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

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

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

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

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

The boatswain was impressed by the fervor of the boy. He looked at him
in surprise for a few seconds, then nodded his head, and said, "Fire
away!"

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

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

"He is not so bad as you think, Dick."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hallo, Grampus! is that you?"

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

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

"Ah, my boy!" said Bumpus, becoming suddenly very grave, "you've no
notion, how near it was all up with _me_. Why, you won't believe it, I
was all but scragged."

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

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

"No, indeed, I don't."

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

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

"Glad to know you, Dick Price."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing easier," said Bumpus, whose pipe was by this time keeping pace
with that of his new friend. "The case is as clear as mud. Here's how it
is. Gascoyne is in limbo; well, we are out of limbo. Good. Then, all
we've got for to do is to break into limbo and shove Gascoyne out of
limbo, and help him to escape. It's all square, you see, lads."

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

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

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

"Not agree for to escape!"

"No. If the prison doors were opened at this moment, he would not walk
out."

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

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

"Then it's all up with him!" said Bumpus; "and the pirate will meet his
doom, as I once heard a feller say in a play--though I little thought to
see it acted in reality."

"So he will," added Dick Price.

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXIX.

BUMPUS IS PERPLEXED--MYSTERIOUS COMMUNINGS, AND A CURIOUS LEAVE-TAKING.

"It's a puzzler," said Jo Bumpus to himself,--for Jo was much in the
habit of conversing with himself; and a very good habit it is, one that
is often attended with much profit to the individual, when the
conversation is held upon right topics and in a proper spirit,--"it's a
puzzler, it is; that's a fact."

Having relieved his mind of this observation, the seaman proceeded to
cut down some tobacco, and looked remarkably grave and solemn as if "it"
were not only a puzzler, but an alarmingly serious puzzler.

"Yes, it's the biggest puzzler as ever I comed across," said he, filling
his pipe; for John, when not roused, got on both mentally and physically
by slow stages.

"Niver know'd its equal," he continued, beginning to smoke, which
operation, as the pipe did not "draw" well at first, prevented him from
saying anything more.

It was early morning when Bumpus said all this, and the mariner was
enjoying his morning pipe in a reclining attitude on the grass beneath
Alice Mason's favorite tree, from which commanding position he gazed
approvingly on the magnificent prospect of land and sea which lay
before him, bathed in the light of the rising sun.

"It _is_ wery koorious," continued John, taking his pipe out of his
mouth and addressing himself to _it_ with much gravity--"_wery_
koorious. Things _always_ seems wot they isn't, and turns out to be wot
they didn't appear as if they wasn't; werry odd indeed, it is! Only to
think that this here sandal-wood trader should turn out for to be
Henry's father and the widow's mother,--or, I mean, the widow's
husband,--an' a pirate an' a deliverer o' little boys and girls out o'
pirate's hands,--his own hands, so to speak,--not to mention captings in
the Royal Navy, an' not sich a bad feller after all, as won't have his
liberty on no account wotiver, even if it was gived to him for nothin',
and yet wot can't get it if he wanted it iver so much; and to think that
Jo Bumpus should come for to lend hisself to--Hallo! Jo, back yer
tops'ls! Didn't Henry tell ye that ye wasn't to convarse upon that there
last matter even with yerself, for fear o' bein' overheard and sp'ilin'
the whole affair? Come, I'll refresh myself."

The refreshment in which Jo proposed to indulge was of a peculiar kind
which never failed him,--it was the perusal of Susan's love-letter.

He now sat up, drew forth the precious and much-soiled epistle, unfolded
and spread it out carefully on his knees, placed his pipe very much on
one side of his mouth, in order that the smoke might not interfere with
his vision, and began to read.

"'_Peeler's Farm_,'--ah! Susan, darlin', it's Jo Bumpus as would give
all he has in the world, includin' his Sunday clo's, to be anchored
alongside o' ye at that same farm!--'_Sanfransko_.' I misdoubt the
spellin' o' that word, Susan, dear; it seems to me raither short, as if
ye'd docked off its tail. Howsomdever--'_For John bumpuss_'--O Susan,
Susan! if ye'd only remember the big B, and there ain't two esses. I'm
sure it's not for want o'tellin' ye, but ye was never great in the way
ov memry or spellin'. Pr'aps it's as well. Ye'd ha' bin too perfect, an'
that's not desirable by no means,--'_my darlin' Jo_,'--ay, _them's_ the
words. It's that as sets my 'art a b'ilin' over like."

