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

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

"Wot more _can_ I confess, sir?" said Dick, beginning to look a little
more interested. "I've already confessed that I was made a pirate
against my will, and that I've never done no murder; though I _have_
plundered a little, just like the rest. As for helpin' to bring my
comrades to justice, I only wish as I know'd how, and I'd do it right
off, I would."

Surly Dick's expression of countenance when he said this was a
sufficient guarantee that he was in earnest.

"There is an island somewhere hereabout," said the lieutenant, "where
the pirates are in the habit of hiding sometimes, is there not?"

Surly Dick looked at his questioner slyly, as he replied, "There is,
sir."

"Do you not think it very likely that they may have run there now,--that
they may be there at this moment?"

"It's _oncommon_ likely," replied Dick, with a grin.

"Can you direct me how to steer, in order to reach that island?"

Surly Dick's aspect changed. He became morose again, and looked silently
at his feet for a few moments, as if he were debating something in his
own mind. He was, in truth, perplexed; for, while he was extremely
anxious to bring his hated comrades to justice, he was by no means so
anxious to let the lieutenant into the secret of the treasures contained
in the caverns of the Isle of Palms, all of which he knew would be at
once swept hopelessly beyond his grasp if they should be discovered. He
also reflected that if he could only manage to get his late companions
comfortably hanged, and himself set free for having turned King's
evidence against them, he could return to the island and abstract the
wealth it contained by degrees. The brilliant prospect thus opened up to
him was somewhat marred, however, by the consideration that some of the
pirates might make a confession and let this secret be known, in which
case his golden dreams would vanish. The difficulty of making up his
mind was so great that he continued for some time to twist his fingers
and move his feet uneasily in silence.

Mulroy observed the pirate's indecision, and, although he knew not its
cause to the he Was sufficiently acquainted with human nature to know
that now was the moment to overcome the man, if he was to be overcome at
all.

"Well, well," he said, carelessly; "I'm sorry to see you throw away your
only chance. As for the information you refuse to give. I can do without
it. Perhaps I may find some of your late comrades when we make the
island, who will stand witness against _you_. That will do, my man; you
may go. Mr. Geoffrey" (turning to a midshipman), "will you accompany
that pirate forward, and see that he is put in irons?"

"But you don't know where the island is," said Surly Dick, anxiously, as
the lieutenant was turning away.

Mulroy turned back: "No," said he; "but you ought to know that when a
seaman is aware of the existence of an island, and knows that he is near
it, a short time will suffice to enable him to find it."

Again he was about to turn away, when Dick cried out, "Stay, sir; will
you stand by me if I show you the way?"

"I will not deceive you," said Mulroy bluntly. "If you show me how to
steer for this island, and assist me in every way that you can to catch
these villains, I will report what you have done, and the judges at your
trial will give what weight they please to the facts; but if you suppose
that I will plead for such a rascal as you are, you very much mistake
me."

A look of deep hatred settled on the pirate's countenance as he said,
briefly, "Well, I'll show you how to steer."

Accordingly, Surly Dick, after being shown a chart, and being made aware
of the exact position of the ship, ordered the course to be altered to
"north-half-east." As this was almost dead in the eye of the light
breeze that was blowing the Talisman had to proceed on her course by the
slow process of tacking.

While she was in the act of putting about on one of these tacks, the
look-out reported "a boat on the lee bow."

"Boat on the lee bow!" was passed from mouth to mouth, and the order was
immediately given to let the frigate fall off. In another moment,
instead of ploughing her way slowly and doggedly to windward, the
Talisman ran swiftly before the breeze toward a dark object which at a
distance resembled a boat with a mast and a small flag flying from it.

"It is a raft, I think," observed the second lieutenant, as he adjusted
the telescope more perfectly.

"You are right; and I think there is some one on it," said Mulroy. "I
see something like a man lying on it; but whether he is dead or alive I
cannot say. There is a flag, undoubtedly; but no one waves a
handkerchief or a rag of any kind. Surely, if a _living_ being occupied
the raft, he would have seen the ship by this time. Stay; he moves! No;
it must have been imagination. I fear that he is dead, poor fellow.
Stand by to lower a boat."

The lieutenant spoke in a sad voice; for he felt convinced that he had
come too late to the aid of some unfortunate who had died in perhaps the
most miserable manner in which man can perish.

