perfect trust in the love and mercy of the Almighty? Indeed, it was no
sooner made than he wondered how it was that he had been so utterly
faithless as never to have thought of it himself. So he forthwith
offered up, audibly, just such a petition as the child had suggested,
taking care to clothe it in language which the little fellow could fully
comprehend; and, though it must be admitted that the prayer was begun
more to satisfy the child than from any feeling or belief that it would
be answered, yet, as Gaunt proceeded, with all the earnestness of which
he was capable, hope revived in his heart, and his conscience began to
rebuke him for his practical infidelity.
The prayer concluded, Percy expressed himself as perfectly happy and
satisfied; but it distressed his father not a little to find that the
child's thoughts now persistently turned in a direction precisely
opposite to that in which he wished them to incline; over and over and
over again did Gaunt strive to rekindle the little fellow's enthusiasm
about heaven, but it would not do; life, not death, was what the child
was now looking forward to; and all his father's most earnest
exhortations failed to elicit from him anything beyond the question:
"When do you think they will come and set us free, father?"
"I do not know that they _will_ set us free, dear boy; it may not be
God's will," was the substance of Gaunt's reply to this oft-repeated
question; at which the little fellow would look at his father in
surprise and retort:
"But, father, you used to tell me that God is _always_ pleased to hear
and answer the prayers of little children!"
In short, the child at length got the better of the man in this curious
theological discussion, and Gaunt was finally obliged to give in.
"He is right," the father at length admitted to himself, "and I am
wrong. After striving with all my might during the whole of his brief
little life to inculcate in him an absolute belief in the unalterable
truth of God's promises, why should I now allow the weakness of my own
faith to undermine his? My child is in the hands of a merciful God;
there will I leave him."
And so, when, from time to time, after that, the little fellow repeated
his question of "When do you think they will come and set us free,
father?" Gaunt would reply hopefully:
"Oh, very soon now, I should think, dear boy; very soon."
The long, weary, trying night was wearing to its close. The moon hung
low in the western sky; the horizon to the eastward was paling from
violet-black to pearly-grey; and the stars in that quarter were
beginning to lose their lustre. The air, which during the earlier hours
of the night had been oppressively sultry, now came cool and refreshing
to the fevered brows of the anxious watchers; the insects had subdued
their irritating din, as is their wont toward the dawn; the watch-fire
had smouldered down to a heap of grey, feathery, faintly-glowing ashes;
the two sentinels at the entrance of the bush-path had ceased their
alert pacing to and fro, and, having grounded their muskets, were now
drooping wearily upon them with their hands crossed over the top of the
barrels; whilst the Malay who had been detailed to watch the prisoners,
having some half a dozen times during the earlier hours of the night
tested their bonds and satisfied himself of their perfect security, was
now seated on the ground before his charges, with his ringers
interlocked across his knees and his head bowed forward, manifestly
napping. The weariness of the long night had told upon both the
prisoners; their conversation had first languished and then ceased
altogether; but now the cool, fresh, sweet-smelling breeze had aroused
them both, Gaunt first, and the poor, tired-out, suffering child soon
afterwards; and whilst the first was looking abroad over the tree-tops
at the brightening sky to the eastward and thinking that _now_, surely,
their fate must be drawing very nigh, the little fellow by his side
stirred uneasily, roused himself, and once more put the stereotyped
question:
"_Now_, father, when do you think they will come and set us free?"
Gaunt, with their probable fate now apparently so near at hand, was
debating within himself what answer to return, when his attention was
arrested by a curious vibrating movement of his bonds, as though they
were being tampered with from behind the tree to which he was bound; and
ere he could collect his faculties sufficiently to even ask himself what
it meant, a low whisper from behind him caught his ear:
"Hush! it is I--Henderson!"
And at the same instant the ropes which bound him suddenly slackened
about his limbs and disappeared behind him. Then an arm appeared round
the bole of the tree, and Gaunt felt the cold barrel of a rifle being
thrust into his hand, whilst the voice again whispered:
"Your own repeater fully loaded. Now to loose poor little Percy."
