Gascoyne, The Sandal-Wood Trader: A Tale of the Pacific

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING—DOINGS ON THE ISLE OF PALMS—GASCOYNE'S DESPAIR.

It was not without some difficulty that the boat reached the shore after the squall burst upon them. On landing, the party observed, dark though it was, that their leader's countenance wore an expression of the deepest anxiety; yet there were lines upon it that indicated the raging of conflicting passions which he found it difficult to restrain.

"I fear me," said Ole Thorwald, in a troubled voice, "that our young friend Henry Stuart is in danger."

"Lost!" said Gascoyne, in a voice so low and grating that it startled his hearers.

"Say not so," said Mr. Mason, earnestly. "He is a brave and a clever youth, and knows how to manage the cutter until we can row back and fetch him ashore."

"Row back!" exclaimed Gascoyne, almost fiercely. "Think you that I would stand here idly if our boat could live in such a sea as now rolls on the rocks? The Wasp must have been washed over the reef by this time. She may pass the next without being dashed to pieces, but she is too rickety to stand the third. No, there is no hope!"

While he spoke the missionary's eyes were closed, and his lips moved as if in silent prayer. Seizing Gascoyne nervously by the arm, he said; "You cannot tell that there is no hope. That is known only to One who has encouraged us to 'hope against hope.' Henry is a stout youth and a good swimmer. He may succeed in clinging to some portion of the wreck."

"True, true," cried Gascoyne, eagerly grasping at this hope, slight though it was. "Come; we waste time. There is but one chance. The schooner must be secured without delay. Lads, you will follow Mr. Thorwald. Do whatever he bids you. And now," he added, leading the merchant aside, "the time for action has come. I will conduct you to a certain point on the island, where you will remain concealed among the bushes until I return to you."

"And suppose you never return to us, Mister Gascoyne!" said Ole, who regarded every act of the pirate captain with suspicion.

"Then you will remain there till you are tired," answered Gascoyne, with some asperity, "and after that do what you please."

"Well, well, I am in your power," retorted the obdurate Norseman; "make what arrangements you please. I will carry them out until—"

Here Ole thought fit to break off, and Gascoyne, without taking notice of the remark, went on in a few hurried sentences to explain as much of his plan as he thought necessary for the guidance of his suspicious ally.

This done, he led the whole party to the highest part of the island, and made them lie in ambush there while he went forward alone to reconnoiter. The night was admirably suited to their purpose. It was so dark that it was difficult to perceive objects more than a few yards off, and the wind howled so furiously among the palms that there was no danger of being overheard in the event of their speaking too loud or stumbling over fallen trees.

Gascoyne, who knew every rock and tree on the Isle of Palms, went rapidly down the gentle slope that intervened between him and the harbor in which the Foam lay at anchor. Dark though it was, he could see the taper masts and yards of his vessel traced dimly against the sky.

The pirate's movements now became more cautious. He stepped slowly, and paused frequently to listen. At last he went down on his hands and knees and crept forward for a considerable distance in that position, until he reached a ledge of rocks that overhung the shore of the bay. Here he observed an object like a round lump of rock, lying a few yards before him, on a spot where he was well aware no such rock had previously existed. It moved after a moment or two. Gascoyne knew that there were no wild animals of any kind on the island, and, therefore, at once jumped to the conclusion that this must needs be a human being of some sort. Drawing his knife he put it between his teeth, and creeping noiselessly towards the object in question, laid his strong hand on the neck of the horrified Will Corrie.

That adventurous and desperate little hero having lain sleepless and miserable at the feet of Alice until the squall blew the tent over their heads, got up and assisted Montague to erect it anew in a more sheltered position, after which, saying that he meant to take a midnight ramble on the shore to cool his fevered brow, he made straight for the sea, stepped knee-deep into the raging surf, and bared his breast to the furious blast.

This cooled him so effectually that he took to running along shore in order to warm himself. Then it occurred to him that the night was particularly favorable for a sly peep at the pirates. Without a moment's hesitation, he walked and stumbled towards the high part of the island, at which he arrived just half an hour before Gascoyne reached it. He had seen nothing, however, and was on the point of advancing still further in his explorations, when he was discovered as we have seen.

Gascoyne instantly turned the boy over on his back, and nipped a tremendous yell in the bud by grasping his wind-pipe.

"Why, Corrie!" exclaimed Gascoyne, in surprise, at the same time loosening his grip, though still holding the boy down.

"Ah! you villain, you rascally pirate. I know you; I—"

The pipe was gently squeezed at this point, and the sentence abruptly cut short.

"Come, boy, you must not speak so loud. Enemies are near. If you don't behave I'll have to throttle you. I have come from Sandy Cove with a party to save you and your friends."

Corrie did not believe a word of this. He knew, or at least he supposed, that Gascoyne had left the schooner, not having seen him since they sailed from Sandy Cove; but he knew nothing of the manner in which he had been put ashore.

"It won't do, Gascoyne," gasped poor Corrie, on being permitted again to use his windpipe. "You may kill me, but you'll never cow me. I don't believe you, you cowardly monster."

"I'll have to convince you then," said Gascoyne, suddenly catching the boy in his arms, and bearing him swiftly away from the spot.

