Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

  A PECULIAR CONFIDANT--MORE DIFFICULTIES, AND VARIOUS PLANS TO OVERCOMETHEM.

  When Alice Mason was a little child, there was a certain tree near herfather's house to which, in her hours of sorrow, she was wont to run andtell it all the grief of her overflowing heart. She firmly believedthat this tree heard and understood and sympathised with all that shesaid. There was a hole in the stem into which she was wont to pour hercomplaints, and when she had thus unburthened her heart to her silentconfidant she felt comforted, as one feels when a human friend hasshared one's sorrows.

  When the child became older, and her sorrows were heavier and, perhaps,more real, her well-nurtured mind began to rise to a higher source forcomfort. Habit and inclination led her indeed to the same tree, butwhen she kneeled upon its roots and leaned against its stem, she pouredout her heart into the bosom of Him who is ever present, and who can betouched with a feeling of our infirmities.

  Almost immediately after landing on the island Alice sought theumbrageous shelter of her old friend and favourite, and on her kneesthanked God for restoring her to her father and her home.

  To the same place the missionary directed his steps, for he knew itwell, and doubtless expected to find his daughter there.

  "Alice, dear, I have good news to tell you," said the missionary,sitting down beside her.

  "I know what it is!" cried Alice, eagerly.

  "What do you think it is, my pet?"

  "Gascoyne is to be forgiven! am I right?"

  Mr Mason shook his head sadly--"No, that is not what I have to tellyou. Poor fellow, I would that I had some good news to give you abouthim; but I fear there is no hope for him--I mean as regards his beingpardoned by man."

  Alice sighed, and her face expressed the deepest tenderness andsympathy.

  "Why do you take so great an interest in this man, dear?" said herfather.

  "Because Mary Stuart loves him, and I love Mary Stuart. And Corrieseemed to like him, too, since he has come to know him better. Besides,has he not saved my life, and Captain Montague's, and Corrie's? Corrietells me that he is very sorry for the wicked things he has done, and hethinks that if his life is spared he will become a good man. Has hebeen very wicked, papa?"

  "Yes, very wicked. He has robbed many people of their goods, and hasburnt and sunk their vessels."

  Alice looked horrified.

  "But," continued her father, "I am convinced of the truth of hisstatement--that he has never shed human blood. Nevertheless, he hasbeen very wicked, and the fact that he has such a powerful will, suchcommanding and agreeable manners, only makes his guilt the greater, forthere is less excuse for his having devoted such powers and qualities tothe service of Satan. I fear that his judges will not take into accounthis recent good deeds and his penitence. They will not pardon him."

  "Father," said Alice, earnestly, "God pardons the chief of sinners--whywill not man do so?"

  The missionary was somewhat perplexed as to how he should reply to sucha difficult question.

  "My child," said he, "the law of God and the law of man must be obeyed,or the punishment must be inflicted on the disobedient--both laws arealike in this respect. In the case of God's law, Jesus Christ our Lordobeyed it, bore the punishment for us, and set our souls free. But inthe case of man's law, who is to bear Gascoyne's punishment and set_him_ free?"

  As poor Alice could not answer this, she cast down her tearful eyes,sighed again, and looked more miserable than ever.

  "But come, my pet," resumed Mr Mason, "you must guess again. It isreally good news--try."

  "I can't," said Alice, looking up in her father's face with animationand shaking her head; "I never could guess anything rightly."

  "What would you think the best thing that could happen?" said herfather.

  The child looked intently at the ground for a few seconds and pursed herrosy little mouth, while the smallest possible frown--the result ofintellectual exertion--knitted her fair brow.

  "The best thing that could happen," said she, slowly, "would be that allthe whole world should become good."

  "Well done, Alice!" exclaimed her father, laughing; "you have certainlytaken the widest possible view of the subject. But you have soared alittle too high; yet you have not altogether missed the mark. Whatwould you say if the chiefs of the heathen village were to cast theiridols into the fire, and ask me to come over and teach them how tobecome Christians?"

  "Oh! have they _really_ done this?" cried Alice in eager surprise.

  "Indeed they have. I have just seen and had a talk with some of theirchief men, and have promised to go over to their village to-morrow. Icame up here just to tell you this, and to say that your friend thewidow will take care of you while I am away."

  "And shall we have no more wars--no more of these terrible deeds ofblood?" inquired the child, while a shudder passed through her frame atthe recollection of what she had heard and seen during her short life onthat island.