Then Gaunt turned to his child--how white and haggard the dear little
fellow looked in the pallid light of the dawn--and, with a heart brimful
of gratitude to God for His priceless gift of restored freedom, said, in
reply to his question:
"_Very_ soon, now, my precious darling--now, _at once_, in fact. But
Percy, dear boy, take care that you do not move or cry out when you feel
the rope loosening; stand perfectly still and quiet, my son, until I
tell you what to do."
The little fellow looked eagerly up into his father's face, and
whispered, "Yes, father." And then Gaunt saw his look of surprise as he
felt Henderson's hand releasing him. The bonds fell away; the child was
free; and presently Gaunt saw a shadowy figure bend forward and whisper
in the little fellow's ear. There was a start, a faint cry of rapture,
the little arms were flung lovingly round the neck of the bending
figure, and Gaunt caught the murmured words:
"Thank you, dear doctor, oh, _thank you_!" followed by the soft sound of
a kiss.
But that childish involuntary cry of delight, faint as it was, had
caught the quick ear of the dozing guard; the fellow raised his head,
and, seeing that something was wrong--though he was still too drowsy to
distinguish what it was--scrambled to his feet and advanced toward
Gaunt. Up to that moment the engineer had not moved; he was waiting for
the blood to circulate once more in his cramped limbs, and also for
Henderson to give him the cue for their next movement. He remained
perfectly still until the Malay had approached within arm's-length of
him, and then, with a single lightning-like blow of his fist fair
between the eyes, he dropped the fellow senseless upon the grass at his
feet.
Then, swift as light, he glided behind the tree, where Henderson stood
with Percy in his arms, and, convulsively gripping the other's
outstretched hand, he murmured:
"A thousand thanks, old fellow! Now, which way are we to go?"
"I arranged for Manners and Nicholls to join us in the bush-path yonder;
never dreaming that those two men would be posted there," whispered
Henderson in return.
"Well, come along, then," cheerily observed Gaunt. "Never trouble about
the Malays; it is their misfortune that they happen to be in our way.
We must shoot them down if they offer to oppose our passage--ha! we
shall be _compelled_ to fight whether we will or not; that fellow whom I
knocked down is reviving, and he will raise the alarm before we have
gone a dozen feet. Give me the child, my arms are still benumbed and
scarcely fit to hold a rifle, but I can carry him. So, that is it"--as
Henderson handed over little Percy--"now let us make a run for it."
Therewith the two friends started at top speed for the entrance of the
bush-path, running straight toward the two Malay sentinels. No sooner,
however, did they appear in the open than a cry was raised, and in an
instant the whole camp was on the alert, some of the Malays running to
intercept the fugitives whilst others hurriedly sprang for their muskets
and opened a wild fusillade upon them. The two sentinels faced about,
and seeing the white men running at once raised their weapons to their
shoulders.
"Halt!" cried Gaunt, setting Percy down on the ground and facing about
toward their pursuers. "Drop those two sentries, Henderson, for
Heaven's sake! I will deal with the others!"
No sooner said than done. Henderson pulled up at once and, coolly
receiving the fire of the two Malays--which, however, owing to their
being hurried, proved harmless--deliberately covered and dropped them,
one after the other.
"Are they down?" demanded Gaunt, as he also knocked over the leader of
the pursuing party.
"Yes, both down!" was the response.
"Then, on again!" exclaimed the engineer, snatching up his frightened
child and regaining Henderson's side. As they ran, Henderson placed a
whistle between his lips and blew a single short piercing call upon it.
"That will soon bring the other two to our help," he gasped.
They were by this time within a hundred feet of the bush-path; but the
light-heeled Malays were close behind them. The time for decisive
action had arrived. Seeing this, Gaunt once more placed his child on
the ground and said:
"Now run home as fast as you can, dear boy, and tell mother that the
doctor and I hope to be with her in a quarter of an hour."
Then, as the little fellow made off at top speed, the father added:
"Thank God, _his_ retreat is secured if we can hold out for ten minutes.
Now, Henderson, true and trusty comrade, let us make a stand here and,
shoulder to shoulder, show these rascals how Englishmen can fight."
So, without another word, the two friends turned and stood at bay,
finding time to bring down two more of their foes by a couple of lucky
snap-shots before they were closed with.
