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

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"Remove him," said Gascoyne.

"Overboard?" inquired Scraggs, with a bland smile.

"Below," said the captain; and Scraggs was fain to content himself with
carrying the insensible form of his superior officer to his berth;
taking pains, however, to bump his head carefully against every spar and
corner and otherwise convenient projection on the way down.

In a few minutes more the schooner was rushing through the milk-white
foam that covered the dangerous coral reef named the Long Shoal; and the
Talisman lay to, not daring to venture into such a place, but pouring
shot and shell into her bold little adversary with terrible effect, as
the tattered sails and flying cordage showed. The fire was steadily
replied to by Long Tom, whose heavy shots came crashing repeatedly
through the hull of the man-of-war.

The large boat, meanwhile, had been picked up by the Talisman, after
having rescued Mr. Mason and Henry, both of whom were placed in the gig.
This light boat was now struggling to make the ship; but, owing to the
strength of the squall, her diminished crew were unable to effect this;
they therefore ran ashore, to await the issue of the fight and the
storm.

For some time the Avenger stood on her wild course unharmed, passing
close to huge rocks on either side of her, over which the sea burst in
clouds of foam. Gascoyne still stood at the wheel, guiding the vessel
with consummate skill and daring, while the men looked on in awe and in
breathless expectation, quite regardless of the shot which flew around
them, and altogether absorbed by the superior danger by which they were
menaced.

The surface of the sea was so universally white, that there was no line
of dark water to guide the pirate captain on his bold and desperate
course. He was obliged to trust almost entirely to his intimate
knowledge of the coast, and to the occasional patches in the surrounding
waste where the comparative flatness of the boiling flood indicated less
shallow water. As the danger increased, the smile left Gascoyne's lips;
but the flashing of his bright eyes and his deepened color showed that
the spirit boiled within almost as wildly as the ocean raged around him.

The center of the shoal was gained, and a feeling of hope and exultation
began to rise in the breasts of the crew, when a terrific shock caused
the little schooner to quiver from stem to stern, while an involuntary
cry burst from the men, many of whom were thrown violently on the deck.
At the same time a shot from the Talisman came in through the stern
bulwarks, struck the wheel, and carried it away, with part of the tackle
attached to the tiller.

"Another leap like that, lass, and you're over," cried Gascoyne, with a
light smile, as he sprang to the iron tiller, and, seizing it with his
strong hands, steered the schooner as if she had been a boat.

"Get new tackle rove, Scraggs," said he cheerfully. "I'll keep her
straight for Eel's Gate with _this_. That was the first bar of the gate;
there are only two altogether, and the second won't be so bad."

As the captain spoke, the schooner seemed to recover from the shock, and
again rushed forward on her foaming course; but before the men had time
to breathe, she struck again,--this time less violently, as had been
predicted,--and the next wave lifting her over the shoals, launched her
into deep water.

"There, that will do," said Gascoyne, resigning the helm to Scraggs.
"You can keep her as she goes: there's plenty of water now, and no fear
of that big bully following us. Meanwhile, I will go below, and see to
the welfare of our passengers."

Gascoyne was wrong in supposing that the Talisman would not follow. She
could not indeed follow in the same course; but the moment that Mulroy
observed that the pirate had passed the shoals in safety, he stood
inshore, and, without waiting to pick up the gig, traversed the channel
by which they had entered the bay. Then, trusting to the lead and to his
knowledge of the general appearance of shallows, he steered carefully
along until he cleared the reefs, and finally stood out to sea.

In less than half an hour afterwards, the party on shore beheld the two
vessels disappear among the black storm-clouds that gathered over the
distant horizon.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE GOAT'S PASS--AN ATTACK, A BLOODLESS VICTORY, AND A SERMON.

When Ole Thorwald was landed at the foot of that wild gorge in the
cliffs which have been designated the Goat's Pass, he felt himself to be
an aggrieved man, and growled accordingly.

