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

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In a more distant part of the field, on the banks of a small stream,
which was spanned by a bridge about fifty paces further down, Gascoyne
and Henry Stuart contended, almost alone, with about thirty savages.
These two had rushed forward with such impetuosity at the first onset as
to have been separated from their friends, and with four Christian
natives, had been surrounded. Henry was armed with a heavy claymore, the
edge of which betokened that it had once seen much service in the wars
of the youth's Scottish ancestors. Gascoyne, not anticipating this
attack, had returned to the settlement armed only with his knife. He had
seized the first weapon that came to hand, which chanced to be an
enormous iron shovel, and with this terrific implement the giant carried
all before him.

It was quite unintentionally that he and Henry had come together. But
the nature and power of the two men being somewhat similar, they had
singled out the same point of danger, and had made their attack with the
same overwhelming vehemence. The muscles of both seemed to be made of
iron; for, as increasing numbers pressed upon them, they appeared to
deliver their terrible blows with increasing rapidity and vigor, and the
savages, despite their numbers, began to quail before them.

Just then Keona--who, although wounded, hovered about doing as much
mischief as he could with his left hand (which, by the way, seemed to be
almost as efficient as his right)--caught sight of this group of
combatants on the banks of the stream. He, with a party, had succeeded
in forcing the bridge, and now uttering a shout of wild delight at the
sight of his two greatest enemies within his power, as he thought, he
rushed towards them, and darted his spear with unerring aim and terrible
violence. The man's anger defeated his purpose; for the shout attracted
the attention of Gascoyne, who saw the spear coming straight towards
Henry's breast. He interposed the shovel instantly, and the spear fell
harmless to the ground. At the same time, with a back-handed sweep, he
brained a gigantic savage who at the moment was engaging Henry's
undivided attention. Bounding forward with a burst of anger, Gascoyne
sought to close with Keona. He succeeded but too well, however; for he
could not check himself sufficiently to deliver an effective blow, but
went crashing against his enemy, and the two fell to the ground.

In an instant a rush was made on the fallen man, but Henry leaped
forward, and sweeping down two opponents with one cut of his claymore,
afforded his companion time to leap up.

"Come, we are quits," said Henry, with a grim smile, as the two darted
again on the foe.

At that moment Ole Thorwald, having scattered the party he first
engaged, came tearing down towards the bridge, whirling the great sword
round his head, and shouting "victory" in the voice of a Stentor.

"Ha! here is more work," he cried, as his eye fell on Gascoyne's figure.
"Thorwald to the rescue,--hurrah!"

In another moment the savages were flying pell-mell across the bridge
with Gascoyne and Henry close on their heels, and the stout merchant
panting after them, with his victorious band, as fast as his less agile
limbs could carry him.

It was at this moment that Gascoyne and Henry noticed the attack made on
the small party of sailors, and observed the fall of Mr. Mason.

"Thorwald to the rescue!" shouted Gascoyne, in a voice that rolled deep
and loud over the whole field like the roar of a lion.

"Aye, aye, my noisy stranger; it's easy for your tough limbs to carry
you up the hill," gasped Ole; "but the weight of ten or fifteen years
will change your step. Hurrah!"

The cry of the bold Norseman, coupled with that of Gascoyne, had the
double effect of checking the onset of the enemy, and of collecting
their own scattered forces around them. The battle was now drawing to a
point. Men who were skirmishing in various places left off and hastened
to the spot on which the closing scene was now evidently to be enacted;
and for a few minutes the contending parties paused, as if by mutual
consent, to breathe and scan each other before making the final attack.

It must not be supposed that, during the fight which we have described,
the crew of the Talisman were idle. At the first sign of disturbance on
shore, the boats were lowered, and a well-armed force rowed for the
landing-place as swiftly as the strong and willing arms of the men could
pull. But the distance between the vessel and the shore was
considerable, and the events we have recounted were quickly enacted; so
that before the boats had proceeded half the distance the fight was
nearly over, and the settlement seemed about to be overwhelmed.

These facts were not lost upon the first lieutenant of the _Talisman_,
Mr. Mulroy, who, with telescope in hand, watched the progress of the
fight with great anxiety. He saw that it was impossible for the boats to
reach the shore in time to render efficient aid. He also observed that a
fresh band of savages were hastening to reinforce their comrades, and
that the united band would be so overpoweringly strong as to render the
chances of a successful resistance on the part of the settlers very
doubtful indeed--almost hopeless.

