"When the Senhor has done with his pleasant memories of the past,
perhaps he will deign an answer to a poor maiden's question."
The men had strained at the oars until the stout ash staves creaked and
bent in the rowlocks. The dark hull of the brig had slowly forged
ahead, and at the moment Isabel spoke, the "Halcyon" had passed the
entrance of the harbour, and was rising and falling on the long gentle
swell outside. She did not feel the wind, being under the shelter of
the coast; but slight cat's-paws were playing on the water about
half-a-mile ahead, and so the boats continued towing, while on board the
main-topgallant and main-topsails were being sheeted home.
"There is our last sight of the Bay," said Hughes, sighing. "It must
now live only in the memories of the past. Plans--no, dearest Isabel; I
have been enjoying the present without care for the future."
"And now the fairy dream is over, what do you intend to do when we reach
the Cape, Enrico? Surely I have a right to ask," said Isabel.
"If you have eighteen months' leave of absence, Senhor," said the noble,
"come with us to Portugal for your answer; you can make your
arrangements in England."
The Senhor Enrico could not have wished for a pleasanter invitation, and
he eagerly closed with it.
"That topgallant sail is drawing, Mr Lowe; cast off the tow-rope,
recall the boats, and hoist them in. Tell off the watch, and send the
crew to supper. Let the steward give them an extra ration of grog.
Take a pull at the starboard tacks and sheets. Lay her head to the
west-south-west."
The wind, which was very light, was from the eastward, consequently the
brig, her yards rounded in, was running free, the boom-mainsail was
hauled out, the heavy folds of the mainsail let fall, and the jib
hoisted. One by one the studding-sails were set, and the black hull
once more supported a towering mass of white canvas. With all this the
"Halcyon" only just held steerage way, the wind coming in hot puffs from
the distant mountains of the Amboitmena range, at times filling the
canvas and making the bubbles fly past as the "Halcyon" felt the breeze,
then dying away, while the useless sails flapped heavily with the gentle
roll of the waves.
Her captain seemed silent and anxious, and would not leave the deck.
Dinner had been announced, but Captain Weber had only dived below to
reappear again in a few minutes, and, telescope in hand, was sweeping
the coast line with his glass. He bad evinced no signs of anxiety to
his guests, but as he paced the lee gangway of the brig, he showed no
such reticence to his mate.
"One hour's good blow from yonder mountains and we should be well clear
of this coast," he said.
"Do you think, Captain Weber, the fellow dare attack us again after the
taste he had of our quality last night?" inquired the mate.
"If the scoundrels could get possession of the brig, they would soon
find the means to arm her," replied the captain; "and the west coast of
Madagascar is one series of indentations, coves, and bays, fit refuges
for these sort of craft."
"The clouds are resting on the top of the mountain range, sir; I fancy
we shall have more wind just now. How far do you reckon we are from
land?"
"About ten miles," replied the captain. "Turn the hands up on deck, Mr
Lowe. Haul up the mainsail, the brig has hardly way on her, and send
the men aft. We must bury our dead."
The moon was low on the horizon, shedding a dim light on the ocean, and
making the long line of the Madagascar coast look black and indistinct
as if seen through a haze.
Soon ranged, side by side, on a grating abaft the main chains, lay five
forms covered with the ship's ensign. On the quarter-deck stood the
passengers and the remainder of the crew, while the missionary, in a
clear distinct voice, read slowly the impressive burial service. All
were uncovered, and the tears streamed down Isabel's face, as she looked
on the inanimate forms of the brave fellows who had died to save her
from worse than death. The captain laid his hand on the Union Jack, the
mate made a sign, and four sturdy men advanced, placing their shoulders
under the grating. "We commit their bodies to the deep, in the sure and
certain hope of resurrection to eternal life," and as the solemn words
rang out on the night air, the splash of the falling bodies in the sea
followed. A stillness seemed to gather around, and the service for the
dead finished, the crew retired to their different duties, for the time,
at least, saddened and depressed, and the quarter-deck was soon left to
the captain and his mate.
Slowly they paced it to and fro in eager but low conversation. The
puffs of wind came down a little steadier, and the "Halcyon" was moving
through the water once more. The night was beautifully fine, the stars
shining brilliantly, but the moon just sinking behind a distant spit of
land broad on the larboard bow. From time to time the sound of the
ship's bell, tolling the hour, was heard, the creaking of the blocks and
ropes, and the mournful flap of the sails as the brig rolled lazily on
the long swell. All at once the mate stopped suddenly in his walk,
looked earnestly towards the coast line, and then, without speaking,
raised his finger and pointed towards the setting moon. It was just
sinking behind a patch of forest trees, their long tapering fan-like
leaves distinctly marked against the light, while, sweeping past, the
spars of a small vessel could be seen, the thin whip-like sticks plainly
visible against the sky. Next, the long, low black hull drew clear of
the land, and distinctly revealed against the light the spars and
rigging of a small schooner. Not a rag of canvas was shown, and yet
slowly and with a gentle caption the dark mass glided on into the night,
right on the path which the brig was taking.
The two seamen looked at each other.
"I thought as much. It is the pirate!" ejaculated the captain, with a
deep sigh.
"If they had chosen their weather, it could not suit them better."
Stepping aft, the captain glanced at the compass.
"Round in the weather-braces and sheets, Mr Lowe. Port, you may,
Hutchins; keep her dead to the west."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, as the spokes flew through his fingers;
and the ship's head falling off, the wind was brought nearly aft, the
two vessels thus moving on almost parallel lines.
"Can you make him out now?" asked the captain, as his mate rejoined him
on the quarter-deck.
Long and anxiously did the officer addressed peer into the night. The
missionary joined the group, and was made acquainted with what was
passing.
"There she is," said the mate, "right on our quarter. Look! in go her
sweeps, for she has made sail, and is standing on the same course as
ourselves, keeping way with us under her foresail, mainsail, and jib.
That craft could close with us any moment, sir. Shall I rouse the
crew?"
The captain did not speak; but stood, his elbows leaning on the weather
bulwarks, looking in the direction of the schooner.
"If it is the vessel you suppose, she knows we carry guns," remarked
Wyzinski; "but does not know how many. She will wait for daylight."
"You are quite right," replied the captain. "Leave the men quiet, Mr
Lowe. We will keep the watch together, and may God send us wind," and
here the old seaman reverently lifted his cap, "for yonder is a dreadful
foe."
The sound of the bell tolled out the hours, the wind, which had
freshened, towards morning died away; but all night long the three
anxious watchers paced the narrow limits of the brig's quarter-deck.
Time after time did the captain turn to the compass and take the
schooner's bearings. It was useless, for there, under easy sail,
exactly where she had first been made out, on the brig's weather
quarter, the white canvas of the pirate could be seen, never varying a
point. It was evident she was waiting for daylight to close with her
prey.
Volume 2, Chapter VI.