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

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Alice kissed her father, and, getting off his knee, went at once in
search of her friend Poopy.

That dark-skinned and curly black-headed domestic was in the kitchen,
seated on the bottom of an overturned iron pot, inside the dingy niche
in which the domestic fire was wont to burn when anything of a culinary
nature was going on. At the time when her mistress entered, nothing of
the kind was in progress, and the fire had subsided to extinction.

The girl, who might have been any age between twelve and
sixteen,--nearer the latter, perhaps, than the former,--was gazing with
expressionless eyes straight before her, and thinking, evidently,
of--nothing. She was clothed in a white tunic, from which her black
legs, arms, neck, and head protruded--forming a startling contrast
therewith.

"O Poopy! what a bad girl you are!" cried Alice, laughing, as she
observed where her maid was seated.

Poopy's visage at once beamed with a look of good-humor, a wide gash
suddenly appeared somewhere near her chin, displaying a double row of
brilliant teeth surrounded by red gums; at the same time the whites of
her eyes disappeared, because, being very plump, it was a physical
impossibility that she should laugh and keep them uncovered.

"Hee! hee!" exclaimed Poopy.

We are really sorry to give the reader a false impression, as we feel
that we have done, of our friend Kekupoopi, but a regard for truth
compels us to show the worst of her character first. She was not
demonstrative; and the few words and signs by which she endeavored to
communicate the state of her feelings to the outward world were not
easily interpreted except by those who knew her well. There is no doubt
whatever that Poopy was--we scarcely like to use the expression, but
we know of no other more appropriate--a donkey! We hasten to guard
ourselves from misconstruction here. That word, if used in an
ill-natured and passionate manner, is a bad one, and by no means to be
countenanced; but, as surgeons may cut off legs at times, without
thereby sanctioning the indiscriminate practise of amputation in a
miscellaneous sort of way as a pastime, so this otherwise objectionable
word may, we think, be used to bring out a certain trait of character in
full force. Holding this opinion, and begging the reader to observe that
we make the statement gravely and in an entirely philosophical, way, we
repeat that Poopy was, figuratively speaking, a donkey!

Yet she was an amiable, affectionate, good girl for all that, with an
amount of love in her heart for her young mistress which words cannot
convey, and which it is no wonder, therefore, that Poopy herself could
not adequately express either by word or look.

"It's all very well for you to sit there and say 'Hee! hee!'" cried
Alice, advancing to the fireplace; "but you must have made a dreadful
mark on your clean white frock. Get up and turn round."

"Hee! hee!" exclaimed the girl, as she obeyed the mandate.

The "Oh! oh!! oh!!!" that burst from Alice, on observing the pattern of
the pot neatly printed off on Poopy's garment, was so emphatic that the
girl became impressed with the fact that she had done something wrong,
and twisted her head and neck in a most alarming manner in a series of
vain attempts to behold the extent of the damage.

"_What_ a figure!" exclaimed Alice, on recovering from the first shock.

"It vill vash," said Poopy, in a deprecatory tone.

"I hope it will," replied Alice, shaking her head doubtfully; for her
experience in the laundry had not yet been so extensive as to enable her
to pronounce at once on the eradicability of such a frightfully deep
impression. While she was still shaking her head in dubiety on this
point, and while Poopy was still making futile attempts to obtain a view
of the spot, the door of the kitchen opened, and Master Corrie swaggered
in, with his hands thrust into the outer pockets of his jacket, his
shirt collar thrown very much open, and his round straw hat placed very
much on the back of his head; for, having seen some of the crew of the
Talisman, he had been smitten with a strong desire to imitate a
man-of-war's-man in aspect and gait.

At his heels came that scampering mass of ragged door-mat Toozle, who,
feeling that a sensation of some kind or other was being got up for his
amusement, joined heartily in the shout of delight that burst from the
youthful Corrie when he beheld the extraordinary figure in the
fireplace.

"Well, I say, Kickup," cried the youth, picking up his hat, which had
fallen off in the convulsion, and drying his tears, "you're a
sweet-lookin' creetur, you are! Is this a new frock you've got to go to
church with? Come, I rather like that pattern; but there's not quite
enough of 'em. Suppose I lend a hand and print a few more all over you?
There's plenty of pots and pans here to do it; and if Alice will bring
down her white frock I'll give it a touch-up too."

"How can you talk such nonsense, Corrie!" said Alice, laughing. "Down,
Toozle; silence, sir. Go, my dear Poopy, and put on another frock; and
make haste, for I have something to say to you."

