate. However, only one ball took effect; it touched the end of the bowsprit, and sent the jib-boom into the air in splinters. Manton applied the match to the brass gun almost at the same moment, and the heavy ringing roar of her explosion seemed like a prolonged echo of the broadside. The gun was well aimed; but the schooner had already passed so far behind the point that the ball struck a projecting part of the cliff, dashed it into atoms, and, glancing upwards, passed through the cap of the Talisman's mizzen-mast, and brought the lower yard, with all its gear, rattling down on the quarter-deck. When the smoke cleared away, the Avenger had vanished from the scene.

To put the ship about, and follow the pirate schooner, was the first impulse of Montague; but, on second thought, he felt that the risk of getting on the rocks in the narrow channel was too great to be lightly run. He therefore gave orders to warp the ship about, and steer round the islet, on the other side of which he fully expected to find the pirate. But time was lost in attempting to do this, in consequence of the wreck of the mizzen-mast having fouled the rudder. When the Talisman at last got under way, and rounded the outside point of the islet, no vessel of any kind was to be seen.

Amazed beyond measure, and deeply chagrined, the unfortunate captain of the man-of-war turned to Gascoyne, who still sat quietly on the taffrail smoking his cigar.

"Does this pirate schooner sport wings as well as sails?" said he; "for unless she does, and has flown over the mountains, I cannot see how she could disappear in so short a space of time."

"I told you the pirate was a bold man; and now he has proved himself a clever fellow. Whether he sports wings or no is best known to himself. Perhaps he can dive. If so, we have only to watch until he comes to the surface, and shoot him leisurely."

"Well, he is off; there is no doubt of that," returned Montague. "And now, Mr. Gascoyne, since it is vain to chase a vessel possessed of such mysterious qualities, you will not object, I dare say, to guide my ship to the bay where your own little schooner lies. I have a fancy to anchor there."

"By all means," said Gascoyne, coolly. "It will afford me much pleasure to do as you wish, and to have you alongside of my little craft."

Montague was surprised at the perfect coolness with which the other received his proposal. He was persuaded that there must be some mysterious connection between the pirate schooner and the sandal-wood trader, although his ideas were at this point somewhat undefined and confused; and he had expected that Gascoyne would have shown some symptoms of perplexity on being thus ordered to conduct the Talisman to a spot where, he suspected, no schooner would be found, or, if found, would appear under such a changed aspect as to warrant his seizing it on suspicion. As Gascoyne, however, showed perfect willingness to obey the order, he turned away, and left his strange pilot to conduct the ship through the reefs, having previously given him to understand that the touching of a rock and the termination of his (Gascoyne's) life would certainly be simultaneous events.

Meanwhile the Avenger, alias the Foam, had steered direct for the shore, into which she apparently ran, and disappeared like a phantom-ship. The coast of this part of the island, where the events we are narrating occurred, was peculiarly formed. There were several narrow inlets in the high cliffs which were exceedingly deep, but barely wide enough to admit of the passage of a large boat or a small vessel. Many of these inlets or creeks, which in some respects resembled the narrow fiords of Norway, though on a miniature scale, were so thickly fringed with trees, and the luxuriant undergrowth peculiar to southern climes, that their existence could not be detected from the sea. Indeed, even after the entrance to any one of them was discovered, no one would have imagined it to extend so far inland.

Two of those deep, narrow inlets, opening from opposite sides of the cape which lay close to the islet above referred to, had approached so close to each other at their upper extremities that they had at last met, in consequence of the sea undermining and throwing down the cliff that separated them. Thus the cape was in reality an island; and the two united inlets formed a narrow strait, through which the Avenger passed to her former anchorage by means of four pair of powerful sweeps or oars. This secret passage was well known to the pirates; and it was with a lurking feeling that it might some day prove of use to him, that Gascoyne invariably anchored near it when he visited the island as a sandal-wood trader.

During the transit, the carpenters of the schooner were not idle. The red streak and flag and griffin's head were removed; the big gun was covered with the long-boat, and the vessel which entered the one end of the channel as the warlike Avenger issued from the other side as the peaceful Foam; and, rowing to her former anchorage, dropped anchor. The shattered jib-boom had been replaced by a spare one, and part of the crew were stored away under the cargo, in an empty space of the hold reserved for this special purpose, and for concealing arms. A few of them were also landed, not far from the cliff over which poor Bumpus had been thrown, with orders to remain concealed, and be ready to embark at a moment's notice.

Soon after the schooner anchored, the boat which had been sent off in search of the body of our unfortunate seaman returned, having failed to discover the object for which it had been sent out.

The breeze had by this time died away almost entirely, so that three hours elapsed before the Talisman rounded the point, stood into the bay, and dropped anchor at a distance of about two miles from the suspected schooner.



CHAPTER XV.

