Gascoyne, The Sandal Wood Trader by R. M. Ballantyne

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[Illustration: The next moment he leveled the pistol at the savage's
head and fired.]

GASCOYNE,

THE SANDAL-WOOD TRADER

A TALE OF THE PACIFIC.

By R.M. BALLANTYNE.

_Author of "Erling the Bold," "The Red Eric," "Deep Down," etc._

A.L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS

52-58 Duane Street, New York.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
The Schooner

CHAPTER II.
Bumpus is Fiery and Philosophical--Murderous Designs Frustrated

CHAPTER III.
A Rough Walk Enlivened by Rambling Talk--Bumpus is "Agreeable"

CHAPTER IV.
The Missionary--Suspicions, Surprises, and Surmises

CHAPTER V.
The Pastor's Household--Preparations for War

CHAPTER VI.
Suspicions Allayed and Reawakened

CHAPTER VII.
Master Corrie Caught Napping--Snakes in the Grass

CHAPTER VIII.
A Surprise--A Battle and a Fire

CHAPTER IX.
Baffled and Perplexed--Plans for a Rescue

CHAPTER X.
The Pursuit--Poopy, Led on by Love and Hate, Rushes to the Rescue

CHAPTER XI.
A Ghost--A Terrible Combat Ending in a Dreadful Plunge

CHAPTER XII.
Dangerous Navigation and Doubtful Pilotage--Montague is Hot, Gascoyne
Sarcastic

CHAPTER XIII.
Doings on Board the "Foam"

CHAPTER XIV.
Greater Mysteries than Ever--A Bold Move and Clever Escape

CHAPTER XV.
Remarkable Doings of Poopy--Extraordinary Case of Resuscitation

CHAPTER XVI.
A Wild Chase--Hope, Disappointment, and Despair--The Sandal-wood
Trader Outwits the Man-of-War

CHAPTER XVII.
The Escape

CHAPTER XVIII.
The Goat's Pass--An Attack, a Bloodless Victory, and a Sermon

CHAPTER XIX.
Sorrow and Sympathy--The Widow Becomes a Pleader, and her Son Engages
in Single Combat

CHAPTER XX.
Mysterious Consultations and Plans--Gascoyne Astonishes his Friends,
and makes an Unexpected Confession

CHAPTER XXI.
A Terrible Doom for an Innocent Man

CHAPTER XXII.
The Rendezvous--An Episode--Peculiar Circumstances, and other Matters

CHAPTER XXIII.
Plans Partially Carried out--The Cutter's Fate, and a Serious
Misfortune

CHAPTER XXIV.
An Unexpected Meeting--Doings on the Isle of Palms--Gascoyne's Despair

CHAPTER XXV.
Surly Dick--The Rescue

CHAPTER XXVI.
The Capture and the Fire

CHAPTER XXVII.
Pleading for Life

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A Peculiar Confidant--More Difficulties, and Various Plans to Overcome
Them

CHAPTER XXIX.
Bumpus is Perplexed--Mysterious Communings, and a Curious Leave-taking

CHAPTER XXX.
More Leave-Taking--Deep Designs--Bumpus in a New Capacity

CHAPTER XXXI.
The Ambush--The Escape--Retributive Justice--And Conclusion

GASCOYNE,

THE SANDAL-WOOD TRADER.

CHAPTER I.

THE SCHOONER.

The great Pacific is the scene of our story. On a beautiful morning,
many years ago, a little schooner might have been seen floating, light
and graceful as a seamew, on the breast of the slumbering ocean. She was
one of those low, black-hulled vessels, with raking, taper masts,
trimly-cut sails, and elegant form, which we are accustomed to associate
with the idea of a yacht or a pirate.

She might have been the former, as far as appearance went; for the sails
and deck were white as snow, and every portion of brass and copper above
her water-line shone in the hot sun with dazzling brilliancy. But
pleasure-seekers were not wont, in those days, to take such distant
flights, or to venture into such dangerous seas,--dangerous alike from
the savage character of the islanders, and the numerous coral reefs that
lie hidden a few feet below the surface of the waves.

Still less probable did it seem that the vessel in question could belong
to the lawless class of craft to which we have referred; for, although
she had what may be styled a wicked aspect, and was evidently adapted
for swift sailing, neither large guns nor small arms of any kind were
visible.