In these circumstances he adopted a course which was as bold as it was
dangerous. Observing that the savages mustered for the final onset in a
dense mass on an eminence which just raised their heads a little above
those of the party they were about to attack, he at once loaded three of
the largest guns with round shot and pointed, them at the mass of human
beings with the utmost possible care. There was the greatest danger of
hitting friends instead of foes; but Mr. Mulroy thought it his duty to
incur the responsibility of running the risk.

Montague, to whom the command of the band of united settlers had been
given by general consent, had thrown them rapidly into some sort of
order, and was about to give the word to charge, when the savage host
suddenly began to pour down the hill with frantic yells.

Mulroy did not hear the shouts, but he perceived the movement. Suddenly,
as if a thunder storm had burst over the island, the echoes of the hills
were startled by the roar of heavy artillery, and, one after another,
the three guns hurled their deadly contents into the center of the
rushing mass, through which three broad lanes were cut in quick
succession.

The horrible noise and the dreadful slaughter in their ranks seemed to
render the affrighted creatures incapable of action, for they came to a
dead halt.

"Well done, Mulroy!" shouted Montague; "forward, boys,--charge!"

A true British cheer burst from the tars and white settlers, which
served further to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. In another
moment they rushed up the hill, led on by Montague, Gascoyne, Henry, and
Thorwald. But the savages did not await the shock. Seized with a
complete panic, they turned and fled in utter confusion.

Just as this occurred, Mr. Mason began to recover consciousness.
Recollecting suddenly what had occurred, he started up and followed his
friends, who were now in hot pursuit of the foe in the direction of his
own cottage. Quickly though they ran, the anxious father overtook and
passed them; but he soon perceived that his dwelling was wrapped in
flames from end to end.

Darting through the smoke and fire to his daughter's room, he shouted
her name; but no voice replied. He sprang to the bed,--it was empty.
With a cry of despair, and blinded by smoke, he dashed about the room,
grasping wildly at objects in the hope that he might find his child. As
he did so he stumbled over a prostrate form, which he instantly seized,
raised in his arms, and bore out of the blazing house, round which a
number of the people were now assembled.

The form he had thus plucked from destruction was that of the poor boy,
who would willingly have given his life to rescue Alice, and who still
lay in the state of insensibility into which he had been thrown by the
blow from a gun or heavy club.

The missionary dropped his burden, turned wildly round, and was about to
plunge once again into the heart of the blazing ruin, when he was seized
in the strong arms of Henry Stuart, who, with the assistance of Ole
Thorwald, forcibly prevented him from doing that which would have
resulted in almost certain death.

The pastor's head sunk on his breast. The excitement of action and hope
no longer sustained him. With a deep groan, he fell to the earth
insensible.

CHAPTER IX.

BAFFLED AND PERPLEXED--PLANS FOR A RESCUE.

While the men assembled round the prostrate form of Mr. Mason were
attempting to rescue him from his state of stupor, poor Corrie began to
show symptoms of returning vitality. A can of water, poured over him by
Henry, did much to restore him. But no sooner was he enabled to
understand what was going on, and to recall what had happened, than he
sprang up with a wild cry of despair, and rushed towards the blazing
house. Again Henry's quick arm arrested a friend in his mad career.

"Oh! she's there!--Alice is _there_!" shrieked the boy, as he struggled
passionately to free himself.

"You can do nothing, Corrie," said Henry, trying to soothe him.

"Coward!" gasped the boy, in a paroxysm of rage, as he clenched his fist
and struck his captor on the chest with all his force.

"Hold him," said Henry, turning to John Bumpus, who at that moment came
up.

Bumpus nodded intelligently, and seized the boy, who uttered a groan of
anguish as he ceased a struggle which he felt was hopeless in such an
iron gripe.

"Now, friends--all of you," shouted Henry, the moment he was relieved of
his charge: "little Alice is in that house. We must pull it down. Who
will lend a hand?"

He did not pause for an answer, but, seizing an ax, rushed through the
smoke and began to cut down the door-posts. The whole party there
assembled, numbering about fifty, rushed forward, as one man, to aid in
the effort. The attempt was a wild one. Had Henry considered for a
moment, he would have seen that, in the event of their succeeding in
pulling down the blazing pile, they would in all probability smother the
child in the ruins.

