About five or six days' sail from the scene of our tale there lies one
of those small rocks or islets with which the breast of the Pacific is
in many places thickly studded.
It is a lonely coral isle, far removed from any of its fellows, and
presenting none of those grand features which characterise the island on
which the settlement of Sandy Cove was situated. In no part does it
rise more than thirty feet above the level of the sea; in most places it
is little more than a few feet above it. The coral reefs around it are
numerous; and as many of them rise to within a few feet of the surface,
the navigation in its neighbourhood is dangerous in the extreme.
At the time of which we write, the vegetation of the isle was not very
luxuriant. Only a few clusters of cocoa-nut palms grew here and there
over its otherwise barren surface. In this respect it did not resemble
most of the other islands of the Pacific. Owing partly to its being out
of the usual course of ships, and partly to the dangerous reefs already
referred to, the spot was never approached by vessels, or, if a ship
happened to be driven towards it, she got out of its way as speedily as
possible.
This was the rendezvous of the pirates, and was named by them the Isle
of Palms.
Here, in caverns hollowed out of the coral rock, Gascoyne had been wont
to secrete such goods and stores as were necessary for the maintenance
of his piratical course of life, and to this lone spot did Manton convey
his prisoners after getting rid of his former commander. Towards this
spot, also, did Gascoyne turn the prow of the cutter _Wasp_ in pursuit
of his mutinous first mate.
Manton, for reasons best known to himself, (certainly not from goodness
of heart,) was kind to his captives to the extent of simply letting them
alone. He declined to hold any intercourse whatever with Captain
Montague, and forbade him to speak with the men upon pain of being
confined to his berth. The young people were allowed to do as they
pleased, so long as they kept out of the way.
On reaching the Isle of Palms the pirates at once proceeded to take in
those stores of which they stood in need. The harbour into which the
schooner ran was a narrow bay, on the shores of which the palm trees
grew sufficiently high to prevent her masts from being seen from the
other side of the island. Here the captives were landed, but as Manton
did not wish them to witness his proceedings, he sent them across the
islet under the escort of a party who conveyed them to the shores of a
small bay. On the rocks in this bay lay the wreck of what once had been
a noble ship. It was now completely dismantled. Her hull was stove in
by the rocks. Her masts and yards were gone, with the exception of
their stumps and the lower part of the main-mast, to which the main-yard
still hung with a ragged portion of the mainsail attached to it.
A feeling of depression filled the breast of Montague and his companions
as they came in sight of this wreck, and the former attempted to obtain
some information in regard to her from his conductors, but they sternly
bade him ask no questions. Some time afterwards he heard the story of
this vessel's fate. We shall record it here.
Not many months prior to the date of our tale, the _Avenger_ happened to
have occasion to run down to the Isle of Palms. Gascoyne was absent at
the time. He had been landed at Sandy Cove, and had ordered Manton to
go to the rendezvous for supplies. On nearing the isle a storm arose.
The wind was fair, however, and the schooner ran for her destination
under close reefed sails. Just before reaching it they fell in with a
large full-rigged ship, which, on sighting the schooner, ran up her flag
half-mast high as a signal of distress. She had sprung a leak and was
sinking.
Had the weather been calmer the pirates would have at once boarded the
vessel and carried her as a prize into the harbour, but the sea ran so
high that this was impossible. Manton therefore ran down as close to
the side of the merchantman, (for such she seemed to be,) as enabled him
to hail her through the speaking trumpet. When sufficiently near he
demanded her name and destination.
"The _Brilliant_, from Liverpool, bound for the Sandwich Islands. And
you?"
"The _Foam_--from the Feejees--for Calcutta. What's wrong with you?"
"Sprung a leak; is there anchorage in the bay?" sang out the captain of
the merchantman.
"No, it's too shoal for a big ship. Bear away round to the other side
of the island. You'll find good holding ground there--I will shew you
the way."