Whatever her nature or her object, she was reduced, at the time we
introduce her to the reader, to a state of inaction by the dead calm
which prevailed. The sea resembled a sheet of clear glass. Not a cloud
broke the softness of the sky, in which the sun glowed hotter and hotter
as it rose towards the zenith. The sails of the schooner hung idly from
the yards; her reflected image was distorted, but scarcely broken, by
the long, gentle swell; her crew, with the exception of the watch, were
asleep either on deck or down below; and so deep was the universal
silence, that, as the vessel rose and fell with a slow, quiet motion,
the pattering of the reef-points on her sails forcibly attracted the
listener's attention, as does the ticking of a clock in the deep silence
of night. A few sea-birds rested on the water, as if in the enjoyment of
the profound peace that reigned around; and far away on the horizon
might be seen the tops of the palm trees that grow on one of those coral
islands which lie scattered in thousands, like beautiful gems, on the
surface of that bright blue sea.

Among the men who lay sleeping in various easy, off-hand attitudes on
the schooner's deck, was one who merits special attention--not only
because of the grotesque appearance of his person, but also because he
is one of the principal actors in our tale.

He was a large, powerful man, of that rugged build and hairy aspect that
might have suggested the idea that he would be difficult to kill. He
was a fair man, with red hair, and a deeply sun-burned face, on which
jovial good humor sat almost perpetually enthroned. At the moment when
we introduce him to the reader, however, that expression happened to be
modified in consequence of his having laid him down to sleep in a
sprawling manner on his back--the place as well as the position being,
apparently, one of studied discomfort. His legs lay over the heel of the
bowsprit, his big body reposed on a confused heap of blocks and cordage,
and his neck rested on the stock of an anchor so that his head hung down
over it, presenting the face to view with the large mouth wide open, in
an upside-down position. The man was evidently on the verge of choking,
but, being a strong man, and a rugged man, and a healthy man, he did not
care. He seemed to prefer choking to the trouble of rousing himself and
improving his position.

How long he would have lain in this state of felicity it is impossible
to say, for his slumbers were rudely interrupted by a slight lurch of
the schooner, which caused the blocks and cordage attached to the sheet
of the jib to sweep slowly, but with rasping asperity, across his face.
Any ordinary man would have been seriously damaged--at least in
appearance--by such an accident; but this particular sea-dog was tough
in the skin,--he was only awakened by it--nothing more. He yawned,
raised himself lazily, and gazed round with that vacant stare of
unreasonable surprise which is common to man on passing from a state of
somnolence to that of wakefulness.

Gradually the expression of habitual good-humor settled on his visage,
as he looked from one to another of his sleeping comrades, and at last,
with a bland smile, he broke forth into the following soliloquy:

"Wot a goose, wot a grampus you've bin, John Bumpus: firstly, for goin'
to sea; secondly, for remainin' at sea; thirdly, for not forsakin' the
sea; fourthly, for bein' worried about it at all, now that you've made
up your mind to retire from the sea; and fifthly--"

Here John Bumpus paused as if to meditate on the full depth and meaning
of these polite remarks, or to invent some new and powerful expression
wherewith to deliver his fifth head. His mental efforts seemed to fail,
however; for, instead of concluding the sentence, he hummed the
following lines, which, we may suppose, were expressive of his feelings,
as well as his intentions:--

"So good-by to the mighty ocean,
And adoo to the rollin' sea.
For it's nobody has no notion
Wot a grief it has bin to me."

"Ease off the sheets and square the topsail yards," was at that moment
said, or rather murmured, by a bass voice so deep and rich that,
although scarcely raised above a whisper, it was distinctly heard over
the whole deck.

John Bumpus raised his bulky form with a degree of lithe activity that
proved him to be not less agile than athletic, and, with several others,
sprang to obey the order. A few seconds later the sails were swelled out
by a light breeze, and the schooner moved through the water at a rate
which seemed scarcely possible under the influence of so gentle a puff
of air. Presently the breeze increased, the vessel cut through the blue
water like a knife, leaving a long track of foam in her wake as she
headed for the coral-island before referred to. The outer reef or
barrier of coral which guarded the island was soon reached. The narrow
opening in this natural bulwark was passed. The schooner stood across
the belt of perfectly still water that lay between the reef and the
shore, and entered a small bay, where the cairn water reflected the
strip of white sand, green palm, and tropical plants that skirted its
margin, as well as the purple hills of the interior.

Here she swept round in a sudden but graceful curve, until all her
canvas fluttered in the breeze, and then dropped anchor in about six
fathoms water.

