Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader by Robert Michael Ballantyne (top inspirational books .TXT) 📖

well as for others, and would not allow him to have his way.

"But what of Alice?" she said, earnestly. "You do not mention her. Henry has told me all. Have you nothing to say about yourself--about Alice?"

"Oh! what can I say?" cried the pastor, clasping his hands, while a deep sob almost choked him.

"Can you not say that she is in the hands of God--of a loving _Father_?" said Mrs Stuart, tenderly.

"Yes, yes, I can say that--I--have said that, but--but--"

"I know what you would say," interrupted the widow, "you would tell me that she is in the hands of pirates, ruthless villains who fear neither God nor man, and that, unless a miracle is wrought in her behalf, nothing can save her--"

"Oh! spare me, Mary; why do you harrow my broken heart with such a picture?" cried Mr Mason, rising and pacing the room with quick unsteady steps, while with both hands on his head he seemed to attempt to crush down the thoughts that burned up his brain.

"I speak thus," said the widow, with an earnestness of tone and manner that almost startled her hearers, "because I wish to comfort you. Alice, you tell me, is on board the _Foam_--"

"On board the _pirate schooner_!" cried Henry almost fiercely, for the youth, although as much distressed as Mr Mason, was not so resigned as he, and his spirit chafed at the thought of having been deceived so terribly by the pirate.

"She is on board the _Foam_," repeated the widow in a tone so stern that her hearers looked at her in surprise. "And is therefore in the hands of Gascoyne, who will not injure a hair of her head. I tell you, Mr Mason, that she is _perfectly safe_ in the hands of Gascoyne."

"Of the pirate Durward!" said Henry, in a deep angry voice.

"What ground have you for saying so?" asked the widow, quickly. "You only know him as Gascoyne the sandal-wood trader, the captain of the _Foam_. He has been suspected, it is true, but suspicion is not proof. His schooner has been fired into by a war vessel, he has returned the fire--any passionate man might be tempted to do that. His men have carried off some of our dear ones. That was _their_ doing--not his. He knew nothing of it."

"Mother, mother," cried Henry, entreatingly, "don't stand up in that way for a pirate; I can't bear to hear it. Did he not himself describe the pirate schooner's appearance in this room, and when he was attacked by the _Talisman_ did he not shew out in his true colours, thereby proving that he is Durward the pirate?"

The widow's face grew pale and her voice trembled as she replied, like one who sought to convince herself rather than her hearer, "That is not _positive_ proof, Henry. Gascoyne may have had some good reason for deceiving you all in this way. His description of the pirate may have been a false one. We cannot tell. You know he was anxious to prevent Captain Montague from impressing his men."

"And would proclaiming himself a pirate be a good way of accomplishing that end, mother?"

"Mary," said Mr Mason solemnly, as he seated himself at the table and looked earnestly in the widow's face. "Your knowledge of this man and your manner of speaking about him surprises me. I have long thought that you were not acting wisely in permitting Gascoyne to be so intimate; for, whatever he may in reality be, he is a suspicious character, to say the best of him; and although _I_ know that you think you are right in encouraging his visits, other people do not know that; they may judge you harshly. I do not wish to pry into secrets--but you have sought to comfort me by bidding me have perfect confidence in this man. I _must_ ask what knowledge you have of him. How far are you aware of his character and employment? How do you know that he is so trustworthy?"

An expression of deep grief rested on the widow's countenance as she replied in a sad voice--"I _know_ that you may trust Gascoyne with your child. He is my oldest friend. I have known him since we were children. He saved my father's life long, long ago, and helped to support my mother in her last years. Would you have me to forget all this because men say that he is a pirate?"

"Why, mother," cried Henry, "if you know so much about him you _must_ know that, whatever he was in time past, he is the pirate Durward now."

"I do _not_ know that he is the pirate Durward!" said the widow in a voice and with a look so decided that Henry was silenced and sorely perplexed--yet much relieved, for he knew that his mother would rather die than tell a deliberate falsehood.

The missionary was also comforted, for although his judgment told him that the grounds of hope thus held out to him were very insufficient, he was impressed by the thoroughly confident tone of the widow and felt relieved in spite of himself.

Soon after this conversation was concluded the household retired to rest.

Next morning Henry was awakened out of a deep sleep by the sound of subdued voices in the room underneath his own. At first he paid no attention to these, supposing that, as it was broad daylight, some of their native servants were moving about.

