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

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Here Keona left her, having first, however, said, in a low, stern voice:

"If you moves, you dies!"

The poor child was too much terrified to move, even had she dared; for
she, too, had heard the unaccountable cries of Poopy, although, owing to
distance and the wild nature of these cries, she had failed to recognize
the voice. When, therefore, her jailer left her with this threat, she
coiled herself up in the smallest possible space, and began to sob.

Meanwhile, Keona re-entered the cavern, with a diabolical grin on his
sable countenance, which, although it savored more of evil than of any
other quality, had in it, nevertheless, a strong dash of ferocious
joviality, as if he were aware that he had got his enemies into a trap,
and could amuse himself by playing with them as a cat does with a
mouse.

Soon the savage began to step cautiously, partly because of the rugged
nature of the ground and the thick darkness that surrounded him, and
partly in order to avoid alarming the three adventurers who were
advancing towards him from the other extremity of the cavern. In a few
minutes he halted; for the footsteps and the whispering voices of his
pursuers became distinctly audible to him, although all three did their
best to make as little noise as possible.

"Wot a 'orrid place it is!" exclaimed Bumpus, in a hoarse, angry
whisper, as he struck his shins violently, for at least the tenth time,
against a ledge of rock. "I do b'lieve, boy, that there's nobody here,
and that we'd as well 'bout ship and steer back the way we've comed;
tho' it _is_ a 'orrible coast for rocks and shoals."

To this, Corrie, not being in a talkative humor, made no reply.

"D'ye hear me, boy?" said Jo, aloud, for he was somewhat shaken again by
the dead silence that followed the close of his remark.

"All right; I'm here;" said Corrie, meekly.

"Then why don't ye speak?" said Jo, tartly.

"I'd advise _you_ not to speak so loud," retorted the boy.

"Is the dark 'un there?" inquired Bumpus.

"What d'ye say?"

"The dark 'un; the lump o' charcoal, you know."

"Oh! she's all safe," replied Corrie. "I only hope she won't haul the
clothes right off my body; she grips at my waistband like a--"

Here he was cut short by Keona, who gave utterance to a low, dismal wail
that caused the blood and marrow of all three to freeze up, and their
hearts for a moment to leap into their throats and all but choke them.

"Poopy's gone," gasped Corrie, after a few seconds had elapsed.

There was no doubt of the fact; for besides the relief experienced by
the boy, from the relaxing of her grip on his waistband, the moment the
wail was heard, the sound of the girl's footsteps, as she flew back to
the entrance of the cave was distinctly heard.

Keona waited a minute or two to ascertain the exact position of his
enemies, then he repeated the wail, and swelled it gradually out into a
fiendish yell that awoke all the echoes of the place. At the same time,
guessing his aim as well as he could, he threw a spear and discharged a
shower of stones at the spot where he supposed they stood.

There is no understanding the strange workings of the human mind! The
very thing that most people would have expected to strike terror to the
heart of Bumpus was that which infused courage into his soul. The
frightful tones of the savage's voice in such a place did indeed almost
prostrate the superstitious spirit of the seaman; but when he heard the
spear whiz past within an inch of his ear, and received a large stone
full on his chest, and several small ones on other parts of his person,
that instant his strength returned to him, like that of Samson when the
Philistines attempted to fall upon him. His curiously philosophical mind
at once leaped to the conclusion that, although ghosts could yell, and
look, and vanish, they could not throw spears or fling stones, and that,
therefore, the man they were in search of was actually close beside
them.

Acting on this belief, with immense subtlety Bumpus uttered a cry of
feigned terror, and fled, followed by the panting Corrie, who uttered a
scream of real terror at what he supposed must be the veritable ghost of
the place.

But before he had run fifty yards, John Bumpus suddenly came to a dead
halt, seized Corrie by the collar, dragged him down behind a rock, and
laid his large hand upon his mouth, as being the shortest and easiest
way of securing silence, without the trouble of explanation.

As he had anticipated, the soft tread of the savage was heard almost
immediately after, as he passed on in full pursuit. He brushed close
past the spot where Bumpus crouched, and received from that able-bodied
seaman such a blow on the shoulder of his wounded arm as, had it been
delivered in daylight, would have certainly smashed his shoulder-blade.
As it was, it caused him to stagger, and sent him howling with pain to
the mouth of the cavern, whither he was followed by the triumphant Jo,
who now made sure of catching him.

