The red glare had faded from the waters, the sea-birds were settling in
their nests, but the government-ships were alive with lights, and,
suddenly bursting through the night, came the shrill blast of a trumpet
from Cecil Place. It called Robin Hays into activity, and, while the men
were looking on each other, he advanced and spoke.
"Hugh Dalton, the ship was yours, and yours alone, and to you the
parchment which Springall holds accounts for its destruction; that
destruction, Captain, ought to prove one thing, and one thing only--that
I loved you better than the Fire-fly. Both could not have been
preserved. You have treated me as a dog, to whom you would have given a
dog's death; and I shall not forget it."
"Robin!" exclaimed a small soft voice.
"I cannot forget it," repeated the Ranger; and then the voice again
said, "Robin," in a tone of such sweetness, that all present were moved.
After another pause, hardy Jack Roupall put in his word.
"The Skipper was hurt, and no marvel, to see her burning. You mustn't be
spiteful, Robin Hays,--only what hindered to get her out?"
"She was known, marked, and watched, as I am well assured of," he
replied. "Had you attempted to weigh anchor, every man on board would
have been blown to atoms. Not a life would have been spared. The men who
had charge of her are safe. I sent them to the Essex side--though they
little thought why."
Another trumpet-blast mounted with the breeze, and Robin exclaimed, "Away, away, lads! It is not yet midnight, and no hindrance will be
offered to any who quit the island before the hour of one. Away, away!
Ye are foxes, and have earths in plenty. Away, for your lives away!"
"Away!" replied Roupall. "Whither, good Ranger? Heard ye not the
trumpet, and know ye not that every outlet will be guarded, every man on
the watch after such a sound?"
"Had your safety not been cared for, there need have been no
trumpet-blast. I pledge my faith--my life--for your security," exclaimed
Robin, energetically. "Only away, and quickly!"
One or two of the men sullenly and quietly dropped down the cliff; but
there were others who would not thus part from their captain,--sailors,
who had braved danger, disease, and death in his company; these would
not leave him now, but, as if in expectation of an attack, they looked
to their pistols and jerked their daggers sharply in their sheaths.
Dalton still remained, uncertain, perhaps, or careless as to his future
course, with Barbara still hanging on his arm, while the Jewess clung
closely to her side.