Eight days after the rescue of Henry Stuart from a horrible death, as
related in the last chapter, the _Talisman_ found herself, late in the
afternoon, within about forty hours' sail of Sandy Cove.
Mulroy had visited the Isle of Palms, and found that the pirates had
flown. The mate of the _Avenger_ and his companions had taken advantage
of the opportunity of escape afforded them by Gascoyne, and had hastily
quitted their rendezvous with as much of the most valuable portion of
their booty as the boat could carry. As this is their last appearance
in these pages, it may be as well to say that they were never again
heard of. Whether they perished in a storm, or gained some distant
land, and followed their former leader's advice--to repent of their
sins,--or again took to piracy, and continued the practice of their
terrible trade under a more bloody minded captain, we cannot tell. They
disappeared as many a band of wicked men has disappeared before, and
never turned up again. With these remarks we dismiss them from our
tale.
Surly Dick now began to entertain sanguine hopes that he would be
pardoned, and that he would yet live to enjoy the undivided booty which
he alone knew lay concealed in the Isle of Palms--for, now that he had
heard Henry's account of the landing of Gascoyne on the island, he never
doubted that the pirates would fly in haste from a spot that was no
longer unknown to others, and that they would be too much afraid of
being captured to venture to return to it.
It was, then, with a feeling of no small concern that the pirate heard
the look-out shout on the afternoon referred to, "Sail ho!"
"Where away?"
"On the lee beam."
The course of the frigate was at once changed, and she ran down towards
the strange sail.
"A schooner, sir," observed the second lieutenant to Mr Mulroy.
"It looks marvellously like the _Foam_, alias the _Avenger_," observed
the latter. "Beat to quarters. If this rascally pirate has indeed been
thrown in our way again, we will give him a warm reception. Why, the
villain has actually altered his course, and is standing towards us."
"Don't you think it is just possible," suggested Henry Stuart, "that
Gascoyne may have captured the vessel from his mate, and now comes to
meet us as a friend?"
"I don't know that," said Mulroy, in an excited tone, for he could not
easily forget the rough usage his vessel had received at the hands of
the bold pirate. "I don't know that. No doubt Gascoyne's mate was
against him; but the greater part of the crew were evidently in his
favour, else why the secret manner in which he was deprived of his
command? No, no. Depend upon it the villain has got hold of his
schooner and will keep it. By a fortunate chance we have again met; I
will see to it that we do not part without a close acquaintance. Yet
why he should throw himself into my very arms in this way, puzzles me.
Ha! I see his big gun amidships. It is uncovered. No doubt he counts
on his superior sailing powers, and means to give us a shot and shew us
his heels. Well, we shall see."
"There goes his flag," observed the second lieutenant.
"What! eh! It's the _Union Jack_!" exclaimed Mulroy.
"I doubt not that your own captain commands the schooner," said Henry,
who had of course, long before this time, made the first lieutenant of
the _Talisman_ acquainted with Montague's capture by the pirate, along
with Alice and her companions. "You naturally mistrust Gascoyne, but I
have reason to believe that, on this occasion at least, he is a true
man."
Mulroy returned no answer, for the two vessels were now almost near
enough to enable those on board to distinguish faces with the telescope.
A very few minutes sufficed to remove all doubts; and, a quarter of an
hour later, Montague stood on his own quarterdeck, receiving the
congratulations of his officers, while Henry Stuart was seized upon and
surrounded by his friends Corrie, Alice, Poopy, the missionary, and Ole
Thorwald.
In the midst of a volley of excited conversation Henry suddenly
exclaimed, "But what of Gascoyne? Where is the pirate captain?"
"Why, we've forgotten him," exclaimed Thorwald, whose pipe was doing
duty like a factory chimney. "I shouldn't wonder if he took advantage
of us just now to give us the slip!"
"No fear of that," said Mr Mason. "Poor fellow, he has felt your loss
terribly, Henry, for we all believed that you were lost; but I am bound
to confess that none of us have shewn a depth of sorrow equal to that of
Gascoyne. It seems unaccountable to me. He has not shewn his face on
deck since the day he gave up all hope of rescuing you, and has eaten
nothing but a biscuit now and then, which he would suffer no one but
Corrie to take to him."
"Poor Gascoyne, I will go and relieve his mind," said Henry, turning to
quit the quarterdeck.