Corrie struggled like a hero, as he was. He tried to shout, but Gascoyne's right hand again squeezed the windpipe; he attempted to bite, but the same hand easily kept the refractory head in order; he endeavored to kick and hit, but Gascoyne's left hand encircled him in such a comprehensive embrace, and pressed him so powerfully to his piratical bosom, that he could only wriggle. This he did without ceasing, until Gascoyne suddenly planted him on his feet, panting and disheveled, before the astonished faces of Frederick Mason and Ole Thorwald.

It is not necessary to describe in detail the surprise of all then and there assembled, the hurried conversation, and the cry of joy with which the missionary received the information that Alice was safe and within five minutes' walk of the spot on which he stood. Suffice it to say that Corrie was now convinced of the good faith of Gascoyne, whom he at once led, along with Mr. Mason, to the tent where Alice and her friends slept, leaving Thorwald and his men where they were to await further orders.

The cry of wild delight with which Alice sprang into her father's arms might have been destructive of all Gascoyne's plans had not the wind carried it away from the side of the island where the pirate schooner lay. There was now no time to be lost. After the first embrace, and a few hurried words of blessing and thanksgiving, the missionary was summoned to a consultation.

"I will join you in this enterprise, Mr. Gascoyne," said Montague. "I believe what you say to be true; besides, the urgency of our present danger leaves me no room for choice. I am in your power. I believe that in your present penitent condition you are willing to enable us to escape from your former associates; but I tell you frankly that, if ever I have an opportunity to do so, I will consider it my duty to deliver you over to justice."

"Time is too precious to trifle thus," said Gascoyne, hurriedly. "I have already said that I will deliver myself up—not, however, to you, but to Mr. Mason—after I have rescued the party, so that I am not likely to claim any consideration from you on account of the obligation which you seem to think my present act will lay you under. But you must not accompany me just now."

"Why not?"

"Because your presence may be required here. You and Mr. Mason will remain where you are to guard the girls, until I return. All that I have to ask is, that you be in readiness to follow me at a moment's notice when the time comes."

"Of course what you arrange must be agreed to," said Montague.

"Come, Corrie, I will require your assistance. Follow me," said the pirate captain, as he turned and strode rapidly away.

Corrie was now thoroughly convinced of the good intentions of Gascoyne; so he followed him without hesitation. Indeed, now that he had an opportunity of seeing a little more of his gigantic companion, he began to feel a strange kind of pity and liking for him, but he shuddered and felt repelled when he thought of the human blood in which his hands must have been imbrued; for as yet he had not heard of the defense of himself which Gascoyne had made in the widow's cottage. But he had not much time to think; for in a few minutes they came upon Ole Thorwald and his party.

"Follow me quietly," said Gascoyne. "Keep in single file and close together; for if we are separated here, we shall not easily get together again."

Leading them over the same ground that he had formerly traversed, Gascoyne conducted his party to the shores of the bay where the Foam lay at anchor. Here he made them keep close in the bushes, with directions to be ready to act the instant he should call on them to do so.

"But it would comfort me mightily, Mister Gascoyne," said Thorwald, in a somewhat troubled voice, "if you would give some instructions or advice as to what I am to do in the event of your plans miscarrying. I care naught for a fair fight in open field; but I do confess to a dislike of being brought to the condition of not knowing what to do."

"It won't matter much what you do, Mr. Thorwald," said Gascoyne, gravely. "If my plans miscarry, you will be killed every soul of you. You'll not have the ghost of a chance of escaping."

Ole opened his eyes uncommonly wide at this.

"Well," said he, at length, with a sigh of resignation, "it's some comfort to know that one can only be killed once."

Gascoyne now proceeded leisurely to strip off his shirt, thereby displaying a chest, back, and arms in which the muscles were developed to an extent that might have made Hercules himself envious. Kicking off his boots, he reduced his clothing to a pair of loose knee-breeches.

"'Tis a strange time to indulge in a cold bath!" murmured Thorwald, whose state of surprise was beginning to render him desperately ironical.

Gascoyne took no notice of the remark, but calling Corrie to his side, said:

"Can you swim, boy?"

"Yes, like a duck."

"Can you distinguish the stem of the schooner?"

"I can."

"Listen, then. When you see a white sheet waved over the taffrail, throw off your jacket and shirt and swim out to the schooner. D'ye understand?"

"Perfectly," replied the boy, whose decision of manner and action grew with the occasion.

"And now, Mr. Thorwald," said Gascoyne, "I shall swim off to the schooner. If, as I expect, the men are on shore in a place that I wot of, and with which you have nothing to do, well and good. I will send a boat for you with muffled oars; but, mark you, let there be no noise in embarking or in getting aboard the schooner. If, on the other hand, the men are aboard, I will bring a boat to you myself, in which case silence will not be so necessary, and your fighting powers shall be put to the proof."

Without waiting for a reply, the pirate captain walked down the sloping beach and waded slowly into the dark sea. His motions were so noiseless and stealthy that those who watched him with eager eyes could only discern a figure moving gradually away from them and melting into the thick gloom.

