seas has received so much annoyance from him as I have. Any one who could rid them of his presence would do good service to the cause of humanity. But,” he added, while a grim smile overspread his handsome face, “it is said that few vessels can cope with his schooner in speed, and I can answer for it that he is a bold man, fond of fighting, with plenty of reckless cut-throats to back him, and more likely to give chase to a sloop-of-war than to shew her his heels. I trust you are well manned and armed, Captain Montague, for this Durward is a desperate fellow, I assure you.”
The young commander’s countenance flushed as he replied, “Your anxiety on my account, sir, is quite uncalled for. Had I nothing but my own longboat wherewith to attack this pirate, it would be my duty to do so. I had scarcely expected to find unmanly fears exhibited in one so stalwart in appearance as you are. Perhaps it may relieve you to know that I am both well manned and armed. It is not usual for a British man-of-war to cruise in distant seas in a less suitable condition to protect her flag. And yet, methinks, one who has spent so many years of his life on salt water might know the difference between a frigate and a sloop-of-war.”
“Be not so hasty, young man,” answered Gascoyne, gravely; “you are not on your own quarter-deck just now. There ought to be civility between strangers. I may, indeed, be very ignorant of the cut and rig of British war vessels, seeing that I am but a plain trader in seas where ships of war are not often wont to unfurl their flags, but there can be no harm, and there was meant no offence, in warning you to be on your guard.”
A tinge of sarcasm still lingered in Captain Montague’s tone as he replied, “Well, I thank you for the caution. But to come to the point, what know you of this pirate—this Durward, as he calls himself; though I have no doubt he has sailed under so many aliases that he may have forgotten his real name.”
“I know him to be a villain,” replied Gascoyne.
“That much I know as well as you,” said Montague.
“And yet it is said he takes fits of remorse at times, and would fain change his way of life if he could,” continued Gascoyne.
“That I might guess,” returned the other; “most wicked men have their seasons of remorse. Can you tell me nothing of him more definite than this, friend?”
“I can tell you that he is the very bane of my existence,” said Gascoyne, the angry expression again flitting for a moment across his countenance. “He not only pursues and haunts me like my own shadow, but he gets me into scrapes by passing his schooner for mine when he is caught.”
The young officer glanced in surprise at the speaker as he uttered these words.
“Indeed,” said he, “that is a strange confusion of ideas. So then, the two schooners bear so strong a resemblance as to be easily mistaken for each other?”
“They are twins. They were built at the same time, from the same moulds, and were intended for the sandal-wood trade between these islands and Calcutta, Manilla, and Australia. One of them, the Avenger, was seized on her first voyage, by this Durward, then mate of the schooner, and has ever since scoured the South Seas as a pirate; the other, named the Foam, which I have the misfortune to command, still continues the traffic for which she was originally built.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Montague, turning suddenly round with an inquiring gaze at the stalwart figure of the sandal-wood trader; “it is most fortunate that I have met with you, Mr Gascoyne. I doubt not that you can conduct me to this vessel of yours, so that I may know the pirate when I fall in with him. If the two vessels resemble each other so closely, a sight of the Foam will be of great service to me in my search after the Avenger.”
“You are most welcome to a sight of my craft,” replied Gascoyne. “The only difference between the two is, that the figurehead of the pirate is a griffin’s head, painted scarlet, that of my schooner is a female, painted white. There is also a red streak round the sides of the pirate; the hull of the Foam is entirely black.”
“Will you come on board my vessel, and accompany me in one of my boats to yours?” inquired Montague.
“That is impossible,” replied Gascoyne; “I came here on urgent business which will not brook delay; but my schooner lies on the other side of the island; if you pull round, my mate will receive you. You will find him a most intelligent and hospitable man. He will conduct you over the vessel, and give you all the information you may desire. Meanwhile,” added the captain of the Foam, rising and putting on his cap, “I must bid you adieu.”
“Nay, but you have not yet told me when or where you last saw or heard of this remarkable pirate, who is so clever at representing other people, perhaps I should rather say misrepresenting them,” said Montague, with a meaning smile.
“I saw him no longer ago than this morning,” replied Gascoyne gravely. “He is now in these waters, with what intent I know not, unless from his unnatural delight in persecuting me, or, perhaps, because fate has led him into the very jaws of the lion.”
“Humph! he will find that I bite before I roar, if he does get between my teeth,” said the young officer.
“Surely you are mistaken, Gascoyne,” interposed Henry Stuart, who, along with John Bumpus, had hitherto been silent listeners to the foregoing conversation. “Several of our people have been out fishing among the islands, and have neither seen nor heard of this redoubted pirate.”
“That is possible enough, boy, but I have seen him, nevertheless, and I shall be much surprised if you do not see and hear more of him than you desire before many days are out. That villain does not sail the seas for pastime, you may depend on it.”
As Gascoyne said this, the outer door of the house was burst violently open, and the loud voice of a boy was heard in the porch or short passage that intervened between it and the principal apartment of the cottage, shouting wildly—“Ho! hallo! hurrah! I say, Widow Stuart! Henry! here’s a business—sich fun! only think, the pirate’s turned up at last, and murdered half the niggers in—”
There was an abrupt stoppage both of the voice and the muscular action of this juvenile tornado as he threw open the door with a crash, and, instead of the widow or her son, met the gaze of so many strangers. The boy stood for a few seconds on the threshold, with his curly brown hair dishevelled, and his dark eyes staring in surprise, first at one, then at another of the party, until at length they alighted on John Bumpus. The mouth, which up to that moment had formed a round O of astonishment, relaxed into a broad grin, and, with sudden energy, exclaimed—
“What a grampus!”
Having uttered this complimentary remark, the urchin was about to retreat, when Henry made a sudden dart at him, and caught him by the collar.
“Where got you the news, Will Corrie?” said Henry, giving the boy a squeeze with his strong hand.
“Oh, please, be merciful, Henry, and I’ll tell you all about it. But, pray, don’t give me over to that grampus,” cried the lad, pretending to whimper. “I got the news from a feller, that said he’d got it from a feller, that saw a feller, who said he’d heard a feller tell another feller, that he saw a black feller in the bush, somewhere or other ’tween this and the other end o’ the island, with a shot hole in his right arm, running like a cogolampus, with ten pirates in full chase. Ah! oh! have mercy, Henry; really my constitution will break down if you—”
“Silence, you chatter-box, and give me a reasonable account of what you have heard or seen, if you can.”
The volatile urchin, who might have been about thirteen years of age, became preternaturally
