“What’s happening on the Marjorie?” asked Berwick.
The steward did not know. He told of liberating Jim, who had gotten into the Sea Eagle’s dory, and had ordered the two Swedes who manned the oars, and who of course did not know him, to row him ashore. The steward, filled with remorse for his treachery to the professor, had later swam to the land and, uncertain what to do, now really welcomed his capture.
“We will leave your fate to later consideration,” said the professor, “and if Jim is not found on board, it will go hard with you.”
The other made no protest to this decision and promptly they undertook the return journey to their ship.
Every precaution was taken to prevent the escape of the steward, but he made no effort in that direction. He walked with bowed head, misery in his face and manner.
Fully two thirds of their return journey had been accomplished when they were startled by the sound of three long blasts from the Storm King whistle. What new danger might portend?
Onward now they pressed with the utmost speed, and arriving at the water’s edge they saw the welcome sight of the Storm King riding safely at anchor, and recognized two familiar figures on the bridge. Jim was one, safe and sound to all appearances, and the other Jranvin, the Rarihue chief.
Another sight greeted their eyes. It was two long, rakish crafts, manned by many dusky islanders which lay peacefully enough along side the big ship.
In a brief interval all were on board and explanations were in order. Jim was uproariously welcomed and quickly told his story, which brought astonishment to the ears of his listeners. Briefly this was his tale: The steward had unlocked his door and paved the way for his escape, but Jim had not rowed ashore. He had observed the contending factions of the two ships, who having rescued from the water those who had fallen overboard from the long boat, for the nonce fraternized and were bent on a visit to the Marjorie for further orgies and libations.