Here Jo raised his eyes from the letter, and revelled silently in the
thought for at least two minutes, during which his pipe did double duty
in half its usual time. Then he recurred to his theme; but some parts he
read in silence, and without audible comment.

"Aye," said he, "'_sandle-wood skooners, the Haf ov thems pirits_'--so
they is, Susan. It's yer powers o' prophesy as amazes me; '_an' The
other hafs no beter_;' a deal wus, Susan, if ye only know'd it. Ah! my
sweet gal, if ye knew wot a grief that word '_beter_' was to me before I
diskivered wot it wos, ye'd try to improve yer hand o' write, an' make
fewer blots!"

At this point Jo was arrested by the sound of footsteps behind him. He
folded up his letter precipitately, thrust it into his left
breast-pocket, and jumped up with a guilty air about him.

"Why, Bumpus! we have startled you out of a morning nap, I fear," said
Henry Stuart, who, accompanied by his mother, came up at that moment.
"We are on our way to say good-by to Mr. Mason. As we passed this knoll
I caught sight of you, and came up to ask about the boat."

"It's all right," said Bumpus, who quickly recovered his
composure,--indeed, he had never lost much of it. "I've bin down to
Saunder's store and got the ropes for your--"

"Hush, man I there is no need of telling what they are for," said Henry,
with a mysterious look at his mother.

"Why not tell me all, Henry?" said Mrs. Stuart; "surely, you can trust
me?"

"Trust you, mother!" replied the youth, with a smile. "I should think
so; but there are reasons for my not telling you everything just now.
Surely, you can trust _me_? I have told you as much as I think advisable
in the meantime. Ere long I will tell you all."

The widow sighed, and was fain to rest content. She sat down beside the
tree, while her companions talked together, apart, in low tones.

"Now Jo, my man," continued Henry, "_one_ of our friends must be got out
of the way."

"Wery good; I'm the man as'll do it."

"Of course I don't mean that he's to be killed!"

"In coorse not. Who is he?"

"Ole Thorwald."

"Wot! the descendant o' the Sea Kings, as he calls himself?"

"The same," said Henry, laughing at the look of surprise with which
Bumpus received this information.

"What has _he_ bin an' done?"

"He has done nothing as yet," said Henry; "but he will certainly thwart
our schemes if he hears of them. He has an inveterate ill-will to my
poor father (Henry lowered his voice as he proceeded), and I know has
suspicions that we are concocting some plan to enable him to escape,
and watches us accordingly. I find him constantly hanging about the
jail. Alas! if he knew how thoroughly determined Gascoyne is to refuse
deliverance unless it comes from the proper source, he would keep his
mind more at ease."

"Don't you think if you wos to tell him that Gascoyne _is_ yer father he
would side with us?" suggested Bumpus.

"Perhaps he would. I _think_ he would; but I dare not risk it. The
easier method will be to outwit him."

"Not an easy thing for to do, I'm afraid; for he's a cute old feller.
How is it to be done?" asked Bumpus.

"By telling him the truth," said Henry; "and _you_ must tell it to him."

"Well, that _is_ a koorious way," said Bumpus, with a broad grin.

"But not the whole truth," continued Henry. "You must just tell him as
much as it is good for him to know, and nothing more; and as the thing
must be done at once, I'll tell you what you have got to say."

Here the young man explained to the attentive Bumpus the course that he
was to follow, and, having got him thoroughly to understand his part, he
sent him away to execute it. Meanwhile he and his mother went in search
of Mr. Mason, who at the time was holding a consultation with the chiefs
of the native village, near the site of his burnt cottage. The
consultation had just been concluded when they reached the spot, and the
missionary was conversing with the native carpenter who superintended
the erection of his new home.

After the morning greeting, and a few words of general conversation,
Mrs. Stuart said: "We have come to talk with you in private; will you
walk to Alice's tree with us?"

"Certainly, my friend; I hope no new evils are about to befall us," said
the missionary, who was startled by the serious countenances of the
mother and son; for he was ignorant of the close relation in which they
stood to Gascoyne, as, indeed, was every one else in the settlement,
excepting Montague and his boatswain and Corrie, all of whom were
enjoined to maintain the strictest secrecy on the point.

"No; I thank God, all is well," replied Mrs. Stuart; "but we have come
to say that we are going away."

"Going away!" echoed the missionary, in surprise. "When?--where
to?--why? You amaze me, Mary."

"Henry will explain."

