"So can I," replied Richardson. "Give way, strong. Remember, men, if we come up with Tom Newcombe I shall catch him and hold fast to him, and I want you to stand by to defend me with your cutlasses. Do you understand?"
"Ay, ay, sir!" was the answer.
"Whatever we do must be done quickly," continued the young officer. "We can't hope to capture his whole crew, nor beat them in a fair fight. Tom Newcombe is the man we want, and, if I can once get my hands on him I can hold him, if you will keep the others off. Bear in mind, men, that he set fire to our vessel."
There was no danger that the young tars would forget that, for the strokes of the little bell continued to ring in their ears, and, as they passed along, they could hear the watch on board the vessel talking with each other and making inquiries about the fire. Add to this the fact that they were trembling with anxiety for the safety of the yacht, and filled with apprehension lest Tom's new plan should prove successful, and there was no fear but that his crime would be kept in remembrance.
Richardson went the entire length of the harbor without seeing any signs of the Crusoe band. He could hear the boat just ahead of him, but he could not see it, for it was concealed from him by the darkness; neither could he gain on it an inch, although his crew worked at the oars until the perspiration ran in streams down their faces. At length, however, the jolly-boat reached the end of the pier, and the midshipman suddenly discovered something that filled him with excitement. It was a small schooner, which was slowly moving out into the harbor. At her stern was moored a white skiff.
"There they are," whispered Richardson. "Give way strong."
"Hallo, here!" exclaimed a voice from the deck of the schooner. "Boat ahoy!"
The young officer made no reply. He grasped the tiller-ropes more firmly in his hands, and guided the jolly-boat under the stern of the schooner.