Thus admonished, the girl ran to a small apartment that opened off the
kitchen, and speedily reappeared in another tunic. Meanwhile, Corrie had
seated himself on the floor, with Toozle between his knees and Alice on
a stool at his side. Poopy, in a fit of absence of mind, was about to
resume her seat on the iron pot, when a simultaneous shriek, bark, and
roar recalled her scattered faculties, produced a "hee! hee!" varied
with a faint "ho!" and induced her to sit down on the floor beside her
mistress.

"Now, tell me, Poopy," said Alice, "did you ever hear of friends who
were not really friends, but enemies?"

The girl stared with a vacant countenance at the bright, intelligent
face of the child, and shook her head slowly.

"Why don't you ask _me_?" inquired Corrie. "You might as well ask Toozle
as that potato Kickup. Eh? Puppy, don't you confess that you are no
better than a vegetable? Come, now, be honest."

"Hee! hee!" replied Poopy.

"Humph! I thought so. But that's an odd question of yours, Alice. What
do you mean by it?"

"I mean that my papa thinks there are friends in the settlement who are
enemies."

"Does he, though? Now that's mysterious," said the boy, becoming
suddenly grave. "That requires to be looked to. Come, Alice, tell me all
the particulars. Don't omit anything--our lives may depend on it."

The deeply serious manner in which Corrie said this so impressed and
solemnized the child, that she related, word for word, the brief
conversation she had had with her father, and all that she had heard of
the previous converse between him and Henry.

When she had concluded, Master Corrie threw a still more grave and
profoundly philosophical expression into his chubby face, and asked, in
a hollow tone of voice, "Your father didn't say anything against the
Grampus, did he?"

"The what?" inquired Alice.

"The Grampus,--the man, at least, whom _I_ call the Grampus, and who
calls hisself Jo Bumpus."

"I did not hear such names mentioned; but Henry spoke of a wounded
nigger."

"Aye, they're all a set of false rascals together," said Corrie.

"Niggers ob dis here settlement is good mans, ebery von," said Poopy,
promptly.

"Hallo! Kickup, wot's wrong? I never heard you say so much at one time
since I came to this place."

"Niggers is good peepils," reiterated the girl.

"So they are, Puppy, and you're the best of 'em; but I was speakin' of
the fellers on the other side of the island,--d'ye see?"

"Hee! hee!" ejaculated the girl.

"Well, but what makes you so anxious?" said Alice, looking earnestly
into the boy's face.

Corrie laid his hand on her head and stroked her fair hair as he
replied:

"This is a serious matter, Alice; I must go at once and see your father
about it."

He rose with an air of importance, as if about to leave the kitchen.

"Oh! but please don't go till you have told me what it is; I'm so
frightened," said, Alice; "do stay and tell me about it before you go to
papa."

"Well, I don't mind if I do," said the boy, sitting down again. "You
must know, then, that it's reported there are pirates on the island."

"Oh!" exclaimed Alice.

"D'ye know what pirates are, Puppy?"

"Hee! hee!" answered the girl.

"I do believe she don't know nothin'," said the boy, looking at her with
an air of compassion; "wot a sad thing it is to belong to a lower
species of human natur! Well, I s'pose it can't be helped. A pirate,
Kickup, is a sea-robber. D'ye understand?"

"Ho! ho!"

"Aye, I thought so. Well, Alice, I am told that there's been a lot of
them landed on the island and took to chasin' and killin' the niggers,
and Henry was all but killed by one o' the niggers this very morning,
an' was saved by a big feller that's a mystery to me, and by the
Grampus, who is the best feller I ever met,--a regular trump, he is; and
there's all sorts o' doubts, and fears, and rumors, and things of that
sort, with a captain of the British navy, that you and I have read so
much about, trying to find this pirate out, and suspectin' everybody he
meets is him. I only hope he won't take it into his stupid head to
mistake _me_ for him,--not so unlikely a thing, after all." And the
youthful Corrie shook his head with much gravity, as he surveyed his
rotund little legs complacently.

"What are you laughing at?" he added, suddenly, on observing that a
bright smile had overspread Alice's face.

"At the idea of you being taken for a pirate," said the child.

"Hee! hee! ho! ho!" remarked Poopy.

"Silence, you lump of black putty!" thundered the aspiring youth.

"Come, don't be cross to my maid," said Alice, quickly.

Corrie laughed, and was about to continue his discourse on the events
and rumors of the day, when Mr. Mason's voice was heard at the other end
of the house.

