Ere this, an observation had been taken by both Captain Phillips and Tom Bartelot, who was an equally good navigator; and, on comparing their notes and working, they found that Pedro had steered so well by the stars at night in the course he had intended to pursue, that the ship was far up the Mozambique Channel, and was then about south latitude 21.8 deg., which made all those who knew anything of the locality deem it almost miraculous that the vessel, which had been so ill watched, had not been cast away in the night on the Europa Rocks, or some other of those treacherous reefs and little islands that stud all the channel, but more especially along the western coast of Madagascar—the Great Britain of Africa, as it has been named.
To put the ship about, and to beat to windward, against the south-west monsoon, for nearly 400 miles, until he could double Cape St. Mary, the most southern point of that long island, and then haul up for St. Louis, in the Mauritius, was the plan at once decided upon by Captain Phillips; and the evening of the second day saw the crippled Hermione, running close-hauled, under all the fore-and-aft canvas he could set upon her, making a long tack towards the coast of Africa, while a tropical sun, that crimsoned sea and sky, sunk amidst clouds of flame in the north-western corner of the horizon.
In one of these long tacks, they saw the Europa Rocks, which looked like a long, low island, with clouds of sea-birds wheeling over it in mid-air, like gnats against the amber-tinted morning sky; but, happily, as yet, they saw nothing of the three red proas, which they heard the officer of the Clyde mention, in conjunction with these rocky islets which lie in the centre of the channel.
Noah, when cleaning out the forecastle bunks—in more than one of which were traces of blood—found some withered daisies. These he brought to Heriot, who gave them, with some complimentary remark, to Ethel, and an exclamation of surprise escaped him when he saw her kiss them, and, while her eyes filled with tears, place them tenderly between the leaves of her Bible; for they were those gathered by her on that dear grave in Acton churchyard, and torn from her breast on that night of terror by the fierce hand of Pedro Barradas—that man, so long a source of terror and aversion, now helpless and gentle as a child in their hands.
CHAPTER XI.
REMORSE.
On the morning after the ship was recaptured, while the Hermione was "going free," and running steadily with her staysails set, Morley and Bartelot visited the dying wretch in the forecastle bunks for a few minutes. His aspect was very striking.
His sharp features were very pale; the rich olive tint they usually wore had fled, and a tawny green replaced it; his lips were black, and, being parted, showed the strong white teeth, clenched firmly by an agony that was mental rather than bodily; his eyes were closed, and his thick black hair was knotted in elf-like knots about his forehead. Under the squalid blankets the Mexican desperado was breathing low and heavily.
Hearing them descend through the forescuttle, he opened his eyes, and gave them a long and sullen stare, expressive only of indifference, for he felt that all ties and cares on earth were broken with him now, for Heriot had not attempted to deceive, but had told him that the hour of his departure was approaching, that mortification had set in, that he could not survive long.
Morley lifted to the sufferer's lips the drinking cup of weak wine-and-water, the only drink they could procure him on board. Pedro moistened his hard-baked mouth, and muttered something expressive of gratitude. He was very weak and quite gentle now.