“Certainly not,” interrupted Dick, with a laugh; “I have no wish to cry off my bargain, as you term it. I merely wish you to understand that I will not attempt to hold you to it if you would prefer the barque to the cutter. The barque would doubtless be more comfortable than the cutter in heavy weather.”
“May be she would, or may be she wouldn’t,” observed Nicholls. “Anyhow, the difference wouldn’t be so very great, one way or the other. But there’s no five hundred pound to be got out of the barque; and I’m bound to have that money, Mr Leslie—”
“Same here,” cut in Simpson.
“All right,” laughed Leslie. “Then that matter is settled for good and all; so we need say no more about it.”
“Question is: What’s she comin’ here for?” inquired Simpson, volunteering a remark for the first time on record.
“Oh, who can tell?” returned Leslie. “She may be a whaler—although I do not believe that she is—putting in here in the hope of finding water. That is the only explanation that has occurred to me as accounting for her presence in this locality—which is really a long way out of any of the usual ship tracks. She is the first craft that I have sighted since my arrival upon this island. But no doubt we shall learn to-morrow—”
“Why, there she is,” interrupted Nicholls, pointing. “By Jingo, just look at that; coming in through the channel as confidently as though she had been in the habit of sailin’ in and out of it every day of her life! And with nothing better than the starlight to see her way by. Well, dash my wig, but that’s a rum go, and no mistake!”
It was even as he said; for while the three men stood there talking together the shadowy form of the barque, under her two topsails and fore-topmast staysail, was seen gliding into the lagoon close past Cape Flora—her skipper evidently perfectly acquainted with the exact situation of the entrance channel—and presently her topsail halliards were let run and the sails clewed up, the rattle of the gear and the cheeping of the blocks being distinctly audible to the three on the beach. Then a minute or two later came the splash of the anchor and the rumbling rattle of the cable through the hawse-pipe, and the barque was seen to swing to her anchor.
“Well, it is perfectly clear that the man who has charge of her has been in here at least once before,” remarked Leslie. “Evidently he knows the place quite well. Now, I wonder what it is that has brought him here; I would give a trifle to know. And, of course, I could readily find out by taking the canoe and paddling off aboard to ask the question. But I will not do that; and, furthermore, it may be just as well not to let those people know—until to-morrow morning, at any rate—that there is anybody on the island, therefore pleads take care, both of you, that no light shows from your hut to-night. And I will just step up to the tent and give Miss Trevor a similar caution. Good night, men. We had better be stirring by dawn to-morrow morning.” So saying, Leslie turned away, and made his way to the tent, where he not only cautioned Flora against showing a light, but took such simple precautions as were required to render it impossible that the necessary lights in the tent should be seen from the barque. Then, this done to his satisfaction, he lighted his pipe and, taking the telescope—which was both a day and a night-glass—once more sauntered down to the beach to watch the proceedings aboard the strange vessel. For although he could find no legitimate reason or excuse for the feeling, it was an undeniable fact that the appearance of this barque upon the scene affected him disagreeably, producing within him a vague sense of unrest that almost amounted to foreboding. Why had she come to the island? That was the question that persistently haunted him, and to which he could find no entirely satisfactory reply. That her presence there was accidental he could not believe, else how came it that the person in charge of her knew so well where to find the channel giving access to the lagoon, and entered it so confidently, not even waiting for the daylight to enable him to see his way in? And as he mused thus he employed himself in intently watching the barque through the night-glass, again noting the fact that the vessel was curiously short-handed, for her people furled only one topsail at a time, and—so far as he could make out—had only four men available for the job, instead of at least twice that number. Furthermore, he noticed that, even for that small number of men, the time consumed in rolling up and stowing the sails was quite unconscionable, arguing the existence of an exceedingly lax discipline—if any at all—aboard the craft. He estimated that it occupied those four men fully two hours to furl the two topsails; and when it was at last done and the men had descended to the deck with exasperating deliberation, he came to the conclusion that, if the night-glass was to be trusted, the job had been done in a most disgracefully slovenly manner.
He patiently watched that barque until all visible signs of life aboard her had vanished, and then he walked thoughtfully back to the tent and turned in—Flora having retired some time before. But ere he could get to sleep he was disturbed by the sounds of a hideous uproar that came floating shoreward from the stranger; and, going again into the open air to hear more clearly, he presently recognised the sounds as those of discordant singing, finally recognising the fact that a regular drunken orgie was in progress aboard the craft—still further evidence of a singularly lax state of discipline.