REMARKABLE DOINGS OF POOPY—EXTRAORDINARY CASE OF RESUSCITATION.

It is time now to return to our unfortunate friends, Corrie, Alice, and Poopy, who have been left long enough exposed on the summit of the cliff, from which they had expected to be tossed by the savages, when the guns of the Talisman so opportunely saved them.

The reader will observe that these incidents, which have taken so long to narrate, were enacted in a very brief space of time. Only a few hours elapsed between the firing of the broadside already referred to and the anchoring of the Talisman in the bay, where the Foam had cast anchor some time before her; yet in this short space of time many things occurred on the island which are worthy of particular notice.

As we have already remarked, Corrie and his two companions in misfortune had been bound, and in this condition were left by the savages to their fate. Their respective positions were by no means enviable. Poor Alice lay near the edge of the cliff, with her wrists and ankles so securely tied that no effort of which she was capable could set her free. Poopy lay about ten yards further up the cliff, flat on her sable back, with her hands tied behind her, and her ankles also secured; so that she could by no means attain to a sitting position, although she made violent and extraordinary efforts to do so. We say extraordinary, because Poopy, being ingenious, hit upon many devices of an unheard of nature to accomplish her object. Among others, she attempted to turn heels over head, hoping thus to get upon her knees; and there is no doubt whatever that she would have succeeded in this had not the formation of the ground been exceedingly unfavorable for such a maneuver.

Corrie had shown such an amount of desperate vindictiveness, in the way of kicking, hitting, biting, scratching, and pinching, when the savages were securing him, that they gave him five or six extra coils of the rope of cocoanut fiber with which they bound him. Consequently he could not move any of his limbs; and now he lay on his side between Alice and Poopy, gazing with much earnestness and no little astonishment at the peculiar contortions of the latter.

"You'll never manage it, Poopy," he remarked, in a sad tone of voice, on beholding the poor girl balanced on the small of her back, preparatory to making a spring that might have reminded one of the leaps of a trout when thrown from its native element upon the bank of a river. "And you'll break your neck if you go on like that," he added, on observing that, having failed in these attempts, she recurred to the heels-over-head process; but all in vain.

"O me!" sighed Poopy, as she fell back in a fit of exhaustion. "It's be all hup wid us."

"Don't say that, you goose," whispered Corrie; "you'll frighten Alice, you will."

"Will me?" whispered Poopy, in a tone of self-reproach; then in a loud voice, "Oh, no! it's not all hup yet. Miss Alice. See, me go at it again."

And "go at it" she did in a way that actually alarmed her companions. At any other time Corrie would have exploded with laughter, but the poor boy was thoroughly overwhelmed by the suddenness and the extent of his misfortune. The image of Bumpus, disappearing headlong over that terrible cliff, had filled his heart with a feeling of horror which nothing could allay, and grave thoughts at the desperate case of poor little Alice (for he neither thought of nor cared for Poopy or himself) sank like a weight of lead upon his spirit.

"Don't try it any more, dear Poopy," said Alice, entreatingly; "you'll only hurt yourself and tear your frock. I feel sure that some one will be sent to deliver us. Don't you, Corrie?"

The tone in which this question was put showed that the poor child did not feel quite so certain of the arrival of succor as her words implied. Corrie perceived this at once, and, with the heroism of a true lover, he crushed back the feelings of anxiety and alarm which were creeping over his own stout little heart in spite of his brave words, and gave utterance to encouraging expressions and even to slightly jovial sentiments, which tended very much to comfort Alice, and Poopy too.

"Sure?" he exclaimed, rolling on his other side to obtain a view of the child (for, owing to his position and his fettered condition, he had to turn on his right side when he wished to look at Poopy, and on his left when he addressed himself to Alice). "Sure? why, of course I'm sure. D'ye think your father would leave you lying out in the cold all night?"

"No, that I am certain he would not," cried Alice, enthusiastically; "but, then, he does not know we are here, and will never think of looking for us in such an unlikely place."

"Humph! that only shows your ignorance," said Corrie.

"Well, I dare say I am very ignorant," replied Alice, meekly.

"No, no! I don't mean that," cried Corrie, with a feeling of self-reproach. "I don't mean to say that you're ignorant in a general way, you know, but only about what men are likely to do, d'ye see, when they're hard put to it, you understand. Our feelings are so different from yours, you know, and—and—"

Here Corrie broke down, and in order to change the subject abruptly he rolled round towards Poopy, and cried, with considerable asperity:

"What on earth d'ye mean, Kickup, by wriggling about your black body in that fashion? If you don't stop it you'll fetch way down the hill, and go slap over the precipice, carrying Alice and me along with you. Give it up now; d'ye hear?"

"No, me won't," cried Poopy, with great passion, while tears sprang from her large eyes, and coursed over her sable cheeks. "Me will bu'st dem ropes."