"The shell is in the outhouse," said Corrie, eagerly, to the giant who
held him.

"Wot shell?" inquired Bumpus.

"The shell that they blow like a horn to call the people to work with."

"Ah! you're sane again," said the sailor releasing him; "go, find it,
lad, and blow till yer cheeks crack."

Corrie was gone long before Jo had concluded even that short remark. In
another second the harsh but loud sound of the shell rang over the
hillside. The settlers, black and white, immediately ceased their
pursuit of the savages, and from every side they came trooping in by
dozens. Without waiting to inquire the cause of what was being done,
each man, as he arrived, fell to work on the blazing edifice, and, urged
on by Henry's voice and example, toiled and moiled in the midst of fire
and smoke until the pastor's house was literally pulled to pieces.

Fortunately for little Alice, she had been carried out of the house long
before by Keona, who, being subtle as well as revengeful, knew well how
to strike at the tenderest part of the white man's heart.

While her friends were thus frantically endeavoring to deliver her from
the burning house in which they supposed her to be, Alice was being
hurried through the woods by a steep mountain path in the direction of
the native village. Happily for the feelings of her father, the fact was
made known, soon after the house had been pulled down, by the arrival of
a small party of native settlers bearing one of the child's shoes. They
had found it, they said, sticking in the mud, about a mile off, and had
tracked the little footsteps a long way into the mountains by the side
of the prints made by the naked feet of a savage. At length they had
lost the tracks amid the hard lava rocks, and had given up the chase.

"We must follow them up instantly," said Mr. Mason, who had by this time
recovered: "no time is to be lost."

"Aye, time is precious; who will go?" cried Henry, who, begrimed with
fire and smoke, and panting vehemently from recent exertion, had just at
that moment come towards the group.

"Take me! oh take me, Henry!" cried Corrie, in a beseeching tone, as he
sprang promptly to his friend's side.

At any other time, Henry would have smiled at the enthusiastic offer of
such a small arm to fight the savages; but fierce anger was in his
breast at that moment. He turned from the poor boy and looked round with
a frown, as he observed that, although the natives crowded round him at
once, neither Gascoyne, nor Thorwald, nor Captain Montague showed any
symptom of an intention to accompany him.

"Nay, be not angry, lad," said Gascoyne, observing the frown; "your
blood is young and hot, as it should be; but it behooves us to have a
council of war before we set out on this expedition, which, believe me,
will be no trifling one, if I know anything of savage ways and doings."

"Mr. Gascoyne is right," said Montague, turning to the missionary, who
stood regarding the party with anxious looks, quite unable to offer
advice on such an occasion, and clasping the little shoe firmly in both
hands; "it seems to me that those who know the customs of savage warfare
should give their advice first. You may depend on all the aid that it is
in my power to give."

"Ole Thorwald is our leader when we are compelled to fight in
self-defense," said Mr. Mason; "would God that it were less frequently
we were obliged to demand his services. He knows what is best to be
done."

"I know what is best to do," said Thorwald, "when I have to lead men
into action, or to show them how to fight. But, to say truth, I don't
plume myself on possessing more than an average share of the qualities
of the terrier dog. When niggers are to be hunted out of holes in the
mountains like rabbits, I will do what in me lies to aid in the work;
but I had rather be led than lead if you can find a better man."

Thorwald said this with a rueful countenance, for he had hoped to have
settled this war in a pitched battle; and there were few things the
worthy man seemed to enjoy more than a stand-up fight on level ground. A
fair field and no favor was his delight; but climbing the hills was his
mortal aversion. He was somewhat too corpulent and short of wind for
that.

"Come, Gascoyne," said Henry; "you know more about the savages than
anybody here; and if I remember rightly, you have told me that you are
acquainted with most of the mountain passes."

"With all of them, lad," interposed Gascoyne; "I know every pass and
cavern on the island."

"What, then, would you advise?" asked Montague.

"If a British officer can put himself under a simple trading skipper,"
said Gascoyne, "I may perhaps show what ought to be done in this
emergency."

"I can co-operate with any one who proves himself worthy of confidence,"
retorted Montague, sharply.