And then began a battle, fierce and grim--sixteen Malays to two
Englishmen! Luckily for the smaller party the Malays had, at the outset
of the disturbance, emptied their pieces ineffectually, and had found no
time to reload them, whilst Henderson had provided himself, in addition
to the two repeating rifles, with a brace of loaded six-chambered
revolvers, one of which he now handed to Gaunt. With these and their
clubbed rifles the two men fought so desperately, that not only were the
Malays effectually checked in their attempt at an outflanking movement,
but actually foiled in their intention to bear down the two men by sheer
force of numbers and brute strength. Swinging their rifles club-wise
with one hand and firing their revolvers with the other whenever they
saw a chance of making a shot tell, the Englishmen wrought such terrible
execution that at length the Malays drew back confounded. At this
moment a cheer was heard close at hand, and in another instant up dashed
Manners and Nicholls, breathless with hard running, and placed
themselves one on each side of their two countrymen.
"_Now_ let us give them a volley!" cried Gaunt--who, his blood fairly
boiling at the recollection of the past night, had been fighting like a
demon--and, at the word, up went the four rifles to the "present."
"Choose each his man!" ordered the inexorable engineer: and then out
rang the four pieces, leaving three foes the less to deal with. Hark!
what was that? Not an echo of the rifle-shots, surely; no, it was the
_boom_ of a distant gun, unless the ears of all strangely deceived them.
Whatever it was, the Malays also heard the sound, and, looking for an
instant in consternation at each other, wavered, turned, and fled.
"Hurrah!" cried Gaunt exultantly, "rescue is at hand. After the
rascals, and give them a lesson they will never forget!"
It was, perhaps, an imprudent thing to do, but away after the flying foe
went the four men, popping away with their revolvers, and so severely
galling the Malays that _sauve qui peut_ quickly became the word with
the latter, who now evidently thought of nothing but how to reach their
boats alive. One in his frantic haste stumbled and fell, revealing his
features to Gaunt as he did so. It was the wretch who had so cruelly
ill-treated little Percy on the night before. With a couple of bounds
the engineer was upon him. Wresting the creese from the fellow's hand,
Gaunt seized him by the collar and dragged him along the ground,
writhing, to a clump of canes growing close at hand. With his foot on
the man's neck to keep him down, the engineer then cut with the creese a
stout, pliant cane, lifted the wretch to his feet by main strength, and,
dropping his weapons to the ground and still retaining his grip upon the
fellow's collar, deliberately thrashed him until the cane was split to
ribbons and the clothes literally cut from his back, finally dismissing
him with a kick which--apart from the thrashing--it is safe to say, that
Malay will never forget so long as his life shall last. The unfortunate
wretch hobbled off with quite remarkable celerity--considering that
every bone in his body must have been aching--eager to overtake his
comrades, whose "way" had been very materially "freshened" not only by
the heat with which they were pursued but also by the booming of the
guns in the offing. But he was too late. When he reached the beach the
boats had shoved off; so, rather than remain where he was, the fellow
unhesitatingly plunged into the stream and swam off to the proa,
reaching her just in time to be hauled up over the side as, with slipped
cable and hastily-hoisted sail, the craft paid off and gathered way on
her road out to sea.
Gaunt followed more leisurely, for, in common with his three friends, he
had suffered somewhat in the _melee_--though, fortunately, none of them
were seriously hurt--and he reached the cove just in time to witness the
hasty departure of the proa. He seized this, the first opportunity
which had presented itself, to heartily thank his companions for their
gallant rescue of himself and his child, inquired anxiously after the
safety and welfare of the little Lucille, and then said:
"I have been wondering what can be the meaning of that firing in the
offing. I cannot help thinking it is intended as a signal of some kind
to _us_, and, assuming that to be the case, I can only account for it
upon the pleasant supposition that Captain Blyth, instead of perishing
in the hurricane as we feared, must have in some miraculous manner
escaped; and that it is he who is now outside, on board a rescue ship,
come to take us all off the island. I think it would be well if you,
Manners, were to take the punt, and, with Nicholls, go out as far as the
harbour's mouth to reconnoitre, taking care not to show yourselves until
you are quite certain that the craft is a friendly one."