Fierce though the storm was outside, the sheltered waters of the bay were almost calm, so that Gascoyne had no difficulty in swimming off to the Foam without making any noise. As he drew near, a footstep on the deck apprised him that there was at least a watch left. A few seconds later a man leaned over the low bulwarks of the vessel on the side on which the swimmer approached.

"Hist! what sort o' brute's that!" he exclaimed, seizing a handspike that chanced to be near him and hurling it at the head of the brute.

The handspike fell within a yard of Gascoyne, who, keeping up his supposed character, made a wild splash with his arms and dived like a genuine monster of the deep. Swimming under water as vigorously as he could, he endeavored to gain the other side of the vessel before he came up; but, finding that this was impossible, he turned on his back and allowed himself to rise gently until nothing but his face appeared above the surface. By this means he was enabled to draw a full breath, and then, causing himself to sink, he swam under water to the other side of the schooner, and rose under her quarter.

Here he paused a minute to breathe, then glided with noiseless strokes to the main chains, which he seized hold of, and, under their shelter, listened intently for at least five minutes.

Not a sound was to be heard on board save the footsteps of the solitary watchman who slowly paced the deck, and now and then beguiled the tedium of his vigil by humming a snatch of a sea song.

Gascoyne now felt assured that the crew were ashore, enjoying themselves, as they were wont to do, in one of the artificial caverns where their goods were concealed. He knew, from his own former experience, that they felt quite secure when once at anchor in the harbor of the Isle of Palms; it was therefore probable that all of them had gone ashore except this man, who had been left to take care of the vessel.

Gascoyne now drew himself slowly up into the chains, and remained there for a few seconds in a stooping position, keeping his head below the level of the bulwarks while he squeezed the water out of his lower garments. This done, he waited until the man on deck came close to where he stood, when he sprang on him with the agility of a tiger, threw him down, and placed his hand on his mouth.

"It will be your wisest course to be still, my man," said Gascoyne, sternly. "You know who I am, and you know what I can do when occasion requires. If you shout when I remove my hand from your mouth, you die."

The man seemed to be quite aware of the hopelessness of his case; for he quietly submitted to have his mouth bound with a handkerchief, and his hands and feet tied with cords. A few seconds sufficed to accomplish this, after which Gascoyne took him up in his arms as if he had been a child, carried him below, and laid him on one of the cabin lockers. Then, dragging a sheet off one of the beds, he sprang up on deck and waved it over the stern.

"That's the signal for me," said Corrie, who had watched for it eagerly. "Now, Uncle Ole, mind you obey orders: you are rather inclined to be mutinous, and that won't pay to-night. If you don't look out, Gascoyne will pitch into you, old boy."

Master Corrie indulged in these impertinent remarks while he was stripping off his jacket and shirt. The exasperated Thorwald attempted to seize him by the neck and shake him, but Corrie flung his jacket in his face, and sprang down the beach like a squirrel. He had wisdom enough, however, to say and do all this in the quietest possible manner; and when he entered the sea he did so with as much caution as Gascoyne himself had done, insomuch that he seemed to melt away like a mischievous sprite.

In a few minutes he was alongside of the Foam; caught a rope that was thrown to him, and quickly stood on the deck.

"Well done, Corrie. Clamber over the stern, and slide down by that rope into the little boat that floats there. Take one of the oars, which you will find muffled, and scull to the shore, and bring off Thorwald and his men. And, hark'ee, boy, bring off my shirt and boots. Now, look alive; your friend Henry Stuart's life may depend on it."

"Henry's life!" exclaimed Corrie, in amazement.

"Come, no questions. His life may depend on your promptitude."

Corrie wanted no stronger motive for speed. In a state of surprise mingled with anxious forebodings, he leaped over the stern and was gone in a moment.

The distance between the shore and the schooner being very short, the boat was quickly alongside, and the party under stout Ole Thorwald took possession of their prize.

Meanwhile Gascoyne had set the jib and fore-topsail, which latter had been left hanging loose from the yard, so that by hauling out the sheets slowly and with great care, the thing was done without noise. The cable was then cut, the boat manned, and the Foam glided out of the bay like a phantom ship.

The moment she got beyond the shelter of the palms her sails filled, and in a few minutes she was rushing through the water at the rate of ten or eleven knots an hour.

Gascoyne stood at the helm and guided her through the intricacies of the dangerous coast with consummate skill, until he reached the bay where the wrecked ship lay. Here he lay to, and sent the boat ashore for the party that had been left at the tent. They were waiting; anxiously for his return. Great, therefore, was their astonishment when he sent them a message inviting them to go on board the Foam!

The instant they embarked, Gascoyne put about, and, ordering the mainsail to be hoisted, and one of the reefs to be shaken out of the topsail, ran round to the windward of the island, with the foam flying in great masses on either side of the schooner, which lay over so much before the gale that it was scarcely possible to stand on the deck.

The manner in which the pirate captain now acted was calculated to fill the hearts of those whose lives seemed to hang in his hands with alarm if not dismay. His spirit seemed to be stirred within him. There was indeed no anger, either in his looks or tones; but there was a stern fixedness of purpose in his manner and aspect which aroused, yet repelled, the curiosity of those around him. Even Ole Thorwald and Montague agreed that it was best to let him alone; for although they might overcome his great physical force by the united strength of numbers, the result would certainly be disastrous, as he was the only one who knew the locality.

