In the extremity of their consternation the flying raiders seemed unable to make up their minds what to do, and for a few minutes all was confusion aboard the canoe, during which the catamaran swept up to her hand over hand until the two craft were abreast, Dick taking the precaution to keep some fifty yards of water between him and the canoe, as he fully expected to be received with a shower of spears. Nor was he disappointed; for, as he ranged up alongside, the natives as one man rose to their feet, and in an instant some thirty spears were hurtling toward him. He had probably never been much nearer death than he was at that moment, for the spears flew all round him, one of them actually sweeping the cap off his head; but he remained untouched. Leslie at once raised his rifle to his shoulder, and selecting as a mark the individual who wielded the steering-paddle—in whom he instantly recognised the ci-devant Cuffy, with Sambo standing next to him—fired. The savage flung up his arms, staggered for a moment, and then fell backward overboard. Then, as the catamaran swept ahead, he caught a glimpse of something white lying in the stern of the canoe that he knew must be Flora’s white-clothed body.
Quick as thought Leslie recharged both rifles, and hauling his wind, shot athwart the bows of the canoe; then he tacked, and, shaping a course that would enable him to cross the canoe’s stern at a distance of about eighty yards, hauled his fore sheet to windward, checking the way of the catamaran and allowing her to cross quite slowly. Then he once more raised his rifle, and pointed it at Sambo. But the tragic fate of Cuffy had already produced its effect upon the now thoroughly terrified savages, who by this time realised that to remain in the canoe was but to court death. Yet what else could they do? There was but one alternative, and that was—to jump overboard, and trust to their ability to swim to the island that loomed ghostly in the moonlight ahead. And this they did, one after the other—the laggards being stimulated by another shot or two from Leslie’s rifle—until the canoe, a fine big craft of about five feet beam and forty feet long, fitted with an outrigger, was empty of savages. Then, without troubling himself particularly as to what was likely to become of his beaten foes, Leslie gibed over, and shot alongside the canoe, jumping into her with the end of a rope that he had already made fast on board the catamaran. This rope’s-end he deftly threw in the form of a half-hitch round the quaintly carved figure-head of the canoe, taking the end aft and making it fast round the heel of the mast, thus effectually securing the craft to the catamaran in a manner convenient for the towage of the former. This done, he strode aft, until he came to where Flora lay. And his blood rose to boiling-point as he bent over her; for he saw that not only had she been gagged, but that she had also been bound hand and foot so cruelly tight that she must have endured hours of untold agony.
Chapter Thirteen.
The Drifting Raft.
Without losing an instant Leslie whipped out his knife, and with a few strokes of its keen blade freed the unfortunate girl from her bonds; then, without saying a word to her, or wasting time in asking questions, he raised her tenderly in his arms, and, hauling the canoe alongside the catamaran, carried her aboard the latter and gently laid her upon the mattress that he had brought along with him for her especial benefit. The girl was practically in a state of collapse from her protracted sufferings; but by pouring a little brandy between her lips, and gently chafing her limbs where they had been compressed by the tightly drawn bonds, and thus restoring the arrested circulation of the blood, he at length brought her back to a sense of her surroundings. And then, as might have been expected, as soon as she fully realised that she had been rescued, and that she had nothing further to fear from her late captors, her tensely strained nerves suddenly gave way and she broke into a passion of weeping so violent that it thoroughly alarmed Leslie, who, poor ignorant creature, knew not what to do. Therefore, in the extremity of his ignorance, he did the very best thing possible; that is to say, he took her into his arms and soothed her with many tender and loving words. And as soon as she was calm enough to eat and drink, he placed food and wine before her, and set her a good example by eating and drinking heartily himself, chattering trivialities all the time to divert her mind, so far as he could, from her recent terrible adventure. Then, when she had taken all that he could persuade her to swallow, he insisted that she must lie down and endeavour to sleep.
The rescue of Flora having been happily effected, Leslie was naturally anxious to get back to the island as quickly as possible; for he dreaded lest the fearful shock that the girl had sustained, the long hours of intense physical suffering and of even more intense mental agony that she had endured, should seriously affect her health, and it was only on the island itself that he could afford her the requisite care and attention to ward off or battle with such a result. He therefore at once hauled his wind, and, with the captured canoe in tow, headed the catamaran on her homeward journey.
And now it was that for the first time he fully realised how strongly the trade wind was really blowing, for, close-hauled as the catamaran was, she felt the full strength of the breeze. It piped through her scant rigging with the clamour of half a gale, and poured into her canvas with a savageness of spite that threatened to tear the cloths clean out of the bolt-ropes, while it careened the craft until the lee gunwale was completely buried in the hissing turmoil of foaming yeast that roared out from under her lee bow and swept away astern at a headlong speed that made Leslie giddy to look at. And so furiously did the over-pressed catamaran charge into the formidable seas that came rushing at her weather bow that she took green water in on deck at every plunge, that swept aft as far as her mast ere it poured off into the dizzy smother to leeward, while her foresail and mainsail were streaming with spray to half the height of their weather leeches. Leslie knew that he was not treating his craft fairly in driving her thus recklessly in a strong breeze against a heavy sea; but he had perfect faith in her; he had driven every bolt and nail in her with his own hands, and was confident that there was not a weak spot anywhere about her; and the excitement and tension of the last few hours had wrought him into a condition of desperate impatience that would brook nothing savouring of delay. And, being completely dominated by this spirit of impatience, it was a vexation to him to find that he would be unable to weather the island without making a board to the southward, for as he stood there at the tiller the whole island—or at least as much of it as showed above the horizon—loomed out as a misty grey blot against the star-lit heavens clear of the luff of his foresail.
Leaning forward, Leslie gently raised the corner of the tarpaulin with which he had covered Flora to protect her from the moon’s rays and the drenching spray, and found, to his intense relief, that she had fallen asleep, the sleep, probably, of complete exhaustion. Nor was he greatly surprised at this, for, as a matter of fact, now that the frightful danger was past and his excitement was subsiding, he also began to experience a sensation of weariness and a desire for sleep. But this it was of course quite impossible to indulge just then, so he lighted a pipe instead, and gave himself up to reverie, steering the craft mechanically, with his eye steadfastly fixed upon the luff of his mainsail, as a sailor will, although his thoughts may be thousands of miles away from his surroundings.