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

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"Ha! that's your game, is it?" muttered the boy, between his teeth, and
grasping the pole with both hands as if he wished to squeeze his fingers
into the wood. "You don't want to give us a chance of escaping, don't
you, eh! is that it? You think that because we're a small party, and the
half of us females, that we're cowed, and wont think of trying any other
way of escaping, do you? Oh yes, that's what you think; you know it, you
do, _but you're mistaken_" (he became terribly sarcastic and bitter at
this point); "you'll find that you've got _men_ to deal with, that
you've not only caught a tartar, but _two_ tartars--one o' them being
ten times tartarer than the other. Oh, if--"

"What's all that you're saying, Corrie?" said Montague, stepping out of
the tent at that moment.

"O Captain!" said the boy, vehemently, "I wish I were a giant!"

"Why so, lad?"

"Because then I would wade out to that wreck, clap my shoulder to her
bow, shove her into deep water, carry you, and Alice, and Poopy aboard,
haul out the main-mast by the roots, make an oar of it, and scull out to
sea, havin' previously fired off the biggest gun aboard of her to let
the pirates know what I was doing."

Corrie's spirit was in a tumultuous and very rebellious state. He was
half inclined to indulge in hysterical weeping, and more than half
disposed to give way to a burst of savage glee. He spoke with the
mantling blood blazing in his fat cheeks, and his two eyes glittering
like those of a basilisk. Montague could not repress a smile and a look
of admiration as he said to our little hero:

"Why, Corrie, if you were a giant it would be much easier to go to the
other side of the island, wring off the heads of all the pirates, and,
carrying me on your shoulders, and Alice and Poopy in your coat pockets,
get safely aboard the Foam, and ho! for Sandy Cove."

"So it would," said Corrie gravely. "I did not think of that; and it
would be a far pleasanter way than the other."

"Ah, Corrie, I fear that you are a very bloodthirsty fellow."

"Of course I am when I have pirates to deal with. I would kill them
every man, without a thought."

"No, you wouldn't, my boy. You couldn't do it in cold blood, even
although they are bad men."

"I don't know that," said Corrie, dubiously. "I would do it without more
feeling than I would have in killing a cat."

"Did you ever kill a cat?" asked Montague.

"Never," answered Corrie.

"Then how can you tell what your feelings would be if you were to
attempt to do it. I remember once, when I was a boy, going out to hunt
cats."

"O Captain Montague! surely _you_ never hunted cats," exclaimed Alice,
who came out of the tent with a very pale face, and uncommonly red eyes.

"Yes, indeed, I did _once_; but I never did it again. I caught one, a
kitten, and set off with a number of boys to kill it; but as we went
along it began to play with my necktie, and to _purr_. Our hearts were
softened, so we let it go. Ah, Corrie, my boy, never go hunting cats!"
said Montague, earnestly.

"Did I say I was going to?" replied Corrie indignantly.

Montague laughed, and so did Alice, at the fierce look the boy put on.

"Come," said the former, "I'm sure that you would not kill a pirate in
cold blood any more than you would kill a kitten--would you?"

"I'm not sure o' that," said Corrie, half laughing, but still looking
fierce. "In the first place, my blood is never cold when I've to do with
pirates; and, in the second place, pirates are not innocent creatures
covered with soft hair, and--they don't purr!"

This last remark set Alice into a fit of laughter, and drew a faint
"hee! hee!" from Poopy, who had been listening to the conversation
behind the canvas of the tent.

Montague took advantage of this improved state of things. "Now, Alice,"
said he cheerfully, "do you and Poopy set about spreading our blanket
tablecloth, and getting supper laid out. It is but a poor one,--hard
biscuit and water,--but there is plenty of it, and, after all, that is
the main thing. Meanwhile, Corrie and I will saunter along shore and
talk over our plans. Cheer up, my little girl; we will manage to give
these pirates the slip somehow or other, you may depend upon it."

"Corrie," said Montague, when they were alone. "I have spoken cheeringly
to Alice, because she is a little girl and needs comfort, but you and I
know that our case is a desperate one, and it will require all our
united wisdom and cleverness to effect oar escape from these rascally
pirates."

The commander of the Talisman paused, and smiled in spite of himself at
the idea of being placed in circumstances that constrained him to hold a
consultation, in matters that might involve life and death, with a mere
boy! But there was no help for it; besides, to say truth, the
extraordinary energy and courage that had been displayed by the lad,
combined with a considerable amount of innate sharpness in his
character, tended to create a feeling that the consultation might not be
altogether without advantage. At all events, it was better to talk over
their desperate position even with a boy than to confine his anxieties
to his own breast.