"More likely to do that to yourself if you go on like that," returned Corrie. "But, I say, Alice, cheer up" (here he rolled round on his other side); "I've been pondering a plan all this time to set us free, and now I'm going to try it. The only bother about it is that these rascally savages have dropped me beside a pool of half soft mud that I can't help sticking my head into if I try to move."

"Oh! then, don't move, dear Corrie," said Alice, in an imploring tone of voice; "we can lie here quite comfortably till papa comes."

"Ah! yes," said Corrie, "that reminds me that I was saying we men feel and act so differently from you women. Now it strikes me that your father will go to all the most unlikely parts of the island first; knowin' very well that niggers don't hide in likely places. But as it may be a long time before he finds us" (he sighed deeply here, not feeling much confidence in the success of the missionary's search), "I shall tell you my plan, and then try to carry it out." (Here he sighed again, more deeply than before; not feeling by any means confident of the success of his own efforts.)

"And what is your plan?" inquired Alice, eagerly; for the child had unbounded belief in Corrie's ability to do almost anything he chose to attempt, and Corrie knew this, and was proud as a peacock in consequence.

"I'll get up on my knees," said he, "and then, once on them, I can easily rise to my feet and hop to you, and free you."

On this explanation of his elaborate and difficult plan Alice made no observation for some time, because, even to her faculties (which were obtuse enough on mechanical matters), it was abundantly evident that, the boy's hands being tied firmly behind his back, he could neither cut the ropes that bound her, nor untie them.

"What d'ye think, Alice?"

"I fear it won't do; your hands are tied, Corrie."

"Oh! that's nothing. The only difficulty is how to get on my knees."

"Surely that cannot be very difficult, when you talk of getting on your feet."

"Ha! that shows you're a—I mean, d'ye see, that the difficulty lies here; my elbows are lashed so fast to my side that I can't use them to prop me up; but if Poopy will roll down the hill to my side, and shove her pretty shoulder under my back when I raise it, perhaps I may succeed in getting up. What say you, Kickup?"

"Hee! Hee!" laughed the girl, "dat's fuss rate. Look out!"

Poopy, although sluggish by nature, was rather abrupt and violent in her impulses at times. Without further warning than the above brief exclamation, she rolled herself towards Corrie with such good-will that she went quite over him, and would certainly have passed onward to where Alice lay—perhaps over the cliff altogether—had not the boy caught her sleeve with his teeth, and held her fast.

The plan was eminently successful. By a series of jerks on the part of Corrie, and proppings on the part of Poopy, the former was enabled to attain a kneeling position, not, however, without a few failures, in one of which he fell forward on his face, and left a deep impression of his fat little nose in the mud.

Having risen to his feet, Corrie at once hopped towards Alice, after the fashion of those country wights who indulge in sack races, and, going down on his knees beside her, began diligently to gnaw the rope that bound her with his teeth. This was by no means an easy or a quick process. He gnawed and bit at it long before the tough rope gave way. At length Alice was freed, and she immediately set to work to undo the fastenings of the other two; but her delicate fingers were not well suited to such rough work, and a considerable time elapsed before the three were finally at large.

The instant they were so, Corrie said, "Now we must go down to the foot of the cliff, and look for poor Bumpus. Oh, dear me! I doubt he is killed."

The look of horror which all three cast over the stupendous precipice showed that they had little hope of ever again seeing their rugged friend alive. But, without wasting time in idle remarks, they at once hastened to the foot of the cliff by the shortest route they could find. Here, after a short time, they discovered the object of their solicitude lying, apparently dead, on his back among the rocks.

When Bumpus struck the water, after being tossed over the cliff, his head was fortunately downward; and his skull, being the thickest and hardest bone in his body, had withstood the terrible shock to which it had been subjected without damage, though the brain within was, for a time, incapacitated from doing duty. When John rose again to the surface, after a descent into unfathomable water, he floated there in a state of insensibility. Fortunately the wind and tide combined to wash him to the shore, where a higher swell than usual launched him among the coral rocks, and left him there, with only his feet in the water.

"Oh! here he is,—hurrah!" shouted Corrie, on catching sight of the prostrate form of the seaman. But the boy's manner changed the instant he observed the color of the man's face, from which all the blood had been driven, leaving it like a piece of brown leather.

"He's dead," said Alice, wringing her hands in despair.

"P'raps not," suggested Poopy, with a look of deep wisdom, as she gazed on the upturned face.

"Anyhow, we must haul him out of the water," said Corrie, whose chest heaved with the effort he made to repress his tears.

Catching up one of Bumpus's huge hands, the boy ordered Alice to grasp the other. Poopy, without waiting for orders, seized hold of the hair of his head, and all three began to haul with might and main. But they might as well have tried to pull a line-of-battle ship up on the shore. The man's bulky form was immovable. Seeing this, they changed their plan, and, all three grasping his legs, slewed him partially round, and thus drew his feet out of the water.

