Plans Partially Carried Out—The Cutter’s Fate—And A Serious Misfortune.  
The cutter was a fast sailer, and although the pirate schooner had left Sandy Cove nearly two days before her, the Wasp, having had a fair wind, followed close on her heels. The Avenger cast anchor in the harbour of the Isle of Palms on the morning of her fifth day out; the Wasp sighted the island on the evening of the same day.
 
It was not Gascoyne’s purpose to run down at once and have a hand to hand fight with his own men. He felt that his party was too weak for such an attempt, and resolved to accomplish by stratagem what he could not hope to compass by force. He therefore hove-to the instant the tops of the palm-trees appeared on the horizon, and waited till night should set in and favour his designs.
 
“What do you intend to do?” inquired Henry Stuart, who stood on the deck watching the sun as it sank into the ocean behind a mass of golden clouds, in which, however, there were some symptoms of stormy weather.
 
“I mean to wait till it is dark,” said Gascoyne, “and then run down and take possession of the schooner.”
 
Henry looked at the pirate captain in surprise, and not without distrust. Ole Thorwald, who was smoking his big German pipe with great energy, looked at him with undisguised uneasiness.
 
“You speak as if you had no doubt whatever of succeeding in this enterprise, Mr Gascoyne,” said the latter.
 
“I have no doubt,” replied Gascoyne.
 
“I do believe you’re right,” returned Thorwald, smoking furiously as he became more agitated. “I make no question but your villains will receive you with open arms. What guarantee have we, Mister Gascoyne, or Mister Durward, that we shall not be seized and made to walk the plank, or perform some similarly fantastic feat—in which, mayhap, our feet will have less to do with the performance than our necks—when you get into power?”
 
“You have no guarantee whatever,” returned Gascoyne, “except the word of a pirate!”
 
“You say truth,” cried Ole, springing up and pacing the deck with unwonted energy, while a troubled and somewhat fierce expression settled on his usually good-humoured countenance. “You say truth, and I think we have been ill-advised when we took this step—for my part, I regard myself as little better than a maniac for putting myself obstinately, not to say deliberately, into the very jaws of a lion, perhaps I should say a tiger. But mark my words, Gascoyne, alias Durward,” (here he stopped suddenly before the pirate, who was leaning in a careless attitude against the mast, and looked him full in the face,) “if you play us false, as I have no hesitation in saying I believe that you fully intend to do, your life will not be worth a pewter shilling.”
 
“I am yet in your power, Mr Thorwald,” said Gascoyne; “if your friends agree to it, I cannot prevent your putting about and returning to Sandy Cove. But in that case the missionary’s child will be lost!”
 
“I do not believe that my child’s safety is so entirely dependent on you,” said Mr Mason, who had listened in silence to the foregoing dialogue; “she is in the hands of that God on whom you have turned your back, and with whom all things are possible. But I feel disposed to trust you, Gascoyne, and I feel thus, because of what was said of you by Mrs Stuart, in whose good sense I place implicit confidence. I would advise Mr Thorwald to wait patiently until he sees more cause than he does at present for distrust.”
 
Gascoyne had turned round and, during the greater part of this speech, had gazed intently towards the horizon.
 
“We shall have rough weather to-night,” said he; “but our work will be done before it comes, I hope. Up with the helm now, Henry, and slack off the sheets; it is dark enough to allow us to creep in without being observed. Manton will of course be in the only harbour in the island; we must therefore go round to the other side and take the risk of running on the reefs.”
 
“Risk!” exclaimed Henry; “I thought you knew all the passages about the island?”
 
“So I do, lad—all the passages; but I don’t profess to know every rock and reef in the bottom of the sea. Our only chance is to make the island on the south side, where there are no passages at all except one that leads into a bay; but if we run into that, our masts will be seen against the southern sky, even from the harbour where the schooner lies. If we are seen, they will be prepared for us, in which case we shall have a desperate fight with little chance of success and the certainty of much bloodshed. We must therefore run straight for another part of the shore, not far from the bay I have referred to, and take our chance of striking. I think there is enough of water to float this little cutter over the reefs, but I am not sure.”
 
“Think! sure!” echoed Thorwald, in a tone of exasperated surprise; “and if we do strike, Mr Gascoyne, do you mean us to go beg for mercy at the hands of your men, or to swim back to Sandy Cove?”
 
“If we strike I shall take the boat, land with the men, and leave the cutter to her fate. The Avenger will suffice to take us back to Sandy Cove.”
 
Ole was rendered speechless by the coolness of this remark, so he relieved himself by tightening his belt and spouting forth volcanoes of smoke.
 
Meanwhile, the cutter had run to within a short distance of the island. The night was rendered doubly dark by the rapid spreading of those heavy clouds which indicated the approach of a squall, if not a storm.
 
“This is well,” said Gascoyne in a low tone to Henry Stuart, who stood near him; “the worse the storm is to-night the better for the success of our enterprise. Henry, lad, I’m sorry you think so badly of me.”
 
Henry was taken aback by this unexpected remark, which was made in a low sad tone.
 
“Can I think too badly of one who confesses himself to be a pirate?” said Henry.
 
“The confession is at least in my favour. I had no occasion to confess, nor to give myself up to you.”
 
“Give yourself up! It remains to be seen whether you mean to do that or not.”
 
“Do you not believe me, Henry? Do you not believe the account that I gave of myself to you and your mother?”
 
“How can I?” said the young man, hesitatingly.
 
“Your mother believed me.”
 
“Well, Gascoyne, to tell you the plain truth, I do feel more than half inclined to believe you; and I’m sorry for you—I am, from my soul. You might have led a different life—you might even do so yet.”
 
“You forget,” said Gascoyne, smiling sadly, “I have given myself up, and you are bound to prevent my escaping.”
 
Henry was perplexed by this reply. In the enthusiasm of his awakened pity he had for a moment forgotten the pirate in the penitent. Before he could reply, however, the cutter struck violently on a rock, and an exclamation of alarm and surprise burst from the crew, most of whom were assembled on deck.
 
“Silence!” cried Gascoyne in a deep sonorous tone, that was wonderfully different from that in which he had just been speaking to Henry; “get out the boat. Arm yourselves and jump in. There is no time to lose.”
 
“The cutter is hard and fast,” said Henry; “if this squall does not come on, or if it turns out to be a light one, we may get her off.”
 
“Perhaps we may, but I have little hope of that,” returned Gascoyne. “Now, lads, are you all in the boat? Come, Henry, get in at once.”
 
“I will remain here,” said Henry.
 
“For what end?” said Gascoyne, in surprise.
 
“The cutter belongs to a friend; I do not chose to forsake her in this off-hand manner.”
 
“But nothing can save her, Henry.”
 
“Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I will do what I can. She moves a little. If she is lifted over this reef while we are on shore, she will be carried out to sea and lost, and that must not be allowed. Leave me here till you land the men, and then send the boat back with two of them. We will put some of the cutter’s ballast into it and try to tow her............