The South Sea breeds piratical thoughts, and from
our own knowledge of the captain we guessed that in his particular case
those thoughts would be easily generated.
"He thinks he'll save his own skin by clearing out," said Holman, "but
I'm satisfied that Dame Justice is an expert with the lariat. If he's
not in jail before three months are out, my name is not Will Holman."
It was the missionary schooner _Messenger of Light_ that saw our beacon
upon the island on the fourth day after we had reached the spot where we
had landed from _The Waif_. The beautiful white vessel hove to outside
the entrance to the little bay, a boat came ashore, and twenty minutes
after they had first sighted our signal we were on the way to
Wellington, New Zealand.
"And the 'Frisco boats call there," murmured Barbara, "Joy! Joy! Joy!"
The moon was whitening the sleeping Pacific when Edith and I stood
looking over the taffrail as the _Messenger of Light_ swept on her
course. From nearby came the voice of Professor Herndon relating his
experiences to a missionary who was returning from the Marquesas.
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