But "there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." When Keona issued
from the cave, he was received with a shout by the band of savages, who
instantly recognized him as their friend by his voice. Poor Poopy was
already in their hands, having been seized and gagged when she emerged
before she had time to utter a cry. And now they stood in a semicircle,
ready to receive all who might come forth into their arms, or on their
spear-points, as the case might be.

Bumpus came out like an insane thunderbolt, and Corrie like a streak of
lightning. Instantaneously the flash of the pistol, accompanied by its
report and a deep growl from Bumpus, increased the resemblance to these
meteorological phenomena, and three savages lay stunned upon the
ground.

"This way, Corrie!" cried the excited seaman, leaping to a perpendicular
rock, against which he placed his back, and raised his fists in a
pugilistic attitude, "Keep one or two in play with your broken
toothpick, an' I'll floor 'em one after another as they comes up. Now,
then, ye black baboons, come on,--all at once, if you like,--an' Jo
Bumpus'll show ye wot he's made of!"

Not perceiving very clearly, in the dim light caused by a few stars that
flickered among the black and gathering clouds, the immense size and
power of the man with whom they had to deal, the savages were not slow
to accept this free and generous invitation to "come on." They rushed
forward in a body, intending, no doubt, to take the man and boy
prisoners; for if they had wished to slay them, nothing would have been
easier than to have thrown one or two of their spears at their
defenseless breasts.

Bumpus experienced a vague feeling that he had now a fair opportunity of
testing and proving his invincibility; yet the desperate nature of the
case did not induce him to draw his sword. He preferred his fists, as
being superior and much more handy weapons. He received the first two
savages who came within reach on the knuckles of his right and left
hands, rendering them utterly insensible, and driving them against the
two men immediately behind with such tremendous violence that they also
were put _hors de combat_.

This was just what Bumpus had intended and hoped for. The sudden fall of
so many gave him time to launch out his great fists a second time. They
fell with the weight of sledge-hammers on the faces of two more of his
opponents, flattening their noses, and otherwise disfiguring their
features, besides stretching them on the ground. At the same time,
Corrie flung his empty pistol in the face of a man who attempted to
assault his companion on the right flank unawares, and laid him prone on
the earth. Another savage, who made the same effort on the left,
received a gash on the thigh from the broken saber that sent him howling
from the scene of conflict.

Thus were eight savages disposed of in about as many seconds.

But there is a limit to the powers and the prowess of man. The savages,
on seeing the fall of so many of their companions, rushed in on Bumpus
before he could recover himself for another blow. That is to say, the
savages behind pushed forward those in front whether they would or no,
and falling _en masse_ on the unfortunate pair, well-nigh buried them
alive in black human flesh.

Bumpus's last cry before being smothered was, "Down with the black
varmints!" and Corrie's last shout was, "Hooray!"

Thus fell--despite the undignified manner of their fall--a couple of as
great heroes as were ever heard of in the annals of war; not excepting
even those of Homer himself.

Now, good reader, this maybe all very well for us to describe, and for
you to read, but it was a terrible thing for Poopy to witness. Being
bound hand and foot, she was compelled to look on; and, to say truth,
she did look on with uncommon interest. When her friends fell, however,
she expressed her regrets and fears in a subdued shriek, for which she
received a sounding slap on the cheek from a young savage who had
chosen for himself the comparatively dangerous post of watching her,
while his less courageous friends were fighting.

Strange to say, Poopy did not shed more tears (as one might have
expected) on receiving such treatment. She had been used to that sort of
thing, poor child. Before coming to the service of her little mistress,
she had been brought up (it would be more strictly correct to say that
she had been kicked, and cuffed, and pinched, and battered up) by a
step-mother, whose chief delight was to pull out handfuls of her woolly
hair, beat her nose flat (which was adding insult to injury, for it was
too flat by nature), and otherwise to maltreat her. When, therefore,
Poopy received the slap referred to, she immediately dried her eyes and
looked humble. But she did not by any means _feel_ humble. No; a regard
for truth compels us to state that, on this particular occasion, Poopy
acted the part of a hypocrite. If her hands had been loose, and she had
possessed a knife just then--we are afraid to think of the dreadful use
to which she would have put it.

The natives spent a considerable time in securely binding their three
captives, after which they bore them into the cavern.