  "I trust not, my lamb. I believe that God has heard our prayers, andthat the Prince of Peace will henceforth rule in this place. But I mustgo and prepare for this work. Come, will you go with me?"

  "Leave me here for a little, papa; I wish to think it over all alone."

  Kissing her forehead, the missionary left her. When he was out of sightthe little girl sat down, and, nestling between two great roots of herfavourite tree, laid her head against the stem and shut her eyes.

  But poor Alice was not left long to her solitary meditations. There wasa peculiarly attractive power about her which drew other creaturesaround her wherever she might chance to be.

  The first individual who broke in upon her was that animated piece ofragged door-mat, Toozle. This imbecile little dog was not possessed ofmuch delicacy of feeling, having been absent on a private excursion ofhis own into the mountain when the schooner arrived, he only becameaware of the return of his lost, loved, and deeply-regretted mistress,when he came back from his trip. The first thing that told him of herpresence was his own nose, the black point of which protruded withdifficulty a quarter of an inch beyond the mass of matting which totallyextinguished his eyes, and, indeed, every other portion of his head.

  Coming down the hill immediately behind Sandy Cove at a breakneckscramble, Toozle happened to cross the path by which his mistress hadascended to her tree. The instant he did so, he came to a halt sosudden that one might have fancied he had been shot. In another momenthe was rushing up the hill in wild excitement, giving an occasional yelpof mingled surprise and joy as he went along. The footsteps led him alittle beyond the tree and then turned down towards it, so that he hadthe benefit of the descent in making the final onset.

  The moment he came in sight of Alice he began to bark and yelp in suchan eager way that the sounds produced might be described as anintermittent scream. He charged at once with characteristic want ofconsideration, and, plunging headlong into Alice's bosom, sought tocover her face with kisses--i.e., with _licks_, that being thewell-known canine method of doing the thing.

  "O Toozle, how glad, glad, glad, I am to see you, my own darlingToozle!" cried Alice, actually shedding tears.

  Toozle screamed with delight. It was almost too much for him. Againand again he attempted to lick her face, a familiarity which Alicegently declined to permit, so he was obliged to content himself with herhand.

  It has often struck us as surprising, that little dogs--usually sointelligent and apt to learn in other matters--should be so dull ofapprehension in this. Toozle had the experience of a lifetime toconvince him that Alice objected to have her face licked, and would onno account permit it, although she was extremely liberal in regard toher hands; but Toozle ignored the authority of experience. He was atthis time a dog of mature years, but his determination to kiss Alice wasas strong as it had been when, in the tender years of infancy, he hadentertained the mistaken belief that she was his own mother.

  He watched every unguarded moment to thrust forward his
black, not tosay impertinent, little snout; and, although often reproved, he stillremained unconvinced, resolutely returned to the charge, and was not abit ashamed of himself.

  On the present occasion Toozle behaved like a canine lunatic, and Alicewas beginning to think of exercising a little tender violence in orderto restrain his superabundant glee, when another individual appeared onthe scene, and for a time, at least, relieved her.

  The second comer was our dark friend, Kekupoopi. She by some mischancehad got separated from her young mistress, and immediately went insearch of her. She found her at once of course, for, as water finds itslevel, so love finds its object without much loss of time.

  "O Toozle; hee! hee! am dat you?" exclaimed Poopy, who was as muchdelighted in her way to see the dog as Alice had been.

  Toozle was, in _his_ way, as much delighted to see Poopy as he had beento see Alice--no, we are wrong, not quite so much as that, but stillextremely glad to see her, and evinced his joy by extravagant sounds andactions. He also evinced his scorn for the opinion that some foolishpersons hold, namely, that black people are not as good as white, byrushing into Poopy's arms and attempting to lick her black face as hehad tried to do to Alice. As the dark-skinned girl had no objection,(for tastes differ, you see,) and received the caresses with a quiet"Hee! hee!" Toozle was extremely gratified.

  Now it happened that Jo Bumpus, oppressed with a feeling of concern forhis former captain, and with a feeling of doubt as to the stirringevents in which he was an actor being waking realities, had wandered upthe mountain-side in order to indulge in profound philosophicalreflections.

  Happening to hear the noise caused by the joyful meeting which we havejust described, he turned aside to see what all the "row" could beabout, and thus came unexpectedly on Alice and her friends.

  About the same time it chanced, (for things sometimes do happen bychance in a very remarkable way,) it chanced that Will Corrie, beingalso much depressed about Gascoyne, resolved to take into his confidenceDick Price the boatswain, with whom during their short voyage togetherhe had become intimate.