"Ho! Corrie."

"That's me," cried the boy, promptly springing up and rushing out of the
room.

"Here, my boy; I thought I heard your voice. I want you to go a message
for me. Run down, like a good lad, to Ole Thorwald, and tell him to come
up here as soon as he conveniently can. There are matters to consult
about which will not brook delay."

"Ay, ay, sir," answered Corrie, sailor fashion, as he touched his
forelock and bounded from the room.

"Off on pressing business," cried the sanguine youth, as he dashed
through the kitchen, frightening Alice, and throwing Toozle into
convulsions of delight,--"horribly important business, that 'won't brook
delay;' but what _brook_ means is more than I can guess."

Before the sentence was finished, Corrie was far down the hill, leaping
over every obstacle like a deer. On passing through a small field he
observed a native bending down, as if picking weeds, with his back
towards him. Going softly up behind, he hit the semi-naked savage a
sounding slap, and exclaimed, as he passed on, "Hallo! Jackolu;
important business, my boy--hurrah!"

The native to whom this rough salutation was given was a tall, stalwart
young fellow, who had for some years been one of the best-behaved and
most active members of Frederick Mason's dark-skinned congregation. He
stood erect for some time, with a broad grin on his swarthy face and a
twinkle in his eye, as he gazed after the young hopeful, muttering to
himself, "Ho! yes--bery wicked boy dat, bery; but hims capital chap, for
all dat."

A few minutes later, Master Corrie burst in upon the sturdy middle-aged
merchant, named Ole Thorwald, a Norwegian, who had resided much in
England, and spoke the English language well, and who prided himself on
being entitled to claim descent from the old Norwegian sea-kings. This
man was uncle and protector to Corrie.

"Ho! Uncle Ole; here's a business. Sich a to-do--wounds, blood, and
murder! or at least an attempt at it;--the whole settlement in arms,
and the parson sends for you to take command!"

"What means the boy!" exclaimed Ole Thorwald, who, in virtue of his
having once been a private in a regiment of militia, had been appointed
to the chief command of the military department of the settlement. This
consisted of about thirty white men, armed with fourteen fowling-pieces,
twenty daggers, fifteen swords, and eight cavalry pistols; and about two
hundred native Christians, who, when the assaults of their unconverted
brethren were made, armed themselves--as they were wont to do in days
gone by--with formidable clubs, stone hatchets, and spears. "What means
the boy!" exclaimed Ole, laying down a book which he had been reading,
and thrusting his spectacles up on his broad bald forehead.

"Exactly what the boy says," replied Master Corrie.

"Then add something more to it, pray."

Thorwald said this in a mild tone; but he suddenly seized the handle of
an old pewter mug which the lad knew, from experience, would certainly
reach his head before he could gain the door if he did not behave; so he
became polite, and condescended to explain his errand more fully.

"So, so," observed the descendant of the sea-kings, as he rose and
slowly buckled on a huge old cavalry saber; "there is double mischief
brewing this time. Well, we shall see--we shall see. Go, Corrie, my boy,
and rouse up Terrence and Hugh, and--"

"The whole army, in short," cried the boy, hastily; "you're so awfully
slow, uncle, you should have been born in the last century I think."

Further remark was cut short by the sudden discharge of the pewter mug,
which, however, fell harmlessly on the panel of the closing door as the
impertinent Corrie sped forth to call the settlement to arms.

CHAPTER VI.

SUSPICIONS ALLAYED AND REAWAKENED.

Gascoyne, followed by his man Jo Bumpus, sped over the rugged mountains,
and descended the slopes on the opposite side of the island soon after
nightfall, and long before Captain Montague, in his large and
well-manned boat, could pull half way round in the direction of the
sequestered bay where the Foam lay quietly at anchor.

There was not a breath of wind to ruffle the surface of the glassy sea,
as the captain of the sandal-wood trader reached the shore and uttered a
low cry like the hoot of an owl. The cry was instantly replied to, and
in a few minutes a boat crept noiselessly towards the shore, seeming, in
the uncertain light, more like a shadow than a reality. It was rowed by
a single man. When within a few yards of the shore, the oars ceased to
move, and the deep stillness of the night was scarcely broken by the low
voice of surly Dick, demanding, "Who goes there?"

"All right, pull in," replied Gascoyne, whose deep bass voice sounded
sepulchral in the almost unearthly stillness. It was one of those dark,
oppressively quiet nights which make one feel a powerful sensation of
loneliness, and a peculiar disinclination, by word or act, to disturb
the prevailing quiescence of nature,--such a night as suggests the idea
of a coming storm to those who are at sea, or of impending evil to those
on land.

