CHAPTER XIX.
JACK AND HARRY GIRDWOOD AFLOAT—THE SQUALL—THE SHIPWRECKED
BOY—DEEDS OF HEROISM—THEIR REWARD—A DEADLY PERIL.
"Down with sail, Jack; we shall be over if we are not sprightly," said Harry.
Young Jack laughed.
The thought of danger actually made him merry, and so proved that he was every inch a Harkaway—a thorough chip of the old block.
"There's no fear, old fellow," he said.
A sudden gust of wind caught the sail, and caused the boat to give such a lurch at this very moment that both the boys were sent flying.
They got some hard knocks.
But neither was afraid of a little rough usage, and so they only scrambled to their feet, laughing boisterously, as if there was great fun in barked shins and bruised arms.
"I told you so, Jack," said Harry Girdwood.
"No harm done," retorted Jack, rubbing a damaged part and grinning.
"No, but don't let us be too foolish; we might get into trouble."
Young Jack roared at this.
"Soho-ho!" he cried. "Shipped another passenger, Harry, have you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you've got Captain Funk aboard."
"Not I," returned Harry, "only if we get into any foolish scrape, they won't let us come out for a sail again, and as this is the only jaunt left us, we may as well keep ourselves quiet."
"There's something in that," said young Jack,
So saying, he set about reefing the sail with all possible despatch.
Now it was barely accomplished when a violent gust of wind drove the little craft along at a furious rate.
It was only just in time.
A moment more and the sail would have been shredded, or, what was still worse, the boat would have been capsized for a certainty.
Harry Girdwood lowered the oars and pulled sharply along before the fury of the gale, while young Jack baled out a little water that had been shipped in the first heavy lurch, before the youthful mariners had been fully prepared for such violent treatment, and steered at the same time.
In this way they contrived to elude the violence of the gale for the present, at least.
But the danger was by no means overcome.
They had not got through the worst of their trouble as yet, little as they anticipated any serious danger.
The gale had come on with strange suddenness, and the truth was that they could hardly realize the extent of their danger.
It was great.
There was, perhaps, a special providence in their ignorance of their real peril, for their coolness alone gave them any chance in the present emergency.
They were brave boys both—never were there braver—yet it is no disparagement of them to say that there was very great probability of their losing their sang froid if they had known how very critical their position actually was.
As it happened, they did the very best thing to do under the circumstances.
They kept their boat before the wind, and by vigorous rowing, they contrived to drive along at a rate which was literally tremendous.
And so on they scudded for about ten miles, when the wind dropped a little, and the pace began to tell upon them both.
"Keep her off shore, Jack," cried Harry Girdwood.
"Right."
The wind and rain had half blinded young Jack, and although he had said "Right," he steered decidedly wrong.
He could not see where they were going.
"Look out!"
Harry Girdwood only just spoke in time for young Jack to take heed of the warning, for a minute later and they shot past some sharp, jagged rocks, into which they would inevitably have dashed but for a lucky tug at the rudder at the very last moment.
Now the roar of the wind and waters had just begun to lull a little, when a loud cry for help was heard.
And then, for the first time, they perceived that a boat had just been launched by a boy at not more than thirty yards along the beach, and being carried out to sea by a huge receding wave, had become unmanageable.
They could see with half an eye that the boy had no skill in handling a boat.
"Help, help!" cried the strange lad, waving his hand in distress towards their boat.
"All right," shouted young Jack. "We're there."
Harry Girdwood pulled vigorously towards the venturesome youth.
A few strokes brought them within twenty feet of the imperilled youth, and he would have been got away in safety but for his own folly and imprudence.
"Sit still," shouted young Jack. "Sit still."
"He'll be overboard," ejaculated Harry, glancing over his shoulder.
The words of the latter proved but too prophetic
A cry from young Jack—a piercing shriek from the other boat.
When Harry Girdwood glanced over his shoulder again, he saw the other boat, keel upwards, floating away.
The unfortunate youth, its late occupant, was nowhere to be seen.
"He's gone!"
"He has," cried young Jack, starting up, "and by all that's unlucky, he can't swim. Pull on, pull hard. Pull for mercy's sake."
And young Jack stood up in the boat, tearing off his jacket and waistcoat.
"What are you after?"
"I'm in after him."
"Jack, Jack, you'll never live in this heavy sea."
"Never fear, old boy, I'll try."
"You shall not, I say. You—"
"Here goes," cried young Jack.
And before Harry Girdwood could interfere, over he went, head first, into the boiling waves.
Harry Girdwood held his breath in sheer fright.
