Dick and another man walked at his side, the rest followed in rear. Leading him round the outskirts of the village, towards its northern extremity, Gascoyne's conductors soon brought him to the beach, at a retired spot, where was a small bay. Here they were met by one whose stature proved him to be a boy. He glided up to Dick, who said, in a low whisper:
"Is all ready?"
"All right," replied the boy, in a whisper.
"The ooman aboard?"
"Aye."
"Now, Mr. Gascoyne," said Dick, pointing to a large boat floating beside the rocks on which they stood, "you'll be so good as to step into that 'ere boat, and sit down beside the individual you see a-sitting in the stern-sheets."
"Have you authority for what you do?" asked Gascoyne, hesitating.
"I have power to enforce wot I command," said Dick, quietly. "Remember yer promise, Mister Pirate, else—"
Dick finished his sentence by pointing to the three men who stood near—still maintaining a silence worthy of Eastern mutes; and Gascoyne, feeling that he was completely in their power, stepped quickly into the boat, and sat down beside the "individual" referred to by Dick, who was so completely enveloped in the folds of a large cloak as to defy recognition. But the pirate captain was too much occupied with his own conflicting thoughts and feelings to bestow more than a passing glance on the person who sat at his side. Indeed, it was not surprising that Gascoyne was greatly perplexed by all that was going on at that time; for he could not satisfactorily account to himself for the mystery and secrecy which his guards chose to maintain. If they were legitimate agents of the law, why these muffled oars, with which they swept the boat across the lagoon, through the gap in the coral reef, and out to sea? And if they were not agents of the law, who were they, and where were they conveying him?
The boat was a large one, half-decked, and fitted to stand a heavy sea and rough weather. It would have moved sluggishly through the water had not the four men who pulled the oars been possessed of more than average strength. As soon as they passed the barrier reef, the sails were hoisted, and Dick took the helm. The breeze was blowing fresh off the land, and the water rushed past the boat as she cut swiftly out to sea, leaving a track of white foam behind her. For a few minutes the mass of the island was dimly seen rising like a huge shade on the dark sky, but soon it melted away, and nothing remained for the straining eyes to rest upon save the boat with its silent crew and the curling foam on the black sea.
"We've got him safe now, lads," said Dick Price, speaking for the first time that night in unguarded tones. "You'd better do the deed. The sooner it's done the better."
While he was speaking, one of the three men opened a large clasp-knife, and advanced towards Gascoyne.
"Father," said Henry, cutting the rope that bound him, "you are free at last!"
Gascoyne started; but before he had time to utter the exclamation of surprise that sprang to his lips, his hand was seized by the muffled figure that sat at his side.
"O, Gascoyne! forgive us—forgive me!" said Mary Stuart, in a trembling voice. "I did, indeed, know something of what they meant to do, but I knew nothing of the cruel violence that these bonds—"
"Violence!" cried Dick Price. "I put it to yourself, Mister Gascoyne, if I didn't treat ye as if ye wos a lamb?"
"Wot a blissin it is for a man to git his mouth open agin, and let his breath go free," cried Jo Bumpus, with a deep sigh. "Come, Corrie, give us a cheer—hip! hip! hip!—"
The cheer that followed was stirring, and wonderfully harmonious; for it was given in a deep bass and a shrill treble, with an intermediate baritone "Ho!" from Jakolu.
"I know it, Mary—I know it," said Gascoyne; and there was a slight tremor in his deep voice as he drew his wife towards him, and laid her head upon his breast.
"You have never done me an evil turn—you have done me nothing but good—since you were a little child. Heaven bless you, Mary!"
"Now, father," said Henry, "I suppose you have no objection to make your escape?"
"No need to raise that question, lad," said Gascoyne, with a perplexed smile. "I am not quite clear as to what my duty is, now that I am free to go back again and give myself up."
"Go back!—free!" exclaimed John Bumpus, in a tone of withering sarcasm. "So, Mister Gascoyne, ye've got sich an uncommon cargo o' conceit in ye yet, that you actually think ye could go back without so much as saying, By your leave!"
While Jo was speaking, he bared to the shoulder an arm that was the reverse of infantine, and, holding it up, said, slowly:
"I've often had a sort o' desire, d'ye see, to try whether this bit of a limb or the one that's round Mrs. Stuart's waist is the strongest. Now, if you have any desire to settle this question, just try to put, to shove, this boat's head up into the wind—that's all!"
This was said so emphatically by the pugnacious Bumpus that his companions laughed, and Corrie cheered in admiration.
"You see," observed Henry, "you need not give yourself any concern as to this point; you have no option in the matter."
"No, not a bit o' poption in it wotiver; though wot that means I ain't rightly sure," said Dick Price.
"Perhaps I ought to exercise my parental authority over you, Henry," said Gascoyne, "and command you to steer back to Sandy Cove."
"But we wouldn't let him, Mister Pirate," said Dick Price, who, now that his difficult duties were over, was preparing to solace himself with a pipe; an example that was immediately followed by Bumpus, who backed his friend by adding:
"No more we would."
"Nay, then, if Henry joins me," said Gascoyne, "I think that we two will not have a bad chance against you three."
"Come, that's good: so I count for nothing!" exclaimed Corrie.
"Ha! stick up, lad," observed Bumpus. "The niggers wot you pitched into at the mouth o' yon cave didn't think that—eh! didn't they not?"
"Well, well; if Corrie sides with you, I feel that my wisest course is to submit. And now, Henry," said Gascoyne, resuming his wonted gravity of tone and demeanor, "sit down here and let me know where we are going, and what you mean to do. It is natural that I should feel curious on these points, even although I have perfect confidence in you all."
Henry obeyed, and their voices sank into low tones as they mingled in earnest converse about their future plans.
Thus did Gascoyne, with his family and friends, leave Sandy Cove in the dead of that dark night, and sail away over the wide waste of the great Pacific Ocean.
Reader, our tale is nearly told. Like a picture it contains but a small portion of the career of those who have so long engaged your attention, and, I would fain hope, your sympathy. The life of man may be comprehensively epitomized almost to a point, or expanded out ad infinitum. He was born, he died, is its lowest term. Its highest is not definable.
Innumerable tomes, of encyclopedic dimensions, could not contain, much less exhaust, an account of all that was said and done, and all that might be said about what was said and done, by our ci-devant sandal-wood trader and his friends. Yet there are main points, amid the little details of their career, which it would be unpardonable to pass over in silence. To these we shall briefly refer before letting the curtain fall.
There is a distant isle of the sea, a beautiful spot, an oceanic gem, which has been reclaimed by the word of God from those regions that have been justly styled "the dark places of the earth." We will not mention its name; we will not even indicate its whereabouts, lest we should furnish a clue to the unromantic myrmidons of the law, whose inflexible justice is only equaled