  He found that worthy seated on a cask at the end of the rude pile ofcoral rocks that formed the quay of Sandy Cove, surrounded by some ofhis shipmates, all of whom, as well as himself, were smoking their pipesand discussing things in general.

  Corrie went forward and pulled Dick by the sleeve.

  "Hallo! boy, what d'ye want with me?" said the boatswain.

  "I want to speak to you."

  "Well, lad, fire away."

  "Yes, but I want you to come with me," said the boy, with an anxious andrather mysterious look.

  "Very good!--heave ahead," said the boatswain, getting up, and followingCorrie with a peculiarly nautical roll.

  After he had been led through the settlement and a considerable way upthe mountain in silence, the boatswain suddenly stopped, andsaid--"Hallo! hold on; my timbers won't stand much more o' this sort o'thing. I was built for navigatin' the seas,--I was not for cruisin' onthe land. We're far enough out of ear-shot, I s'pose, in this here bitof a plantation. Come, what have ye got to say to me? You ain'ta-goin' to tell me the Freemasons' word, are ye? For, if so, don'ttrouble yourself, I wouldn't listen to it on no account w'atever. It'stoo mysterious that is for me."

  "Dick Price," said Corrie, looking up in the face of the seaman, with aserious expression that was not often seen on his round countenance,"you're a man."

  The boatswain looked down at the youthful visage in some surprise.

  "Well, I s'pose I am," said he, stroking his beard complacently.

  "And you know what it is to be misunderstood, misjudged, don't you?"

  "Well, now I come to think on it, I believe I _have_ had thatmisfortune--specially w'en I've ordered the powder-monkies to make lessnoise, for them younkers never do seem to understand me. As formisjudgin', I've often an' over again heard 'em say I was the crossestfeller they ever did meet with, but they _never_ was more out in theirreckoning."

  Corrie did not smile; he did not betray the smallest symptom of powereither to appreciate or to indulge in jocularity at that moment. Butfeeling that it was useless to appeal to the former experience of theboatswain, he changed his plan of attack.

  "Dick Price," said he, "it's a hard case for an innocent man to behanged."

  "So it is, boy,--oncommon hard. I once know'd a poor feller as washanged for murderin' his old grandmother. It was afterwards found outthat he'd never done the deed; but he was the most incorrigible thiefand poacher in the whole place, so it warn't such a mistake after all."

  "Dick Price," said Corrie, gravely, at the same time laying his handimpressively on his companion's arm, "I'm a _tremendous_ joker--_awful_fond o' fun and skylarkin'."

  "'Pon my word, lad, if you hadn't said so yourself, I'd scarce havebelieved it. You don't look like it just now, by no manner o' means."

  "But I am though," continued Corrie; "and I tell you that in order toshew you that I am very, _very_ much in earnest at this moment; and thatyou _must_ give your mind to what I've got to say."

  The boatswain was impressed by the fervour of the boy. He looked at himin surprise for a few seconds, then nodded his head, and said, "Fireaway!"

  "You know that Gascoyne is in prison!" said Corrie.

  "In course I does. That's one rascally pirate less on the seas,anyhow."

  "He's not so bad as you think, Dick."

  "Whew!" whistled the boatswain. "You're a friend of his, are ye?"

  "No; not a friend, but neither am I an enemy. You know he saved mylife, and the lives of two of my friends, and of your own captain, too."

  "Well, there's no denying that; but he must have been the means oftakin' away more lives than what he has saved."

  "No, he hasn't," cried Corrie, eagerly. "That's it, that's just thepoint; he has saved more than he ever took away, and he's sorry for whathe has done; yet they're going to hang him. Now, I say, that's sinful--it's not just. It shan't be done if I can prevent it; and you must helpme to get him out of this scrape--you must indeed, Dick Price."

  The boatswain was quite taken aback. He opened his eyes wide withsurprise, and putting his head to one side, gazed earnestly and long atthe boy as if he had been a rare old painting.

  Before he could reply, the furious barking of a dog attracted Corrie'sattention. He knew it to be the voice of Toozle. Being well acquaintedwith the locality of Alice's tree, he at once concluded that she wasthere, and knowing that she would certainly side with him, and that theside she took _must_ necessarily be the winning side, he resolved tobring Dick Price within the fascination of her influence.

  "Come, follow me," said he; "we'll talk it over with a friend of mine."