"It's too bad o' that fire-eating fellow to fix on _me_ for this
particular service," said he to one of the settlers named Hugh Barnes, a
cooper, who acted as one of his captains; "and at night, too; just as if
a man of my years were a cross between a cat (which everybody knows can
see in the dark) and a kangaroo, which is said to be a powerful leaper,
though whether in the dark or the light I don't pretend to know, not
being informed on the point. Have a care, Hugh. It seems to me you're
going to step into a quarry hole, or over a precipice. How my old flesh
quakes, to be sure! If it was only a fair, flat field and open day, with
any odds you like against me, it would be nothing; but this abominable
Goat's--Hah! I knew it! Help! hold on there! murder!"

Ole's sudden alarm was caused by his stumbling in the dark over the root
of a shrub which grew on the edge of, and partly concealed, a precipice,
over which he was precipitated, and at the foot of which his mangled and
lifeless form would soon have reposed had not his warlike forefathers,
being impressed with the advantage of wearing strong sword-belts,
furnished the sword which Ole wore with such a belt as was not only on
all occasions sufficient to support the sword itself, but which, on this
particular occasion, was strong enough to support its owner when he was
suspended from, and entangled with, the shrubs of the cliff.

A ray of light chanced to break into the dark chasm at the time, and
revealed all its dangers to the pendulous Thorwald so powerfully that he
positively howled with horror.

The howl brought Hugh and several of his followers to his side, and they
with much difficulty, for he was a heavy man, succeeded in dragging him
from his dangerous position and placing him on his feet, in which
position he remained for some time, speechless and blowing.

"Now, I'll tell you what it is, boys," said he at length, "if ever you
catch me going on an expedition of this sort again, flay me
alive--that's all; don't spare me. Pull off the cuticle as if it were a
glove; and if I roar don't mind--that's what I say."

Having said this, the veteran warrior smiled a ghastly smile, as if the
idea of being so excruciatingly treated were rather pleasant than
otherwise.

"You're not hurt, I hope?" inquired Hugh.

"Hurt; yes, I _am_ hurt,--hurt in my feelings, not in my body, thanks to
my good sword and belt; but my feelings are injured. That villain, that
rascal, that pirate--as I verily believe him to be--selected me
especially for this service, I am persuaded, just because he knew me to
be unfit for it. Bah! but I'll pay him off for it. Come, boys,
forward--perhaps, in the circumstances, it would be more appropriate to
say upward! We must go through with it now, as our retreat is cut off.
Lead the way, Hugh; your eyes are younger and sharper than mine; and if
you chance to fall over a cliff, pray give a yell, like a good fellow,
so that I may escape your sad fate."

In the course of half an hour's rough scramble, the party gained the
crest of the Goat's Pass and descended in rear of the native village.
The country over which they had to travel, however, was so broken and so
beset with rugged masses of rock as to retard their progress
considerably, besides causing them to lose their way more than once. It
was thus daybreak before they reached the heights that overlooked the
village; and the shot from the Avenger, with the broadside from the
frigate, was delivered just as they began to descend the hill.

Ole, therefore, pushed on with enthusiasm to attack the village in rear;
but he had not advanced half a mile when the peculiar and to him
inexplicable movements of the two vessels, which have been already
described, took place, leaving the honest commander of the land forces
in a state of great perplexity as to what was meant by his naval allies,
and in much doubt as to what he ought to do.

"It seems to me," said he to his chiefs, in a hastily-summoned council
of war, "that we are all at sixes and sevens. I don't understand what
maneuvers these naval men are up to, and I doubt if they know
themselves. This being the case, and the fleet, if I may so name it,
having run away, it behooves us, my friends, to show these sailors how
we soldiers do our duty. I would advise, therefore, that we should
attack at once. But as we are not a strong party, and as we know not how
strong the savages may be, I think it my duty, before leading you on, to
ask your opinions on the point."

The officers whose opinions were thus asked were Hugh Barnes, already
mentioned, Terence Rigg the blacksmith of the settlement, and John
Thomson the carpenter. These, being strong of body, powerful of will,
and intelligent withal, had been appointed to the command of companies,
and when on duty were styled "captain" by their commanding officer, who
was, when on duty, styled "general" by them.

Ole Thorwald, be it remarked in passing, was a soldier at heart. Having
gone through a moderate amount of military education, and possessing
considerable talent in the matter of drill, he took special pride in
training the natives and the white men of the settlement to act in
concert and according to fixed principles. The consequence was that
although his men were poorly armed, he had them in perfect command, and
could cause them to act unitedly at any moment.