But presently the sound of his mother's voice induced him to listen more attentively. Then a voice replied, so low that he could with difficulty hear it at all. Its strength increased, however, and at last it broke forth in deep bass tones.

Henry sprang up and threw on his clothes. As he was thus engaged the front door of the house opened; and the speakers went out. A few seconds sufficed for the youth to finish dressing; then, seizing a pistol, he hurried out of the house. Looking quickly round he just caught sight of the skirts of a woman's dress as they disappeared through the doorway of a hut which had been formerly inhabited by a poor native who had subsisted on the widow's bounty until he died. The door was shut immediately after.

Going swiftly but cautiously round by a back way, Henry approached the hut. Strange and conflicting feelings filled his breast. A blush of deep shame and self-abhorrence mantled on his cheek when it flashed across him that he was about to play the spy on his own mother. But there was no mistaking Gascoyne's voice.

How the supposed pirate had got there, and wherefore he was there, were matters that he did not think of or care about at that moment. There he was, so the young man resolved to secure him and hand him over to justices.

Henry was too honourable to listen secretly to a conversation, whatever it might be, that was not intended for his ears. He resolved merely to peep in at one of the many chinks in the log hut for one moment to satisfy himself that Gascoyne really was there, and to observe his position. But as the latter now thought himself beyond the hearing of any one, he spoke in unguarded tones, and Henry heard a few words in spite of himself.

Looking through a chink in the wall at the end of the hut, he beheld the stalwart form of the sandalwood trader standing on the hearth of the hut, which was almost unfurnished--a stool, a bench, an old chest, a table, and a chair, being all that it contained. His mother was seated at the table with her hands clasped before her, looking up at her companion.

"Oh! why run so great a risk as this?" said she, earnestly.

"I was born to run risks, I believe," replied Gascoyne, in a sad low voice. "It matters not. My being on the island is the result of Manton's villainy--my being here is for poor Henry's sake and your own, as well as for the sake of Alice the missionary's child. You have been upright, Mary, and kind, and true as steel ever since I knew you. But for that I should have been lost long ago--"

Henry heard no more. These words did indeed whet his curiosity to the utmost, but the shame of acting the part of an "eavesdropper" was so great that, by a strong effort of will, he drew back and pondered for a moment what he ought to do. The unexpected tone and tenor of Gascoyne's remark had softened him slightly; but, recalling the undoubted proofs that he had had of his really being a pirate, he soon steeled his heart against him. He argued that the mere fact of the man giving his mother credit for a character which everybody knew she possessed, was not sufficient to clear him of the suspicions which he had raised against himself. Besides, it was impertinence in any man to tell his mother his opinion of her to her face. And to call him "poor Henry," forsooth! This was not to be endured!

Having thus wrought himself up to a sufficient degree of indignation, the young man went straight to the door, making considerable noise in order to prepare those within for his advent. He had expected to find it locked. In this he was mistaken. It yielded to a push.

Throwing it wide open, Henry strode into the middle of the apartment, and, pointing the pistol at Gascoyne's breast, exclaimed--"Pirate Durward, I arrest you in the king's name!" At the first sound of her son's approach, Mrs Stuart bent forward over the table with a groan, buried her face in her hands.

Gascoyne received Henry's speech at first with a frown and then with a smile.

"You have taken a strange time and way to jest, Henry," said he, crossing his arms on his broad chest and gazing fixedly in the youth's face.

"You will not throe me off my guard thus," said Henry, sternly. "You are my prisoner. I know you to be a pirate. At any rate you will have to prove yourself to be an honest man before you quit this hut a free man. Mother, leave this place that I may lock the door upon him."

The widow did not move, but Gascoyne made a step towards her son.

"Another step and I will fire. Your blood shall be on your own head, Gascoyne."

As Gascoyne still advanced, Henry pointed the pistol straight at his breast and pulled the trigger, but no report followed--the priming, indeed, flashed in the pan but that was all!

With a cry of rage and defiance, Henry leaped upon Gascoyne like a young lion. He struck at him with the pistol, but the latter caught the weapon in his powerful hand, wrenched it from the youth's grasp and flung it to the other end of the apartment.

"You shall not escape me," cried Henry; aiming a tremendous blow with his fist at Gascoyne's face. It was parried, and the next moment the two closed in a deadly struggle.

It was a terrible sight for the widow to witness, these two Herculean men exerting their great strength to the utmost in a hand-to-hand conflict