But although Montague had seen enough of his young companion to convince
him that he was an intelligent fellow, he was not prepared for the
fertility of resource, the extremity of daring, and the ingenuity of
device that were exhibited by him in the course of that consultation.

To creep over, in the dead of night, knife in hand, and attack the
pirates while asleep, was one of the least startling of his daring
propositions; and to swim out to the wreck, set her on fire, and get
quietly on board the Avenger, while all the amazed pirates should have
rushed over to see what could have caused such a blaze, cut the cable
and sail away, was among the least ingenious of his devices.

These two talked long and earnestly while the shades of evening were
descending on the Isle of Palms; and in the earnestness of their talk,
and the pressing urgency of their case, the man almost forgot that his
companion was a boy, and the boy never for a moment doubted that he
himself, in everything but years, was a man.

It was getting dark when they returned to the tent, where they found
that Alice and Poopy had arranged their supper with the most scrupulous
care and nicety. These, too, with the happy buoyancy of extreme youth,
had temporarily forgotten their position, and, when their male
companions entered, were deeply engaged in a private game of a
"tea-party," in which hard biscuit figured as bun, and water was made to
do duty for tea. In this latter part of the game, by the way, the
children did but carry out in jest a practise which is not altogether
unknown in happier circumstances and in civilized society.

CHAPTER XXIII.

PLANS PARTIALLY CARRIED OUT--THE CUTTER'S FATE--AND A SERIOUS
MISFORTUNE.

The cutter was a fast sailer, and, although the pirate schooner had left
Sandy Cove nearly two days before her, the Wasp, having had a fair wind,
followed close on her heels. The Avenger cast anchor in the harbor of
the Isle of Palms on the morning of her fifth day out; the Wasp sighted
the island on the evening of the same day.

It was not Gascoyne's purpose to run down at once and have a
hand-to-hand fight with his own men. He felt that his party was too weak
for such an attempt, and resolved to accomplish by stratagem what he
could not hope to compass by force. He therefore hove-to the instant the
tops of the palm trees appeared on the horizon, and waited till night
should set in and favor his designs.

"What do you intend to do?" inquired Henry Stuart, who stood on the deck
watching the sun as it sank into the ocean behind a mass of golden
clouds, in which, however, there were some symptoms of stormy weather.

"I mean to wait till it is dark," said Gascoyne, "and then run down and
take possession of the schooner."

Henry looked at the pirate captain in surprise, and not without
distrust. Ole Thorwald, who was smoking his big German pipe with great
energy, looked at him with undisguised uneasiness.

"You speak as if you had no doubt whatever of succeeding in this
enterprise, Mr. Gascoyne," said the latter.

"I _have_ no doubt," replied Gascoyne.

"I do believe you're right," returned Thorwald, smoking furiously as he
became more agitated "I make no question but your villains will receive
you with open arms. What guarantee have we, Mister Gascoyne, or Mister
Durward, that we shall not be seized and made to walk the plank, or
perform some similarly fantastic feat--in which, mayhap, our feet will
have less to do with the performance than our necks--when you get into
power?"

"You have no guarantee whatever," returned Gascoyne, "except the word of
a pirate!"

"You say truth," cried Ole, springing up and pacing the deck with
unwonted energy, while a troubled and somewhat fierce expression settled
on his usually good-humored countenance. "You say truth, and I think we
have been ill-advised when we took this step; for my part, I regard
myself as little better than a maniac for putting myself obstinately,
not to say deliberately, into the very jaws of a lion,--perhaps I should
say a tiger. But, mark my words, Gascoyne, _alias_ Durward" (here he
stopped suddenly before the pirate, who was leaning in a careless
attitude against the mast, and looked him full in the face), "if you
play us false, as I have no hesitation in saying I believe that you
fully intend to do, your life will not be worth a pewter shilling."

"I am yet in your power, Mr. Thorwald," said Gascoyne; "if your friends
agree to it, I cannot prevent your putting about and returning to Sandy
Cove. But in that case the missionary's child _will be lost!_"

"I do not believe that my child's safety is so entirely dependent on
you," said Mr. Mason, who had listened in silence to the foregoing
dialogue; "she is in the hands of that God on whom you have turned your
back, and with whom all things are possible. But I feel disposed to
trust you, Gascoyne; and I feel thus because of what was said of you by
Mrs. Stuart, in whose good sense I place implicit confidence. I would
advise Mr. Thorwald to wait patiently until he sees more cause than he
does at present for distrust."