  The seaman followed the boy obediently, and in a few minutes stoodbeside Alice.

  Corrie had expected to find her there, but he had not counted on meetingwith Poopy and Jo Bumpus.

  "Hallo! Grampus, is that you?"

  "Wot! Corrie, my boy, is it yourself? Give us your flipper, smallthough it be. I didn't think I'd niver see ye agin, lad."

  "No more did I, Grampus; it was very nearly all up with us."

  "Ah! my boy," said Bumpus, becoming suddenly very grave, "you've nonotion how near it was all up with _me_. Why, you won't believe it--Iwas all but scragged."

  "Dear me! what is scragged?" inquired Alice.

  "You don't mean for to say you don't know?" exclaimed Bumpus.

  "No, indeed, I don't."

  "Why, it means bein' hanged. I was so near hanged, just a day or twoback, that I've had an 'orrible pain in my neck ever since at the barethought of it! But who's your friend?" said Bumpus, turning to theboatswain.

  "Oh! I forgot him--he's the boatswain of the _Talisman_. Dick Price,this is my friend, John Bumpus."

  "Glad to know you, Dick Price."

  "Same to you, and luck, John Bumpus."

  The two sea-dogs joined their enormous palms, and shook hands cordially.

  After these two had
indulged in a little desultory conversation, WillCorrie, who, meanwhile, consulted with Alice in an undertone, broughtthem back to the point that was uppermost in his mind.

  "Now," said he, "it comes to this,--we must not let Gascoyne be hanged."

  "Why, Corrie," cried Bumpus, in surprise, "that's the very thing I wasa-thinkin' of w'en I comed up here and found Miss Alice under the tree."

  "I am glad to hear that, Jo; it's what has been on my own mind all themorning. But Dick Price here is not convinced that he deserves toescape. Now; you tell him all _you_ know about Gascoyne, and I'll tellhim all _I_ know, and if he don't believe _us_, Alice and Poopy willtell him all _they_ know, and if that won't do, you and I will take himup by the legs and pitch him into the sea!"

  "That bein' how the case stands--fire away," said Dick Price with agrin, sitting down on the grass and busily filling his pipe.

  Dick was not so hard to be convinced as Corrie had feared. The glowingeulogiums of Bumpus, and the earnest pleadings of Alice, won him oververy soon. He finally agreed to become one of the conspirators.

  "But how is the thing to be done?" asked Corrie in some perplexity.

  "Ah! that's the pint," observed Dick, looking profoundly wise.

  "Nothin' easier," said Bumpus, whose pipe was by this time keeping pacewith that of his new friend. "The case is as clear as mud. Here's howit is. Gascoyne is in limbo; well, we are out of limbo. Good. Then,all we've got for to do is to break into limbo and shove Gascoyne out oflimbo, and help him to escape. It's all square, you see, lads."

  "Not so square as you seem to think," said Henry Stuart, who at thatmoment stepped from behind the stem of the tree, which had prevented theparty from observing his approach.

  "Why not?" said Bumpus, making room for the young man to sit besideAlice, on the grass.

  "Because," said Henry, "Gascoyne won't agree to escape."

  "Not agree for to escape!"

  "No. If the prison door were opened at this moment, he would not walkout."

  Bumpus became very grave, and shook his head. "Are ye sartin sure o'this?" said he.

  "Quite sure," replied Henry, who now detailed part of his recentconversation with the pirate captain.

  "Then it's all up with him!" said Bumpus; "and the pirate will meet hisdoom, as I once hear'd a feller say in a play--though I little thoughtto see it acted in reality."

  "So he will," added Dick Price.

  Corrie's countenance fell, and Alice grew pale. Even Poopy and Toozlelooked a little depressed.

  "No, it is _not_ all up with him," cried Henry Stuart, energetically."I have a plan in my head which I think will succeed, but I must haveassistance. It won't do, however, to discuss this before our youngfriends. I must beg of Alice and Poopy to leave us. I do not mean tosay I could not trust you, Alice, but the plan must be made known onlyto those who have to act in this matter. Rest assured, dear child, thatI shall do my best to make it successful."

  Alice sprang up at once. "My father told me to follow him some timeago," said she. "I have been too long of doing so already. I _do_ hopethat you will succeed."

  So saying, and with a cheerful "Good-bye!" the little girl ran down themountain-side, closely followed by Toozle and Poopy.

  As soon as she was gone, Henry turned to his companions and unfolded tothem his plan--the details and carrying out of which, however, we mustreserve for another chapter.