"Now we must warm him," said Corrie, eagerly; for, the first shock of the discovery of the supposed dead body of his friend being over, the sanguine boy began to entertain hopes of resuscitating him. "I've heard that the best thing for drowned people is to warm them: so, Alice, do you take one hand and arm, Poopy will take the other, and I will take his feet, and we'll all rub away till we bring him to; for we must, we shall bring him round."

Corrie said this with a fierce look and a hysterical sob. Without more words he drew out his clasp-knife, and, ripping up the cuffs of the man's coat, laid bare his muscular arm. Meanwhile Alice untied his neckcloth, and Poopy tore open his Guernsey frock and exposed his broad, brown chest.

"We must warm that at once," said Corrie, beginning to take off his jacket, which he meant to spread over the seaman's breast.

"Stay! my petticoat is warmer," cried Alice, hastily divesting herself of a flannel garment of bright scarlet, the brilliant beauty of which had long been the admiration of the entire population of Sandy Cove. The child spread it over the seaman's chest, and tucked it carefully down at his sides, between his body and the wet garments. Then the three sat down beside him, and, each seizing a limb, began to rub and chafe with a degree of energy that nothing could resist. At any rate it put life into John Bumpus; for that hardy mariner gradually began to exhibit signs of returning vitality.

"There he comes!" cried Come, eagerly.

"Eh!" exclaimed Poopy, in alarm.

"Who? where?" inquired Alice, who thought that the boy referred to some one who had unexpectedly appeared on the scene.

"I saw him wink with his left eye,—look!"

All three suspended their labor of love, and, stretching forward their heads, gazed, with breathless anxiety, at the clay-colored face of Jo.

"I must have been mistaken," said Corrie, shaking his head.

"Go at him agin," cried Poopy, recommencing her work on the right arm with so much energy that it seemed marvelous how she escaped skinning that limb from fingers to shoulder.

Poor Alice did her best, but her soft little hands had not much effect on the huge mass of brown flesh they manipulated.

"There he comes again!" shouted Corrie.

Once more there was an abrupt pause in the process, and the three heads were bent eagerly forward watching for symptoms of returning life. Corrie was right. The seaman's left eye quivered for a moment, causing the hearts of the three children to beat high with hope. Presently the other eye also quivered; then the broad chest rose almost imperceptibly, and a faint sigh came feebly and broken from the cold blue lips.

To say that the three children were delighted at this would be to give but a feeble idea of the state of their feelings. Corrie had, even in the short time yet afforded him of knowing Bumpus, entertained for him feelings of the deepest admiration and love. Alice and Poopy, out of sheer sympathy, had fallen in love with him too, at first sight; so that his horrible death (as they had supposed), coupled with his unexpected restoration and revival through their united exertions, drew them still closer to him, and created within them a sort of feeling that he must, in common reason and justice, regard himself as their special property in all future time. When, therefore, they saw him wink, and heard him sigh, the gush of emotion that filled their respective bosoms was quite overpowering. Corrie gasped in his effort not to break down; Alice wept with silent joy as she continued to chafe the man's limbs; and Poopy went off into a violent fit of hysterical laughter, in which her "hee, hees" resounded with terrible shrillness among the surrounding cliffs.

"Now, then, let's to work again with a will," said Corrie. "What d'ye say to try punching him?"

This question he put gravely, and with the uncertain air of a man who feels that he is treading on new and possibly dangerous ground.

"What is punching?" inquired Alice.

"Why, that," replied the boy, giving a practical and by no means gentle illustration on his own fat thigh.

"Wouldn't it hurt him?" said Alice, dubiously.

"Hurt him! hurt the Grampus!" cried Corrie, with a look of surprise; "you might as well talk of hurting a hippopotamus. Come, I'll try."

Accordingly, Corrie tried. He began to bake the seaman, as it were, with his fists. As the process went on he warmed to the work, and did it so energetically, in his mingled anxiety and hope, that it assumed the character of hitting rather than punching—to the dismay of Alice, who thought it impossible that any human being could stand such dreadful treatment.

Whether it was owing to this process, or to the action of nature, or to the combined efforts of nature and his friends, that Bumpus owed his recovery, we cannot pretend to say; but certain it is, that, on Corrie's making a severer dab than usual into the pit of the seaman's stomach, he gave a gasp and a sneeze, the latter of which almost overturned Poopy, who chanced to be gazing wildly into his countenance at the moment. At the same time he involuntarily threw up his right arm, and fetched Corrie such a tremendous backhander on the chest that our young hero was laid flat on his back, half stunned by the violence of the fall, yet shouting with delight that his rugged friend still lived to strike another blow.