"Is the mate aboard?" inquired Gascoyne.

"He is, sir."

"Are any of the hands on shore?"

"More than half of 'em, sir."

Nothing more was said; and in a few minutes Gascoyne was slowly pacing
the quarter-deck of his little vessel in earnest consultation with his
first mate. There seemed to be some difference of opinion between the
captain and his officer; for their words, which, at first were low, at
length became audible.

"I tell you, Manton, it won't do," said Gascoyne, sternly.

"I can only suggest what I believe to be for the good of the ship,"
replied the other, coldly.

"Even if you succeed in your attempt, you will be certain to lose some
of our hands; for although the best of them are on, shore, the commander
of the Talisman will think those that remain too numerous for a
sandal-wood trader, and you are aware that we are sufficiently
short-handed in such dangerous seas."

The latter part of this speech was uttered in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"What would you have me do, then?" demanded Gascoyne, whose usual
decision of character seemed to have deserted him under the influence of
conflicting feelings, which the first mate could plainly perceive
agitated the breast of his commander, but which he could by no means
account for. Certainly he had no sympathy with them, for Manton's was a
hard, stern nature--not given to the melting mood.

"Do?" exclaimed the mate, vehemently, "I would mount the red, and get
out the sweeps. An hour's pull will place the schooner on the other
side of the reef. A shot from Long Tom will sink the best boat in the
service of his Britannic Majesty, and we could be off and away with the
land breeze before morning."

"What! sink a man-of-war's boats!" exclaimed Gascoyne; "why, that would
make them set us down as pirates at once, and we should have to run the
gauntlet of half the British navy before this time next year."

Manton received this remark with a loud laugh, which harshly disturbed
the silence of the night.

"That is true," said he; "yet I scarcely expected to see Captain
Gascoyne show the white feather."

"Possibly not," retorted the other, grimly; "yet methinks that he who
counsels flight shows more of the white feather than he who would shove
his head into the very jaws of the lion. It won't do, Manton; I have my
own reasons for remaining here. The white lady must in the meantime
smile on the British commander. Besides, it would be difficult, if not
impossible, to do all this and get our fellows on board again before
morning. The land breeze will serve to fill the sails of the Talisman
just as well as those of the Foam; and they're sure to trip their anchor
to-night; for, you'll scarcely believe it, this mad little fellow
Montague actually suspects me to be the pirate Durward!"

Again the harsh laugh of Manton disturbed the peaceful calm, and this
time he was joined by Gascoyne, who seemed at length to have overcome
the objections of his mate; for their tones again sank into inaudible
whispers.

Shortly after this conversation the moon broke out from behind a bank
of clouds, and shone brightly down on land and sea, throwing into bold
relief the precipices, pinnacles, and gorges of the one, and covering
the other with rippling streaks of silver. About the same time the oars
of the man-of-war's boat were heard, and in less than half an hour
Captain Montague ascended the side of the Foam, where, to his great
surprise, he was politely received by Gascoyne.

"Captain Gascoyne has reason to be proud of his pedestrian powers," said
the young commander; "he must have had urgent reason, for making such
good use of his legs since we last met."

"To do the honors of his own ship, when he expects a visit from a
British officer, is surely sufficient reason to induce a poor skipper to
take an extra walk of a fine evening," replied Gascoyne, blandly.
"Besides, I know that men-of-war are apt to take a fancy to the crews of
merchantmen sometimes, and I thought my presence might be necessary here
to-night."

"How?" exclaimed Montague, quickly. "Do you fancy that your single arm,
stout though it be, could avail to prevent this evil that you dread if I
think proper to act according to established usage in time of war?"

"Nay, that were extreme vanity indeed," returned the other; "but I would
fain hope that the explanations which I can give of the danger of our
peculiar trade, and the necessity we have for a strong crew, will induce
Captain Montague to forego his undoubted privilege and right on this
occasion."

"I'm not so sure of that," replied Montague; "it will depend much on
your explanations being satisfactory. How many men have you?"

"Twenty-two."

"So many! That is much more than enough to work so small a vessel."

"But not more than enough to defend my vessel from a swarm of bloody
savages."

"Perhaps not," returned Montague, on whom the urbanity and candor of the
captain of the Foam were beginning to have a softening influence. "You
have no objection to let me see your papers, and examine your ship, I
suppose."

