“That’s the signal for me,” said Corrie, who had watched for it eagerly.  “Now, Uncle Ole, mind you obey orders:  you are rather inclined to be mutinous, and that won’t pay to-night.  If you don’t look out, Gascoyne will pitch into you, old boy.”

Master Corrie indulged in these impertinent remarks while he was stripping off his jacket and shirt.  The exasperated Thorwald attempted to seize him by the neck and shake him, but Corrie flung his jacket in his face, and sprang down the beach like a squirrel.  He had wisdom enough, however, to say and do all this in the quietest possible manner; and when he entered the sea he did so with as much caution as Gascoyne himself had done, insomuch that he seemed to melt away like a mischievous sprite.

In a few minutes he was alongside of the Foam; caught a rope that was thrown to him, and quickly stood on the deck.

“Well done, Corrie.  Clamber over the stern, and slide down by that rope into the little boat that floats there.  Take one of the oars, which you will find muffled, and scull to the shore, and bring off Thorwald and his men.  And, hark’ee, boy, bring off my shirt and boots.  Now, look alive; your friend Henry Stuart’s life may depend on it.”

“Henry’s life!” exclaimed Corrie, in amazement.

“Come, no questions.  His life may depend on your promptitude.”

Corrie wanted no stronger motive for speed.  In a state of surprise mingled with anxious forebodings, he leaped over the stern and was gone in a moment.

The distance between the shore and the schooner being very short, the boat was quickly alongside, and the party under stout Ole Thorwald took possession of their prize.

Meanwhile Gascoyne had set the jib and fore-topsail, which latter had been left hanging loose from the yard, so that by hauling out the sheets slowly and with great care, the thing was done without noise.  The cable was then cut, the boat manned, and the Foam glided out of the bay like a phantom ship.

The moment she got beyond the shelter of the palms her sails filled, and in a few minutes she was rushing through the water at the rate of ten or eleven knots an hour.

Gascoyne stood at the helm and guided her through the intricacies of the dangerous coast with consummate skill, until he reached the bay where the wrecked ship lay.  Here he lay to, and sent the boat ashore for the party that had been left at the tent.  They were waiting; anxiously for his return.  Great, therefore, was their astonishment when he sent them a message inviting them to go on board the Foam!

The instant they embarked, Gascoyne put about, and, ordering the mainsail to be hoisted, and one of the reefs to be shaken out of the topsail, ran round to the windward of the island, with the foam flying in great masses on either side of the schooner, which lay over so much before the gale that it was scarcely possible to stand on the deck.