Here they kindled a torch, and held a long palaver as to what was to be
done with the prisoners. Some counseled instant death, others advised
that they should be kept as hostages.

The debate was so long and fierce, that the day had begun to break
before it was concluded. It was at length arranged that they should be
conveyed alive to their village, there to be disposed of according to
the instructions of their chiefs.

Feeling that they had already delayed too long, they placed the
prisoners on their shoulders, and bore them swiftly away.

Poor Corrie and his sable friend were easily carried, coiled up like
sacks, each on the shoulders of a stalwart savage; but Bumpus, who had
required eight men to bind him, still remained unconvinced of his
vincibility. He struggled so violently on the shoulders of the four men
who bore him, that Keona, in a fit of passion, tinged no doubt with
revenge, hit him such a blow on the head with the handle of an ax as
caused his brains to sing, and a host of stars to dance before his eyes.

These stars were, however, purely imaginary; for at that time the dawn
had extinguished the lesser lights. Ere long, the bright beams of the
rising sun suffused the eastern sky with a golden glow. On passing the
place where Alice had been left, a couple of the party were sent by
Keona to fetch her. They took the unnecessary precaution of binding the
poor child, and speedily rejoined their comrades with her in their arms.

The amazement of her friends on seeing Alice was only equaled by her
surprise on beholding them. But they were not permitted to communicate
with each other. Presently the whole party emerged from the wild
mountain gorges, through which they had been passing for some time, and
proceeded in single file along a narrow path that skirted the precipices
of the coast. The cliffs here were nearly a hundred feet high. They
descended sheer down into deep water; in some places even overhung the
sea.

Here John Bumpus, having recovered from the stunning effects of the blow
dealt him by Keona, renewed his struggles, and rendered the passage of
the place not only difficult but dangerous--to himself as well as to
his enemies. Just as they reached a somewhat open space on the top of
the cliffs, Jo succeeded, by almost superhuman exertion in bursting his
bonds. Keona, foaming with rage, gave an angry order to his followers,
who rushed upon Bumpus in a body as he was endeavoring to clear himself
of the cords. Although John struck out manfully, the savages were too
quick for him. They raised him suddenly aloft in their arms, and hurled
him headlong over the cliff!

The horror of his friends on witnessing this may easily be imagined; but
every other feeling was swallowed up in terror when the savages,
apparently rendered bloodthirsty by what they had done, ran towards
Alice, and, raising her from the ground, hastened to the edge of the
cliff, evidently with the intention of throwing her over also.

Before they, had accomplished their fiendish purpose, however, a sound
like thunder burst upon their ears and arrested their steps. This was
immediately followed by another crash, and then came a series of single
reports in rapid succession, which were multiplied by the echoes of the
heights until the whole region seemed to tremble with the reverberation.

At first the natives seemed awe-stricken. Then, on becoming aware that
the sounds which originated all this tumult came from the direction of
their own village, they dropped Alice on the ground, fled precipitately
down the rugged path that led from the heights to the valley, and
disappeared, leaving the three captives, bound and helpless, on the
cliffs.

CHAPTER XII.

DANGEROUS NAVIGATION AND DOUBTFUL PILOTAGE--MONTAGUE IS HOT, GASCOYNE
SARCASTIC.

We now turn to the Talisman, which, it will be remembered, we left
making her way slowly through the reefs toward the northern end of the
island, under the pilotage of Gascoyne.

The storm, which had threatened to burst over the island at an earlier
period of that evening, passed off far to the south. The light breeze
which had tempted Captain Montague to weigh anchor soon died away, and
before night a profound calm brooded over the deep.

When the breeze fell, Gascoyne went forward, and, seating himself on a
forecastle carronade, appeared to fall into a deep reverie. Montague
paced the quarter-deck impatiently, glancing from time to time down the
skylight at the barometer which hung in the cabin, and at the vane which
drooped motionless from the masthead. He acted with the air of a man who
was deeply dissatisfied with the existing state of things, and who felt
inclined to take the laws of nature into his own hands. Fortunately for
nature and himself, he was unable to do this.

Ole Thorwald exhibited a striking contrast to the active, impatient
commander of the vessel. That portly individual, having just finished a
cigar which the first lieutenant had presented to him on his arrival on
board, threw the fag end of it into the sea, and proceeded leisurely to
fill a large-headed German pipe, which was the constant companion of
his waking hours, and the bowl of which seldom enjoyed a cool moment.