Having achieved this easy though unintentional victory, Bumpus sighed again, shook his legs in the air, and sat up, gazing before him with a bewildered air, and gasping from time to time in a quiet way.

"Wot's to do?" were the first words with which the restored seaman greeted his friends.

"Hurrah!" screamed Corrie, his visage blazing with delight, as he danced in front of him.

"Werry good," said Bumpus, whose intellect was not yet thoroughly restored; "try it again."

"Oh, how cold your cheeks are!" said Alice, placing her hands on them, and chafing them gently; then, perceiving that she did not communicate much warmth in that way, she placed her own fair, soft cheek against that of the sailor. Suddenly throwing both arms round his neck, she hugged him, and burst into tears.

Bumpus was somewhat taken aback by this unexpected explosion; but, being an affectionate man as well as a rugged one, he had no objection whatever to the peculiar treatment. He allowed the child to sob on his neck as long as she chose, while Corrie stood by, with his hands in his pockets, sailor-fashion, and looked on admiringly. As for Poopy, she sat down on a rock a short way off, and began to smile and talk to herself in a manner so utterly idiotical that an ignorant observer would certainly have judged her to be insane.

They were thus agreeably employed, when an event occurred which changed the current of their thoughts, and led to consequences of a somewhat serious nature. The event, however, was in itself insignificant. It was nothing more than the sudden appearance of a wild pig among the bushes close at hand.



CHAPTER XVI.

A WILD CHASE—HOPE, DISAPPOINTMENT, AND DESPAIR—THE SANDAL-WOOD TRADER OUTWITS THE MAN-OF-WAR.

When the wild pig, referred to in the last chapter, was first observed, it was standing on the margin of a thicket, from which it had just issued, gazing, with the profoundly philosophical aspect peculiar to that animal, at our four friends, and seeming to entertain doubts as to the propriety of beating an immediate retreat.

Before it had made up its mind on this point, Corrie's eye alighted on it.

"Hist!" exclaimed he with a gesture of caution to his companions. "Look there! We've had nothing to eat for an awful time,—nothing since breakfast on Sunday morning. I feel as if my interior had been amputated. Oh, what a jolly roast that fellow would make if we could only kill him!"

"Wot's in the pistol?" inquired Bumpus, pointing to the weapon which Corrie had stuck ostentatiously into his belt.

"Nothin'," answered the boy. "I fired the last charge in the face of a savage."

"Fling it at him," suggested Bumpus, getting cautiously up. "Here, hand it to me. I've seed a heavy horse-pistol like that do great execution when well aimed by a stout arm."

The pig seemed to have an intuitive perception that danger was approaching; for it turned abruptly round just as the missile left the seaman's hand, and received the butt with full force close to the root of its tail.

A pig's tendency to shriek on the receipt of the slightest injury is well known. It is therefore not to be wondered at that this pig went off into the bushes under cover of a series of yells so terrific they might have been heard for miles around.

"I'll after him," cried Bumpus, catching up a large stone, and leaping forward a few paces almost as actively as if nothing had happened to him.

"Hurrah!" shouted Corrie; "I'll go too."

"Hold on," cried Bumpus, stopping suddenly.

"Why?" inquired the boy.

"'Cause you must stop an' take care of the gals. It won't do to leave 'em alone again, you know, Corrie."

This remark was accompanied with an exceedingly huge wink, full of deep meaning, which Corrie found it convenient not to notice, as he observed gravely:

"Ah! true. One of us must remain with 'em, poor, helpless things; so—so you had better go after the squeaker."

"All right," said Bumpus, with a broad grin—"Hallo! why, here's a spear, that must ha' been dropped by one o' them savages. That's a piece o' good luck, anyhow, as the man said when he f'und the fi' pun' note. Now, then, keep an eye on them gals, lad, and I'll be back as soon as ever I can; though I does feel rather stiffish. My old timbers ain't used to such deep divin', d'ye see."

Bumpus entered the thicket as he spoke, and Corrie returned to console the girls with the feeling and the air of a man whose bosom is filled with a stern resolve to die, if need be, in the discharge of an important duty.

Now, the yell of this particular pig reached other ears beside those of the party whose doings we have attempted to describe. It rang in those of the pirates, who had been sent ashore to hide, like the scream of a steam-whistle, in consequence of their being close at hand, and it sounded like a faint cry in those of Henry Stuart and the missionary, who, with their party, were a long way off, slowly tracing the footsteps of the lost Alice, to which they had been guided by the keen scent of that animated scrap of door-mat, Toozle. The effect on both parties was powerful, but not similar. The pirates, supposing that a band of savages were near them, lay close, and did not venture forth until a prolonged silence and strong curiosity tempted them to creep, with slow movements and extreme caution, towards the place whence the sounds proceeded.

Mr. Mason and Henry, on the other hand, stopped and listened with intense earnestness, expecting, yet fearing, a recurrence of the cry, and then sprang forward with their party, under the belief that they had heard the voice of Alice calling for help.