CHAPTER II.

BUMPUS IS FIERY AND PHILOSOPHICAL--MURDEROUS DESIGNS FRUSTRATED.

The captain of the schooner, whose deep voice had so suddenly terminated
the meditations of John Bumpus, was one of those men who seem to have
been formed for the special purpose of leading and commanding their
fellows.

He was not only unusually tall and powerful,--physical qualities which,
in themselves, are by no means sufficient to command respect,--but, as
we have said, he possessed a deep, full-toned bass voice, in which there
seemed to lie a species of fascination; for its softest tones riveted
attention, and when it thundered forth commands in the fiercest storms,
it inspired confidence and a feeling of security in all who heard it.
The countenance of the captain, however, was that which induced men to
accord to him a position of superiority in whatever sphere of action he
chanced to move. It was not so much a handsome as a manly and singularly
grave face, in every line of which was written inflexible determination.
His hair was short, black, and curly. A small mustache darkened his
upper lip, but the rest of his face was closely shaven, so that his
large chin and iron jaw were fully displayed. His eyes were of that
indescribable blue color which can exhibit the intensest passion, or
the most melting tenderness.

He wore a somber but somewhat picturesque costume,--a dark-colored
flannel shirt and trousers, which latter were gathered in close round
his lower limbs by a species of drab gaiter that appeared somewhat
incongruous with the profession of the man. The only bit of bright color
about him was a scarlet belt round his waist, from the side of which
depended a long knife in a brown leather sheath. A pair of light shoes,
and a small round cap resembling what is styled in these days a
pork-pie, completed his costume. He was about forty years of age.

Such was the commander, or captain, or skipper of this
suspicious-looking schooner,--a man pre-eminently fitted for the
accomplishment of much good, or the perpetration of great evil.

As soon as the anchor touched the ground, the captain ordered a small
boat to be lowered, and, leaping into it with two men, one of whom was
our friend John Bumpus, rowed toward the shore.

"Have you brought your kit with you, John?" inquired the captain, as the
little boat shot over the smooth waters of the bay.

"Wot's of it, sir," replied our rugged seaman, holding up a small bundle
tied in a red cotton handkerchief, "I s'pose our cruise ashore won't be
a long one."

"It will be long for you, my man,--at least as far as the schooner is
concerned, for I do not mean to take you aboard again."

"Not take me aboard agin!" exclaimed the sailor, with a look of surprise
which quickly degenerated into an angry frown and thereafter gradually
relaxed into a broad grin as he continued: "Why, capting, wot _do_ you
mean to do with me then? for I'm a heavy piece of goods, d'ye see, and
can't be easily moved about without a small touch o' my own consent, you
know."

Jo Bumpus, as he was fond of styling himself, said this with a
serio-comic air of sarcasm, for he was an exception to the general rule
of his fellows. He had little respect for, and no fear of, his
commander. Indeed, to say truth (for truth must be told, even though the
character of our rugged friend should suffer), Jo entertained a most
profound belief in the immense advantage of muscular strength and vigor
in general, and of his own prowess in particular.

Although not quite so gigantic a man as his captain, he was nearly so,
and, being a bold, self-reliant fellow, he felt persuaded in his own
mind that he could thrash him, if need were. In fact, Jo was convinced
that there was no living creature under the sun, human or otherwise,
that walked upon two legs, that he could not pommel to death, with more
or less ease, by means of his fists alone. And in this conviction he was
not far wrong. Yet it must not be supposed that Jo Bumpus was a boastful
man or a bully. Far from it. He was so thoroughly persuaded of his
invincibility that he felt there was no occasion to prove it. He
therefore followed the natural bent of his inclinations, which led him
at all times to exhibit a mild, amiable, and gentle aspect,--except, of
course, when he was roused. As occasion for being roused was not wanting
in the South Seas in those days, Jo's amiability was frequently put to
the test. He sojourned, while there, in a condition of alternate calm
and storm; but riotous joviality ran, like a rich vein, through all his
checkered life, and lit up its most somber phases like gleams of light
on an April day.

"You entered my service with your own consent," replied the captain to
Jo's last remark, "and you may leave it, with the same consent, whenever
you choose; but you will please to remember that I did not engage you to
serve on board the schooner. Back there you do not go either with or
without your consent, my fine fellow, and if you are bent on going to
sea on your own account.--you've got a pair of good arms and legs,--you
can swim! Besides," continued the captain, dropping the tone of sarcasm
in which this was said, and assuming a more careless and good-natured
air, "you were singing something not long since, if I mistake not, about
'farewell to the rolling sea,' which leads me to think you will not
object to a short cruise on shore for a change, especially on such a
beautiful island as this is."