Henry Stuart did indeed lie on the raft a dead man to all appearance.
Towards the evening of his third day, he had suffered very severely from
the pangs of hunger. Long and earnestly had he gazed round the horizon,
but no sail appeared. He felt that his end was approaching, and, in a
fit of despair and increasing weakness, he fell on his face in a state
of half-consciousness. Then he began to pray, and gradually he fell into
a troubled slumber.

It was while he was in this condition that the Talisman hove in sight.
Henry had frequently fallen into this species of sleep during the last
few hours, but he never continued in it long; for the pains of thirst,
as well as hunger, now racked his frame. Nevertheless, he was not much
reduced in strength or vigor. A long, slow process of dying would have
still lain before the poor youth, had it been his lot to perish on that
raft.

A delightful dream came over him as he lay. A rich banquet was spread
before him. With wolfish desire he grasped the food, and ate as he never
ate before. Oh! it was a rare feast, that! Each morsel was delicious;
each draught nectar. But he could not devour enough. There was a strange
feeling in him that he could by no means eat to satisfaction.

While he was thus feasting in dreams, the Talisman drew near. Her
bulwarks were crowded with faces gazing earnestly at the bit of red rag
that fluttered in the breeze, and the pile of loose spars on which the
man's form lay extended and motionless.

Suddenly Henry awoke, with a start, to find that his rich banquet was a
terrible delusion; that he was starving to death; and that a large ship
was hove to within a few yards of him!

Starting up on his knees, he uttered a wild shriek. Then, as the truth
entered his soul, he raised his hand and gave a faint cheer.

The revulsion of feeling in the crew of the Talisman was overpowering.
A long, loud, tremendous cheer burst from every heart!

"Lower away!" was shouted to the men who stood at the fall-tackles of
the boat.

As the familiar sounds broke on Henry's ears, he leaped to his feet,
and, waving his hand above his head, again attempted to cheer; but his
voice failed him. Staggering backwards, he fell fainting into the sea.

Almost at the same instant, a man leaped from the bulwark of the
frigate, and swam vigorously towards the raft. It was Richard Price, the
boatswain of the frigate. He reached Henry before the boat did, and,
grasping his inanimate form, supported him until it came up and rescued
them both. A few minutes later Henry Stuart was restored to
consciousness, and the surgeon of the frigate was administering to him
such restoratives as his condition seemed to require.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE CAPTURE AND THE FIRE.

Eight days after the rescue of Henry Stuart from a horrible death, as
related in the last chapter, the Talisman found herself, late in the
afternoon, within about forty hours' sail of Sandy Cove.

Mulroy had visited the Isle of Palms, and found that the pirates had
flown. The mate of the Avenger and his companions had taken advantage of
the opportunity of escape afforded them by Gascoyne, and had hastily
quitted their rendezvous, with as much of the most valuable portion of
their booty as the boat could carry. As this is their last appearance in
these pages, it may be as well to say that they were never again heard
of. Whether they perished in a storm, or gained some distant land, and
followed their former leader's advice,--to repent of their sins,--or
again took to piracy, and continued the practise of their terrible trade
under a more bloody-minded captain, we cannot tell. They disappeared as
many a band of wicked men has disappeared before, and never turned up
again. With these remarks, we dismiss them from our tale.

Surly Dick now began to entertain sanguine hopes that he would be
pardoned, and that he would yet live to enjoy the undivided booty which
he alone knew lay concealed in the Isle of Palms; for, now that he had
heard Henry's account of the landing of Gascoyne on the island, he
never doubted that the pirates would fly in haste from a spot that was
no longer unknown to others, and that they would be too much afraid of
being captured to venture to return to it.

It was, then, with a feeling of no small concern, that the pirate heard
the lookout shout on the afternoon referred to, "Sail ho!"

"Where away?"

"On the lea beam."

The course of the frigate was at once changed, and she ran down towards
the strange sail.

"A schooner, sir," observed the second lieutenant to Mr. Mulroy.

"It looks marvelously like the Foam, _alias_ the Avenger," observed the
latter. "Beat to quarters. If this rascally pirate has indeed been
thrown in our way again, we will give him a warm reception. Why, the
villain has actually altered his course, and is standing towards us."

"Don't you think it is just possible," suggested Henry Stuart, "that
Gascoyne may have captured the vessel from his mate, and now comes to
meet us as a friend?"

