Without waiting for a reply, the pirate captain walked down the sloping beach and waded slowly into the dark sea.  His motions were so noiseless and stealthy that those who watched him with eager eyes could only discern a figure moving gradually away from them and melting into the thick gloom.

Fierce though the storm was outside, the sheltered waters of the bay were almost calm, so that Gascoyne had no difficulty in swimming off to the Foam without making any noise.  As he drew near, a footstep on the deck apprised him that there was at least a watch left.  A few seconds later a man leaned over the low bulwarks of the vessel on the side on which the swimmer approached.

“Hist! what sort o’ brute’s that!” he exclaimed, seizing a handspike that chanced to be near him and hurling it at the head of the brute.

The handspike fell within a yard of Gascoyne, who, keeping up his supposed character, made a wild splash with his arms and dived like a genuine monster of the deep.  Swimming under water as vigorously as he could, he endeavored to gain the other side of the vessel before he came up; but, finding that this was impossible, he turned on his back and allowed himself to rise gently until nothing but his face appeared above the surface.  By this means he was enabled to draw a full breath, and then, causing himself to sink, he swam under water to the other side of the schooner, and rose under her quarter.

Here he paused a minute to breathe, then glided with noiseless strokes to the main chains, which he seized hold of, and, under their shelter, listened intently for at least five minutes.

Not a sound was to be heard on board save the footsteps of the solitary watchman who slowly paced the deck, and now and then beguiled the tedium of his vigil by humming a snatch of a sea song.

Gascoyne now felt assured that the crew were ashore, enjoying themselves, as they were wont to do, in one of the artificial caverns where their goods were concealed.  He knew, from his own former experience, that they felt quite secure when once at anchor in the harbor of the Isle of Palms; it was therefore probable that all of them had gone ashore except this man, who had been left to take care of the vessel.

Gascoyne now drew himself slowly up into the chains, and remained there for a few seconds in a stooping position, keeping his head below the level of the bulwarks while he squeezed the water out of his lower garments.  This done, he waited until the man on deck came close to where he stood, when he sprang on him with the agility of a tiger, threw him down, and placed his hand on his mouth.

“It will be your wisest course to be still, my man,” said Gascoyne, sternly.  “You know who I am, and you know what I can do when occasion requires.  If you shout when I remove my hand from your mouth, you die.”

The man seemed to be quite aware of the hopelessness of his case; for he quietly submitted to have his mouth bound with a handkerchief, and his hands and feet tied with cords.  A few seconds sufficed to accomplish this, after which Gascoyne took him up in his arms as if he had been a child, carried him below, and laid him on one of the cabin lockers.  Then, dragging a sheet off one of the beds, he sprang up on deck and waved it over the stern.