Chapter Seventy Eight.
The Tables nearly Turned.
The sight thus unexpectedly brought before the eyes of the rescuers sends a shiver through their hearts, and draws exclamations of alarm from their lips. With quick intuition one and all comprehend the threatened danger. All at that moment remember having left only two or three men on the barque; and, should the pirates succeed in boarding, they may carry her off to sea, leaving themselves on the isle.
The prospect is appalling! But they do not dwell upon it; they have neither time, nor need. It is too clear, like a flash passing before their minds, in all its dread details! Without waiting to exchange word with one another, they rush on to arrest the threatened catastrophe, bounding over the rocks, crashing through shells and pebbles. But they are behind time, and the others will reach the boat before them!
Crozier, perceiving this, shouts to the coxswain—
“Shove off, Grummet! Into deep water with you!”
Grummet, understanding what is meant, brings the boat-hook point downward, and with a desperate effort, pushes the keel clear, sending the boat adrift.
But before he can repeat the push, pistols are fired, and, simultaneous with their reports, he is seen to sink down, and lie doubled over the thwarts.
A yell of vengeance peals from the pursuing party; and, maddened, they rush on. They will be too late! Already the pirates have reached the boat, now undefended; and all four together, swarming over the gunwale, drop down upon the thwarts, each as he does so seizing hold of an oar, and shipping it.
In agony, Crozier cries out—
“O God! are they to get away—these guilty, redhanded wretches?”
It would seem so. They have already dipped their oar-blades into the water, and commenced pulling, while they are beyond pistol-range.
Ha! something stays them! God is not for them. Their arms rise and fall, but the boat moves not! Her keel is on a coral bottom; her bilge caught upon its rough projections. Their own weight pressing down, holds her fast, and their oar-strokes are idly spent!
They had not thought of being thus stayed; though it proves the turning-point of their fate.
No use their leaping out now, to lighten the boat; no time for that, nor any chance to escape. But two alternatives stare them in the face—resistance, which means death; surrender, that seems the same.
De Lara would resist and die; so also Rocas. But the other two are against it, instinctively holding on to whatever hope of life be left them.
The craven Calderon cuts short the uncertainty by rising erect, stretching forth his arms, and crying out in a piteous appeal for mercy.
In an instant after they are surrounded, the boat grasped by the gunwale, and dragged back to the shore. Crozier with difficulty restrains the angry gold-diggers from shooting them down on the thwarts. Well for them the coxswain has not been killed, but only wounded, and in no danger of losing his life. Were it otherwise, theirs would be taken on the spot.
Assured of his safety, his rescuers pull the four wretches out of the boat; then disarming, drag them up to the platform, and bestow them in the larger cave: for a time to be their prison, though not long. For, there is a judge present, accustomed to sit upon short trials, and pass quick sentences, soon succeeded by their execution. He is the celebrated Justice Lynch.
Represented by a stalwart digger—all the others acting as Jury—the trial is speedily brought to a termination. For the four of Spanish nationality the verdict is guilty—the sentence, death—on the scaffold.
The others, less criminal, are to be carried on to Panama, and there delivered over to the Chilian consul; their crime being mutiny, with robbery, and abandonment of a Chilian vessel.
An exception is made in the case of Striker and Davis. The “Sydney Ducks” receive conditional pardon, on promise of better behaviour throughout all future time. This they obtain by the intercession of Harry Blew, in accordance with the hint he gave them while they were standing together beside the spread tarpauling.
Of the men sentenced to be hanged, one meets his fate in a different manner. The gold-dust has been recovered, packed, and put into the boat. The señoritas are cloaked, and impatient to be taken back to the barque, yearning to embrace him they have so long believed dead.
The English officers stand beside them; all awaiting the last scene of the tragedy—the execution of the condemned criminals.
The stake has been set for it; this the level plot of ground in front of the cavern’s month. A rope hangs down with a running noose at one end; the other, in default of gallow’s arm and branch of tree, rigged over the point of a projecting rock.
All this arranged, De Lara is led out first, a digger on each side of him. He is not tied, nor confined in any way. They have no fear of his making his escape.
Nor has he any thoughts of attempting it; though he thinks of something else, as desperate and deadly. He will not die like a scared dog, but as a fierce tiger; to the last thirsting for blood, to the end trying to destroy—to kill! The oath sworn by him above on the cliff, he still is determined on keeping.
As they conduct him out of the cave, his eyes glaring with lurid light, go searching everywhere, till they rest upon a group some twenty paces distant. It is composed of four persons: Crozier and Carmen, Cadwallader and Iñez, standing two and two.
At the last pair De Lara looks not, the first enchaining his attention. Only one short glance he gives them; another to a pistol which hangs holstered on the hip of a gold-digger guarding him.
A spring, and he has possession of it; a bound, and he is off from between the two men, and rushing on towards the group standing apart!
Fortunately for Edward Crozier—for Carmen Montijo as well—there are cries of alarm, shouts of warning, that reach him in time.
He turns on hearing them, sees the approaching danger, and takes measures to avert it. Simple enough these—but the drawing of his revolver, and firing at the man who advances.
Two shots are heard, one on each side, almost simultaneous; but enough apart to decide which of the two who fired must fall.
Crozier’s pistol had cracked first; and as the smokes of both swirl up, the gambler is seen astretch upon the sward—the blood spurting from his breast, and spreading over his shirt bosom!
Harry Blew, rushing forward, and bending over him, cries out:
“Dead! Shot through the heart—a brave heart too! What a pity ’twar so black!”
“Come away, mia querida!” says Crozier to Carmen. “Your father will be suffering from anxiety about you. You’ve had enough of the horrible. Let us hope this is the end of it.”
Taking his betrothed by the hand, he leads her down to the boat—Cadwallader and Iñez accompanying them.
All seat themselves in the stern-sheets, and wait for the diggers; who soon after appear, conducting their prisoners, the pirate crew of the Condor; short four left behind—a banquet for the caracaras!