On reaching the windward side of the island he threw the schooner up into the wind, and ordered the large boat to be hoisted out and put in the water. Gascoyne issued his commands in a quick, loud voice, and Ole shook his head as if he felt that this overbearing manner proved what he had expected; namely, that when the pirate got aboard his own vessel, he would come out in his true colors.

Whatever men felt or thought, there was no hesitation in rendering prompt obedience to that voice. The large boat was hoisted off the brass pivot gun amidships and lowered into the water. Then Gascoyne gave the helm to one of the men, with directions to hold it exactly as it then lay, and, hurrying down below, speedily returned, to the astonishment of every one, with a man in his arms.

"Now, Connway," said Gascoyne, as he cut the cords that bound the man and removed the handkerchief from his mouth, "I'm a man of few words, and to-night have less time than usual to speak. I set you free. Get into that boat; one oar will suffice to guide it; the wind will drive it to the island. I send it as a parting gift to Manton and my former associates. It is large enough to hold them all. Tell them that I repent of my sins, and the sooner they do the same the better. I cannot now undo the evil I have done them. I can only furnish the means of escape, so that they may have time and opportunity to mend their ways; and, hark'ee, the sooner they leave this place the better. It will no longer be a safe retreat. Farewell!"

While he was speaking he led the man by the arm to the side of the schooner, and constrained him to get into the boat. As he uttered the last word he cut the rope that held it, and let it drop astern.

Gascoyne immediately resumed his place at the helm, and once more the schooner was running through the water, almost gunwale under, towards the place where the Wasp had been wrecked.

Without uttering a word of explanation, and apparently forgetful of every one near him, the pirate continued during the remainder of that night to steer the Foam out and in among the roaring breakers, as if he were trying how near he could venture to the jaws of destruction without actually plunging into them. As the night wore on the sky cleared up, and the scene of foaming desolation that was presented by the breakers in the midst of which they flew, was almost enough to appal the stoutest heart.

The crew looked on in moody silence. They knew that their lives were imperiled; but they felt that they had no resource! No one dared to address the silent, stern man who stood like an iron statue at the helm the whole of that night. Towards morning, he steered out from among the dangerous coral reefs, and ran south straight before the wind.

Then Corrie summoned up courage, and, going aft to Gascoyne, looked up in his face and said:

"You're searching for Henry, I think?"

"Yes, boy, I am," answered the pirate, and a gleam of kindliness crossed his face for a moment; but it was quickly chased away by a look of deep anxiety, and Corrie retired.

Now that the danger of the night was over, all the people on board became anxious to save Henry, or ascertain his fate; but although they searched the ocean far and wide, they saw not a vestige of him or of the Wasp. During this period Gascoyne acted like a bewildered man. He never quitted the helm night or day. He only ate a biscuit now and then when it was brought to him, and he did not answer when he was spoken to.

Every one felt sympathy with the man who seemed to mourn so deeply for the lost youth.

At last Montague went up to him and said, in a gentle voice: "I fear that Henry is gone."

Gascoyne started as if a sword had pierced him. For one moment he looked fiercely in the young captain's face; then an expression of the deepest sadness overspread his countenance as he said: "Do you think there is no hope?"

"None," said Montague. "I grieve to give pain to one who seems to have been an intimate friend of the lad."

"He was the son of my oldest and best friend. What would you advise, Mr. Montague?"

"I think—that is to say, don't you think—that it would be as well to put about now?"

Gascoyne's head dropped on his chest, and for some moments he stood speechless, while his strong hands played nervously with the tiller that they had held so long and so firmly. At last he looked up and said, in a low voice: "I resign the schooner into your hands, Mr. Montague."

Then he went slowly below, and shut himself up in his cabin.

Montague at once put down the helm, and, pointing the schooner's prow northward, steered for the harbor of Sandy Cove.

SURLY DICK THE RESCUE.

We must turn aside here for a short time to follow the fortunes of the Talisman.

When that vessel went in chase of the Foam, after her daring passage across the reefs, she managed to keep her in view until the island was out of sight astern. Then the increasing darkness caused by the squall hid the two vessels from each other, and before the storm passed away the superior sailing qualities of the Foam carried her far beyond the reach of the cruiser.

But Mr. Mulroy was not a man to be easily baffled. He resolved to continue the chase, and, supposing that his commander must have got safely to the shore, he made up his mind to proceed southward for a short time, thinking it probable that the pirate would run for the shelter of those remote islands which he knew were seldom visited by the merchant ships. The importance of keeping the chase in view as long as possible, and following it up without delay, he felt would be accepted as a sufficient excuse by Montague for not putting back to take him on board.

The squalls which happened to prevail at that time drove the Talisman further south than her first lieutenant had intended to go, and she failed to fall in with the pirate schooner. Mulroy cruised far and wide for fully a week; then he gave up the chase as hopeless. Two days after the breaking of the storm that wrecked the Wasp the Talisman's prow was turned northward towards Sandy Cove.

It was the close of a calm, beautiful evening when this was done. A gentle breeze fanned the topsails, although it failed to ruffle the sea.

"I don't like to be baffled in this way," said Mulroy to his second lieutenant, as they paced the quarter-deck together.