"I don't know that," said Mulroy, in an excited tone; for he could not
easily forget the rough usage his vessel had received at the hands of
the bold pirate. "I don't know that. No doubt Gascoyne's mate was
against him; but the greater part of the crew were evidently in his
favor, else why the secret manner in which he was deprived of his
command? No, no. Depend upon it, the villain has got hold of his
schooner and will keep it. By a fortunate chance we have again met; I
will see to it that we do not part without a close acquaintance. Yet why
he should throw himself into my very arms in this way, puzzles me. Ha! I
see his big gun amidships. It is uncovered. No doubt he counts on his
superior sailing powers, and means to give us a shot and show us his
heels. Well, we shall see."

"There goes his flag," observed the second lieutenant.

"What! eh! It's the Union Jack!" exclaimed Mulroy.

"I doubt not that your own captain commands the schooner," said Henry,
who had, of course, long before this time, made the first lieutenant of
the Talisman acquainted with Montague's capture by the pirate, along
with Alice and her companions. "You naturally mistrust Gascoyne; but I
have reason to believe that, on this occasion at least, he is a true
man."

Mulroy returned no answer; for the two vessels were now almost near
enough to enable those on board to distinguish faces with the telescope.
A very few minutes sufficed to remove all doubts; and a quarter of an
hour later, Montague stood on his own quarter-deck, receiving the
congratulations of his officers, while Henry Stuart was seized upon and
surrounded by his friends Corrie, Alice, Poopy, the missionary, and Ole
Thorwald.

In the midst of a volley of excited conversation, Henry suddenly
exclaimed, "But what of Gascoyne? Where is the pirate captain?"

"Why, we've forgotten him" exclaimed Thorwald, whose pipe was doing duty
like a factory chimney. "I shouldn't wonder if he took advantage of us
just now to give us the slip!"

"No fear of that," said Mr. Mason. "Poor fellow, he has felt your loss
terribly, Henry; for we all believed that you were lost; but I am bound
to confess that none of us have shown a depth of sorrow equal to that of
Gascoyne. It seems unaccountable to me. He has not shown his face on
deck since the day he gave up all hope of rescuing you, and has eaten
nothing but a biscuit now and then, which he would suffer no one but
Corrie to take to him."

"Poor Gascoyne! I will go and relieve his mind," said Henry, turning to
quit the quarter-deck.

Now, the noise created by the meeting of the two vessels had aroused
Gascoyne from the lethargic state of mind and body to which he had given
way. Coming on deck, he was amazed to find himself close to the
Talisman. A boat lay alongside the Foam, into which he jumped, and,
sculling towards the frigate, he stepped over the bulwarks just as Henry
turned to go in search of him.

The pirate captain's face wore a haggard, careworn, humbled look, that
was very different from its usual bold, lion-like expression. No one can
tell what a storm had passed through the strong man's breast while he
lay alone on the floor of his cabin,--the deep, deep sorrow; the remorse
for sin; the bitterness of soul, when he reflected that his present
misery was chargeable only to himself. A few nights had given him the
aspect of a much older man.

For a few seconds he stood glancing round the quarter-deck of the
Talisman with a look of mingled curiosity and sadness. But when his eye
fell on the form of Henry he turned deadly pale, and trembled like an
aspen leaf.

"Well, Gascoyne, my--my--_friend_," said the youth, with some
hesitation, as he advanced.

The shout that Gascoyne uttered on hearing the young man's voice was
almost superhuman. It was something like a mingled cheer and cry of
agony. In another moment he sprang forward, and, seizing Henry in his
arms, pressed him to his breast with a grasp that rendered the youth
utterly powerless.

Almost instantly he released him from his embrace, and, seizing his
hand, said, in a wild, gay, almost fierce manner:

"Come, Henry, lad; I have somewhat to say to you. Come with me."

He forced rather than led the amazed youth into the boat, sculled to the
schooner, hurried him into the cabin, and shut and locked the door.

We need scarcely say that all this was a matter of the deepest curiosity
and interest to those who witnessed it; but they were destined to remain
with their curiosity unsatisfied for some time after that.

When Henry Stuart issued from the cabin of the Avenger after that
mysterious interview, his countenance wore a surprised and troubled
expression. Gascoyne's on the contrary, was grave and calm, yet
cheerful. He was more like his former self.

The young man was, of course eagerly questioned as to what had been said
to him, and why the pirate had shown such fondness for him; but the only
reply that could be got from him was, "I must not tell. It is a private
matter. You shall know time enough."