Now, the noise created by the meeting of the two vessels had aroused
Gascoyne from the lethargic state of mind and body to which he had given
way. Coming on deck, he was amazed to find himself close to the
_Talisman_. A boat lay alongside the _Foam_, into which he jumped, and,
sculling towards the frigate, he stepped over the bulwarks just as Henry
turned to go in search of him.
The pirate captain's face wore a haggard, careworn, humbled look, that
was very different from its usual bold, lion-like expression. No one
can tell what a storm had passed through the strong man's breast while
he lay alone on the floor of his cabin. The deep, deep sorrow--the
remorse for sin--the bitterness of soul when he reflected that his
present misery was chargeable only to himself. A few nights had given
him the aspect of a much older man.
For a few seconds he stood glancing round the quarterdeck of the
_Talisman_ with a look of mingled curiosity and sadness. But when his
eye fell on the form of Henry he turned deadly pale, and trembled like
an aspen leaf.
"Well, Gascoyne, my--my--_friend_," said the youth with some hesitation
as he advanced.
The shout that Gascoyne uttered on hearing the young man's voice was
almost superhuman. It was something like a mingled cheer and cry of
agony. In another moment he sprang forward, and seizing Henry in his
arms, pressed him to his breast with a grasp that rendered the youth
utterly powerless.
Almost instantly he released him from his embrace, and seizing his hand,
said, in a wild, gay, almost fierce manner--
"Come, Henry, lad, I have somewhat to say to you. Come with me."
He forced rather than led the amazed youth into the boat, sculled to the
schooner, hurried him into the cabin, and shut and locked the door.
We need scarcely say that all this was a matter of the deepest curiosity
and interest to those who witnessed it; but they were destined to remain
with their curiosity unsatisfied for some time after that.
When Henry Stuart issued from the cabin of the _Avenger_ after that
mysterious interview, his countenance wore a surprised and troubled
expression. Gascoyne's, on the contrary, was grave and calm, yet
cheerful. He was more like his former self.
The young man was, of course, eagerly questioned as to what had been
said to him, and why the pirate had shewn such fondness for him; but the
only reply that could be got from him was, "I must not tell. It is a
private matter. You shall know time enough."
With this answer they were fain to be content--even Corrie failed to
extract anything more definite from his friend.
A prize crew was put on board the _Foam_, and the two vessels proceeded
towards the harbour of Sandy Cove in company.
Henry and his friends went in the _Foam_, but Gascoyne was detained a
prisoner on board the _Talisman_. Montague felt that it was his duty to
put him in irons, but he could not prevail on himself to heap
unnecessary indignity on the head of one who had rendered him such good
service, so he left him at large, intending to put him in irons only
when duty compelled him to do so.
During the night a stiff breeze amounting almost to a gale of fair wind
sprang up, and the two vessels flew towards their destination, but the
_Foam_ left her bulky companion far behind.
That night a dark and savage mind was engaged on board the _Talisman_ in
working out a black and desperate plot. Surly Dick saw, in the capture
of Gascoyne and the _Foam_, the end of all his cherished hopes, and in a
fit of despair and rage he resolved to be avenged.
This man, when he first came on board the frigate, had not been known as
a pirate, and afterwards, as we have seen, he had been treated with
leniency on account of his offer to turn informant against his former
associates. In the stirring events that followed he had been
overlooked, and, on the night of which we are writing he found himself
free to retire to his hammock with the rest of the watch.
In the night, when the wind was howling mournfully through the rigging,
and the greater part of the crew were buried in repose, this man rose
stealthily from his hammock, and with noiseless tread found his way to a
dark corner of the ship where the eyes of the sentries were not likely
to observe him. Here he had made preparations for his diabolical
purpose. Drawing a flint and steel from his pocket, he proceeded to
strike a light. This was procured in a few seconds, and as the match
flared up in his face it revealed the workings of a countenance in which
all the strongest and worst passions of human nature had stamped deep
and terrible lines.
The pirate had taken the utmost care, by arranging an old sail over the
spot, to prevent the reflection of the light being seen. It revealed a
large mass of oakum and tar. Into the heart of this he thrust the
match, and instantly glided away, as he had come, stealthily and without
noise.
For a few seconds the fire smouldered, for the sail that covered it kept
it down, as well as hid it from view. But such combustible material
could not be smothered long. The smell of burning soon reached one of
the marines stationed on the lower-deck, who instantly gave the alarm;
but almost before the words had passed his lips the flames burst forth.
"Fire! fire! fire!"
What a scene ensued! There was confusion at first, for no sound at sea
rings so terribly in the ear as the shout of "Fire!"