The two men named eagerly adopted the suggestion, and a minute later
were afloat and pulling rapidly down stream. As soon as they were
fairly off Gaunt turned to Henderson and said:
"And now, my dear fellow, I think I will walk as far as the fort to
exchange a word or two with Ida, and assure them all of our safety; and
then I will rejoin you here to await the tidings from outside."
Meanwhile Manners and Nicholls, pushing off into the strength of the
current, sped rapidly toward the two headlands which guarded the
harbour's mouth; arriving at which they landed, hauled the punt up on
the beach, and made their way through the bushes to a point from which,
themselves unseen, they could get a clear view of the open sea outside.
And then what an exhilarating sight met their delighted eyes. A large
full-rigged ship lay in the offing, about a mile distant, hove-to under
her three topsails, spanker, and jib. At first they took her for a
corvette, her gear being all fitted in regular man-o'-war fashion; but
this mistake was instantly corrected upon their noticing that she flew
the _red_ ensign from her gaff, in addition to which she showed a burgee
with a long name on it at her main-royal mast-head, and the _pilot-jack_
at the fore. By the greatest good luck Manners happened to have in his
pocket a small telescope which he had a trick of always carrying about
with him, and this he quickly brought to bear upon the stranger.
Watching him eagerly, Nicholls observed him change colour; a perplexed
expression passed over his face, his hand trembled. For two long
minutes he remained steadfastly peering through the telescope; then he
suddenly closed it with a snap, and exclaimed excitedly:
"Away to the punt and pull out to sea for your life, Nicholls. It is
the dear old _Cloud_, as I am a living sinner! and Miss Stanhope is on
the poop watching the island through the ship's glass. There goes
another gun!"
CHAPTER TWENTY.
A DARING PLAN SUCCESSFULLY EXECUTED.
In accordance with Williams' plans the _Flying Cloud's_ cargo was in due
time discharged and warehoused on shore in the newly-built stores; the
ship herself stripped, hove down, scrubbed, and re-painted from her keel
up; her interior re-arranged--particularly the forecastle, which was
extended sufficiently to accommodate a hundred men; the upper spars
replaced by new ones, somewhat higher in the hoist, cut on the island;
her canvas altered to fit the new spars, skysails being abolished as
causing more trouble than they were worth; the running-gear re-arranged;
the deck-houses, with the exception of the poop, swept away; the
bulwarks strengthened and pierced; the breech-loading guns, twelve in
number, mounted on carriages and placed in position; and, generally, the
ship made to look as much like a man-of-war as possible, though she as
much resembled the old-fashioned sailing sloop which then still
performed duty on our more distant stations as a swan does a goose, her
sailing powers far exceeding those of the fastest of them, whilst
Williams' metamorphosis of her only had the effect of imparting to her
an extremely rakish and wicked appearance.
In due time--and not a very long time either, taking into consideration
the amount of work done--the ship was once more ready for sea; and
ballasted carefully down to her very best sailing trim, she left Refuge
Harbour for an extended piratical cruise. It is not necessary to
describe in detail where she went, or the various adventures met with by
her crew; suffice it to say that the cruise proved wonderfully
successful, several very valuable prizes being taken--no less than three
being vessels with large amounts of specie on board. When Williams
first mooted to the crew his proposal to seize the ship and convert her
into a pirate, he met the strongest objection raised by the more
scrupulous of the men by asserting that he had a plan whereby all
bloodshed could be avoided; this plan being no less than to practically
enslave such portions of the crews of the prospective prizes as refused
to become pirates, and to confine them at Refuge Harbour, there to
perform the large amount of work necessary to the complete furtherance
of Williams' ambitious schemes. But, as may be supposed, this plan,
when put to a practical test, failed. Capture was not in all cases
tamely submitted to--resistance was offered, blood was shed in the
conflict. And when this had once happened all scruples vanished, and
the further step of murdering such prisoners as proved contumacious or
were inconvenient to keep was an easy one; the worst passions of the men
asserted themselves, and breaking loose from all restraint speedily
converted their possessors into very demons.
Miss Stanhope was daily and hourly in peril during the latter part of
that dreadful cruise. Still, thanks to the compact with Ned and the
hold which he still had upon the crew, the unhappy girl had so far
escaped direct threats and open insult. But toward the end of the
cruise matters had reached such a stage that she foresaw the absolute
necessity for effecting her escape immediately upon the arrival of the
ship again at Refuge Harbour. The state of horror and terror into which
she was continually thrown was such that death itself seemed preferable
to a further continuance of such a life as she was then living.
