“There's a young fellow here wants to come ashore; he wants to see one of the white men here. Can he come ashore?”
“Of course he can. D'ye think we're a lot o' cannibals here? I'm a white man myself,” and he laughed coarsely; then added quickly, “Who does he want to see?”
The man who pulled the bow oar sprang to his feet.
“I want to see Henry Deschard!”
“Do you?” was the sneering response. “Well, I don't know as you can. This isn't his day at-home like; besides that, he's a good long way from here just now.”
“I've got good news for him,” urged the man called Maurice.
The beachcomber meditated a few seconds; then he walked down to the boat.
“Look here,” he said, “I'm telling the exac' truth. Deschard's place is a long way from here, in the bush too, so you can't go there in the boat; but look here, why can't you chaps come along with me? I'll show you the way, and you'll have a good look at the island. There's nothin' to be afraid of, I can tell you. Why, these natives is that scared of all them guns there that you won't see 'em for dust when you come with me; an' the chief says as you chaps can drag one of his fish-ponds.”
The mate was tempted; but his orders were to allow only the man Maurice to land, and to make haste back as soon as his mission was accomplished. Shaking his head to the renegade's wily suggestion, he, however, told Maurice that he could go and endeavour to communicate with Deschard. In the meantime he would return to the ship, and tell the captain—“and the other” (these last words with a look full of meaning at the young man) that everything was going on all right.
Foiled in his plan of inducing all the men to come ashore, Corton assumed a careless manner, and told Maurice that he was still willing to conduct him to Deschard, but that he would not be able to return to the ship that night, as the distance was too great.