But speedily the stern discipline on board a man-of-war prevailed. Men
were stationed in rows; the usual appliances for the extinction of fire
were brought into play; buckets of water were passed down below as fast
as they could be drawn. No miscellaneous shouting took place; but the
orders that were necessary, and the noise of action, together with the
excitement and the dense smoke that rolled up the hatchway, produced a
scene of the wildest and most stirring description.
In the midst of this the pirate captain, as might have been expected,
performed a prominent part. His great physical strength enabled him to
act with a degree of vigour that rendered his aid most valuable. He
wrought with the energy of a huge mechanical power, and with a quick
promptitude of perception and a ready change of action which is denied
to mere, mechanism. He tore down the bulk-heads that rendered it
difficult to get at the place where the fire was; he hurled bucket after
bucket of water on the glowing mass, and rushed, amid clouds of hot
steam and suffocating smoke, with piles of wet blankets to smother it
out.
Montague and he wrought together. The young captain issued his orders
as calmly as if there were no danger, yet with a promptitude and vigour
that inspired his men with confidence. Gascoyne's voice was never
heard. He obeyed orders and acted as circumstances required, but he did
not presume, as men are too apt to do on such occasions, to give orders
and advice when there was a legitimate commander. Only once or twice
were the deep tones of his bass voice heard, when he called for more
water, or warned the more daring among the men when danger from falling
timber threatened them.
But all this availed not to check the flames. The men were quickly
driven upon deck, and it soon became evident that the vessel must
perish. The fire burst through the hatchways, and in a short time began
to leap up the rigging.
It now became necessary to make arrangements for the saving of the crew.
"Nothing more can be done, Mr Mulroy," said Montague, in a calm voice
that accorded ill with the state of his mind. "Get the boats ready, and
order the men to assemble on the quarter-deck."
"If we were only nearer the island," said Gascoyne in a low tone, as if
he were talking to himself, "we might run her on the reef, and the
breakers would soon put out the fire."
"That would be little consolation to me," said Montague, with a bitter
smile. "Lower the boats, Mr Mulroy. The _Foam_ has observed our
condition, I see; let them row to it. I will go in the gig."
The first lieutenant hastened to obey the order, and the men embarked in
the boats, lighted by the flames, which were now roaring high up the
masts.
Meanwhile, the man who had been the cause of all this was rushing about
the deck, a furious maniac. He had wrought at the fire almost as
fiercely as Gascoyne himself, and now that all hope was past, he
continued, despite the orders of Montague to the contrary, to draw water
and rush with bucket after bucket into the midst of the roaring flames.
At last he disappeared, no one knew where, and no one cared, for in such
a scene he was soon forgotten.
The last man left the ship when the heat on the poop became so great
that it was scarcely possible to stand there. Still Montague and
Gascoyne stood side by side near the taffrail, and the gig with her crew
floated just below them. The last boatful of men pulled away from the
burning vessel, and then Montague turned with a deep sigh and said--
"Now, Mr Gascoyne, get into the boat. I must be the last man to quit
the ship."
Without a word Gascoyne swung himself over the stern, and, sliding down
by a rope, dropped into the boat. Montague followed, and they rowed
away.
Just at that moment Surly Dick sprang on the bulwarks, and holding on by
the mizzen-shrouds took off his hat and cheered.
"Ha! ha!" he shrieked, with a fiendish laugh, "I've escaped you, have I?
escaped you--hurrah!" and with another wild shriek he leaped on the hot
deck, and, seizing a bucket, resumed his self-imposed duty of deluging
the fire with water.
"Pull, pull, lads! we can't leave the miserable man to perish," cried
Montague, starting up, while the men rowed after the frigate with their
utmost might. But in vain. Already she was far from them, and ever
increased the distance as she ran before the gale.
As long as the ship lasted the poor maniac was seen diligently pursuing
his work--stopping now and then to spring on the bulwarks and give
another cheer.
At last the blazing vessel left boats and schooner far behind, and the
flames rose in great flakes and tongues above her top-masts, while the
smoke rolled in dense black volumes away to leeward.
While the awe-stricken crew watched her there came a sudden flash of
bright white flame, as if a volcano had leaped out of the ocean. The
powder-magazine had caught. It was followed by a roaring crash that
seemed to rend the very heavens. A thick darkness settled over the
scene--and the vessel that a few hours before had been a noble frigate,
was scattered on the ocean a mass of blackened ruins.