Gascoyne had turned round, and, during the greater part of this speech,
had gazed intently towards the horizon.

"We shall have rough weather to-night," said he; "but our work will be
done before it comes, I hope. Up with the helm now, Henry, and slack off
the sheets; it is dark enough to allow us to creep in without being
observed. Manton will of course be in the only harbor in the island; we
must therefore go round to the other side, and take the risk of running
on the reefs."

"Risk!" exclaimed Henry; "I thought you knew all the passages about the
island!"

"So I do, lad--all the passages; but I don't profess to know every rock
and reef in the bottom of the sea. Our only chance is to make the island
on the south side, where there are no passages at all except one that
leads into a bay; but if we run into that, our masts will be seen
against the southern sky, even from the harbor where the schooner lies.
If we are seen they will be prepared for us, in which case we shall have
a desperate fight with little chance of success and the certainty of
much bloodshed. We must therefore run straight for another part of the
shore, not far from the bay I have referred to, and take our chance of
striking. I _think_ there is enough of water to float this little cutter
over the reefs, but I am not sure."

"Think! sure!" echoed Thorwald, in a tone of exasperated surprise; "and
if we _do_ strike, Mr. Gascoyne, do you mean us to go beg for mercy at
the hands of your men, or to swim back to Sandy Cove?"

"If we strike, I shall take the boat, land with the men, and leave the
cutter to her fate. The Avenger will suffice to take us back to Sandy
Cove."

Ole was rendered speechless by the coolness of this remark; so he
relieved himself by tightening his belt, and spouting forth volcanoes of
smoke.

Meanwhile, the cutter had run to within a short distance of the island.
The night was rendered doubly dark by the rapid spreading of those heavy
clouds which indicated the approach of a squall, if not a storm.

"This is well," said Gascoyne, in a low tone, to Henry Stuart, who stood
near him; "the worse the storm is to-night the better for the success of
our enterprise. Henry lad, I'm sorry you think so badly of me."

Henry was taken aback by this unexpected remark, which was made in a
low, sad tone.

"Can I think too badly of one who confesses himself to be _pirate_?"
said Henry.

"The confession is at least in my favor. I had no occasion to confess,
nor to give myself up to you."

"Give yourself up! It remains to be seen whether you mean to do that or
not."

"Do you not believe me, Henry? Do you not believe the account that I
gave of myself to you and your mother?"

"How can I?" said the young man, hesitatingly.

"Your mother believed me."

"Well, Gascoyne, to tell you the plain truth, I _do_ feel more than half
inclined to believe you; and I'm sorry for you; I am, from my soul. You
might have led a different life, you might even do so yet."

"You forget," said Gascoyne, smiling sadly. "I have given myself up, and
you are bound to prevent my escaping."

Henry was perplexed by this reply. In the enthusiasm of his awakened
pity he had for a moment forgotten the pirate in the penitent. Before he
could reply, however, the cutter struck violently on a rock, and an
exclamation of alarm and surprise burst from the crew, most of whom were
assembled on deck.

"Silence!" cried Gascoyne, in a deep, sonorous tone, that was
wonderfully different from that in which he had just been speaking to
Henry; "get out the boat. Arm yourselves, and jump in. There is no time
to lose."

"The cutter is hard and fast," said Henry; "if this squall does not come
on, or if it turns out to be a light one, we may get her off."

"Perhaps we may, but I have little hope of that," returned Gascoyne.
"Now, lads, are you all in the boat? Come, Henry, get in at once."

"I will remain here,", said Henry.

"For what end?" said Gascoyne, in surprise.

"The cutter belongs to a friend; I do _not_ choose to forsake her in
this off-hand manner."

"But nothing can save her, Henry."

"Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I will do what I can. She moves a little. If
she is lifted over this reef while we are on shore, she will be carried
out to sea and lost, and that must not be allowed. Leave me here till
you land the men, and then send the boat back with two of them. We will
put some of the cutter's ballast into it, and try to tow her off. It
won't take half an hour, and that will not interfere with your plans, I
should think, for the whole night lies before us."