"It is very unfortunate," returned the other. "Would it not be well to examine the man called Surly Dick before leaving these waters? You know he let out that there is some island hereabout at which the pirates are wont to rendezvous. Perhaps by threats, if not by persuasion, he may be induced to tell us where it lies."

"True. I had forgotten that fellow altogether. Let him be sent for."

In a few minutes Surly Dick stepped on the quarter-deck and touched his cap. He did not appear to have grown less surly since his introduction on board the frigate. Discipline had evidently a souring effect on his temper.

"Your late comrades have escaped me," said the first lieutenant; "but you may depend upon it, I will catch the villains in the long run."

"It'll be a pretty long run before you do," remarked the man, sulkily.

Mulroy looked sternly at him. "You forget," said he, "that you are a prisoner. Let me advise you to be at least civil in your manner and tone. Whether the run shall be a long or a short one remains to be seen. One thing is pretty certain; namely, that your own run of life will be a very short one. You know the usual doom of a, pirate when he is caught."

Surly Dick moved uneasily. "I was made a pirate against my will," said he, in a still more sulky tone and disrespectful manner.

"You will find it difficult to prove that," returned Mulroy. "Meanwhile I shall put you in irons, and treat you as you deserve, until I can place you in the hands of the civil authorities."

Surly Dick stood first on one leg and then on the other; moved his fingers about nervously, and glanced in the lieutenant's face furtively. It was evident that he was ill at ease.

"I never committed murder, sir," said he, in an improved tone. "It wasn't allowed on board of the Avenger, sir. It's a hard case that a fellow should be made a pirate by force, and then be scragged for it, though he's done none o' the bloody work."

"This may be true," rejoined the lieutenant; "but, as I have said, you will find it difficult to convince your judges of it. But you will receive a fair trial. There is one thing, however, that will stand in your favor, and that is a full and free confession. If you make this, and give me all the information you can in order to bring your late comrades to justice, your judges will perhaps be disposed to view your case leniently."

"Wot more can I confess, sir?" said Dick, beginning to look a little more interested. "I've already confessed that I was made a pirate against my will, and that I've never done no murder; though I have plundered a little, just like the rest. As for helpin' to bring my comrades to justice, I only wish as I know'd how, and I'd do it right off, I would."

Surly Dick's expression of countenance when he said this was a sufficient guarantee that he was in earnest.

"There is an island somewhere hereabout," said the lieutenant, "where the pirates are in the habit of hiding sometimes, is there not?"

Surly Dick looked at his questioner slyly, as he replied, "There is, sir."

"Do you not think it very likely that they may have run there now,—that they may be there at this moment?"

"It's oncommon likely," replied Dick, with a grin.

"Can you direct me how to steer, in order to reach that island?"

Surly Dick's aspect changed. He became morose again, and looked silently at his feet for a few moments, as if he were debating something in his own mind. He was, in truth, perplexed; for, while he was extremely anxious to bring his hated comrades to justice, he was by no means so anxious to let the lieutenant into the secret of the treasures contained in the caverns of the Isle of Palms, all of which he knew would be at once swept hopelessly beyond his grasp if they should be discovered. He also reflected that if he could only manage to get his late companions comfortably hanged, and himself set free for having turned King's evidence against them, he could return to the island and abstract the wealth it contained by degrees. The brilliant prospect thus opened up to him was somewhat marred, however, by the consideration that some of the pirates might make a confession and let this secret be known, in which case his golden dreams would vanish. The difficulty of making up his mind was so great that he continued for some time to twist his fingers and move his feet uneasily in silence.

Mulroy observed the pirate's indecision, and, although he knew not its cause to the full extent, he was sufficiently acquainted with human nature to know that now was the moment to overcome the man, if he was to be overcome at all.

"Well, well," he said, carelessly; "I'm sorry to see you throw away your only chance. As for the information you refuse to give. I can do without it. Perhaps I may find some of your late comrades when we make the island, who will stand witness against you. That will do, my man; you may go. Mr. Geoffrey" (turning to a midshipman), "will you accompany that pirate forward, and see that he is put in irons?"

"But you don't know where the island is," said Surly Dick, anxiously, as the lieutenant was turning away.

Mulroy turned back: "No," said he; "but you ought to know that when a seaman is aware of the existence of an island, and knows that he is near it, a short time will suffice to enable him to find it."

Again he was about to turn away, when Dick cried out, "Stay, sir; will you stand by me if I show you the way?"

"I will not deceive you," said Mulroy bluntly. "If you show me how to steer for this island, and assist me in every way that you can to catch these villains, I will report what you have done, and the judges at your trial will give what weight they please to the facts; but if you suppose that I will plead for such a rascal as you are, you very much mistake me."

A look of deep hatred settled on the pirate's countenance as he said, briefly, "Well, I'll show you how to steer."

Accordingly, Surly Dick, after being shown a chart, and being made aware of the exact position of the ship, ordered the course to be altered to "north-half-east." As this was almost dead in the eye of the light breeze that was blowing the Talisman had to proceed on her course by the slow process of tacking.

While she was in the act of putting about on one of these tacks, the look-out reported "a boat on the lee bow."

