Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader by R. M. Ballantyne (best ereader for textbooks TXT) 📖

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 favour 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 shew 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 in 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 will 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 defenceless 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; and it is wonderful how useful a knowledge of the 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 civilised 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 shewn 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 sabre 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 his 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.