"Even so," said Gascoyne.
"Well, I have no objection, of course; but it seems to me that you would be more useful at the head of a party of your own men."
"Perhaps I might," replied Gascoyne; "but the coral reefs are dangerous on the north side of the island, and it is important that one well acquainted with them should guide your vessel. Besides, I have a trusty mate, and if you will permit me to send my old shipmate John Bumpus across the hills, he will convey all needful instructions to the Foam."
This was said in so quiet and straightforward a tone that Montague's wrath vanished. He felt ashamed of having shown so much petulance at a time when affairs of so great importance ought to have been calmly discussed; so he at once agreed to allow Bumpus to go. Meanwhile, Henry Stuart, who had been fretting with impatience at this conversation, suddenly exclaimed:
"It seems to me, sirs, that you are wasting precious time just now. I, at least, am quite satisfied with the duty assigned to me; so I'm off: ho! who will join me?"
"I'm your man," cried Corrie, starting up and flourishing the broken saber above his head. At the same moment about a hundred natives ranged themselves round the youth, thus indicating that they, too, were his men.
"Well, lad, away you go," said Gascoyne, smiling; "but Master Corrie must remain with me."
"I'll do nothing of the sort," said Corrie, stoutly.
"Oh yes, you will, my boy, I want you to guide my man Bumpus over the mountains. You know the passes, and he don't. It's all for the good of the cause, you know,—the saving of little Alice."
Corrie wavered. The idea of being appointed, as it were, to a separate command, and of going with his new friend, was a strong temptation, and the assurance that he would in some way or other be advancing the business in hand settled the matter. He consented to become obedient.