Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader Part 36

"But answer my question," said the youth, testily, "Henry, plead with me no longer," said Gascoyne, in a deep, stern tone. "My mind is made up.

I have spent many years in dishonesty and self-deception. It is perhaps possible that by a life devoted to doing good, I might in the long run benefit men more than I have damaged them. This is just possible, I say, though I doubt it; but I have _promised_ to give myself up whenever this cruise is at an end, and I won't break the last promise I am likely to give in this world; so do not attempt to turn me, boy."

Henry made no reply, but his knitted brows and compressed lips shewed that a struggle was going on within him. Suddenly he stood erect, and said firmly--

"Be it so, Gascoyne. I will hold you to your promise. You shall _not_ escape me!"

With this somewhat singular reply, Henry left his surprised companion and mingled with the crowd of men who stood on the quarter-deck.

A light breeze had now sprung up, and the _Foam_ was gliding rapidly towards the island. Gascoyne's deep voice was still heard at intervals issuing a word of command; for, as he knew the reefs better than any one else on board, Montague had intrusted him with the pilotage of the vessel into harbour.

When they had pa.s.sed the barrier-reef, and were sailing over the calm waters of the enclosed lagoon in the direction of Sandy Cove, the young officer went up to the pirate captain with a perplexed air and a degree of hesitation that was very foreign to his character.

Gascoyne flushed deeply when he observed him. "I know what you would say to me," he said, quickly. "You have a duty to perform. I am ready."

"Gascoyne," said Montague, with deep earnestness of tone and manner, "I would willingly spare you this, but, as you say, I have a duty to perform. I would, with all my heart, that it had fallen to other hands.

Believe me, I appreciate what you have done within the last few days, and I believe what you have said in regard to yourself and your career.

All this, you may depend upon it, will operate powerfully with your judges. But you know I cannot permit you to quit this vessel a _free man_."

"I know it," said Gascoyne, calmly.

"And--and--" (here Montague stammered and came to an abrupt pause.)

"Say on, Captain Montague. I appreciate your generosity in feeling for me thus; but I am prepared to meet whatever awaits me."

"It is necessary," resumed Montague, "that you should be manacled before I take you on sh.o.r.e."

Gascoyne started. He had not thought of this. He had not fully realised the fact that he was to be deprived of his liberty so soon. In the merited indignity which was now to be put upon him, he recognised the opening act of the tragedy which was to terminate with his life.

"Be it so," he said, lowering his head and sitting down on a carronade, in order to avoid the gaze of those who surrounded him.

While this was being done, the youthful Corrie was in the fore-part of the schooner whispering eagerly to Alice and p.o.o.py.

"O Alice, I've seen him!" exclaimed the lad.

"Seen who?" inquired Alice, raising her pretty little eyebrows just the smallest morsel.

"Why, the boatswain of the _Talisman_, d.i.c.k Price, you know, who jumped overboard to save Henry when he fell off the raft. Come, I'll point him out."

So saying, Corrie edged his way through the crowd until he could see the windla.s.s. Here, seated on a ma.s.s of chain cable, sat a remarkably rugged specimen of the British boatswain. He was extremely short, excessively broad, uncommonly jovial, and remarkably hairy. He wore his round hat so far on the back of his head that it was a marvel how it managed to hang there, and smoked a pipe so black that the most powerful imagination could hardly conceive of its ever having been white, and so short that it seemed all head and no stem.

"That's him!" said Corrie, eagerly.

"Oh! is it?" replied Alice, with much interest.

"Hee! hee!" observed p.o.o.py.

"Stand by to let go the anchor," shouted Montague.

Instantly bustle and noise prevailed everywhere. The crew of the lost frigate had started up on hearing the order, but having no stations to run to, they expended the energy that had been awakened in shuffling about and opening an animated conversation in under tones.

Soon the schooner swept round the point that had hitherto shut out the view of Sandy Cove, and a few minutes later the rattling of the chain announced that the voyage of the _Foam_ had terminated.

Immediately after, a boat was lowered, and Gascoyne was conveyed by a party of marines to the sh.o.r.e, and lodged in the prison which had been but recently occupied by our friend John b.u.mpus.

Mrs Stuart had purposely kept out of the way when she heard of the arrival of the _Foam_. She knew Gascoyne so well that she felt sure he would succeed in recapturing his schooner. But she also knew that in doing this he would necessarily release Montague from his captivity, in which case it was certain that the pirate captain, having promised to give himself up, would be led on sh.o.r.e a prisoner. She could not bear to witness this; but no sooner did she hear of his being lodged in jail than she prepared to visit him.

As she was about to issue from her cottage, Henry met her and clasped her in his arms. The meeting would have doubtless been a warmer one had the mother known what a narrow escape her son had so recently had. But Mrs Stuart was accustomed to part from Henry for weeks at a time, and regarded this return in much the same light as former homecomings, except in so far as he had news of their lost friends to give her. She welcomed him therefore with a kiss and a glad smile, and then hurried him into the house to inquire about the result of the voyage.

"I have already heard of your success in finding Alice and our friends.

Come, tell me more."

"Have you heard how nearly I was lost, mother?"

"Lost!" exclaimed the widow in surprise; "no, I have heard nothing of that."

Henry rapidly narrated his escape from the wreck of the _Wasp_, and then, looking earnestly in his mother's anxious face he said, slowly--

"But you do not ask for Gascoyne, mother. Do you know that he is now in the jail?"

The widow looked perplexed. "I know it," said she. "I was just going to see him when you came in."

"Ah! mother," said Henry, reproachfully, "why did you not tell me sooner about Gascoyne? I--"

He was interrupted here by Corrie and Alice rushing into the room, the latter of whom threw herself into the widow's arms and burst into tears, while Master Corrie indulged in some eccentric bounds and cheers by way of relieving his feelings. For some time Henry allowed them to talk eagerly to each other; then he told Corrie and Alice that he had something of importance to say to his mother, and led her into an adjoining room.

Corrie had overheard the words spoken by Henry just as he entered, and great was his curiosity to know what was the mystery connected with the pirate captain. This curiosity was intensified when he heard a half-suppressed shriek in the room where mother and son were closeted.

For one moment he was tempted to place his ear to the key-hole! But a blush covered his fat cheeks at the very thought of acting such a disgraceful part. Like a wise fellow he did not give the tempter a second opportunity, but, seizing the hand of his companion, said--

"Come along, Alice, we'll go seek for b.u.mpus."

Half-an-hour afterwards the widow stood at the jail door. The jailer was an intimate friend, and considerately retired during the interview.

"O Gascoyne, has it come to this?" She sat down beside the pirate, and grasped one of his manacled hands in both of hers.

"Even so, Mary, my hour has come. I do not complain of my doom. I have brought it on myself."

"But why not try to escape?" said Mrs Stuart, earnestly. "There are some here who could aid you."

Here the widow attempted to reason with Gascoyne, as her son had done before, but with similar want of success. Gascoyne remained immovable.

He did indeed betray deep emotion while the woman reasoned with him, in tones of intense earnestness; but he would not change his mind. He said that if Montague, as the representative of the law, would set him free in consideration of what he had recently done, he would accept of liberty; but nothing would induce him to attempt to escape.

Leaving him in this mood, Mrs Stuart hurried to the cottage where Montague had taken up his abode.

The young captain received her kindly. Having learned from Corrie all about the friendship that existed between the widow and Gascoyne, he listened with the utmost consideration to her.

"It is impossible," said he, shaking his head; "I _cannot_ set him free."

"Do his late services weigh nothing with you?" pleaded the widow.