"I'm your man, capting," cried the impulsive seaman, at the same time
giving his oar a pull that well-nigh spun the boat round. "And, to say
wot's the plain truth, d'ye see, I'm not sorry to ha' done with your
schooner; for, although she is as tight a little craft as any man could
wish for to go to sea in, I can't say much for the crew,--saving your
presence, Dick," he added, glancing over his shoulder at the
surly-looking man who pulled the bow oar. "Of all the rascally set I
ever clapped eyes on, they seems to me the worst. If I didn't know you
for a sandal-wood trader, I do believe I'd take ye for a pirate."

"Don't speak ill of your messmates behind their backs, Jo," said the
captain, with a slight frown. "No good and true man ever does that."

"No more I do," replied John Bumpus, while a deep red color suffused
his bronzed countenance. "No more I do, leastwise if they wos here I'd
say it to their faces; for they're a set of as ill-tongued villains as I
ever had the misfortune to--"

"Silence!" exclaimed the captain, suddenly, in a voice of thunder.

Few men would have ventured to disobey the command given by such a man,
but John Bumpus was one of those few. He did indeed remain silent for
two seconds, but it was the silence of astonishment.

"Capting," said he, seriously, "I don't mean no offense, but I'd have
you to know that I engaged to work for you, not to hold my tongue at
your bidding, d'ye see? There ain't the man living as'll make Jo Bumpus
shut up w'en he's got a mind to--"

The captain put an abrupt end to the remarks of his refractory seaman by
starting up suddenly in fierce anger and seizing the tiller, apparently
with the intent to fell him. He checked himself, however, as suddenly,
and breaking into a loud laugh, cried:--

"Come, Jo, you must admit that there is at least one living man who has
made you 'shut up' before you had finished what you'd got to say."

John Bumpus, who had thrown up his left arm to ward off the anticipated
blow, and dropped his oar in order to clench his right fist, quietly
resumed his oar, and shook his head gravely for nearly a minute, after
which he made the following observation:--

"Capting, I've seed, in my experience o' life, that there are some
constitootions as don't agree with jokin'; an' yours is one on 'em. Now,
if you'd take the advice of a plain man, you'd never try it on. You're a
grave man by natur', and you're so bad at a joke that a feller can't
quite tell w'en you're a-doin' of it. See, now! I do declare I wos as
near drivin' you right over the stern o' your own boat as could be, only
by good luck I seed the twinkle in your eye in time."

"Pull away, my lad," said the captain, in the softest tones of his deep
voice, at the same time looking his reprover straight in the face.

There was something in the tone in which that simple command was given,
and in the look by which it was accompanied, that effectually quelled
John Bumpus in spite of himself. Violence had no effect on John, because
in most cases he was able to meet it with superior violence, and in all
cases he was willing to try. But to be put down in this mild way was
perplexing. The words were familiar, the look straightforward and common
enough. He could not understand it at all, and being naturally of a
philosophical turn of mind, he spent the next three minutes in a futile
endeavor to analyze his own feelings. Before he had come to any
satisfactory conclusion on the subject, the boat's keel grated on the
white sand of the shore.

Now, while all that we have been describing in the last and present
chapters was going on, a very different series of events was taking
place on the coral-island; for there, under the pleasant shade of the
cocoanut palms, a tall, fair, and handsome youth was walking lightly
down the green slopes toward the shore in anticipation of the arrival of
the schooner, and a naked, dark-skinned savage was dogging his steps,
winding like a hideous snake among the bushes, and apparently seeking an
opportunity to launch the short spear he carried in his hand at his
unsuspecting victim.

As the youth and the savage descended the mountain-side together, the
former frequently paused when an opening in the rich foliage peculiar to
these beautiful isles enabled him to obtain a clear view of the
magnificent bay and its fringing coral reef, on which the swell of the
great Pacific--so calm and undulating out beyond--fell in tremendous
breakers, with a long, low, solemn roar like distant thunder. As yet no
object broke the surface of the mirror-like bay within the reef.

Each time the youth paused the savage stopped also, and more than once
he poised his deadly spear, while his glaring eyeballs shone amid the
green foliage like those of a tiger. Yet upon each occasion he exhibited
signs of hesitation, and finally lowered the weapon, and crouched into
the underwood.

