He was mistaken, however. Fate had in reserve for the crew of villainsa less merciful death than that of drowning. Aided by the lightning,and that wonderful "good luck" which urges villainy to its destruction,Vetch beached the boat, and the party, bruised and bleeding, reached theupper portion of the shore in safety. Of all this number only Cox waslost. He was pulling stroke-oar, and, being something of a laggard,stood in the way of the Crow, who, seeing the importance of haste inpreserving his own skin, plucked the man backwards by the collar, andpassed over his sprawling body to the shore. Cox, grasping at anythingto save himself, clutched an oar, and the next moment found himselfborne out with the overturned whale-boat by the under-tow. He wasdrifted past his only hope of rescue--the guard-boat--with a velocitythat forbade all attempts at rescue, and almost before the poorscoundrel had time to realize his condition, he was in the best possibleway of escaping the hanging that his comrades had so often humorouslyprophesied for him. Being a strong and vigorous villain, however, heclung tenaciously to his oar, and even unbuckling his leather belt,passed it round the slip of wood that was his salvation, girding himselfto it as firmly as he was able. In this condition, plus a swoon fromexhaustion, he was descried by the helmsman of the Pretty Mary, a fewmiles from Cape Surville, at daylight next morning. Blunt, with a wildhope that this waif and stray might be the lover of Sarah Purfoy, dead,lowered a boat and picked him up. Nearly bisected by the belt, gorgedwith salt water, frozen with cold, and having two ribs broken, thevictim of Vetch's murderous quickness retained sufficient life tosurvive Blunt's remedies for nearly two hours. During that time hestated that his name was Cox, that he had escaped from Port Arthur witheight others, that John Rex was the leader of the expedition, that theothers were all drowned, and that he believed John Rex had been retaken.Having placed Blunt in possession of these particulars, he further saidthat it pricked him to breathe, cursed Jemmy Vetch, the settlement, andthe sea, and so impenitently died. Blunt smoked three pipes, and thenaltered the course of the Pretty Mary two points to the eastward,and ran for the coast. It was possible that the man for whom he wassearching had not been retaken, and was even now awaiting his arrival.It was clearly his duty--hearing of the planned escape having beenactually attempted--not to give up the expedition while hope remained.
"I'll take one more look along," said he to himself.
The Pretty Mary, hugging the coast as closely as she dared, crawled inthe thin breeze all day, and saw nothing. It would be madness to land atCape Surville, for the whole station would be on the alert; so Blunt, asnight was falling, stood off a little across the mouth of Pirates' Bay.He was walking the deck, groaning at the folly of the expedition, whena strange appearance on the southern horn of the bay made him come to asudden halt. There was a furnace blazing in the bowels of the mountain!Blunt rubbed his eyes and stared. He looked at the man at the helm. "Doyou see anything yonder, Jem?"
Jem--a Sydney man, who had never been round that coast before--brieflyremarked, "Lighthouse."
Blunt stumped into the cabin and got out his charts. No lighthouse waslaid down there, only a mark like an anchor, and a note, "RemarkableHole at this Point." A remarkable hole indeed; a remarkable "lime kiln"would have been more to the purpose!
Blunt called up his mate, William Staples, a fellow whom Sarah Purfoy'sgold had bought body and soul. William Staples looked at the waxing andwaning glow for a while, and then said, in tones trembling with greed,"It's a fire. Lie to, and lower away the jolly-boat. Old man, that's ourbird for a thousand pounds!"
The Pretty Mary shortened sail, and Blunt and Staples got into thejolly-boat.
"Goin' a-hoysterin', sir?" said one of the crew, with a grin, as Bluntthrew a bundle into the stern-sheets.
Staples thrust his tongue into his cheek. The object of the voyage wasnow pretty well understood among the carefully picked crew. Blunt hadnot chosen men who were likely to betray him, though, for thatmatter, Rex had suggested a precaution which rendered betrayal almostimpossible.
"What's in the bundle, old man?" asked Will Staples, after they had gotclear of the ship.
"Clothes," returned Blunt. "We can't bring him off, if it is him, in hiscanaries. He puts on these duds, d'ye see, sinks Her Majesty's livery,and comes aboard, a 'shipwrecked mariner'."
"That's well thought of. Whose notion's that? The Madam's, I'll bebound."
"Ay."
"She's a knowing one."
And the sinister laughter of the pair floated across the violet water.
"Go easy, man," said Blunt, as they neared the shore. "They're all awakeat Eaglehawk; and if those cursed dogs give tongue there'll be a boatout in a twinkling. It's lucky the wind's off shore."
Staples lay on his oar and listened. The night was moonless, and theship had already disappeared from view. They were approaching thepromontory from the south-east, and this isthmus of the guarded Neck washidden by the outlying cliff. In the south-western angle of this cliff,about midway between the summit and the sea, was an arch, which vomiteda red and flickering light, that faintly shone upon the sea in the trackof the boat. The light was lambent and uncertain, now sinking almostinto insignificance, and now leaping up with a fierceness that caused adeep glow to throb in the very heart of the mountain. Sometimes a blackfigure would pass across this gigantic furnace-mouth, stooping andrising, as though feeding the fire. One might have imagined that a doorin Vulcan's Smithy had been left inadvertently open, and that the oldhero was forging arms for a demigod.
Blunt turned pale. "It's no mortal," he whispered. "Let's go back."
"And what will Madam say?" returned dare-devil Will Staples who wouldhave plunged into Mount Erebus had he been paid for it. Thus appealed toin the name of his ruling passion, Blunt turned his head, and the boatsped onward.
CHAPTER XXVI. THE WORK OF THE SEA.
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 59