At length the ship once more glided into the secure haven of Refuge
Harbour, and about five o'clock in the evening let go her anchor. The
sails were furled anyhow--discipline having by this time grown very lax
on board the _Flying Cloud_ notwithstanding all Williams' efforts to
maintain it--and then the men, without going through the formality of
asking leave, lowered the boats and went ashore in a body; Sibylla, Ned,
and Williams being left to follow, if they chose, in the dinghy, which
they did, the steward being ordered to remain on board for the night as
anchor watch.
When the dinghy reached the shore its occupants discovered that the
ship's crew--among whom were several new hands who had joined from the
prizes--had already seized a cask of spirits, and were evidently bent
upon a carouse in celebration of the successful completion of their
first cruise. They were then only rough and noisy, the liquor not
having had time to operate; but an hour later the entire band, with a
very few exceptions, had become converted into a howling mob of drunken
desperadoes, ripe and eager for any species of ruffianism which might
suggest itself. Sibylla was at this time busy putting matters to rights
in the hut which Ned had caused to be erected on their previous visit to
the island, and Ned was busy in the same way in his tent when Williams,
happening to pass by, looked in at the latter.
"Hark ye, youngster," he gruffly remarked, "you and the young woman had
better keep well out of sight to-night, for if either of you are seen,
mischief may come of it; and whilst those beasts up there are in their
present condition neither I nor anybody else could help you. The
rascals are mad drunk, and hungry for mischief. They positively
_laughed_ at me just now when I tried to bring them to something like
order! But if I don't make them smart for it to-morrow when we start to
overhaul the rigging, call me a Dutchman."
Coupled with what he had already seen and heard, this warning of
Williams' so seriously impressed Ned that he went to Sibylla's door and
called to her to put on her hat and join him outside. As soon as she
appeared Ned said:
"Look here, Miss Stanhope, Williams has just been here to tell me that
the men up there are mad with drink and--as he phrased it--_hungry_ for
mischief. Judging from the frightful noise and commotion among them I
should say he is right, and I have called you out to tell you that I
think it will be best for you and me to return on board the ship; the
steward is there, you know, and he and I can keep the anchor watch
between us, whilst you take your rest as usual in your own cabin."
Sibylla had long ago come to the conclusion that she could do no better
than follow poor Captain Blyth's advice and unreservedly follow Ned's
instructions, so she at once announced her readiness to do whatever he
thought best. Upon this Ned, believing that no time was to be lost, at
once extinguished the lights and, locking the door, placed the key in
his pocket; after which, taking a somewhat circuitous route in order to
avoid attracting attention, he and Miss Stanhope made their way down to
the spot where they had left the dinghy.
The boat was still there, with her oars and rowlocks in her just as she
had been left, so handing his companion in and instructing her to sit
steady, Ned placed his shoulder against the stem of the boat, and with a
powerful shove sent her stern-foremost off the beach, springing in over
the bows as he did so. There was a bright moon, nearly full, riding
high in the sky, and Ned was rather apprehensive that his movements
might attract attention and provoke pursuit. But the men had, for some
reason or other, kindled a large fire, round which they were holding
their carouse, and Damerell could only hope that the brilliant blaze
would dazzle their eyes, and blind them to everything beyond the circle
of its influence. Perhaps it did so, for when they reached the ship
there was no sign of pursuit.
Ned had never allowed the idea of escape to be absent from his thoughts
for a single day since the memorable one upon which the ship had first
been seized; but, fertile as he usually was in resource, he had never
been able to think of anything practicable except that of seeking a
refuge in the treasure-cave; and this scheme was open to so many serious
objections that he and Sibylla had agreed together that it must not be
adopted except as a very last resource. Now, however, as the dinghy
approached the ship and Ned gazed admiringly aloft at the tall graceful
spars and complicated network of rigging, and reflected that at that
moment the beautiful fabric was in charge of only one man--and that man
friendly to him, as he had long ago ascertained--a daring idea suddenly
took possession of him; and, without giving himself time to reflect, he
there and then resolved upon its execution.