To any one ignorant of the actors in this scene, the indecision of the
savage would have appeared unaccountable; for there could be no doubt of
his desire to slay the fair youth--still less doubt of his ability to
dart his formidable spear with precision. Nevertheless, there was good
reason for his hesitating; for young Henry Stuart was well known, alike
by settlers and savages, as possessing the swiftest foot, the strongest
arm, and the boldest heart in the island, and Keona was not celebrated
for the possession of these qualities in any degree above the average of
his fellows, although he did undoubtedly exceed them in revenge, hatred,
and the like. On one occasion young Stuart had, while defending his
mother's house against an attack of the savages, felled Keona with a
well-directed blow of his fist. It was doubtless out of revenge for this
that the latter now dogged the former through the lonely recesses of the
mountain-pass by which he had crossed the island from the little
settlement in which was his home, and gained the sequestered bay in
which he expected to find the schooner. Up to this point, however, the
savage had not summoned courage to make the attack, although, with the
exception of a hunting-knife, his enemy was altogether unarmed; for he
knew that in the event of missing his mark the young man's speed of foot
would enable him to outstrip him, while his strength of frame would
quickly terminate a single combat.

As the youth gained the more open land near the beach, the possibility
of making a successful cast of the spear became more and doubtful.
Finally the savage shrunk into the bushes, and abandoned the pursuit.

"Not here yet, Master Gascoyne," muttered Henry, as he sat down on a
rock to rest; for, although the six miles of country he had crossed was
a trifle, as regarded distance, to a lad of nineteen, the rugged
mountain-path by which he had come would have tried the muscles of a Red
Indian, and the nerve of a goat. "You were wont to keep to time better
in days gone by. Truly it seems to me a strange thing that I should thus
be made a sort of walking post between my mother's house and this bay,
all for the benefit of a man who seems to me no better than he should
be, and whom I don't like, and yet whom I _do_ like in some
unaccountable fashion that I don't understand."

Whatever the youth's thoughts were after giving vent to the foregoing
soliloquy, he kept them to himself. They did not at first appear to be
of an agreeable nature; for he frowned once or twice, and struck his
thigh with his clenched hand; but gradually a pleasant expression lit
up his manly face, as he gazed out upon the sleeping sea and watched
the gorgeous clouds that soon began to rise and cluster round the sun.

After an hour or so spent in wandering on the beach picking up shells,
and gazing wistfully out to sea, Henry Stuart appeared to grow tired of
waiting; for he laid himself down on the shore, turned his back on the
ocean, pillowed his head on a tuft of grass, and deliberately went to
sleep.

Now was the time for the savage to wreak his vengeance on his enemy;
but, fortunately, that villain, despite his subtlety and cunning, had
not conceived the possibility of the youth indulging in such an
unnatural recreation as a nap in the forenoon. He had, therefore,
retired to his native jungle, and during the hour in which Henry was
buried in repose, and in which he might have accomplished his end
without danger or uncertainty, he was seated in a dark, cave, moodily
resolving in his mind future plans of villainy, and, indulging the hope
that on the youth's returning homeward be would be more successful in
finding a favorable opportunity to take his life.

During this same hour it was that our low-hulled little schooner hove in
sight on the horizon, ran swiftly down before the breeze, cast anchor in
the bay, and sent her boat ashore, as we have seen, with the captain,
the surly man called Dick, and our friend John Bumpus.

It happened that, just as the boat ran under the shelter of a rocky
point and touched the strand, Keona left his cave for the purpose of
observing what young Stuart was about. He knew that he could not have
retraced his homeward way without passing within sight of his place of
concealment.

A glance of surprise crossed his dark visage as he crept to the edge of
the underwood and saw the schooner at anchor in the bay. This was
succeeded by a fiendish grin of exultation as his eye fell on the
slumbering form of the youth. He instantly took advantage of the
opportunity; and so deeply was he engrossed with his murderous
intention, that he did not observe the captain of the schooner as he
turned a projecting rock, and suddenly appeared upon the scene. The
captain, however, saw the savage, and instantly drew back, signing, at
the same time, to his two men to keep under cover.

A second glance showed him the sleeping form of Henry, and, almost
before he had time to suspect that foul play was going on, he saw the
savage glide from the bushes to the side of the sleeper, raise his
spear, and poise it for one moment, as if to make sure of sending it
straight to the youth's heart.

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