Others had heard of it too, and a thrill of superstitious awe spread among the crew. As the distant land drew nearer, lips ever polluted with profanity, hearts black with crime, called on the saints to save and protect them; and even the sceptical Herbert, as he gazed on the dark rock crowned with curling mists, fancied with the rest that he could see weird, awful shapes hovering about the shore. The horror of the place seized him. He rushed to the helm, pressed it hard down, and endeavoured to give the dreaded island as wide a berth as possible.
At this moment Roberval appeared on the scene to enquire into the cause of the disturbance.
"What means this?" exclaimed he to Herbert.
"The Isle of Demons," muttered the now thoroughly alarmed sailor. "Can you not hear their fierce voices clamouring after us?"
"The Isle of Demons! What care I for all the demons in hell? Back to your course at once; we have lost too much time already."
"But, Monsieur," said the old fisherman who had first spoken, "they have been known to utterly destroy vessels and men e'er this. Guillaume de Noué dared to defy them, and attempted to sail close to the island, but e'er his ship could reach an anchorage, she sank without a warning, bearing the entire crew down with her, excepting Guillaume, who was borne aloft by the demons, and carried to their inland abodes."
"And who," replied De Roberval, sarcastically, "can vouch for the tale, seeing all the crew perished, and the brave captain was transported to the lower world? You will have to invent some better story, good Laurent."
"Pardon, Monsieur, but I can answer for its truth. I was with Guillaume, sailing the _Belle Marie_. We were following hard after him when his vessel went down like lead, and I saw with mine own eyes good Master Guillaume borne aloft by the devils. There was no mistaking him; his red hose and scarlet hat were the only ones on board his ship. I would have attempted to rescue him, but my crew, who also witnessed the sight, fell upon me, seized the helm, and rested nor day nor night till we were safely in the harbour of St Malo, and not a man of them could ever again be persuaded to enter a craft bound for the New World."
"Pish!" said Roberval, scornfully. "Port your helm, Herbert, and steer for that island. I am master on this expedition, and if there be any demons on the land they must pay homage to me. But methinks we shall find neither the red hose of your friend, nor the abode of any demons, but a few redskins who have been blown ashore here from Newfoundland, and dare not return."