“They have gone, Charley,” he exclaimed; “all our people and thirty natives. I stopped to the last, trying to persuade them to give up their wicked plan; but they answered that the natives had murdered our friends and burned our ship, and that they had a right to treat them as they chose. I said that I was sure we ought not to return evil for evil, and that they might have found some other way of making their escape, and that no good could possibly come of what they were about. They abused me, and asked me if I was going to betray them, and that if I would not come with them, I must take the consequences, as the natives were sure to murder us, as soon as they discovered what had become of their countrymen. Even now I think I was wrong in not warning Motakee, for I consented to evil, though I would not join in it.”
When Motakee found that the schooner had sailed, he allowed me to go about as usual, and treated Dick with far more respect than before. Dick, indeed, soon became his right-hand man, or councillor, and the people looked up to him as the person next to the chief, in consequence.
Some days after this it came on to blow very hard, and the sea beat with tremendous fury on the rocky coast. Dick and I wished to have a sight of the huge breakers outside the harbour. We went along the shore for some distance, to a part exposed to the whole sweep of the ocean. As we were looking along it, Dick exclaimed that he saw a vessel on the rocks. We made our way as near as we could get to the spot.
“Charley, I am afraid that is the schooner,” Dick exclaimed; “but there is not a living being on board.”
We crept on still closer to the little vessel. We shouted loudly, lest any one might have been washed on shore, but no reply came to our cries.
“I am afraid every one has been washed away,” he observed. “If the natives had been on board, they are such first-rate swimmers that some of them would have managed to reach the land.”
We looked about in every direction, but could discover no boats on the beach nor any sign of a living man.
“It’s too likely that our people did as they intended, and having got rid of the natives, were themselves caught in the hurricane and driven back here; but we shall never know, I suspect, what has happened.”
After spending a considerable time in searching about, being unable to get nearer the wreck, we returned home. We told Motakee what we had seen; but, of course, did not mention our suspicions.
“I knew that the voyage would work us no good, to your people or mine,” he observed; “and I am very glad you did not sail in the vessel.”