"Well, then," continued the other, "it is vain to think of doing any
good by a disorderly chase into mountains like these. I would advise
that our forces be divided into three. One band under Mr. Thorwald
should go round by the Goat's Pass, to which I will guide him, and cut
off the retreat of the savages there; another party under my friend
Henry Stuart should give chase in the direction in which little Alice
seems to have been taken; and a third party, consisting of his Majesty's
vessel the Talisman and crew; should proceed round to the north side of
the island and bombard the native village."

"The Goat's Pass," growled Thorwald, "sounds unpleasantly rugged and
steep in the ears of a man of my weight and years, Mister Gascoyne. But
if there's no easier style of work to be done, I fancy I must be content
with what falls to my lot."

"And truly," added Montague, "methinks you might have assigned me a more
useful, as well as more congenial occupation, than the bombardment of a
mud village full of women and children; for I doubt not that every
able-bodied man has left it, to go on this expedition."

"You'll not find the Goat's Pass so bad as you think, good Thorwald,"
returned Gascoyne; "for I propose that the Talisman or her boats should
convey you and your men to the foot of it, after which your course will
be indeed rugged, but it will be short;--merely to scale the face of a
precipice that would frighten a goat to think of, and then a plain
descent into the valley, where, I doubt not, these villains will be
found in force; and where, certainly, they will not look for the
appearance of a stout generalissimo of half-savage troops. As for the
bombarding of a mud village, Mr. Montague, I should have expected a
well-trained British officer ready to do his duty, whether that duty
were agreeable or otherwise."

"My _duty_ certainly," interrupted the young captain, hotly; "but I have
yet to learn that _your_ orders constitute _my_ duty."

The bland smile with which Gascoyne listened to this tended rather to
irritate than to soothe Montague's feelings; but he curbed the passion
which stirred his breast, while the other went on:

"No doubt the bombarding of a defenseless village is not pleasant work;
but the result will be important, for it will cause the whole army of
savages to rush to the protection of their women and children, thereby
disconcerting their plans--supposing them to have any--and enabling us
to attack them while assembled in force. It is the nature of savages to
scatter, and so to puzzle trained forces; and no doubt those of His
Majesty are well trained. But 'one touch of nature makes the whole world
kin,' says a great authority; it is wonderful how useful a knowledge of
various touches of nature is in the art of war.

"It may not have occurred to Mr. Montague that savages have a tendency
to love and protect their wives and children, as well as civilized men,
and that--"

"Pray, cease your irrelevant remarks; they are ill-timed," said
Montague, impatiently. "Let us hear the remainder of your suggestions. I
shall judge of their value, and act accordingly. You have not yet told
us what part you yourself intend to play in this game."

"I mean to accompany Captain Montague, if he will permit me."

"How! go with me in the Talisman?" said Montague, surprised at the man's
coolness, and puzzled by his impudence.

"Even so," said Gascoyne.

"Well, I have no objection, of course; but it seems to me that you would
be more useful at the head of a party of your own men."

"Perhaps I might," replied Gascoyne; "but the coral reefs are dangerous
on the north side of the island, and it is important that one well
acquainted with them should guide your vessel. Besides, I have a trusty
mate, and if you will permit me to send my old shipmate John Bumpus
across the hills, he will convey all needful instructions to the Foam."

This was said in so quiet and straightforward a tone that Montague's
wrath vanished. He felt ashamed of having shown so much petulance at a
time when affairs of so great importance ought to have been calmly
discussed; so he at once agreed to allow Bumpus to go. Meanwhile, Henry
Stuart, who had been fretting with impatience at this conversation,
suddenly exclaimed:

"It seems to me, sirs, that you are wasting precious time just now. I,
at least, am quite satisfied with the duty assigned to me; so I'm off:
ho! who will join me?"

"I'm your man," cried Corrie, starting up and flourishing the broken
saber above his head. At the same moment about a hundred natives ranged
themselves round the youth, thus indicating that they, too, were his
men.

"Well, lad, away you go," said Gascoyne, smiling; "but Master Corrie
must remain with me."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," said Corrie, stoutly.

"Oh yes, you will, my boy, I want you to guide my man Bumpus over the
mountains. You know the passes, and he don't. It's all for the good of
the cause, you know,--the saving of little Alice."

Corrie wavered. The idea of being appointed, as it were, to a separate
command, and of going with his new friend, was a strong temptation, and
the assurance that he would in some way or other be advancing the
business in hand settled the matter. He consented to become obedient.