Meanwhile, Bumpus toiled up the slopes of the mountain, keeping the pig well in view; for that animal having been somewhat injured by the blow from the pistol, could not travel at its ordinary speed. Indeed, Jo would have speedily overtaken it but for the shaky condition of his own body after such a long fast, and such a series of violent shocks, as well mental as physical.

Having gained the summit of a hill, the pig, much exhausted, sat down on its hams, and gazed pensively at the ground. Bumpus took advantage of the fact, and also sat down on a stone to rest.

"Wot a brute it is" said he to himself. "I'll circumvent it yet, though."

Presently he rose, and made as if he had abandoned the chase, and were about to return the way he had come; but when he had effectually concealed himself from the view of the pig, he made a wide detour, and, coming out suddenly at a spot higher up the mountain, charged down upon the unsuspecting animal with a yell that would have done credit to itself.

The pig echoed the yell, and rushed down the hill towards the cliffs, closely followed by the hardy seaman, who, in the ardor of the chase, forgot or ignored his aches and pains, and ran like a greyhound, his hair streaming in the wind, his eyes blazing with excitement, and the spear ready poised for a fatal dart. Altogether, he was so wild and strong in appearance, and so furious in his onset, that it was impossible to believe he had been half dead little more than an hour before; but then, as we have before remarked, Bumpus was hard to kill!

For nearly half an hour did the hungry seaman keep up the chase, neither gaining nor losing distance; while the affrighted pig, having its attention fixed entirely on its pursuer, scrambled and plunged forward over every imaginable variety of ground, receiving one or two severe falls in consequence. Bumpus, being warned by its fate, escaped them. At last the two dashed into a gorge and out at the other end, scrambled through a thicket, plunged down a hill, and doubled a high rock, on the other side of which they were met in the teeth by Henry Stuart at the head of his band.

The pig attempted to double. Failing to do so, it lost its footing, and fell flat on its side. Jo Bumpus threw his spear with violent energy deep into the earth about two feet beyond it, tripped on a stump, and fell headlong on the top of the pig, squeezing the life out of its body with the weight of his ponderous frame, and receiving its dying yell into his very bosom.

"Hilloa! my stalwart chip of old Neptune," cried Henry, laughing, "you've bagged him this time effectually. Hast seen any of the niggers; or did you mistake this poor pig for one?"

"Aye, truly, I have seen them, and given a few of 'em marks that will keep 'em in remembrance of me. As for this pig," said Jo, throwing the carcass over his shoulder, "I want a bit of summat to eat—that's the fact; an' the poor children will be—"

"Children," cried Mr. Mason, eagerly; "what do you mean, my man; have you seen any?"

"In course I has, or I wouldn't speak of 'em," returned Jo, who did not at first recognize the missionary; and no wonder, for Mr. Mason's clothes were torn and soiled, and his face was bruised, bloodstained, and haggard.

"Tell me, friend, I entreat you," said the pastor, earnestly, laying his hand on Jo's arm; "have you seen my child?"

"Wot! are you the father of the little gal? Why, I've seed her only half an hour since. But hold on, lads; come arter me, an I'll steer you to where she is at this moment."

"Thanks be to God," said Mr. Mason, with a deep sigh of relief. "Lead on, my man, and, pray, go quickly."

Bumpus at once led the way to the foot of the cliffs, and went over the ground at a pace that satisfied even the impatience of the bereaved father.

While this was occurring on the mountain slopes, the pirates at the foot of the cliffs had discovered the three children, and finding, that no one else was near, had seized them and carried them off to a cave near to which their boat lay on the rocks. They hoped to have obtained some information from them as to what was going on at the other side of the island; but, while engaged in a fruitless attempt to screw something out of Corrie, who was peculiarly refractory, they were interrupted, first by the yells of Bumpus and his pig, and afterwards by the sudden appearance of Henry and his party on the edge of a cliff a short way above the spot where they were assembled. On seeing these, the pirates started to their feet and drew their cutlasses, while Henry uttered a shout and ran down the rocks like a deer.

"Shall we have a stand-up fight with 'em, Bill?" said one of the pirates.

"Not if I can help it; there's four to one," replied the other.

"To the boat," cried several of the men, leading the way; "and let's take the brats with us."

As Henry's party came pouring down the hill the more combatively disposed of the pirates saw at glance that it would be in vain to attempt a stand. They therefore discharged a scattering volley from their pistols (happily without effect), and, springing into their boat, pushed off from the shore, taking the children along with them.

Mr. Mason was the first to gain the beach. He had hit upon a shorter path by which to descend, and, rushing forward, plunged into the sea. Poor little Alice, who at once recognized her father, stretched out her arms towards him, and would certainly have leaped into the sea had she not been forcibly detained by one of the pirates, whose special duty it was to hold her with one hand, while he restrained the violent demonstrations of Corrie with the other.

