The Madman and the Pirate & Other Sea Adventures - 5 Books in One Edition. R. M. Ballantyne
what’ll be the result of that?” inquired Jack.
“I know not. Perhaps they will kill me; but,” he added, looking at Jack with a peculiar smile, “I too am not afraid to die in a good cause!”
“But how are we to get hold of Avatea?” inquired Jack.
“I have arranged with her to meet us at a particular spot, to which I will guide you to-night. We shall then arrange about it. She will easily manage to elude her keepers, who are not very strict in watching her, thinking it impossible that she could escape from the island. Indeed, I am sure that such an idea will never enter their heads. But, as I have said, you run great danger. Fifty miles in a small canoe, on the open sea, is a great voyage to make. You may miss the island, too, in which case there is no other in that direction for a hundred miles or more; and if you lose your way and fall among other heathens, you know the law of Feejee—a castaway who gains the shore is doomed to die. You must count the cost, my young friend.”
“I have counted it,” replied Jack. “If Avatea consents to run the risk, most certainly I will; and so will my comrades also. Besides,” added Jack, looking seriously into the teacher’s face, “your Bible—our Bible—tells of One who delivers those who call on Him in the time of trouble; who holds the winds in His fists, and the waters in the hollow of His hand.”
We now set about active preparations for the intended voyage: collected together such things as we should require, and laid out on the deck provisions sufficient to maintain us for several weeks, purposing to load the canoe with as much as she could hold consistently with speed and safety. These we covered with a tarpaulin, intending to convey them to the canoe only a few hours before starting. When night spread her sable curtain over the scene, we prepared to land; but first kneeling along with the natives and the teacher, the latter implored a blessing on our enterprise. Then we rowed quietly to the shore and followed our sable guide, who led us by a long détour in order to avoid the village, to the place of rendezvous. We had not stood more than five minutes under the gloomy shade of the thick foliage when a dark figure glided noiselessly up to us.
“Ah, here you are!” said Jack as Avatea approached.—“Now, then, tell her what we’ve come about, and don’t waste time.”
“I understan’ leetl’ English,” said Avatea in a low voice.
“Why, where did you pick up English?” exclaimed Jack in amazement. “You were dumb as a stone when I saw you last.”
“She has learned all she knows of it from me,” said the teacher, “since she came to the island.”
We now gave Avatea a full explanation of our plans, entering into all the details, and concealing none of the danger, so that she might be fully aware of the risk she ran. As we had anticipated, she was too glad of the opportunity thus afforded her to escape from her persecutors to think of the danger or risk.
“Then you’re willing to go with us, are you?” said Jack.
“Yis, I willing to go.”
“And you’re not afraid to trust yourself out on the deep sea so far?”
“No, I not ’fraid to go. Safe with Christian.”
After some further consultation the teacher suggested that it was time to return, so we bade Avatea good-night; and having appointed to meet at the cliff where the canoe lay on the following night, just after dark, we hastened away—we to row back to the schooner with muffled oars, Avatea to glide back to her prison-hut among the Mango savages.
Chapter Thirty Three
The flight—The pursuit—Despair and its results—The lion bearded in his den again—Awful danger threatened and wonderfully averted—A terrific storm.
As the time for our meditated flight drew near, we became naturally very fearful lest our purpose should be discovered, and we spent the whole of the following day in a state of nervous anxiety. We resolved to go ashore and ramble about the village, as if to observe the habits and dwellings of the people, as we thought that an air of affected indifference to the events of the previous day would be more likely than any other course of conduct to avert suspicion as to our intentions. While we were thus occupied, the teacher remained on board with the Christian natives, whose powerful voices reached us ever and anon as they engaged in singing hymns or in prayer.
At last the long and tedious day came to a close, the sun sank into the sea, and the short-lived twilight of those regions, to which I have already referred, ended abruptly in a dark night. Hastily throwing a few blankets into our little boat, we stepped into it, and whispering farewell to the natives in the schooner, rowed gently over the lagoon, taking care to keep as near to the beach as possible. We rowed in the utmost silence and with muffled oars, so that had any one observed us at the distance of a few yards, he might have almost taken us for a phantom boat or a shadow on the dark water. Not a breath of air was stirring; but fortunately the gentle ripple of the sea upon the shore, mingled with the soft roar of the breaker on the distant reef, effectually drowned the slight plash that we unavoidably made in the water by the dipping of our oars.
A quarter of an hour sufficed to bring us to the overhanging cliff under whose black shadow our little canoe lay, with her bow in the water, ready to be launched, and most of her cargo already stowed away. As the keel of our little boat grated on the sand, a hand was laid upon the bow, and a dim form was seen.
“Ha!” said Peterkin in a whisper as he stepped upon the beach; “is that you, Avatea?”
“Yis, it am me,” was the reply.
“All right—Now, then, gently—Help me to shove off the canoe,” whispered Jack to the teacher.—“And, Peterkin, do you shove these blankets aboard; we may want them before long.—Avatea, step into the middle: that’s right.”
“Is all ready?” whispered the teacher.
“Not quite,” replied Peterkin.—“Here, Ralph, lay hold o’ this pair of oars, and stow them away if you can. I don’t like paddles. After we’re safe away, I’ll try to rig up rowlocks for them.”
“Now, then, in with you and shove off!”
One more earnest squeeze of the kind teacher’s hand, and with his whispered blessing yet sounding in our ears, we shot like an arrow from the shore, sped over the still waters of the lagoon, and paddled as swiftly as strong arms and willing hearts could urge us over the long swell of the open sea.
All that night and the whole of the following day we plied our paddles in almost total silence and without a halt, save twice to recruit our failing energies with a mouthful of food and a draught of water. Jack had taken the bearing of the island just after starting, and laying a small pocket-compass before him, kept the head of the canoe due south, for our chance of hitting the island depended very much on the faithfulness of our steersman in keeping our tiny bark exactly and constantly on its proper course. Peterkin and I paddled in the bow, and Avatea worked untiringly in the middle.
As the sun’s lower limb dipped on the gilded edge of the sea Jack ceased working, threw down his paddle, and called a halt.
“There!” he cried, heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh; “we’ve put a considerable breadth of water between us and these black rascals, so now we’ll have a hearty supper and a sound sleep.”
“Hear, hear!” cried Peterkin. “Nobly spoken, Jack!—Hand me a drop of water, Ralph.—Why, girl, what’s wrong with you? You look just like a black owl blinking in the sunshine!”
Avatea smiled. “I sleepy,” she said; and as if to prove the truth of this, she laid her head on the edge of the canoe and fell fast asleep.
“That’s uncommon sharp practice,” said Peterkin with a broad grin. “Don’t you think we should awake her to make her eat something first?