He shipped his oars and peered over the boat's side.
Where was he?
Would he never come up?
Oh, Heaven! what a fearful time it seemed that the intrepid boy was under water.
It seemed an age.
In reality it was but a minute, no more, before young Jack struck up to the surface.
He struck out with one hand—the other grasped something.
"Harry."
"Yes, Jack."
"I've got him."
"Hold tight."
"I mean to," responded young Jack, with great coolness, all things considered.
And now Harry could see that Jack's left hand was twined in the black flowing hair of the half senseless boy.
The latter had no sooner reached the air and gulped down a breath or two greedily, than consciousness came partly back, and he threw his arms about his preserver and struggled desperately.
"Leave go," cried young Jack. "Let go, or we shall both go down together."
But it is not easy to reason with a drowning man.
Young Jack found himself now in a desperate strait indeed.
The frantic efforts of the rescued boy impeded his movements, entirely baffling the heroic Jack's best efforts.
Harry Girdwood saw it all, and his terror increased every moment.
Well it might.
The mad struggles of the stranger imperilled both.
"Dive, Jack, dive," cried Harry Girdwood, frantically; "dive with him, or it is all up with both of you."
Jack heard him.
Twisting like an eel in the embrace of the boy he would save, he dived down, dragging the stranger with him.
In the space of a few seconds he reappeared again upon the surface, observing his former tactics.
Striking out with his right arm, while with his left hand he grasped the stranger's long black hair.
"Catch hold of him," gasped young Jack; "never mind me."
Harry Girdwood leant over the boat's side and caught at the stranger by the collar.
"There; hold on like that," said young Jack.
The weight coming all upon one side of the boat, however, threatened to capsize it, and so they had to act with the greatest precaution.
Young Jack, however, struck out and swam round the boat, so that his weight, clinging upon the further side of the boat, served to steady it while Harry Girdwood completed the rescue of the stranger.
"Bravo!" cried young Jack.
"It was a tough job," said Harry.
"And a narrow squeak for all of us."
"Right; but let's look after this poor fellow. He's alive."
"Yes."
"I'm glad of that; it would have been precious hard after all the work, not to mention the risk run, to have let him slip his cable in spite of us."
"Well, it is not his fault that he's alive now."
"Alive." quoth young Jack, "by George! He looks more dead than alive as it is."
"Don't fear for him, Jack; he's as good as twenty dead men so far, but how are you getting on?"
"Hearty. Rather damp outside, nothing more."
"And inside?"
"Damp too. Why, I shipped a bellyful of salt water last drop down; enough to salt a barrel of junk."
Harry turned his attention to the stranger.
"He keeps insensible a very long time," he said to young Jack; "it begins to look serious."
"Move the scat," said young Jack, "and let us lay him flat down upon his back at the bottom of the boat. I have always heard that that is the proper thing to do."
No sooner said than done.
Presently they were rewarded for their pains by detecting a faint breathing.
"How white his neck is," said Harry Girdwood.
"And how small and delicate his hands," said young Jack.
"One would almost take him for a woman."
"He'd pass very well for one if he wore petticoats."
"I'm almost inclined as it is to think that—"
"Ha! He's coming round."
The youth opened his eyes and stared about him.
He looked half scared at first one and then the other.
"You are better now," said young Jack, taking his hand.
He stared.
Jack had spoken in English in his anxiety.
He put the same sentiment into the best Greek he could muster.
"Yes, yes," replied the stranger, "better, better," and then he appeared to grow more and more confused; "but what is this? Have I been ill?"
"Yes."
"Ah!"
"Not very; it is all well now. Don't you remember—"
The rocking of the boat furnished the missing link in the chain of memory, and the rescued boy showed, by a ray of intelligence in his bright face, that it had all come back to him.
A smile of grateful acknowledgment of their services shot over his countenance.
Then suddenly his expression changed.
"Where are we going?" he demanded, with the most extraordinary eagerness.
"Ashore."
"Oh, no, no, no!" he exclaimed; "not ashore here."
"Why not?"
"You must not go ashore here," said the youth, eagerly, "not for worlds."
"Why?"
Jack was questioning the stranger while Harry Girdwood shot the boat into a favourable creek.
Harry jumped out.
"Come along," he said cheerfully.
"Safe on shore."
"And precious glad of it," added young Jack.
The stranger looked upon him in anxious expectation, and finding they were alone, he turned eagerly to his young preservers.
"Put off again," he said; "put out to sea, I tell you."
"Why?"