The father was too late, however. Already the boat was several yards from the shore, and the frantic efforts he made, in the madness of his despair, to overtake it only served to exhaust him. When Henry Stuart reached the beach, it was with difficulty he prevented those members of his band who carried muskets from firing on the boat. None of them thought for a moment, of course, of making the mad attempt to swim towards her. Indeed, Mr. Mason himself would have hesitated to do so had he been capable of cool thought at the time; but the sudden rush of hope when he heard of his child being near, combined with the agony of disappointment on seeing her torn, as it were, out of his very grasp, was too much for him. His reasoning powers were completely overturned; he continued to buffet the waves with wild energy, and to strain every fiber of his being in the effort to propel himself through the water, long after the boat was hopelessly beyond reach.

Henry understood his feelings well, and knew that the poor missionary would not cease his efforts until exhaustion should compel him to do so, in which case his being drowned would be a certainty; for there was neither boat nor canoe at hand in which to push off to his rescue.

In these circumstances, the youth took the only course that seemed left to him. He threw off his clothes, and prepared to swim after his friend, in order to render the assistance of his stout arm when it should be needed.

"Here, Jakolu!" he cried to one of the natives who stood near him.

"Yes, mass'r," answered the sturdy young fellow, who has been introduced at an earlier part of this story as being one of the missionary's best behaved and most active church members.

"I mean to swim after him; so I leave the charge of the party to Mr. Bumpus there. You will act under his orders. Keep the men together, and guard against surprise. We don't know how many more of these blackguards may be lurking among the rocks."

To this speech Jakolu replied by shaking his head slowly and gravely, as if he doubted the propriety of his young commander's intentions. "You no can sweem queek nuff to save him," said he.

"That remains to be seen," retorted Henry, sharply; for the youth was one of the best swimmers on the island,—at least the best among the whites, and better than many of the natives, although some of the latter could beat him. "At any rate," he continued, "you would not have me stand idly by while my friend is drowning, would you?"

"Him's not drownin' yet," answered the matter-of-fact native. "Me 'vise you to let Jakolu go. Hims can sweem berer dan you. See, here am bit plank, too,—me take dat."

"Ha! that's well thought of," cried Henry, who was now ready to plunge; "fetch it me, quick; and mind, Jakolu, keep your eye on me; when I hold up both hands you'll know that I'm dead beat, and that you must come off and help us both."

So saying, he seized the small piece of driftwood which the native brought to him, and, plunging into the sea, struck out vigorously in the direction in which the pastor was still perseveringly, though slowly, swimming.

While Henry was stripping, his eye had quickly and intelligently taken in the facts that were presented to him on the bay. He had seen, on descending the hill, that the man-of-war had entered the bay and anchored there, a fact which surprised him greatly, and that the Foam still lay where he had seen her cast anchor on the morning of her arrival. This surprised him more for, if the latter was really a pirate schooner (as had been hinted more than once that day by various members of the settlement), why did she remain so fearlessly and peacefully within range of the guns of so dangerous and powerful an enemy? He also observed that one of the large boats of the Talisman was in the water alongside, and full of armed men, as if about to put off on some warlike expedition, while his pocket telescope enabled him to perceive that Gascoyne, who must needs be the pirate captain, if the suspicions of his friends were correct, was smoking quietly on the quarter-deck, apparently holding amicable converse with the British commander. The youth knew not what to think; for it was preposterous to suppose that a pirate captain could by any possibility be the intimate friend of his own mother.

These and many other conflicting thoughts kept rushing through his mind as he hastened forward; but the conclusions to which they led him—if, indeed, they led him to any—were altogether upset by the unaccountable and extremely piratical conduct of the seamen who carried off Alice and her companions, and whom he knew to be part of the crew of the Foam, both from their costume and from the direction in which they rowed their little boat.

The young man's perplexities were, however, neutralized for the time by his anxiety for his friend the pastor, and by the necessity of instant and vigorous effort for his rescue. He had just time, before plunging into the sea, to note with satisfaction that the man-of-war's boat had pushed off, and that if Alice really was in the hands of pirates, there was the certainty of her being speedily rescued.

In this latter supposition, however, Henry was mistaken.

The events on shore which we have just described had been witnessed, of course, by the crews of both vessels with, as may be easily conjectured, very different feelings.

In the Foam, the few men who were lounging about the deck looked uneasily from the war vessel to the countenance of Manton, in whose hands they felt that their fate now lay. The object of their regard paced the deck slowly, with his hands in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth, in the most listless manner, in order to deceive the numerous eyes which he knew full well scanned his movements with deep curiosity. The frowning brow and the tightly compressed lips alone indicated the storm of anger which was in reality raging in the pirate's breast at what he deemed the obstinacy of his captain in running into such danger, and the folly of his men in having shown fight on shore when there was no occasion for doing so. But Manton was too much alive to his own danger and interests to allow passion at such a critical moment to interfere with his judgment. He paced the deck slowly, as we have said, undecided as to what course he ought to pursue, but ready to act with the utmost energy and promptitude when the time for action should arrive.