With this answer they were fain to be content. Even Corrie failed to
extract anything more definite from his friend.

A prize crew was put on board the Foam, and the two vessels proceeded
towards the harbor of Sandy Cove in company.

Henry and his friends went in the Foam; but Gascoyne was detained a
prisoner on board the Talisman. Montague felt that it was his duty to
put him in irons; but he could not prevail on himself to heap
unnecessary indignity on the head of one who had rendered him such good
service; so he left him at large, intending to put him in irons only
when duty compelled him to do so.

During the night a stiff breeze, amounting almost to a gale, of fair
wind sprang up, and the two vessels flew towards their destination; but
the Foam left her bulky companion far behind.

That night a dark and savage mind was engaged on board the Talisman in
working out a black and desperate plot. Surly Dick saw, in the capture
of Gascoyne and the Foam, the end of all his cherished hopes, and in a
fit of despair and rage he resolved to be avenged.

This man, when he first came on board the frigate, had not been known as
a pirate, and afterwards, as we have seen, he had been treated with
leniency on account of his offer to turn informant against his former
associates. In the stirring events that followed, he had been
overlooked, and, on the night of which we are writing, he found himself
free to retire to his hammock with the rest of the watch.

In the night, when the wind was howling mournfully through the rigging,
and the greater part of the crew were buried in repose, this man rose
stealthily from his hammock, and, with noiseless tread, found his way to
a dark corner of the ship where the eyes of the sentries were not likely
to observe him. Here he had made preparations for his diabolical
purpose. Drawing a flint and steel from his pocket, he proceeded to
strike a light. This was procured in a few seconds; and as the match
flared up in his face, it revealed the workings of a countenance in
which all the strongest and worst passions of human nature had stamped
deep and terrible lines.

The pirate had taken the utmost care, by arranging an old sail over the
spot, to prevent the reflection of the light being seen. It revealed a
large mass of oakum and tar. Into the heart of this he thrust the match,
and instantly glided away, as he had come, stealthily and without noise.

For a few seconds the fire smoldered: for the sail that covered it kept
it down, as well as hid it from view. But such combustible material
could not be smothered long. The smell of burning soon reached one of
the marines stationed on the lower deck, who instantly gave the alarm;
but almost before the words had passed his lips the flames burst forth.

"Fire! fire! fire!"

What a scene ensued! There was confusion at first; for no sound at sea
rings so terribly in the ear as the shout of "Fire!"

But speedily the stern discipline on board a man-of-war prevailed. Men
were stationed in rows; the usual appliances for the extinction of fire
were brought into play; buckets of water were passed down below as fast
as they could be drawn. No miscellaneous shouting took place; but the
orders that were necessary, and the noise of action, together with the
excitement and the dense smoke that rolled up the hatchway, produced a
scene of the wildest and most stirring description.

In the midst of this, the pirate captain, as might have been expected,
performed a prominent part. His great physical strength enabled him to
act with a degree of vigor that rendered his aid most valuable. He
wrought with the energy of a huge mechanical power, and with a quick
promptitude of perception and a ready change of action which is denied
to mere mechanism. He tore down the bulkheads that rendered it difficult
to get at the place where the fire was; he hurled bucket after bucket of
water on the glowing mass, and rushed, amid clouds of hot steam and
suffocating smoke, with piles of wet blankets to smother it out.

Montague and he wrought together. The young captain issued his orders as
calmly as if there were no danger, yet with a promptitude and vigor that
inspired his men with confidence. Gascoyne's voice was never heard. He
obeyed orders, and acted as circumstances required; but he did not
presume, as men are apt to do on such occasions, to give orders and
advice when there was a legitimate commander. Only once or twice were
the deep tones of his bass voice heard, when he called for more water,
or warned the more daring among the men when danger from falling timber
threatened them.

But all this availed not to check the flames. The men were quickly
driven upon deck, and it soon became evident that the vessel must
perish. The fire burst through the hatchways, and in a short time began
to leap up the rigging.

It now became necessary to make arrangements for the saving of the crew.

"Nothing more can be done, Mr. Mulroy," said Montague, in a calm voice,
that accorded ill with the state of his mind. "Get the boats ready, and
order the men to assemble on the quarter-deck."

"If we were only nearer the island," said Gascoyne, in a low tone, as if
he were talking to himself, "we might run her on the reef, and the
breakers would soon put out the fire."

