About an hour later, the Talisman was hove-to off the Goat’s Pass, and Ole Thorwald was landed with his party at the base of a cliff which rose sheer up from the sea like a wall.

“Are we to go up there?” inquired Ole, in a rueful tone of voice, as he surveyed a narrow chasm to which Gascoyne guided him.

“That is the way.  It’s not so bad at it looks.  When you get to the top, follow the little path that leads along the cliffs northward, and you will reach the brow of a hill from which the native village will be visible.  Descend and attack it at once, if you find men to fight with; if not, take possession quietly.  Mind you don’t take the wrong turn; it leads to places where a wildcat would not venture even in daylight.  If you attend to what I have said, you can’t go wrong.  Good-night.  Shove off.”

The oars splashed in the sea at the word, and Gascoyne returned to the ship, leaving Ole to lead his men up the Pass as best he might.

It seemed as if the pilot had resolved to make sure of the destruction of the ship that night; for, not content with running her within a foot or two of innumerable reefs, he at last steered in so close to the shore that the beetling cliffs actually seemed to overhang the deck.  When the sun rose, the breeze died away; but sufficient wind continued to fill the upper sails, and to urge the vessel gently onward for some time after the surface of the sea was calm.

Montague endeavored to conceal and repress his anxiety as long as possible; but when at length a line of breakers without any apparent opening presented themselves right ahead, he went up to Gascoyne and said, in a stern undertone: 

“Are you aware that you forfeit your life if my vessel strikes?”

“I know it,” replied Gascoyne, coolly throwing away the stump of his cigar, and lighting a fresh one; “but I have no desire either to destroy your vessel or to lose my life; although, to say truth, I should have no objection, in other circumstances, to attempt the one and to risk the other.”

“Say you so?” said Montague, with a sharp glance at the countenance of the other, where, however, he could perceive nothing but placid good humor; “that speech sounds marvelously warlike, methinks in the mouth of a sandal-wood trader.”

“Think you, then,” said Gascoyne, with a smile of contempt, “that it is only your fire-eating men of war who experience bold impulses and heroic desires?”

“Nay; but traders are not wont to aspire to the honor of fighting the ships that are commissioned to protect them.”

“Truly, if I had sought protection from the war-ships of the King of England, I must have sailed long and far to find it,” returned Gascoyne.  “It is no child’s play to navigate these seas, where bloodthirsty savages swarm in their canoes like locusts.  Moreover, I sail, as I have told your before, in the China Seas, where pirates are more common than honest traders.  What would you say if I were to take it into my head to protect myself?”