On board the Talisman, on the other hand, the young commander began to feel certain of his prize; and when he witnessed the scuffle on shore, the flight of the boat's crew with the three young people, and the subsequent events, he could not conceal a smile of triumph as he turned to Gascoyne and said:

"Your men are strangely violent in their proceedings, sir, for the crew of a peaceable trader. If it were not that they are pulling straight for your schooner, where, no doubt, they will be received with open arms, I would have fancied they had been part of the crew of that wonderful pirate, who seems to be able to change color almost as quickly as he changes position."

The allusion had no effect whatever on the imperturbable Gascoyne, on whose countenance good humor seemed to have been immovably enthroned; for the worse his case became, the more amiable and satisfied was his aspect.

"Surely, Captain Montague does not hold me responsible for the doings of my men in my absence," said he, calmly. "I have already said that they are a wild set—not easily restrained even when I am present; and fond of getting into scrapes when they can. You see, we have not a choice of men in these out-of-the-way parts of the world."

"Apparently not," returned Montague; "but I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you order your men to be punished for their misdeeds; for, if not, I shall be under the necessity of punishing them for you. Is the boat ready, Mr. Mulroy?"

"It is, sir."

"Then, Mr. Gascoyne, if you will do me the favor to step into this boat, I will have much pleasure in accompanying you on board your schooner."

"By all means," replied Gascoyne, with a bland smile, as he rose and threw away the end of another cigar, after having lighted therewith the sixth or seventh in which he had indulged that day. "Your boat is well manned, and your men are well armed, Captain Montague; do you go on some cutting-out expedition, or are you so much alarmed at the terrible aspect of the broadside of my small craft that—"

Gascoyne here smiled with ineffable urbanity, and bowed slightly by way of finishing his sentence. Montague was saved the annoyance of having to reply by a sudden exclamation from his lieutenant, who was observing the schooner's boat through a telescope.

"There seems to be some one swimming after that boat," said he. "A man—evidently a European, for he is light-colored. He must have been some time in the water, for he is already a long way from shore, and seems much exhausted."

"Why! the man is drowning, I believe," cried Montague, quickly, as he looked through the glass.

At that moment Frederick Mason's strength had given way. He made one or two manful efforts to struggle after the retreating boat, and then, tossing his arms in the air, uttered a loud cry of agony.

"Ho! shove off and save him!" shouted Montague, the moment he heard it. "Look alive, lads! give way! and when you have picked up the man, pull straight for yonder schooner."

The oars at once fell into the water with a splash, and the boat, large and heavy though it was, shot from the ship's side like an arrow.

"Lower the gig," cried the captain. "And now, Mr. Gascoyne, since you seem disposed to go in a lighter boat, I will accommodate you. Pray, follow me."

In a few seconds they were seated in the little gig, which seemed to fly over the sea under the vigorous strokes of her crew of eight stout men. So swift were her motions that she reached the side of the schooner only a few minutes later than the Foam's boat, and a considerable time before his own large boat had picked up Mr. Mason, who was found in an almost insensible condition, supported by Henry Stuart.

When the gig came within a short distance of the Foam, Gascoyne directed Montague's attention to the proceedings of the large boat, and at the same instant made a private signal with his right hand to Manton, who, still unmoved and inactive, stood at the schooner's bow awaiting and evidently expecting it.

"Ha!" said he aloud; "I thought as much. Now, lads, show the red; make ready to slip; off with Long Tom's nightcap; let out the skulkers; take these children down below, and a dozen of you stand by to receive the captain and his friends."

These somewhat peculiar orders, hurriedly given, were hastily obeyed, and in a few seconds more the gig of the Talisman ranged up alongside of the Foam.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE ESCAPE.

The instant that Captain Montague stepped over the side of the schooner, a handkerchief was pressed tightly over his mouth and nose. At the same time, he was seized by four strongmen and rendered utterly powerless. The thing was done so promptly and silently, that the men who remained in the gig heard no unusual sound.

"I'm sorry to treat a guest so roughly, Captain Montague," said Gascoyne, in a low tone, as the unfortunate officer was carried aft; "but the safety of my vessel requires it. They will carry you to my stateroom, where you will find my steward exceedingly attentive and obliging; but, let me warn you, he is peculiarly ready with the butt end of his pistol at times, especially when men are inclined to make unnecessary noise." He turned on his heel as he said this, and went forward, looking over the side in passing and telling the crew of the gig to remain where they were till their captain should call them.