The pirate accordingly conducted the unsuspecting stranger away from the
only safe harbour in the island, and led him through a complete
labyrinth of reefs and rocks to the bay on the other side, in which he
knew full well there was scarcely enough of water to float his own
little schooner.
With perfect confidence in his guide, the unfortunate captain of the
merchantman followed until both vessels were in the comparatively still
and sheltered water of the bay. Here Manton suddenly put down the helm,
brought his vessel up to the wind and allowed the stranger to pass him.
"Hold on about sixty fathoms farther and then let go your anchor," he
shouted, as the ship went steadily on to her doom.
"Ay, ay, and thank 'ee," cried the captain, who had already taken in
nearly all sail and was quite prepared to anchor.
But Manton knew that before twenty fathoms more should be passed over by
the ship she would run straight on a coral reef, which rose to within
about five feet of the surface of the sea. In an exposed place this
reef would have formed a line of breakers, but in its sheltered position
the water gave no indication of its existence. The gale, though not
blowing direct into the bay, entered it in a sufficiently straight line
to carry the ship onward with great speed, notwithstanding the reduction
made in her canvas.
"Stand by to let go the anchor," cried her captain.
That was his last order. Scarcely had the words passed his lips when
the ship struck with a shock that caused her to quiver like a leaf from
stem to stern. All the top-masts with their yards and rigging went over
the side, and, in one instant the fine vessel was a total wreck!
The rest of the story is soon told. The pirates shewed their true
colours, ran alongside and took possession without opposition, for the
crew of the merchantman were so overwhelmed by the suddenness and
appalling nature of the calamity that had befallen them that they had no
heart to resist.
Of course it was out of the question that the crew of the _Brilliant_
could be allowed to remain on the island. Some of the pirates suggested
that they should be put on a raft, towed to leeward of the island, and,
when out of sight of it, be cast adrift to float about until they should
be picked up or get blown on one of the numerous islands that lay to the
southward of the rendezvous. Manton and Scraggs advocated this plan,
but the better-disposed among the men protested against such needless
cruelty, and suggested that it would be better to put them into the
long-boat of the ship, bandage their eyes, then tow them out of sight of
land and cast them loose to steer where they pleased.
This plan was adopted and carried into execution. Then the pirates
returned, and at their leisure unloaded and secured the cargo of their
prize. It was richer than they had anticipated, being a miscellaneous
cargo of valuable commodities for the trading stores of some of the
South Sea merchants and settlers.
The joy felt by the pirates on making this discovery, was all the
benefit that was ever derived from these ill-gotten gains by any one of
those who had a hand in that dastardly deed. Long before they had an
opportunity of removing the goods thus acquired, the career of the
_Avenger_ had terminated. But we must not anticipate our story.
On a green knoll near the margin of this bay, and in full view of the
wreck, a rude tent or hut was constructed by the pirates out of part of
an old sail which had been washed ashore from the wreck, and some broken
spars. A small cask of biscuit and two or three blankets were placed in
it, and here the captives were left to do as they pleased until such
time as Manton chose to send for them. The only piece of advice that
was given to them by their surly jailer was, that they should not on any
pretence whatever cross the island to the bay in which the schooner lay
at anchor.
"If ye do," said the man who was the last of the party to quit them,
"ye'll wish ye hadn't--that's all. Take my advice and keep yer
kooriosity in yer breeches' pockets."
With this caution they were left to their own devices and meditations.
It was a lovely calm evening at sunset when our four unfortunate friends
were thus left alone in these strange circumstances. The effect of
their forlorn condition was very different on each. Poopy flung herself
down on the ground, inside the tent, and began to sob; Alice sat down
beside her, and wept silently; whilst Montague, forgetting his own
sorrows in his pity for the poor young creatures who had been thus
strangely linked to him in affliction, sat down opposite to Alice, and
sought to comfort her.
Will Corrie, feeling that he could do nothing to cheer his companions in
the circumstances, and being unable to sit still, rose, and going out at
the end of the tent, both sides of which were open, stood leaning on a
pole, and contemplated the scene before him.