"Boat on the lee bow!" was passed from mouth to mouth, and the order was immediately given to let the frigate fall off. In another moment, instead of ploughing her way slowly and doggedly to windward, the Talisman ran swiftly before the breeze toward a dark object which at a distance resembled a boat with a mast and a small flag flying from it.

"It is a raft, I think," observed the second lieutenant, as he adjusted the telescope more perfectly.

"You are right; and I think there is some one on it," said Mulroy. "I see something like a man lying on it; but whether he is dead or alive I cannot say. There is a flag, undoubtedly; but no one waves a handkerchief or a rag of any kind. Surely, if a living being occupied the raft, he would have seen the ship by this time. Stay; he moves! No; it must have been imagination. I fear that he is dead, poor fellow. Stand by to lower a boat."

The lieutenant spoke in a sad voice; for he felt convinced that he had come too late to the aid of some unfortunate who had died in perhaps the most miserable manner in which man can perish.

Henry Stuart did indeed lie on the raft a dead man to all appearance. Towards the evening of his third day, he had suffered very severely from the pangs of hunger. Long and earnestly had he gazed round the horizon, but no sail appeared. He felt that his end was approaching, and, in a fit of despair and increasing weakness, he fell on his face in a state of half-consciousness. Then he began to pray, and gradually he fell into a troubled slumber.

It was while he was in this condition that the Talisman hove in sight. Henry had frequently fallen into this species of sleep during the last few hours, but he never continued in it long; for the pains of thirst, as well as hunger, now racked his frame. Nevertheless, he was not much reduced in strength or vigor. A long, slow process of dying would have still lain before the poor youth, had it been his lot to perish on that raft.

A delightful dream came over him as he lay. A rich banquet was spread before him. With wolfish desire he grasped the food, and ate as he never ate before. Oh! it was a rare feast, that! Each morsel was delicious; each draught nectar. But he could not devour enough. There was a strange feeling in him that he could by no means eat to satisfaction.

While he was thus feasting in dreams, the Talisman drew near. Her bulwarks were crowded with faces gazing earnestly at the bit of red rag that fluttered in the breeze, and the pile of loose spars on which the man's form lay extended and motionless.

Suddenly Henry awoke, with a start, to find that his rich banquet was a terrible delusion; that he was starving to death; and that a large ship was hove to within a few yards of him!

Starting up on his knees, he uttered a wild shriek. Then, as the truth entered his soul, he raised his hand and gave a faint cheer.

The revulsion of feeling in the crew of the Talisman was overpowering. A long, loud, tremendous cheer burst from every heart!

"Lower away!" was shouted to the men who stood at the fall-tackles of the boat.

As the familiar sounds broke on Henry's ears, he leaped to his feet, and, waving his hand above his head, again attempted to cheer; but his voice failed him. Staggering backwards, he fell fainting into the sea.

Almost at the same instant, a man leaped from the bulwark of the frigate, and swam vigorously towards the raft. It was Richard Price, the boatswain of the frigate. He reached Henry before the boat did, and, grasping his inanimate form, supported him until it came up and rescued them both. A few minutes later Henry Stuart was restored to consciousness, and the surgeon of the frigate was administering to him such restoratives as his condition seemed to require.

THE CAPTURE AND THE FIRE.

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 practise 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 lookout shout on the afternoon referred to, "Sail ho!"

"Where away?"

"On the lea 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 marvelously 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 favor, 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 show 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 quarter-deck, 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 shown a depth of sorrow equal to that of Gascoyne. It seems unaccountable to me. He has not shown 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 quarter-deck.

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 quarter-deck 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 shown 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 harbor 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 unneccessary 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 smoldered: 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 vigor 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 bulkheads 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 vigor 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 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.

PLEADING FOR LIFE.

The Pacific is not always calm, but neither is it always stormy. We think it necessary to make this latter observation because the succession of short-lived gales and squalls which have been prominently and unavoidably brought forward in our tale might lead the reader to deem the name of this ocean inappropriate.

The gale blew itself out a few hours after the destruction of the Talisman, and left the Foam becalmed within sight of Sandy Cove island, almost on the same spot of ocean where she lay when we introduced her to the reader in the first chapter.

Although the sea was not quite so still now, owing to the swell caused by the recent gale, it was quite as glassy as it was then. The sun, too, was as hot, and the sky as brilliant; but the aspect of the Foam was much changed. The deep quiet was gone. Crowded on every part of the deck, and even down in her hold, were the crew of the man-of-war, lolling about listlessly and sadly, or conversing with grave looks about the catastrophe which had deprived them so suddenly of their floating home. Gascoyne and Henry leaned over the stern, to avoid being overheard by those around them, and conversed in low tones.

"But why not attempt to escape?" said the latter, in reply to some observation made by his companion.

"Because I am pledged to give myself up to justice."

"No; not to justice," replied the youth quickly. "You said you would give yourself up to me and Mr. Mason, I for one won't act the part of a—a—"

"Thief-catcher," suggested Gascoyne.

"Well, put it so if you will; and I am certain that the missionary will not have anything to do with your capture. He will say that the officers of justice are bound to attend to such matters. It would be perfectly right in you to try to escape."

