The pipe was gently squeezed at this point, and the sentence abruptly cut short.
“Come, boy, you must not speak so loud. Enemies are near. If you don’t behave I’ll have to throttle you. I have come from Sandy Cove with a party to save you and your friends.”
Corrie did not believe a word of this. He knew, or at least he supposed, that Gascoyne had left the schooner, not having seen him since they sailed from Sandy Cove; but he knew nothing of the manner in which he had been put ashore.
“It won’t do, Gascoyne,” gasped poor Corrie, on being permitted again to use his wind-pipe. “You may kill me, but you’ll never cow me. I don’t believe you, you cowardly monster.”
“I’ll have to convince you then,” said Gascoyne, suddenly catching the boy in his arms, and bearing him swiftly away from the spot.
Corrie struggled like a hero, as he was. He tried to shout, but Gascoyne’s right hand again squeezed the wind-pipe; he attempted to bite, but the same hand easily kept the refractory head in order; he endeavoured to kick and hit, but Gascoyne’s left hand encircled him in such a comprehensive embrace and pressed him so powerfully to his piratical bosom that he could only wriggle. This he did without ceasing, until Gascoyne suddenly planted him on his feet, panting and dishevelled, before the astonished faces of Frederick Mason and Ole Thorwald.
It is not necessary to describe in detail the surprise of all then and there assembled, the hurried conversation, and the cry of joy with which the missionary received the information that Alice was safe and within five minutes’ walk of the spot on which he stood. Suffice it to say, that Corrie was now convinced of the good faith of Gascoyne, whom he at once led, along with Mr Mason, to the tent where Alice and her friends slept—leaving Thorwald and his men where they were, to await further orders.
The cry of wild delight with which Alice sprang into her father’s arms might have been destructive of all Gascoyne’s plans had not the wind carried it away from the side of the island where the pirate schooner lay. There was now no time to be lost. After the first embrace, and a few hurried words of blessing and thanksgiving, the missionary was summoned to a consultation.
“I will join you in this enterprise, Mr Gascoyne,” said Montague. “I believe what you say to be true, besides, the urgency of our present danger leaves me no room for choice. I am in your power. I believe that in your present penitent condition you are willing to enable us to escape from your former associates; but I tell you frankly that, if ever I have an opportunity to do so, I will consider it my duty to deliver you over to justice.”
“Time is too precious to trifle thus,” said Gascoyne, hurriedly. “I have already said that I will deliver myself up—not however to you, but to Mr Mason—after I have rescued the party, so that I am not likely to claim any consideration from you on account of the obligation which you seem to think my present act will lay you under. But you must not accompany me just now.”