"You have disarmed me; you have saved my life and shown me tenderness and care—aye, brotherly love. Oh," he added earnestly, "pray go now; at once, while you are free."
"Well," quoth young Jack, with a long whistle, "this is a rum go."
Before another word could be spoken, there was heard a whistle, which sounded like the echo of young Jack's note; an answer came from another direction, and half-a-dozen men sprang forward from no one could see where, and pounced upon our two bold boys, Jack and Harry Girdwood.
"Bravo, Theodora!" cried a familiar voice in English, "you play the part of decoy to perfection. We have got them at last."
Young Jack started.
He turned pale and haggard, looking in a moment to Harry.
"Do you know that voice?"
"I do," replied Harry Girdwood.
"We are sold, undone. It is the villain Hunston."
* * * * *
It was but a little while after young Jack and Harry Girdwood had been entrapped, when a strange scene took place.
Evening was coming on.
Brigand sentinels had been posted at each path by which their haunt could be approached, and one was perched high above on a flat rock, which overlooked everything, without having seen himself except by the very sharpest of eyes.
Hunston, after visiting the outposts and seeing that everything was safe for the night, climbed up to this spot, and seated himself on a large stone.
He felt feverish, and at that elevation he might feel something of the breeze, a thing unknown down below at the bivouac, which was closely surrounded by thick bushes.
Strange dreads and doubts filled Hunston's mind, dread of the future, dread of a lingering illness through his arm, which daily grew worse, dread of death, which he felt convinced must be the end, and doubts whether eventually his enemy Harkaway would not triumph.
For Hunston's hatred of Harkaway knew no abatement; living or dying, the same fierce, unquenchable thirst after vengeance would fill his soul.
But what troubled him most now was his health.
The shoulder to which the mechanical arm was attached was so painful, it could scarcely bear the pressure of the clothing he wore; the blood in his veins, after flowing through that part of the system, seemed to return to his heart heated almost to boiling point, but that heat did not stimulate him to exertion.
On the contrary, he felt languid and scarcely able to do the duties that devolved upon him as Toro's lieutenant.
Nor was his brain so clear as in former days.
Ideas he had in plenty, but they seemed to jostle and confuse each other in their endeavours to settle down into a connected train of thought.
Emmerson's vengeance was working.
As he sat there, the sentinel remained motionless, leaning on his carbine and peering over the edge of the precipice.
Presently Diana, the widow of Mathias, came up the rock, and Hunston rose to greet her.
"Your husband is to a certain extent avenged," said he.
"How?"
"Harkaway's boy is in our power,"
"That is something, at all events. That girl Theodora, the niece of Tomaso, has done her work well. Vengeance has commenced."
"Yes, but—"
"But what?"
"There is a hitch in the proceedings. The girl is softhearted, and begged hard for their lives."
"She is a fool! By Heaven, I am half inclined to do the deed myself with this dagger."
"In which case Toro would probably do for you."
"What, is he turned craven?"
"No; but he is sweet on Theodora, and for her sake is inclined to spare them."
Hunston knew well enough that all this was false, as, unless certain conditions were promptly complied with, Toro would certainly kill both of them without the slightest hesitation or compunction.
But he did not tell Diana.
"But," he continued, "what is your idea of vengeance?"
"I would wring other hearts as mine has been wrung. I would cause blinding tears to dim the brightness of other eyes besides mine. I would cause the stern judge Death to pass a decree of divorce upon others besides myself and Mathias. When Harkaway is a widower, or his wife a widow, then I shall consider my vengeance partly accomplished."
"Humph! for a woman you are tolerably moderate. I shall not be satisfied till the Harkaways and the Harveys are destroyed root and branch-till the other accursed detective, Nabley, his American friend Jefferson, the negroes, the wooden-legged ass Mole, till every one of the party is swept away out of my path. Harkaway taught me to hate, and I swear by all the eternal powers of earth, heaven, and hell, he shall see how I have profited by the lesson."
Diana was silent for a few moments; then, with something like a sneer, said—
"You are a brave man—in words, Signor Hunston."
"My acts speak for themselves."
"And little have they said for some time past. But listen; I have sworn a deep and deadly revenge."
"Well."
"This evening I depart."
"Good."
"When I return again, you may expect to hear that Harkaway is dead or his wife."
The excited woman glided away, and Hunston, after smoking a cigarette, followed her.
"Good?" chuckled Hunston to himself, "I could not have a better ally than that woman; for she can go where I dare not show myself, and will find opportunities for carrying out her plans unsuspected. Beware, Harkaway! for though I have waited years for revenge, it is now within my grasp."