In about half an hour all Gascoyne's plans were in course of being
carried out. Ole Thorwald and his party proceeded on board the Talisman,
which weighed, anchor, and sailed, with a light breeze, towards the
north end of the island--guided through the dangerous reefs by Gascoyne.
Henry and his followers were toiling nimbly up the hills in the
direction indicated by the little footprints of Alice; and John Bumpus,
proceeding into the mountains in another direction, pushed, under the
guidance of Corrie, towards the bay, where the Foam still lay quietly at
anchor.

It was evening when these different parties set out on their various
expeditions. The sun was descending to the horizon in a blaze of lurid
light. The slight breeze, which wafted his Britannic Majesty's ship
slowly along the verdant shore, was scarcely strong enough to ruffle the
surface of the sea. Huge banks of dark clouds were gathering in the sky,
and a hot, unnatural closeness seemed to pervade the atmosphere, as if a
storm were about to burst upon the scene. Everything, above and below,
seemed to presage war--alike elemental and human; and the various
leaders of the several expeditions felt that the approaching night would
tax their powers and resources to the uttermost.

It was, then, natural that in such circumstances the bereaved father
should be distracted with anxiety as to which party he should join; and
it was also natural that one whose life had been so long devoted to the
special service of God should, before deciding on the point, ask, on his
knees, his heavenly Father's guidance.

He finally resolved to accompany the party under command of Henry
Stuart.

CHAPTER X.

THE PURSUIT--POOPY, LED ON BY LOVE AND HATE, RUSHES TO THE RESCUE.

The shades of night had begun to descend upon the island when Master
Corrie reached the summit of the mountain ridge that divided the bay in
which the Foam was anchored from the settlement of Sandy Cove.

Close on his heels followed the indomitable Jo Bumpus, who panted
vehemently and perspired profusely from his unwonted exertions.

"Wot an object you are!" exclaimed Corrie, gazing at the hot giant with
a look of mingled surprise and glee; for the boy's spirit was of that
nature which cannot repress a dash of fun, even in the midst of anxiety
and sorrow. We would not have it understood that the boy ever
deliberately mingled the two things--joy and sorrow--at one and the same
time; but he was so irresistibly alive to the ludicrous, that a touch of
it was sufficient at any time to cause him to forget, for a brief space,
his anxieties, whatever these might be.

Jo Bumpus smiled benignantly, and said that he "was glad to hear it."
For Jo had conceived for the boy that species of fondness which large
dogs are frequently known to entertain for small ones--permitting them
to take outrageous liberties with their persons which they would resent
furiously were they attempted by other dogs.

Presently the warm visage of Bumpus elongated, and his eyes opened
uncommonly wide, as he stared at a particular spot in the ground;
insomuch that Corrie burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"O Grampus! you'll kill me if you go on like that," said he; "I can't
stand it,--indeed I can't. Sich a face! D'ye know what it's like?"

Jo expressed no desire to become enlightened on this point, but
continued to gaze so earnestly that Corrie started up and exclaimed:

"What is it, Jo?"

"A fut," replied Jo.

"A footprint, I declare!" shouted the boy, springing forward and
examining the print, which was pretty clearly defined in a little patch
of soft sand that lay on the bare rock. "Why, Jo! it's Poopy's. I'd know
it anywhere, by the bigness of the little toe. How _can_ she have come
up here?"

"I say, lad, hist!" said Bumpus, in a hoarse whisper; "here's another
fut that don't belong to--what's her name,--Puppy, did ye say?"

"Why! it's Alice's," whispered the boy, his face becoming instantly
grave, while an unwonted expression of anxiety crossed it; "and here's
that of a savage beside it. He must have changed his intention; or,
perhaps, he came this way to throw the people who were chasing them off
the scent."

Corrie was right. Finding that he was hotly pursued, Keona had taken
advantage of the first rocky ground he reached to diverge abruptly from
the route he had hitherto followed in his flight; and, the further to
confuse his pursuers, he had taken the almost exhausted child up in his
arms and carried her a considerable distance, so that if his enemies
should fall again on his track the absence of the little footprints
might induce them to fancy they were following up a wrong scent.

In this he was so far successful; for the native settlers, as we have
seen, soon gave up the chase, and returned with one of the child's
shoes, which had fallen off unobserved by the savage.

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