Just as Thorwald concluded this amiable piece of advice, the deep strong tones of Gascoyne’s voice were heard addressing the first lieutenant.
“You had better hoist your royals and skyscrapers, Mr Mulroy; we shall have a light air off the land presently, and it will require all your canvas to carry the ship round the north point, so as to bring her guns to bear on the village of the savages.”
“The distance seems to me very short,” replied the lieutenant, “and the Talisman sails faster than you may suppose with a light wind.”
“I doubt not the sailing qualities of your good ship, though I could name a small schooner that would beat them in light wind or storm; but you forget that we have to land our stout ally Mr Thorwald with his men at the Goat’s Pass, and that will compel us to lose time, too much of which has been lost already.”
Without reply, the lieutenant turned on his heel and gave the necessary orders to hoist the additional sails, while the captain hastened on deck, leaving Thorwald to finish his pipe in peace, and ruminate on the suspicions which had been raised in his mind.
In less than half an hour the light wind which Gascoyne had predicted came off the land, first in a series of what sailors term “cats’ paws,” and then in a steady breeze which lasted several hours, and caused the vessel to slip rapidly through the still water. As he looked anxiously over the bow, Captain Montague felt that he had placed himself completely in the power of the suspected skipper of the Foam, for coral reefs surrounded him on all sides, and many of them passed so close to the ship’s side that he expected every moment to feel the shock that would wreck his vessel and his hopes at the same time. He blamed himself for trusting a man whom he supposed he had such good reason to doubt, but consoled himself by thrusting his hand into his bosom and grasping the handle of a pistol, with which, in the event of the ship striking, he had made up his mind to blow out Gascoyne’s brains.
About an hour later the Talisman was hove-to off the Goat’s Pass, and Ole Thorwald was landed with his party at the base of a cliff which rose sheer up from the sea like a wall.
“Are we to go up there?” inquired Ole in a rueful tone of voice, as he surveyed a narrow chasm to which Gascoyne guided him.
“That is the way. It’s not so bad as it looks. When you get to the top, follow the little path that leads along the cliffs northward, and you will reach the brow of a hill from which the native village will be visible. Descend and attack it at once, if you find men to fight with—if not, take possession quietly. Mind you don’t take the wrong turn; it leads to places where a wild-cat would not venture even in daylight. If you attend to what I have said, you can’t go wrong. Good night. Shove off.”
The oars splashed in the sea at the word, and Gascoyne retained to the ship, leaving Ole to lead his men up the Pass as he best might.