Ole having filled the pipe, lighted it; then leaning over the taffrail,
he gazed placidly into the dark waters, which were so perfectly calm
that every star in the vault above could be compared with its reflection
in the abyss below.

Ole Thorwald, excepting when engaged in actual battle, was phlegmatic,
and constitutionally lazy and happy. When enjoying his German pipe he
felt impressibly serene, and did not care to be disturbed. He therefore
paid no attention to the angry manner of Montague, who brushed past him
repeatedly in his hasty perambulations, but continued to gaze downwards
and smoke calmly in a state of placid felicity.

"You appear to take things coolly, Mister Thorwald," said Montague, half
in jest, yet with a touch of asperity in his manner.

"I always do" (puff) "when the weather's not warm." (Puff, puff.)

"Humph!" ejaculated Montague; "but the weather _is_ warm just now; at
least it seems so to me,--so warm that I should not be surprised if a
thunder-squall were to burst upon us ere long."

"Not a pleasant place to be caught in a squall," returned the other,
gazing through the voluminous clouds of smoke which he emitted at
several coral reefs, whose ragged edges just rose to the level of the
calm sea without breaking its mirror-like surface; "I've seen one or two
fine vessels caught that way, just here abouts, and go right down in the
middle of the breakers."

Montague smiled, and the commander-in-chief of the Sandy Cove army fired
innumerable broadsides from his mouth with redoubled energy.

"That is not a cheering piece of information," said he, "especially when
one has reason to believe that a false man stands at the helm."

Montague uttered the latter part of his speech in a subdued, earnest
voice, and the matter-of-fact Ole turned his eyes slowly towards the man
at the wheel; but observing that he who presided there was a short, fat,
commonplace, and uncommonly jolly-looking seaman, he merely uttered a
grunt, and looked at Montague inquiringly.

"Nay: I mean not the man who actually holds the spokes of the wheel, but
he who guides the ship."

Thorwald glanced at Gascoyne, whose figure was dimly visible in the fore
part of the ship, and then looking at Montague in surprise, shook his
head gravely, as if to say, "I'm still in the dark; go on."

"Can Mr. Thorwald put out his pipe for a few minutes, and accompany me
to the cabin? I would have a little converse on this matter in private."

Ole hesitated.

"Well, then," said the other, smiling, "you may take the pipe with you,
although it is against rules to smoke in my cabin; but I'll make an
exception in your case."

Ole smiled, bowed, and thanking the captain for his courtesy, descended
to the cabin along with him, and sat down on a sofa in the darkest
corner of it. Here he smoked vehemently, while his companion, assuming
rather a mysterious air, said, in an undertone:

"You have heard, of course, that the pirate Durward has been seen, or
heard of, in these seas?"

Ole nodded.

"Has it ever struck you that this Gascoyne, as he calls himself, knows
more about the pirate than he chooses to tell?"

"Never," replied Ole. Indeed, nothing ever did _strike_ the stout
commander-in-chief of the forces. All new ideas came to him by slow
degrees, and did not readily find admission to his perceptive faculties.
But when they did gain an entrance into his thick head, nothing was ever
known to drive them out again. As he did not seem inclined to comment on
the hint thrown out by his companion, Montague continued, in a still
more impressive tone:

"What would you say, if this Gascoyne himself turned out to be the
pirate?"

The idea being a simple one, and the proper course to follow being
rather obvious, Ole replied, with unwonted promptitude: "Put him in
irons, of course, and hang him as soon possible."

Montague laughed. "Truly that would be a vigorous way of proceeding; but
as I have no proof of the truth of my suspicions, and as the man is my
guest at present, as well as my pilot, it behooves me to act more
cautiously."

"Not at all; by no means; you're quite wrong, captain (which is the
natural result of being young; all young people go wrong more or less);
it is clearly your duty to catch a pirate anyhow you can, as fast as you
can, and kill him without delay."

Here the sanguinary Thorwald paused to draw and puff into vitality the
pipe which was beginning to die down, and Montague asked:

"But how d'you know he is the pirate?"

"Because you said so," replied his friend.

"Nay; I said that I _suspected_ him to be Durward,--nothing more."

