“What!” exclaimed Sir Edgar, “do you still believe in that fellow’s fidelity?”
“Yes,” said I, stoutly. “Do not you?”
“Well,” answered Sir Edgar, “I did, most implicitly. But since the shameful business of this evening I must confess that I have begun to entertain doubts of him. All your plans and precautions, you see, have been framed upon the information with which he has supplied you; and if he really were in the men’s confidence, and anxious to serve you, how came it that he was not aware of the coup which the men have so successfully executed, or, if aware of their intentions, why did he not make an opportunity to warn us? I confess that, to me, it appears very much as though the men had all along feared some suspicion on your part, and had employed him to throw you off your guard.”
“No,” said I, meditatively, “no; I cannot think that. There are certainly one or two circumstances connected with his behaviour that I cannot at present fully understand, and perhaps we shall now never know whether he was really faithful or not; but I still believe him to be so, and I feel confident that, if he cannot help us in any other way, he and Forbes between them will devise some means for procuring our speedy rescue. Now, I am off for the beach. You, I suppose, will remain here; you can scarcely do better to-night, and it is desirable that I should know exactly where to find you again without difficulty, should any unforeseen contingency arise.”
While I was speaking, Miss Merrivale had risen to her feet impetuously, with all the eager, determined look in her face of one who is about to say or do something of a very decisive character; but if such was her intention she checked herself, seemingly, at the moment when the words were about to escape her lips, and contented herself by saying instead—
“Pray be very careful what you do, captain; remember that we are all now utterly dependent upon you!”
I assured her that she might depend absolutely upon my discretion—smiling, rather bitterly, meanwhile, at the reflection that, throughout this business at least, my discretion had been by no means brilliantly conspicuous—and so, with a bow, left the little party clustered together upon the white sand; a curious, yet pretty, picture to any one who could have been suddenly transported from the surroundings of civilisation to that lonely island of the Pacific.
Making my way rapidly along the margin of the basin, close to the water’s edge, where the sand was firm and the walking consequently easy, I soon reached the projecting point that marked the junction of the creek with the river, and bent my steps along the narrow beach toward the estuary. For some distance in this direction the only sound to break the silence of the night was the loud, continuous, indescribable chirr of the countless myriads of insects that haunted the recesses of the jungle; but at length, on rounding a bend in the river, I caught sight of the barque, still at anchor, and at the same moment became conscious of a new sound that, as I progressed toward the mouth of the river, gradually resolved itself into the tones of human voices uplifted in an attempt at melody. The thought that struck me, as this sound first met my ear, was that the men had decided to go to sea forthwith, and were now heaving short the cable—an impression that at once determined me to push on and watch the departure of the sweet little craft. But as I worked my way cautiously along toward the open beach, keeping well within the shadow of the trees, in order that my movements might not attract attention—for the moon, somewhat past the full, now rode high enough in the cloudless sky to render the most minute objects distinctly visible—I bethought me that the mutineers could not be getting their anchor, or I should by this time hear the sharp clank of the windlass pawls mingling with their song; moreover, I was now near enough to distinguish that the singing was not the wailing, monotonous chant and rousing chorus of a “shanty,” but a confused medley of sound, as though all hands were singing at once, and every man a different tune; and I at once came to the conclusion that the fellows had secured some liquor and were indulging in a carouse. Should this be indeed the case—and I fervently hoped that it was—they would probably not desist until every man had become helplessly intoxicated, as they had doubtless secured Forbes so effectually that there would be no possibility of his recovering his freedom until some one chose to release him; while they would scarcely deign to give a thought to us on shore, with the knowledge that the ship was distant at least half a mile from the nearest point of the beach, and that both gigs were securely swinging at the davits.
As this conviction dawned upon me a feeling of renewed hope and fierce exultation leapt up in my heart, and my brain at once became busy with plans for the recovery of the ship. For one of my few accomplishments was that I was a fast and tireless swimmer, and—provided that there were no sharks in the neighbourhood—the half-mile of water that intervened between me and the Esmeralda was no more formidable an obstacle than had it consisted of firm, level roadway. Judging, however, by the present vigorous character of the singing that came pealing across to me from the ship, the opportune moment for such an attempt as I meditated was yet a good hour distant, and I therefore determined to stroll leisurely back to the party at the creek, and acquaint them with the new phase of affairs.
When at length I rejoined the group, I found that during my absence Sir Edgar had so far completed his arrangements for the night that the maids and the children were comfortably bestowed upon the warm, yielding sand, fast asleep, with their heads and faces well shielded from the rays of the moon by a small tent-like structure, consisting of a shawl stretched over an arrangement of sticks cunningly bound together with tough, pliant monkey-rope, while Lady Emily slumbered peacefully by her husband’s side, with his arm about her waist, while her head rested upon his shoulder. Miss Merrivale, however, and Sir Edgar were still awake, and as I approached them the former started to her feet and, with her finger upon her lips as she pointed to the little group of sleepers, murmured softly—