In a small creek, or indentation of the shore, close to the knoll on
which the tent stood, two of the pirates were working at a boat which
lay there. Corrie could not at first understand what they were about,
but he was soon enlightened, for, after hauling the boat as far out of
the water as they could, they left her there, and followed their
comrades to the other side of the island, carrying the oars along with
them.
The spirit that dwelt in Corrie's breast was a very peculiar one. Up to
this point in his misfortunes the poor boy had been subdued--overwhelmed
by the suddenness and the terrible nature of the calamity that had
befallen him--or rather, that had befallen Alice, for, to do him
justice, he only thought of her. Indeed, he carried this feeling so far
that he had honestly confessed to himself, in a mental soliloquy, the
night on which he had been captured, that he did not care one straw for
himself, or Poopy, or Captain Montague--that his whole and sole distress
of mind and body was owing to the grief into which Alice had been
plunged. He had made an attempt to comfort her one night on the voyage
to the Isle of Palms, when she and Poopy and he were left alone
together; but he failed. After one or two efforts he ended by bursting
into tears, and then, choking himself violently with his own hands, said
that he was ashamed of himself, that he wasn't crying for himself but
for her, (Alice,) and that he hoped she wouldn't think the worse of him
for being so like a baby. Here he turned to Poopy, and in a most
unreasonable manner began to scold her for being at the bottom of the
whole mischief, in the middle of which he broke off, said that he
believed himself to be mad, and vowed he would blow out his own brains
first, and those of all the pirates afterwards. Whereupon he choked,
sobbed again, and rushed out of the cabin as if he really meant to
execute his last awful threat.
But poor Corrie only rushed away to hide from Alice the irrepressible
emotions that nearly burst his heart. Yes, Corrie was thoroughly
subdued by grief. But the spring was not broken, it was only crushed
flat by the weight of sorrow that lay like a millstone on his youthful
bosom.
The first thing that set his active brain a-going once more--thereby
overturning the weight of sorrow and causing the spring of his peculiar
spirit to rebound--was the sight of the two pirates hauling up the boat
and carrying off the oars.
"Ha! that's your game is it?" muttered the boy between his teeth, and
grasping the pole with both hands as if he wished to squeeze his fingers
into the wood. "You don't want to give us a chance of escaping, don't
you, eh! is that it? You think that because we're a small party, and
the half of us females, that we're cowed, and won't think of trying any
other way of escaping, do you? Oh yes, that's what you think; you know
it, you do, _but you're mistaken_," (he became terribly sarcastic and
bitter at this point;) "you'll find that you have got _men_ to deal
with, that you've not only caught a tartar, but _two_ tartars--one o'
them being ten times tartarer than the other. Oh, if--"
"What's all that you're saying, Corrie?" said Montague, stepping out of
the tent at that moment.
"O captain," said the boy, vehemently, "I wish I were a giant!"
"Why so, lad?"
"Because then I would wade out to that wreck, clap my shoulder to her
bow, shove her into deep water, carry you, and Alice, and Poopy aboard,
haul out the main-mast by the roots, make an oar of it, and scull out to
sea, havin' previously fired off the biggest gun aboard of her, to let
the pirates know what I was doing."
Corrie's spirit was in a tumultuous and very rebellious state. He was
half inclined to indulge in hysterical weeping, and more than half
disposed to give way to a burst of savage glee. He spoke with the
mantling blood blazing in his fat cheeks, and his two eyes glittering
like those of a basilisk. Montague could not repress a smile and a look
of admiration as he said to our little hero--
"Why, Corrie, if you were a giant it would be much easier to go to the
other side of the island, wring off the heads of all the pirates, and,
carrying me on your shoulders, and Alice and Poopy in your coat-pockets,
get safely aboard of the _Foam_, and ho! for Sandy Cove."
"So it would," said Corrie, gravely. "I did not think of that, and it
would be a far pleasanter way than the other."
"Ah! Corrie, I fear that you are a very bloodthirsty fellow."
"Of course I am when I've pirates to deal with. I would kill them every
man, without a thought."
