The moment she got beyond the shelter of the palms her sails filled, and in a few minutes she was rushing through the water at the rate of ten or eleven knots an hour.
Gascoyne stood at the helm and guided her through the intricacies of the dangerous coast with consummate skill, until he reached the bay where the wrecked ship lay. Here he lay to, and sent the boat ashore for the party that had been left at the tent. They were waiting; anxiously for his return. Great, therefore, was their astonishment when he sent them a message inviting them to go on board the Foam!
The instant they embarked, Gascoyne put about, and, ordering the mainsail to be hoisted, and one of the reefs to be shaken out of the topsail, ran round to the windward of the island, with the foam flying in great masses on either side of the schooner, which lay over so much before the gale that it was scarcely possible to stand on the deck.
The manner in which the pirate captain now acted was calculated to fill the hearts of those whose lives seemed to hang in his hands with alarm if not dismay. His spirit seemed to be stirred within him. There was indeed no anger, either in his looks or tones; but there was a stern fixedness of purpose in his manner and aspect which aroused, yet repelled, the curiosity of those around him. Even Ole Thorwald and Montague agreed that it was best to let him alone; for although they might overcome his great physical force by the united strength of numbers, the result would certainly be disastrous, as he was the only one who knew the locality.
On reaching the windward side of the island he threw the schooner up into the wind, and ordered the large boat to be hoisted out and put in the water. Gascoyne issued his commands in a quick, loud voice, and Ole shook his head as if he felt that this overbearing manner proved what he had expected; namely, that when the pirate got aboard his own vessel, he would come out in his true colors.
Whatever men felt or thought, there was no hesitation in rendering prompt obedience to that voice. The large boat was hoisted off the brass pivot gun amidships and lowered into the water. Then Gascoyne gave the helm to one of the men, with directions to hold it exactly as it then lay, and, hurrying down below, speedily returned, to the astonishment of every one, with a man in his arms.
"Now, Connway," said Gascoyne, as he cut the cords that bound the man and removed the handkerchief from his mouth, "I'm a man of few words, and to-night have less time than usual to speak. I set you free. Get into that boat; one oar will suffice to guide it; the wind will drive it to the island. I send it as a parting gift to Manton and my former associates. It is large enough to hold them all. Tell them that I repent of my sins, and the sooner they do the same the better. I cannot now undo the evil I have done them. I can only furnish the means of escape, so that they may have time and opportunity to mend their ways; and, hark'ee, the sooner they leave this place the better. It will no longer be a safe retreat. Farewell!"
While he was speaking he led the man by the arm to the side of the schooner, and constrained him to get into the boat. As he uttered the last word he cut the rope that held it, and let it drop astern.
Gascoyne immediately resumed his place at the helm, and once more the schooner was running through the water, almost gunwale under, towards the place where the Wasp had been wrecked.
Without uttering a word of explanation, and apparently forgetful of every one near him, the pirate continued during the remainder of that night to steer the Foam out and in among the roaring breakers, as if he were trying how near he could venture to the jaws of destruction without actually plunging into them. As the night wore on the sky cleared up, and the scene of foaming desolation that was presented by the breakers in the midst of which they flew, was almost enough to appal the stoutest heart.
The crew looked on in moody silence. They knew that their lives were imperiled; but they felt that they had no resource! No one dared to address the silent, stern man who stood like an iron statue at the helm the whole of that night. Towards morning, he steered out from among the dangerous coral reefs, and ran south straight before the wind.
Then Corrie summoned up courage, and, going aft to Gascoyne, looked up in his face and said:
"You're searching for Henry, I think?"
"Yes, boy, I am," answered the pirate, and a gleam of kindliness crossed his face for a moment; but it was quickly chased away by a look of deep anxiety, and Corrie retired.
Now that the danger of the night was over, all the people on board became anxious to save Henry, or ascertain his fate; but although they searched the ocean far and wide, they saw not a vestige of him or of the Wasp. During this period Gascoyne acted like a bewildered man. He never quitted the helm night or day. He only ate a biscuit now and then when it was brought to him, and he did not answer when he was spoken to.
Every one felt sympathy with the man who seemed to mourn so deeply for the lost youth.
At last Montague went up to him and said, in a gentle voice: "I fear that Henry is gone."
Gascoyne started as if a sword had pierced him. For one moment he looked fiercely in the young captain's face; then an expression of the deepest sadness overspread his countenance as he said: "Do you think there is no hope?"
"None," said Montague. "I grieve to give pain to one who seems to have been an intimate friend of the lad."
"He was the son of my oldest and best friend. What would you advise, Mr. Montague?"
"I think—that is to say, don't you think—that it would be as well to put about now?"
Gascoyne's head dropped on his chest, and for some moments he stood speechless, while his strong hands played nervously with the tiller that they had held so long and so firmly. At last he looked up and said, in a low voice: "I resign the schooner into your hands, Mr. Montague."
Then he went slowly below, and shut himself up in his cabin.
Montague at once put down the helm, and, pointing the schooner's prow northward, steered for the harbor of Sandy Cove.
CHAPTER XXV.
Surly Dick the Rescue
We must turn aside here for a short time to follow the fortunes of the Talisman.
When that vessel went in chase of the Foam, after her daring passage across the reefs, she managed to keep her in view until the island was out of sight astern. Then the increasing darkness caused by the squall hid the two vessels from each other, and before the storm passed away the superior sailing qualities of the Foam carried her far beyond the reach of the cruiser.
But Mr. Mulroy was not a man to be easily baffled. He resolved to continue the chase, and, supposing that his commander must have got safely to the shore, he made up his mind to proceed southward for a short time, thinking it probable that the pirate would run for the shelter of those remote islands which he knew were seldom visited by the merchant ships. The importance of keeping the chase in view as long as possible, and following it up without delay, he felt would be accepted as a sufficient excuse by Montague for not putting back to take him on board.
The squalls which happened to prevail at that time drove the Talisman further south than her first lieutenant had intended to go, and she failed to fall in with the pirate schooner. Mulroy cruised far and wide for fully a week; then he gave up the chase as hopeless. Two days after the breaking of the storm that wrecked the Wasp the Talisman's prow was turned northward towards Sandy Cove.
It was the close of a calm, beautiful evening when this was done. A gentle breeze fanned the topsails, although it failed to ruffle the sea.
"I don't like to be baffled in this way," said Mulroy to his second lieutenant, as they paced the quarter-deck together.
"It is very unfortunate,"