"The fact is, Mr. Mason?" said Henry, "circumstances require my absence
from Sandy Cove on a longer trip than usual, and I mean to take my
mother with me. Indeed, to be plain with you, I do not think it likely
that we shall return for a long time, perhaps not at all; and it is
absolutely necessary that we should go secretly. But we could not go
without saying good-by to you."

"We owe much to you, dear Mr. Mason," cried the widow, grasping the
missionary's hand and kissing it. "We can never, never forget you; and
will always pray for God's best blessings to descend on you and yours."

"This is overwhelming news!" exclaimed Mr. Mason, who had stood hitherto
gazing from the one to the other in mute astonishment. "But, tell me,
Mary" (here he spoke in earnest tones), "is not Gascoyne at the bottom
of this?"

"Mr. Mason," said Henry, "we never did, and never will deceive you.
There is a good reason for neither asking nor answering questions on
this subject _just now_. I am sure you know us too well to believe that
we think of doing what is wrong, and you can trust us--at least my
mother--that we will not do what is foolish."

"I have perfect confidence in your hearts, my dear friends," replied Mr.
Mason; "but you will forgive me if I express some doubt as to your
ability to judge between right and wrong when your feelings are deeply
moved, as they evidently are, from some cause or other, just now. Can
you not put confidence in me? I can keep a secret, and may, perhaps,
give you good counsel."

"No, no," said Henry, emphatically; "it will not do to involve you in
our affairs. It would not be right in us _just now_ to confide even in
you. I cannot explain why--you must accept the simple assurance in the
meantime. Wherever we go, we can communicate by letter, and I promise,
ere long, to reveal all."

"Well, I will not press you further; but I will commend you in prayer to
God. I do not like to part thus hurriedly, however. Can we not meet
again before you go?"

"We shall be in the cottage at four this afternoon, and will be very
glad if you will come to us for a short time," said the widow.

"That is settled, then; I will go and explain to the natives that I
cannot accompany them to the village till to-morrow. When do you leave?"

"To-night."

"So soon! Surely it is not--But I forbear to say more on a subject which
is forbidden. God bless you, my friends; we shall meet at four.
Good-by!"

The missionary turned from them with a sad countenance, and went in
search of the native chiefs; while Henry and his mother separated from
each other, the former taking the path that led to the little quay of
Sandy Cove, the latter that which conducted to her own cottage.

CHAPTER XXX.

MORE LEAVING--DEEP DESIGNS--BUMPUS IN A NEW CAPACITY.

On the particular day of which we are writing, Alice Mason felt an
unusual depression of spirits. She had been told by her father of the
intended departure of the widow and her son, and had been warned not to
mention it to any one. In consequence of this, the poor child was
debarred her usual consolation of pouring her grief into the black bosom
of Poopy. It naturally followed, therefore, that she sought her next
favorite,--the tree.

Here, to her surprise and comfort, she found Corrie, seated on one of
its roots, with his head resting on the stem, and his hands clasped
before him. His general appearance was that of a human being in the
depths of woe. On observing Alice, he started up, and assuming a
cheerful look, ran to meet her.

"Oh! I'm so glad to find you here, Corrie," cried Alice, hastening
forward; "I'm in such distress! Do you know that--Oh! I forgot papa said
I was to tell nobody about it!"

"Don't let that trouble you, Alice," said Corrie, as they sat down
together under the tree. "I know what you were about to say,--Henry and
his mother are going away."

"How do you know that? I thought it was a great secret!"

"So it is, a _tremendous_ secret," rejoined Corrie, with a look that was
intended to be very mysterious; "and I know it, because I've been let
into the secret for reasons which I cannot tell even to you. But there
is another secret which you don't know yet, and which will surprise you
perhaps, _I_ am going away, too."

"You!" exclaimed the little girl, her eyes dilating to their full size.

"Aye--me!"

"You're jesting, Corrie."

"Am I? I wish I was; but it's a fact."

"But where are you going to?" said Alice, her eyes filling with tears.

"I don't know."

"Corrie!"

"I tell you, I don't know; and if I did know, I couldn't tell. Listen,
Alice; I will tell you as much as I am permitted to let out."

The boy became extremely solemn at this point, took the little girl's
hand, and gazed into her face as he spoke.

"You must know," he began, "that Henry and his mother and I go away
to-night--"

"To-night?" cried Alice, quickly.