"Ah, Henry! your feelings have warped your judgment," said Gascoyne, shaking his head. "It is strange how men will prevaricate and deceive themselves when they want to reason themselves into a wrong course or out of a right one. But what you or Mr. Mason think or will do has nothing to do with my course of action."

"But the law holds, if I mistake not, that a man is not bound to criminate himself," said Henry.

"I know not and care not what the law of man holds," replied the other sadly. "I have forfeited my life to my country, and I am willing to lay it down."

"Nay, not your life," said Henry; "you have done no murder."

"Well, then, at least my liberty is forfeited. I shall leave it to those who judge me whether my life shall be taken or no. I sometimes wish that I could get away to some distant part of the world, and there, by living the life of an honest man, try to undo, if possible, a little of what I have done. But, woe's me, wishes and regrets come too late. No; I must be content to reap what I have sown."

"They will be certain to hang you," said the youth, bitterly.

"I think it likely they will," replied his companion.

"And would you call that justice?" asked Henry, sharply. "Whatever punishment you may deserve, you do not deserve to die. You know well enough that your word will go for nothing, and no one else can bear witness in your favor. You will be regarded simply as a notorious pirate. Even if some of the people whose lives you have spared while taking their goods should turn up, their testimony could not prove that you had not murdered others; so your fate is certain if you go to trial. Have you any right, then, to compass your own death by thus giving yourself up?"

"Ah, boy, your logic is not sound."

"But answer my question," said the youth, testily.

"Henry, plead with me no longer," said Gascoyne, in a deep, stern tone. "My mind is made up. I have spent many years in dishonesty and self-deception. It is perhaps possible that by a life devoted to doing good I might in the long run benefit men more than I have damaged them. This is just possible, I say, though I doubt it; but I have promised to give myself up whenever this cruise is at an end, and I won't break the last promise I am likely to give in this world; so do not attempt to turn me, boy."

Henry made no reply, but his knitted brows and compressed lips showed that a struggle was going on within him. Suddenly he stood erect, and said, firmly:

"Be it so, Gascoyne. I will hold you to your promise. You shall not escape me!"

With this somewhat singular reply, Henry left his surprised companion, and mingled with the crowd of men who stood on the quarter-deck.

A light breeze had now sprung up, and the Foam was gliding rapidly towards the island. Gascoyne's deep voice was still heard at intervals issuing a word of command, for, as he knew the reefs better than any one else on board, Montague had intrusted him with the pilotage of the vessel into harbor.

When they had passed the barrier-reef, and were sailing over the calm waters of the enclosed lagoon in the direction of Sandy Cove, the young officer went up to the pirate captain with a perplexed air and a degree of hesitation that was very foreign to his character.

Gascoyne flushed deeply when he observed him. "I know what you would say to me," he said, quickly. "You have a duty to perform. I am ready."

"Gascoyne," said Montague, with deep earnestness of tone and manner, "I would willingly spare you this, but, as you say, I have a duty to perform. I would, with all my heart, that it had fallen to other hands. Believe me, I appreciate what you have done within the last few days, and I believe what you have said in regard to yourself and your career. All this, you may depend upon it, will operate powerfully with your judges. But you know I cannot permit you to quit this vessel a free man."

"I know it," said Gascoyne, calmly.

"And—and—" (here Montague stammered and came to an abrupt pause).

"Say on, Captain Montague. I appreciate your generosity in feeling for me thus; but I am prepared to meet whatever awaits me."

"It is necessary," resumed Montague, "that you be manacled before I take you on shore."

Gascoyne started. He had not thought of this. He had not fully realized the fact that he was to be deprived of his liberty so soon. In the merited indignity which was now to be put upon him, he recognized the opening act of the tragedy which was to terminate with his life.

"Be it so," he said, lowering his head, and sitting down on a carronade, in order to avoid the gaze of those who surrounded him.

While this was being done, the youthful Corrie was in the fore part of the schooner whispering eagerly to Alice and Poopy.

"O Alice! I've seen him!" exclaimed the lad.

"Seen who?" inquired Alice, raising her pretty little eyebrows just the smallest morsel.

"Why, the boatswain of the Talisman, Dick Price, you know, who jumped overboard to save Henry when he fell off the raft. Come, I'll point him out."

So saying, Corrie edged his way through the crowd until he could see the windlass. Here, seated on a mass of chain cable, sat a remarkably rugged specimen of the British boatswain. He was extremely short, excessively broad, uncommonly jovial, and remarkably hairy. He wore his round hat so far on the back of his head that it was a marvel how it managed to hang there, and smoked a pipe so black that the most powerful imagination could hardly conceive of its ever having been white, and so short that it seemed all head and no stem.

"That's him!" said Corrie, eagerly.

"Oh! is it?" replied Alice, with much interest.

"Hee! hee!" observed Poopy.

"Stand by to let go the anchor!" shouted Montague.

Instantly bustle and noise prevailed everywhere. The crew of the lost frigate had started up on hearing the order, but having no stations to run to, they expended the energy that had been awakened, in shuffling about and opening an animated conversation in undertones.

Soon the schooner swept round the point that had hitherto shut out the view of Sandy Cove, and a few minutes later the rattling of the chain announced that the voyage of the Foam had terminated.

Immediately after, a boat was lowered, and Gascoyne was conveyed by a party of marines to the shore, and lodged in the prison which had been but recently occupied by our friend John Bumpus.