The captains having been requested to give their opinions, Captain Rigg,
being senior, observed that he was for "goin' at 'em at wance, neck or
nothing;" to which warlike sentiment he gave a peculiar emphasis by
adding, "an' no mistake," in a very decided tone of voice.

"That's wot I says too, General," said Captain Thomson, the carpenter.

Captain Barnes being of the same opinion, General Thorwald said:

"Well, then, gentlemen, we shall attack without delay;" and proceeded to
make the necessary arrangements.

When the Talisman fired her broadside of blank cartridge at the native
village, there was not a solitary warrior in it--only aged men, women,
and children. These, filled with unutterable consternation on hearing
the thunderous discharge, sent up one yell of terror and forthwith took
to their heels and made for the hills _en masse_, never once looking
behind them, and, therefore, remaining in ignorance of the ulterior
proceedings of the ship.

It was some time before they came in sight of Ole Thorwald and his men.

The moment they did so Ole gave the word to charge; and, whirling his
sword round his head, set the example. The men followed with a yell. The
poor savages turned at once and fled,--such of them at least as were not
already exhausted by their run up hill,--and the rest, consisting
chiefly of old men and children, fell on their knees and faces and
howled for mercy.

As soon as the charging host became aware of the character of the enemy,
they came to a sudden half.

"Sure, it's owld men and women we're about to kill!" cried Captain Rigg,
lowering his formidable forehammer, with which, in default of a better
weapon, he had armed himself; "but, hooray, Gineral! there may be lots
o' the warrior reptiles in among the huts, and them poor craturs have
been sent out to deceive us."

"That's true. Forward my lads!" shouted Ole, and again the army charged;
nor did they stop short until they had taken possession of the village,
when they found that all the fighting men were gone.

This being happily accomplished without bloodshed, Ole Thorwald, like a
wise general, took the necessary steps to insure and complete his
conquest. He seized all the women and children, and shut them up in a
huge temple built of palm trees and roofed with broad leaves. This
edifice was devoted to the horrible practise of cutting up human bodies
that were intended to be eaten.

Ole had often heard of the cannibalism that is practised by most of the
South Sea Islanders, though some tribes are worse than others; but he
had never before this day come directly in contact with it. Here,
however, there could be no doubt whatever of the fact. Portions of human
bodies were strewn about this hideous temple,--some parts in a raw and
bloody condition, as if they had just been cut from a lately slain
victim; others in a baked state, as if ready to form part of some
terrible banquet.

Sick at heart, Ole Thorwald turned from this sight with loathing.
Concluding that the natives who practised such things could not be very
much distressed by being shut up for a time in a temple dedicated to the
gratification of their own disgusting tastes, he barricaded the entrance
securely, placed a guard over it, and hurried away to see that two other
buildings, in which the remainder of the women and children had been
imprisoned, were similarly secured and guarded. Meanwhile the stalwart
knight of the forehammer, to whom the duty had been assigned, placed
sentries at the various entrances to the village, and disposed his men
in such a way as to prevent the possibility of being taken by surprise.

These various arrangements were not made a moment too soon. The savages,
as we have said in a former chapter, rushed towards their village from
all quarters, on hearing the thunder of the great guns. They were now
arriving in scores, and came rushing over the brow of the neighboring
hill, and down the slopes that rose immediately in rear of their rude
homes.

On finding that the place was occupied by their enemies, they set up a
yell of despair, and retired to a neighboring height, where Ole could
see, by their wild gesticulations, that they were hotly debating what
should be done. It soon became evident that an attack would be made;
for, as their comrades came pouring in, the party from the settlement
was soon greatly outnumbered.

Seeing this, and knowing that the party under command of Henry Stuart
would naturally hasten to his aid as soon as possible, Ole sought to
cause delay by sending out a flag of truce.

The natives had been so long acquainted with the customs of the
Europeans that they understood the meaning of this, and the chief of the
tribe, at once throwing down his club, advanced fearlessly to meet the
Christian native sent out with the flag.

The message was to the effect that if they, the enemy, should dare to
make an attack, all the women and children then in the hands of the
settlers should have their heads chopped off on the spot!