"That would be little consolation to me," said Montague, with a bitter
smile. "Lower the boats, Mr. Mulroy. The Foam has observed our
condition, I see. Let them row to it. I will go in the gig."

The first lieutenant hastened to obey the order, and the men embarked in
the boats, lighted by the flames, which were now roaring high up the
masts.

Meanwhile the man who had been the cause of all this was rushing about
the deck, a furious maniac. He had wrought at the fire almost as
fiercely as Gascoyne himself, and now that all hope was past, he
continued, despite the orders of Montague to the contrary, to draw water
and rush with bucket after bucket into the midst of the roaring flames.
At last he disappeared, no one knew where, and no one cared; for in such
a scene he was soon forgotten.

The last man left the ship when the heat on the poop became so great
that it was scarcely possible to stand there. Still Montague and
Gascoyne stood side by side near the taffrail, and the gig with her crew
floated just below them. The last boatful of men pulled away from the
burning vessel and then Montague turned, with a deep sigh, and said:

"Now, Mr. Gascoyne, get into the boat. I must be the last man to quit
the ship."

Without a word, Gascoyne swung himself over the stern, and, sliding down
by a rope, dropped into the boat. Montague followed, and they rowed
away.

Just at that moment Surly Dick sprang on the bulwarks, and, holding on
by the mizzen-shrouds, took off his hat and cheered:

"Ha! ha!" he shrieked, with a fiendish laugh, "I've escaped you, have I?
escaped you--hurrah!" and with another wild shriek he leaped on the hot
deck, and, seizing a bucket, resumed his self-imposed duty of deluging
the fire with water.

"Pull, pull lads! We can't leave the miserable man to perish," cried
Montague, starting up, while the men rowed after the frigate with their
utmost might. But in vain. Already she was far from them, and ever
increased the distance as she ran before the gale.

As long as the ship lasted the poor maniac was seen diligently pursuing
his work; stopping now and then to spring on the bulwarks and give
another cheer.

At last the blazing vessel left boats and schooner far behind, and the
flames rose in great flakes and tongues above her top-masts, while the
smoke rolled in dense black volumes away to leeward.

While the awe-stricken crew watched her, there came a sudden flash of
bright white flame, as if a volcano had leaped out of the ocean. The
powder-magazine had caught. It was followed by a roaring crash that
seemed to rend the very heavens. A thick darkness settled over the
scene; and the vessel that a few hours before had been a noble frigate
was scattered on the ocean a mass of blackened ruins.

CHAPTER XXVII.

PLEADING FOR LIFE.

The Pacific is not always calm, but neither is it always stormy. We
think it necessary to make this latter observation because the
succession of short-lived gales and squalls which have been prominently
and unavoidably brought forward in our tale might lead the reader to
deem the name of this ocean inappropriate.

The gale blew itself out a few hours after the destruction of the
Talisman, and left the Foam becalmed within sight of Sandy Cove island,
almost on the same spot of ocean where she lay when we introduced her to
the reader in the first chapter.

Although the sea was not quite so still now, owing to the swell caused
by the recent gale, it was quite as glassy as it was then. The sun, too,
was as hot, and the sky as brilliant; but the aspect of the Foam was
much changed. The deep quiet was gone. Crowded on every part of the
deck, and even down in her hold, were the crew of the man-of-war,
lolling about listlessly and sadly, or conversing with grave looks about
the catastrophe which had deprived them so suddenly of their floating
home. Gascoyne and Henry leaned over the stern, to avoid being overheard
by those around them, and conversed in low tones.

"But why not attempt to escape?" said the latter, in reply to some
observation made by his companion.

"Because I am pledged to give myself up to justice."

"No; not to justice," replied the youth quickly. "You said you would
give yourself up to me and Mr. Mason, I for one won't act the part of
a--a--"

"Thief-catcher," suggested Gascoyne.

"Well, put it so if you will; and I am certain that the missionary will
not have anything to do with your capture. He will say that the officers
of justice are bound to attend to such matters. It would be perfectly
right in you to try to escape."

"Ah, Henry! your feelings have warped your judgment," said Gascoyne,
shaking his head. "It is strange how men will prevaricate and deceive
themselves when they want to reason themselves into a wrong course or
out of a right one. But what you or Mr. Mason think or will do has
nothing to do with my course of action."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24