"To-night," repeated the boy. "Bumpus and Jakolu go with us. I have said
that I don't know where we are going to, but I am pretty safe in
assuring you that we are going somewhere. Why we are going I am
forbidden to tell,--divulge, I think Henry called it; but what that
means I don't know. I can only guess it's another word for tell; and yet
it can't be that either, for you can speak of _telling_ lies, but you
can't speak of _divulging_ them. However, that don't matter. But I'm not
forbidden to tell you why I'm going away. In the first place, then, I'm
going to seek my fortune! Where I'm to find it remains to be seen. The
only thing I know is, that I mean to find it somewhere or other, and
then" (here Corrie because very impressive) "come back and live beside
you and your father,--not to speak of Poopy and Toozle."

Alice smiled sadly at this. Corrie looked graver than ever, and went on:

"Meanwhile, during my absence I will write letters to you, and you'll
write ditto to me. I am going away because I ought to go and be doing
something for myself. You know quite well that I would rather stop
beside you than go anywhere in this wide world, Alice; but that would be
stupid. I'm getting to be a man now, and mustn't go on showin' the
weaknesses of a boy. In the second, or third place,--I forget which, but
no matter,--I am going with Henry, because I could not go with a better
man; and in the fourth--if it's not the fifth--place, I'm going because
Uncle Ole Thorwald has long wished me to go to sea; and, to tell you the
truth, I would have gone long ago had it not been for you, Alice.
There's only one thing that bothers me." Here Corrie looked at his fair
companion with a perplexed air.

"What is that?" asked Alice, sympathetically.

"It is that I must go without saying good-by to Uncle Ole. I am _very_
sorry about it. It will look so ungrateful to him; but it _can't_ be
helped."

"Why not?" inquired Alice. "If he has often said he wished you to go
sea, would he not be delighted to hear that you are going?"

"Yes; but he must not know that I am going to-night, and with Henry
Stuart."

"Why not?"

"Ah! that's the point. Mystery! Alice--mystery! What a world of mystery
this is!" observed the precocious Corrie, shaking his head with
profound solemnity. "I've been involved (I think that's the word),
rolled up, drowned, and buried in mystery for more than three weeks, and
I'm beginning to fear that I'll never again git into the unmysteriously
happy state in which I lived before this abominable man-of-war came to
the island. No, Alice: I dare not say anything more on that point, even
to you _just now_. But _won't_ I give it you all in my first letter? and
_won't_ you open your eyes until they look like two blue saucers?"

Further conversation between the friends was interrupted at this point
by the inrushing of Toozle, followed up by Poopy, and a short time
after, by Mr. Mason, who took Alice away with him, and left poor Corrie
disconsolate.

While this was going on, John Bumpus was fulfilling his mission to Ole
Thorwald.

He found that obstinate individual in his own parlor, deep in the
investigation of the state of his books of business, which had been
allowed to fall into arrears during his absence.

"Come in, Bumpus. So I hear you were half-hanged when we were away."

Ole wheeled round on his stool, and hooked his thumbs into the armholes
of his vest, as he said this, leaned his back against his desk, and
regarded the seaman with a facetious look.

"_Half_-hanged, indeed!" said Bumpus, indignantly. "I was more than
half--three-quarters, at least. Why, the worst of it's over w'en the
rope's round your neck."

"That is a matter which you can't speak to, John Bumpus, seeing that
you've never gone beyond the putting of the rope round your neck."

"Well, I'm content with wot I does happen to know about it," remarked
Jo, making a wry face; "an' I hope that I'll never git the chance of
knowin' more. But I comed here on business, Mr. Thorwald" (here John
became mysterious, and put his finger to his lips.) "I've comed here,
Mr. Thorwald, to--_split_."

As Ole did not quite understand the meaning of this word, and did not
believe that the seaman actually meant to rend himself from head to
foot, he said, "Why, Bumpus! what d'ye mean?"

"I mean as how that I've comed to split on my comrades; w'ich means, I'm
goin' to tell upon 'em."

"Oh!" exclaimed Ole, eying the man with a look of distrust.

"Yes," pursued Bumpus; "I'm willin' to tell ye all about it, and prevent
his escape, if you'll only promise, on your word as a gin'lmun, that ye
won't tell nobody else but six niggers, who are more than enough to
sarve your turn."

"Prevent whose escape?" said Thorwald, with an excited look.

"Gascoyne's."

Ole jumped off his stool, and hit his left palm a sounding blow with his
right fist.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed, staring into the face of the seaman. "I was
sure of it! I said it! But how d'ye know, my man?"

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