This was a startling announcement, and one so directly in opposition to
the known principles of the Christians, that the heathen chief was
staggered, and turned pale. He returned to his comrades with the
horrifying message, which seemed to them all utterly unaccountable. It
was quite natural for themselves to do such a deed, because they held
that all sorts of cruelties were just in war. But their constant
experience had been that, when a native became a follower of the
Christian missionary, from that moment he became merciful, especially
towards the weak and helpless. Counting upon this, they were stunned as
well as astonished at Thorwald's message; for they believed implicitly
that he meant to do what he threatened. They did not know that Ole,
although a worthy man, was not so earnest a believer in all of Mr.
Mason's principles but that he could practise on their credulity in time
of need. Like the missionary, he would rather have died than have
sacrificed the life of a woman or child; but, unlike him, he had no
objection to deceive in order to gain time.

As it turned out, his threat was unnecessary, for Henry and his men were
close at hand; and before the natives could make up their minds what to
do, the whole band came pouring over the hill, with Jo Bumpus far ahead
of the rest, leaping and howling like a maniac with excitement.

This decided the natives. They were now outnumbered and surrounded. The
principal chief, therefore, advanced towards Bumpus with a piece of
native cloth tied to the end of his war-club, which he brandished
furiously by way of making it plain that his object was not war, but
peace!

Naturally enough, the seaman misinterpreted the signal, and there is no
doubt that he would have planted his knuckles on the bridge of the nose
of the swarthy cannibal had not Henry Stuart made use of his
extraordinary powers of speed. He darted forward, overtook Jo, and,
grasping him around the neck with both arms, shouted:

"It's a flag of truce, man!"

"You don't say so?--well, who'd ha' thought it? It don't look like one;
so it don't."

With this remark, Jo subsided into a peaceable man. Pulling a quid out
of his pocket, he thrust it into his cheek, and, crossing his arms on
his breast, listened patiently--though not profitably, seeing that he
did not understand a word--to the dialogue that followed.

It will be remembered that poor Mr. Mason, after being saved by Henry,
was taken into the gig of the Talisman and put ashore. After the two
vessels had disappeared, as has been already described, Henry at once
led his party towards the native village, knowing that Ole Thorwald
would require support, all the more that the ship had failed to fulfil
her part in the combined movement.

As the almost heartbroken father had no power to render further aid to
his lost child, he suffered himself to be led, in a half-bewildered
state, along with the attacking party under his young friend. He was now
brought forward to parley with the native chief.

The missionary's manner and aspect at once changed. In the hope of
advancing the cause of his Master, he forgot, or at least restrained,
his own grief for a time.

"What would the chief say to the Christians?" he began, on being
confronted with the savage and some of his warriors who crowded round
him.

"That he wishes to have done with war," replied the man.

"That is a good wish; but why did the chief begin war?"

"Keona began it!" said the savage, angrily. "We thought our wars with
the Christians were going to stop. But Keona is bad. He put the war
spirit into my people."

Mr. Mason knew this to be true.

"Then," said he, "Keona deserves punishment."

"Let him die," answered the chief; and an exclamation of assent broke
from the other natives. Keona himself, happening to be there, became
pale and looked anxious; but remained where he stood, nevertheless, with
his arms crossed on his dark breast. A bandage of native cloth was tied
round his wounded arm. Without saying a word he undid this, tore it off,
and allowed the blood to ooze from the reopened wound.

It was a silent appeal to the feelings and the sense of justice of his
comrades, and created a visible impression in his favor.

"That wound was received by one who would have been a murderer!" said
Mr. Mason, observing the effect of this action.

"He struck me!" cried Keona, fiercely.

"He struck you in defending his own home against a cowardly attack,"
answered the missionary.

At this point Ole Thorwald saw fit to interfere. Seeing that the natives
were beginning to argue the case, and knowing that no good could come
from such a course, he quietly observed:

"There will be neither wife nor child in this place if I do but hold up
my hand."

The missionary and his party did not, of course, understand this
allusion, but they understood the result; for the savages at once
dropped their tones, and the chief sued earnestly for peace.

