‘But am I to understand,’ I exclaimed, ‘that all hands of you intend to quit the ship, leaving this lady alone on board?’
‘Joe Wetherly and Jim Simpson’ll remain,’ he replied; ‘they’ll keep a lookout, and two’s enough with us men in hail of their voices. Now, sir, if you please.’
The crew standing in the gangway were looking my way with signs of irritation in their bearing. I merely needed to give one glance at the carpenter’s face to satisfy me that temper, protest, appeal, would be hopeless; that refusal must simply end in my being bodily laid hold of. I was urged by every instinct in me to a policy of conciliation. To irritate the fellows would be the height of folly; to provoke the indignity of being seized and roughly thrust into the boat, the utmost degree of madness. My resolution was at once formed.
‘I will accompany you, Mr. Lush,’ I said. ‘Get you gone on to the quarter-deck whilst I say a few words to comfort my companion.’
He walked away to the gesture with which I accompanied this request.
‘Miss Temple, pray take heart. Wetherly is one of the two men who are to be left. You will feel safe here with him on board until I return.’
‘Until you return!’ she cried, with her eyes full of misery and horror. ‘I shall never see you more!’
‘Oh no; do not believe such a thing. The men imagine I shall be of service to them in lighting upon the spot where the gold is. They cannot do without me as a navigator. They will bring me off with them when they leave the island.’
‘I shall never see you again,’ she repeated in a voice of exquisite distress. ‘Why could they not have left us together here?’
‘Now, Mr. Dugdale, if you please,’ bawled the carpenter from the head of the poop ladder.