"None in the world," replied Gascoyne, smiling; "and if I had, it would
make little difference, I should imagine, to one who is so well able to
insist on having his will obeyed." (He glanced at the boat full of armed
men as he spoke.) "Pray, come below with me."

In the examination that ensued, Captain Montague was exceedingly strict,
although the strength of his first suspicions had been somewhat abated
by the truthful tone and aspect of Gascoyne, and the apparent
reasonableness of all he said; but he failed to detect anything in the
papers, or in the general arrangements of the Foam, that could warrant
his treating her otherwise than as an honest trader.

"So," said he, on returning to the deck; "this is the counterpart of the
noted pirate, is it? You must pardon my having suspected you, sir, of
being this same Durward, sailing under false colors. Come, let me see
the points of difference between you, else if we happen to meet on the
high seas I may chance to make an unfortunate hole in your timbers."

"The sides of my schooner are altogether black, as you see," returned
Gascoyne. "I have already explained that a narrow streak of red
distinguishes the pirate; and this fair lady" (leading Montague to the
bow) "guides the Foam over the waves with smiling countenance, while a
scarlet griffin is the more appropriate figurehead of Durward's vessel."

As he spoke, the low boom of a far distant gun was heard. Montague
started, and glanced inquiringly in the face of his companion, whose
looks expressed a slight degree of surprise.

"What was that, think you?" said Montague, after a momentary pause.

"The commander of the Talisman ought, I think, to be the best judge of
the sound of his own guns."

"True," returned the young officer, somewhat disconcerted; "but you
forget that I am not familiar with the eruptions of those volcanic
mountains of yours; and, at so great a distance from my ship, with such
hills of rock and lava between us, I may well be excused feeling a
little doubt as to the bark of my own bull-dogs. But that signal
betokens something unusual. I must shorten my visit to you, I fear."

"Pray do not mention it," said Gascoyne, with a peculiar smile; "under
the circumstances I am bound to excuse you."

"But," continued Montague, with emphasis, "I should be sorry indeed to
part without some memorial of my visit. Be so good as to order your men
to come aft."

"By all means," said Gascoyne, giving the requisite order promptly; for,
having sent all his best men on shore, he did not much mind the loss of
a few of those remaining.

When they were mustered, the British commander inspected them carefully,
and then he singled out surly Dick, and ordered him into the boat. A
slight frown rested for a moment on Gascoyne's countenance, as he
observed the look of ill-concealed triumph with which the man obeyed
the order. The expression of surly Dick, however, was instantly
exchanged for one of dismay as his captain strode up to him, and looked
in his face for one moment with a piercing glance, at the same time
thrusting his left hand into the breast of his red shirt.

"Good-by," he said, suddenly, in a cheerful tone, extending his right
hand and grasping that of the sailor. "Good-by, lad: if you serve the
king as well as you have served me, he'll have reason to be proud of
you."

Gascoyne turned on his heel, and the man slunk into the boat with an
aspect very unlike that of a bold British seaman.

"Here is another man I want," said Montague, laying his hand on the
shoulder of John Bumpus.

"I trust, sir, that you will not take that man," said Gascoyne,
earnestly. "I cannot afford to lose him; I would rather you should take
any three of the others."

"Your liberality leads me to think that you could without much
difficulty supply the place of the men I take: but three are too many. I
shall be satisfied with this one. Go into the boat, my lad."

Poor John Bumpus, whose heart had been captivated by the beauties of the
island, obeyed the order with a rueful countenance; and Gascoyne bit his
lip and turned aside to conceal his anger. In two minutes more the boat
was rowed away from the schooner's side.

Not a word was spoken by any one in the boat until a mile had separated
it from the schooner. They had just turned a point which shut the vessel
out of view, when surly Dick suddenly recovered his self-possession and
his tongue, and, starting up in an excited manner, exclaimed to
Montague: "The schooner you have just left, sir, is a pirate. I tell the
truth, though I should swing for it."

The crew of the boat ceased rowing, and glanced at each other in
surprise on hearing this.

"Ha! say you so?" exclaimed Montague, quickly.

"It's a fact, sir. Ask my comrade there, and he'll tell you the same
thing."

"He'll do nothin' o' the sort," sharply returned honest Bumpus, who,
having been only a short time previously engaged by Gascoyne, could
perceive neither pleasure nor justice in the idea of being hanged for a
pirate, and who attributed Dick's speech to an ill-natured desire to get
his late commander into trouble.

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