"Chiefs and warriors," said Mr. Mason, raising his hand impressively, "I
am a man of peace, and I serve the Prince of peace. To stop this war is
what I desire most earnestly; and I desire above all things that you and
I might henceforth live in friendship, serving the same God and
Saviour, whose name is Jesus Christ. But your ways are not like our
ways. If I leave you now, I fear you will soon find another occasion to
renew the war, as you have often done before. I have you in my power
now. If you were to fight with us we could easily beat you, because we
are stronger in numbers and well armed. Yes, I have you in my power,
and, with the blessing of my God, I will keep you in my power
_forever_."

There was a visible fall in the countenances of the savages who regarded
this strange announcement as their death-warrant. Some of them even
grasped their clubs, and looked fiercely at their enemies: but a glance
from Ole Thorwald quieted these restive spirits.

"Now, chiefs and warrior, I have two intentions in regard to you,"
continued Mr. Mason. "The one is that you shall take your clubs, spears,
and other weapons, and lay them in a pile on this mound, after which I
will make you march unarmed before us halfway to our settlement. From
that point you shall return to your homes. Thus you shall be deprived of
the power of treacherously breaking that peace which you know in your
hearts you would break if you could.

"My second intention is that the whole of your tribe--men, women, and
children--shall now assemble at the foot of this mound and hear what I
have got to say to you. The first part of this plan I shall carry out by
force, if need be. But for the second part, _I must have your own
consent_. I may not force you to listen if you are not willing to hear."

At the mention of the women and children being required to assemble
along with them, the natives pricked up their ears, and, as a matter of
course, they willingly agreed to listen to all that the missionary had
to say to them.

This being settled, and the natives knowing, from former experience,
that the Christians never broke faith with them, they advanced to the
mound pointed out and threw down their arms. A strong guard was placed
over these; the troops of the settlement were disposed in such a manner
as to prevent the possibility of their being recovered, and then the
women and children were set free.

It was a noisy and remarkable meeting that which took place between the
men and women of the tribe on this occasion; but soon surprise and
expectation began to take the place of all other feelings as the strange
intentions of the missionary were spoken of, and in a very short time
Mr. Mason had a large and most attentive congregation.

Never before had the missionary secured such an opportunity. His
eccentric method of obtaining a hearing had succeeded beyond his
expectations. With a heart overflowing with gratitude to God, he stood
up and began to preach the gospel.

Mr. Mason was not only eccentric, but able and wise. He made the most of
his opportunity. He gave them a _very_ long sermon that day; but he knew
that the savages were not used to sermons, and that they would not think
it long. His text was a double one,--"The soul that sinneth it shall
die," and "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved."

He preached that day as a man might who speaks to his hearers for the
first and last time, and, in telling of the goodness, the mercy, and
the love of God, the bitter grief of his own heart was sensibly abated.

After his discourse was over and prayer had been offered up, the savage
warriors were silently formed into a band and marched off in front of
the Christians to the spot where Mr. Mason had promised to set them
free. They showed no disinclination to go. They believed in the good
faith of their captors. The missionary had, indeed, got them into his
power that day. Some of them he had secured _forever_.

CHAPTER XIX.

SORROW AND SYMPATHY--THE WIDOW BECOMES A PLEADER AND HER SON ENGAGES IN
A SINGLE COMBAT.

There are times in the life of every one when the heart seems unable to
bear the load of sorrow and suffering that is laid upon it,--times when
the anguish of the soul is such that the fair world around seems
enshrouded with gloom, when the bright sun itself appears to shine in
mockery, and when the smitten heart refuses to be comforted.

Such a time was it with poor Frederick Mason when, after his return to
Sandy Cove, he stood alone, amid the blackened ruins of his former home,
gazing at the spot which he knew, from the charred remnants as well as
its position, was the site of the room which had once been occupied by
his lost child.

It was night when he stood there. The silence was profound, for the
people of the settlement sympathized so deeply with their beloved
pastor's grief that even the ordinary hum of life appeared to be hushed,
except now and then when a low wail would break out and float away on
the night wind. These sounds of woe were full of meaning. They told that
there were other mourners there that night,--that the recent battle had
not been fought without producing some of the usual bitter fruits of
war. Beloved, but dead and mangled forms, lay in more than one hut in
Sandy Cove.

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