"And what more would you have?" cried Ole, whose calm spirit was ruffled
with unusual violence at the thought of the hated Durward being actually
within his reach. "For my part, I conceive that you are justified in
taking him up on suspicion, trying him in a formal way (just to save
appearances) on suspicion and hanging him at once on suspicion. Quite
time enough to inquire into the matter after the villain is comfortably
sewed up in a hammock with a thirty-pound shot at his heels, and sent to
the bottom of the sea for the sharks and crabs to devour. Suspicion is
nine points of the law in these regions, Captain Montague, and we never
allow the tenth point to interfere with the course of justice one way or
another. Hang him, or shoot him if you prefer it, at once; _that_ is
what I recommend."

Just as Thorwald concluded this amiable piece of advice, the deep,
strong tones of Gascoyne's voice were heard addressing the first
lieutenant.

"You had better hoist your royals and skyscrapers, Mr. Mulroy; we shall
have a light air off the land presently, and it will require all your
canvas to carry the ship round the north point, so as to bring her guns
to bear on the village of the savages."

"The distance seems to me very short," replied the lieutenant, "and the
Talisman sails faster than you may suppose with a light wind."

"I doubt not the sailing qualities of your good ship, though I could
name a small schooner that would beat them in light wind or storm; but
you forget that we have to land our stout ally Mr. Thorwald with his men
at the Goat's Pass, and that will compel us to lose time,--too much of
which has been lost already."

Without reply, the lieutenant turned on his heel, and gave the necessary
orders to hoist the additional sails, while the captain hastened on
deck, leaving Thorwald to finish his pipe in peace, and ruminate on the
suspicions which had been raised in his mind.

In less than half an hour the light wind which Gascoyne had predicted
came off the land, first in a series of what sailors term "cat's paws,"
and then in a steady breeze, which lasted several hours, and caused the
vessel to slip rapidly through the still water. As he looked anxiously
over the bow, Captain Montague felt that he had placed himself
completely in the power of the suspected skipper of the Foam; for coral
reefs surrounded him on all sides, and many of them passed so close to
the ship's side that he expected every moment to feel the shock that
would wreck his vessel and his hopes at the same time. He blamed himself
for trusting a man whom he supposed he had such good reason to doubt,
but consoled himself by thrusting his hand into his bosom an grasping
the handle of a pistol, with which, in the event of the ship striking,
he had made up his mind to blow out Gascoyne's brains.

About an hour later, the Talisman was hove-to off the Goat's Pass, and
Ole Thorwald was landed with his party at the base of a cliff which rose
sheer up from the sea like a wall.

"Are we to go up there?" inquired Ole, in a rueful tone of voice, as he
surveyed a narrow chasm to which Gascoyne guided him.

"That is the way. It's not so bad at it looks. When you get to the top,
follow the little path that leads along the cliffs northward, and you
will reach the brow of a hill from which the native village will be
visible. Descend and attack it at once, if you find men to fight with;
if not, take possession quietly. Mind you don't take the wrong turn; it
leads to places where a wildcat would not venture even in daylight. If
you attend to what I have said, you can't go wrong. Good-night. Shove
off."

The oars splashed in the sea at the word, and Gascoyne returned to the
ship, leaving Ole to lead his men up the Pass as best he might.

It seemed as if the pilot had resolved to make sure of the destruction
of the ship that night; for, not content with running her within a foot
or two of innumerable reefs, he at last steered in so close to the shore
that the beetling cliffs actually seemed to overhang the deck. When the
sun rose, the breeze died away; but sufficient wind continued to fill
the upper sails, and to urge the vessel gently onward for some time
after the surface of the sea was calm.

Montague endeavored to conceal and repress his anxiety as long as
possible; but when at length a line of breakers without any apparent
opening presented themselves right ahead, he went up to Gascoyne and
said, in a stern undertone:

"Are you aware that you forfeit your life if my vessel strikes?"

"I know it," replied Gascoyne, coolly throwing away the stump of his
cigar, and lighting a fresh one; "but I have no desire either to destroy
your vessel or to lose my life; although, to say truth, I should have no
objection, in other circumstances, to attempt the one and to risk the
other."

"Say you so?" said Montague, with a sharp glance at the countenance of
the other, where, however, he could perceive nothing but placid good
humor; "that speech sounds marvelously warlike, methinks in the mouth
of a sandal-wood trader."

"Think you, then," said Gascoyne, with a smile of contempt, "that it is
only your fire-eating men of war who experience bold impulses and heroic
desires?"

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