Seeing that he was determined, Gascoyne agreed, and left the cutter,
promising to send off the boat directly. But it took half an hour to row
from the Wasp to the shore, and before the half of that time had
elapsed, the storm which had been impending burst over the island.

It was much more violent than had been expected. The cutter was lifted
over the reef by the first wave, and struck heavily as she slid into
deep water. Then she rushed out to sea before the gale. Henry seized the
helm and kept the little vessel right before the wind. He knew nothing
of the sea around, and the intense darkness of the night prevented his
seeing more than a dozen yards beyond the bow.

It was perhaps as well that he was kept in ignorance of what awaited
him; for he was thus spared at least the anticipation of what appeared
certain destruction. He fancied that the rock over which he had been
carried was the outer reef of the island. In this he was mistaken. The
whole sea around and beyond him was beset with reefs, which at that
moment were covered with foam. Had daylight revealed the scene, he
would have been appalled. As it was, he stood stoutly and hopefully to
the helm, while the cutter rushed wildly on to her doom.

Suddenly she struck with terrific violence, and Henry was hurled to the
deck. Leaping up, he sprang again to the helm and attempted to put
about, but the shock had been so great that the whole framework of the
little craft was dislocated. The fastenings of the rudder had been torn
out, and she was unmanageable. The next wave lifted her over the reef,
and the gale swept her away.

Even then the hopes of the young man did not quite fail him. He believed
that the last reef had now been passed, and that he would be driven out
to the open sea, clear at least of immediate danger. It was a vain hope.
In another moment the vessel struck for the third time, and the mast
went over the side. Again and again she rose and fell with all her
weight on the rocks. The last blow burst out her sides, and she fell to
pieces, a total wreck, leaving Henry struggling with the waves.

He seized the first piece of wood that came in his way, and clung to it.
For many hours he was driven about and tossed by the winds and waves
until he began to feel utterly exhausted; but he clung to the spar with
the tenacity of a drowning man. In those seas the water is not so cold
as in our northern climes, so that men can remain in it for a great
length of time without much injury. There are many instances of the
South Sea islanders having been wrecked in their canoes, and having
spent not only hours but days in the water, clinging to broken pieces of
wood, and swimming for many miles, pushing these before them.

When, therefore, the morning broke, and the bright sun shone out, and
the gale had subsided, Henry found himself still clinging to the spar,
and, although much weakened, still able to make some exertion to save
himself.

On looking round he found that numerous pieces of the wreck floated near
him, and that the portion to which he clung was the broken lower mast. A
large mass of the deck, with part of the gunwale attached to it, lay
close beside him, held to the mast by one of the shrouds. He at once
swam to this, and found it sufficiently large to sustain his weight,
though not large enough to enable him to get quite out of the water.
While here, half in and half out of the water, his first act was to fall
on his knees and thank God for sparing his life, and to pray for help in
that hour of need.

Feeling that it would be impossible to exist much longer unless he could
get quite out of the water so as to allow the sun to warm his chilled
frame, he used what strength remained in him to drag towards him several
spars that lay within his reach. These he found to be some of the rough
timbers that had lain on the deck of the cutter to serve as spare masts
and yards. They were, therefore, destitute of cordage, so that it was
not possible to form a secure raft. Nevertheless, by piling them
together on the top of the broken portion of the deck; he succeeded in
constructing a platform which raised him completely out of the water.

The heat of the sun speedily dried his garments, and as the day wore on
the sea went down sufficiently to render the keeping of his raft
together a matter of less difficulty than it was at first. In trying to
make some better arrangement of the spars on which he rested, he
discovered the corner of a sail sticking between two of them. This he
hauled out of the water, and found it to be a portion of the gaff. It
was a fortunate discovery; because, in the event of long exposure, it
would prove to be a most useful covering. Wringing it out, he spread it
over the logs to dry.

The doing of all this occupied the shipwrecked youth so long that it was
nearly midday before he could sit down on his raft and think calmly over
his position. Hunger now began to remind him that he was destitute of
food; but Henry had been accustomed, while roaming among the mountains
of his island home, to go fasting for long periods of time. The want of
breakfast, therefore, did not inconvenience him much; but before he had
remained inactive more than ten minutes, the want of sleep began to tell
upon him. Gradually he felt completely overpowered by it. He laid his
head on one of the spars at last, and resigned himself to an influence
he could no longer resist.

