“You see, he had not forsaken us,” said Oliver, in a whisper to his friends.
“Ah, at last,” cried the mate, springing on board, and eagerly grasping the young men’s hands. “I was getting in despair about you.”
“And we about you,” said Oliver. “I thought you had left us in the lurch.”
“Just what I should do,” said the mate, grimly. “How was I to come to your help with a pocket knife and a marlin-spike? Those were all the arms we had.”
“What?” cried Oliver. “Where were the guns that Smith brought?”
“Never brote none, sir,” cried Smith. “Didn’t I tell yer the niggers cut me off, when you found me with my toes a-sticking out of the bamboos?”
No other explanation was needed, for the mate soon told them how he had sailed round the island, and been trying again and again to communicate. The next question was, what was to be done?
That was soon decided. The brig was by that time a heap of ashes, and it was madness to think of attacking and punishing the savages; so after a hearty meal, and some rest, the lugger was anchored for the night in the sheltered waters of the lagoon, prior to an early start next morning for one or other of the isles to the east.
But they were not destined to rest in peace. Soon after midnight, the water began to be disturbed, the mountain burst into a frightful state of eruption, and the sea rose and fell so that there was every prospect of their being cast on the island, high and dry once more.
There was plenty of light for the evolutions, so hoisting sails which looked orange in the glow, they ran for the first opening they could find in the reef, passed through in safety, and stood out to sea, where they lay to a few miles away, watching the awfully grand display of fire, rising fountain-like from the volcano, down whose sides golden and blood-red water seemed to be running in streams.