"No you wouldn't, my boy. You couldn't do it in cold blood, even
although they are bad men."
"I don't know that," said Corrie, dubiously. "I would do it without
more feeling than I would have in killing a cat."
"Did you ever kill a cat?" asked Montague.
"Never," answered Corrie.
"Then how can you tell what your feelings would be if you were to
attempt to do it. I remember once, when I was a boy, going out to hunt
cats."
"O Captain Montague, surely _you_ never hunted cats," exclaimed Alice,
who came out of the tent with a very pale face, and uncommonly red eyes.
"Yes, indeed, I did _once_--but I never did it again. I caught one, a
kitten, and set off with a number of boys to kill it; but as we went
along it began to play with my neck-tie and to _purr_! Our hearts were
softened, so we let it go. Ah! Corrie, my boy, never go hunting cats,"
said Montague, earnestly.
"Did I say I was going to?" replied Corrie, indignantly.
Montague laughed, and so did Alice, at the fierce look the boy put on.
"Corrie," said the former, "I'm sure that you would not kill a pirate in
cold blood, any more than you would kill a kitten--would you?"
"I'm not sure o' that," said Corrie, half laughing, but still looking
fierce. "In the first place, my blood is never cold when I've to do
with pirates; and, in the second place, pirates are not innocent
creatures covered with soft hair--and they don't purr!"
This last remark set Alice into a fit of laughter, and drew a faint
"Hee! hee!" from Poopy, who had been listening to the conversation
behind the canvas of the tent.
Montague took advantage of this improved state of things. "Now, Alice,"
said he, cheerfully, "do you and Poopy set about spreading our
blanket-tablecloth and getting supper laid out. It is but a poor one,--
hard biscuit and water,--but there is plenty of it, and, after all, that
is the main thing. Meanwhile Corrie and I will saunter along shore and
talk over our plans. Cheer up, my little girl, we will manage to give
these pirates the slip somehow or other, you may depend upon it."
"Corrie," said Montague, when they were alone. "I have spoken
cheeringly to Alice, because she is a little girl and needs comfort, but
you and I know that our case is a desperate one, and it will require all
our united wisdom and cleverness to effect our escape from these
rascally pirates."
The commander of the _Talisman_ paused, and smiled in spite of himself
at the idea of being placed in circumstances that constrained him to
hold a consultation, in matters that might involve life and death, with
a mere boy! But there was no help for it; besides, to say truth, the
extraordinary energy and courage that had been displayed by the lad,
combined with a considerable amount of innate sharpness in his
character, tended to create a feeling that the consultation might not be
altogether without advantage. At all events, it was better to talk over
their desperate position even with a boy, than to confine his anxieties
to his own breast.
But although Montague had seen enough of his young companion to convince
him that he was an intelligent fellow, he was not prepared for the
fertility of resource, the extremity of daring, and the ingenuity of
device, that were exhibited by him in the course of that consultation.
To creep over in the dead of night, knife in hand, and attack the
pirates while asleep, was one of the least startling of his daring
propositions; and to swim out to the wreck, set her on fire, and get
quietly on board the _Avenger_ while all the amazed pirates should have
rushed over to see what could have caused such a blaze, cut the cable
and sail away, was among the least ingenious of his devices.
These two talked long and earnestly while the shades of evening were
descending on the Isle of Palms--and in the earnestness of their talk,
and the pressing urgency of their case, the man almost forgot that his
companion was a boy, and the boy never for a moment doubted that he
himself, in everything but years, was a man.
It was getting dark when they returned to the tent, where they found
that Alice and Poopy had arranged their supper with the most scrupulous
care and nicety. These too, with the happy buoyancy of extreme youth,
had temporarily forgotten their position, and, when their male
companions entered, were deeply engaged in a private game of a "tea
party," in which hard biscuit figured as bun, and water was made to do
duty for tea. In this latter part of the game, by the way, the children
did but carry out in jest a practice which is not altogether unknown in
happier circumstances and in civilised society.