It was evening before he awoke from that slumber. The sun had just
disappeared below the horizon, and the red clouds that remained behind
were beginning to deepen, as night prepared to throw her dark mantle
over the sea. A gull wheeled over the youth's head and uttered a wild
cry as he awoke, causing him to start up with a feeling of bewildered
uncertainty as to where he was.

The true nature of his position was quickly forced upon him. A dead calm
now prevailed. Henry gazed eagerly, wistfully round the horizon. It was
an unbroken line; not a speck that resembled a sail was to be seen.
Remembering for the first time that his low raft would be quite
invisible at a very short distance, he set about erecting a flag. This
was easily done. Part of his red shirt was torn off and fastened to a
light spar, the end of which he stuck between the logs. Having set up
his signal of distress, he sat down beside it, and, drawing part of the
sail over his shoulders, leaned on the broken part of the bulwark, and
pondered his forlorn condition.

It was a long, sad reverie into which poor Henry Stuart fell that
evening. Hope did not, indeed, forsake his breast; for hope is strong in
youth; but he was too well acquainted with the details of a sailor's
life and risks to be able to shut his eyes to the real dangers of his
position. He knew full well that if he should be cast on any of the
inhabited islands of the South Seas (unless it might be one of the very
few that had at that time accepted the gospel) he would certainly be
killed by the savages, whose practise it is to slay and eat all
unfortunates who chance to be wrecked and cast upon their shores. But no
islands were in sight; and it was possible that he might be left to
float on the boundless ocean until the slow and terrible process of
starvation did its work, and wore away the life which he felt to be so
fresh and strong within him.

When he thought of this he shuddered, and reverted, almost with a
feeling of pleasure, to the idea that another storm might spring up ere
long, and, by dashing his frail raft to pieces, bring his life to a
speedy termination. His hopes were not very clear even to his own mind.
He did indeed hope, because he could not help it; but what it was that
he hoped for would have puzzled him to state. A passing ship finding him
in a part of the Pacific where ships were not wont to pass was perhaps
among the least animating of all his hopes.

But the thoughts that coursed through the youth's brain that night were
not centered alone upon the means or the prospects of deliverance. He
thought of his mother,--her gentleness, her goodness, her unaccountable
partiality for Gascoyne; but, more than all, he thought of her love for
himself. He thought, too, of his former life,--his joys, his sorrows,
and his sins. As he remembered these last, his soul was startled, and he
thought of his God and his Saviour as he had never thought before.
Despite his efforts to restrain them, tears, but not unmanly tears,
_would_ flow down his cheeks as he sat that evening on his raft;
meditated on the past, the present, and the future, and realized the
terrible solemnity of his position,--without water or food--almost
without hope--alone on the deep.

CHAPTER XXIV.

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING--DOINGS ON THE ISLE OF PALMS--GASCOYNE'S DESPAIR.

It was not without some difficulty that the boat reached the shore after
the squall burst upon them. On landing, the party observed, dark though
it was, that their leader's countenance wore an expression of the
deepest anxiety; yet there were lines upon it that indicated the raging
of conflicting passions which he found it difficult to restrain.

"I fear me," said Ole Thorwald, in a troubled voice, "that our young
friend Henry Stuart is in danger."

"Lost!" said Gascoyne, in a voice so low and grating that it startled
his hearers.

"Say not so," said Mr. Mason, earnestly. "He is a brave and a clever
youth, and knows how to manage the cutter until we can row back and
fetch him ashore."

"Row back!" exclaimed Gascoyne, almost fiercely. "Think you that I would
stand here idly if our boat could live in such a sea as now rolls on the
rocks? The Wasp must have been washed over the reef by this time. She
may pass the next without being dashed to pieces, but she is too rickety
to stand the third. No, there is no hope!"

While he spoke the missionary's eyes were closed, and his lips moved as
if in silent prayer. Seizing Gascoyne nervously by the arm, he said;
"You cannot tell that there is no hope. That is known only to One who
has encouraged us to 'hope against hope.' Henry is a stout youth and a
good swimmer. He may succeed in clinging to some portion of the wreck."

"True, true," cried Gascoyne, eagerly grasping at this hope, slight
though it was. "Come; we waste time. There is but one chance. The
schooner must be secured without delay. Lads, you will follow Mr.
Thorwald. Do whatever he bids you. And now," he added, leading the
merchant aside, "the time for action has come. I will conduct you to a
certain point on the island, where you will remain concealed among the
bushes until I return to you."

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