Mrs. Stuart had purposely kept out of the way when she heard of the arrival of the Foam. She knew Gascoyne so well that she felt sure he would succeed in recapturing his schooner. But she also knew that in doing this he would necessarily release Montague from his captivity, in which case it was certain that the pirate captain, having promised to give himself up, would be led on shore a prisoner. She could not bear to witness this; but no sooner did she hear of his being lodged in jail than she prepared to visit him.

As she was about to issue from her cottage, Henry met her, and clasped her in his arms. The meeting would have doubtless been a warmer one had the mother known what a narrow escape her son had so recently had. But Mrs. Stuart was accustomed to part from Henry for weeks at a time, and regarded this return in much the same light as former home-comings, except in so far as he had news of their lost friends to give her. She welcomed him therefore with a kiss and a glad smile, and then hurried him into the house to inquire about the result of the voyage.

"I have already heard of your success in finding Alice and our friends. Come, tell me more."

"Have you heard how nearly I was lost, mother?"

"Lost!" exclaimed the widow, in surprise; "no, I have heard nothing of that."

Henry rapidly narrated his escape from the wreck of the Wasp, and then, looking earnestly in his mother's anxious face he said, slowly: "But you do not ask for Gascoyne, mother. Do you know that he is now in the jail?"

The widow looked perplexed. "I know it," said she, "I was just going to see him when you came in."

"Ah, mother," said Henry, reproachfully, "why did you not tell me sooner about Gascoyne?"

He was interrupted here by Corrie and Alice rushing into the room, the latter of whom threw herself into the widow's arms and burst into tears, while Master Corrie indulged in some eccentric bounds and cheers by way of relieving his feelings. For some time Henry allowed them to talk eagerly to each other; then he told Corrie and Alice that he had something of importance to say to his mother, and led her into an adjoining room.

Corrie had overheard the words spoken by Henry just as he entered, and great was his curiosity to know what was the mystery connected with the pirate captain. This curiosity was intensified when he heard a half-suppressed shriek in the room where mother and son were closeted. For one moment he was tempted to place his ear to the keyhole! But a blush covered his fat cheeks at the very thought of acting such a disgraceful part. Like a wise fellow, he did not give the tempter a second opportunity, but, seizing the hand of his companion, said:

"Come along, Alice; we'll go seek for Bumpus."

Half an hour afterwards the widow stood at the jail door. The jailer was an intimate friend, and considerately retired during the interview.

"O Gascoyne! has it come to this?" She sat down beside the pirate, and grasped one of his manacled hands in both of hers.

"Even so, Mary; my hour has come. I do not complain of my doom. I have brought it on myself."

"But why not try to escape?" said Mrs. Stuart, earnestly. "There are some here who could aid you in the matter."

Here the widow attempted to reason with Gascoyne, as her son had done before, but with similar want of success. Gascoyne remained immovable. He did indeed betray deep emotion while the woman reasoned with him, in tones of intense earnestness; but he would not change his mind. He said that if Montague, as the representative of the law, would set him free in consideration of what he had recently done, he would accept of liberty; but nothing could induce him to escape.

Leaving him in this mode, Mrs. Stuart hurried to the cottage where Montague had taken up his abode.

The young captain received her kindly. Having learned from Corrie all about the friendship that existed between the widow and Gascoyne, he listened with the utmost consideration to her.

"It is impossible," said he, shaking his head; "I cannot set him free."

"Do his late services weigh nothing with you?" pleaded the widow.

"My dear madam," replied Montague, sorrowfully, "you forget that I am not his judge. I have no right to weigh the circumstances of his case. He is a convicted and self-acknowledged pirate. My only duty is to convey him to England, and hand him over to the officers of justice. I sympathize with you, indeed I do; for you seem to take his case to heart very much; but I cannot help you. I must do my duty. The Foam will be ready for sea in a few days. In it I shall convey Gascoyne to England."

"O Mr. Montague! I do take his case to heart, as you say, and no one on this earth has more cause to do so. Will it interest you more in Gascoyne, and induce you to use your influence in his favor, if I tell you that—that—he is my husband?"

"Your husband!" cried Montague, springing up, and pacing the apartment with rapid strides.

"Aye," said Mrs. Stuart, mournfully, covering her face with her hands. "I had hoped that this secret would die with me and him; but in the hope that it may help, ever so little, to save his life, I have revealed it to you."

"Believe me, the secret shall be safe in my keeping," said Montague, tenderly, as he sat down again, and drew his chair near to that of Mrs. Stuart. "But, alas! I do not see how it is possible for me to help your husband. I will use my utmost influence to mitigate his sentence; but I cannot, I dare not set him free."

The poor woman sat pale and motionless while the captain said this. She began to perceive that all hope was gone, and felt despair settling down on her heart.

"What will be his doom," said she, in a husky voice, "if his life is spared?"

"I do not know. At least I am not certain. My knowledge of criminal law is very slight, but I should suppose it would be transportation for—"

Montague hesitated, and could not find it in his heart to add the word "life."

Without uttering a word, Mrs. Stuart rose, and, staggering from the room, hastened with a quick, unsteady step toward her own cottage.