Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader by R. M. Ballantyne (best ereader for textbooks TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader by R. M. Ballantyne (best ereader for textbooks TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“They liked the idea. There were men among them who had never heartily agreed to the seizing of the schooner, and who would have left her if I would have allowed them; these were much relieved to hear my proposal. It was fixed that we should rob, but not murder. Miserable fool that I was! I thought it was possible to go just so far and no farther into sin. I did not know at that time the strength of the fearful current into which I had plunged.
“But we stuck to our principles. We never did commit murder. And as our appearance was always sufficient to cause the colours of any ship we ever came across to be hauled down at once, there has been no occasion for shedding blood, even in fair and open fight. Do you believe me, Mary?” said Gascoyne, pausing at this point.
The widow was still silent, but a slight inclination of her head satisfied the pirate, who was about to resume, when Mr Mason said—“Gascoyne, do you call warfare in the cause of robbery by the name of ‘fair and open fight?’”
“No, I do not. Yet there have been great generals and admirals in this world who have committed wholesale murder in this same cause, and whose names stand high in the roll of fame!”
A look of scorn rested on the pirate’s face as he said this, but it passed away quickly.
“You tell me that there were some of the men in the schooner whom you kept aboard against their will?” said Mr Mason. “Did it never occur to you, Gascoyne, that you may have been the murderer of the souls of these men?”
The pirate made no reply for some time, and the troubled anxious look that had more than once crossed his face returned.
“Yes,” said he at length, “I have thought of that. But it is done now and cannot be undone. I can do no more now than give myself up to justice. You see, I have thrown away my arms and stand here defenceless. But I did not come here to plead for mercy. I come to make to you all the reparation I can for the wrong I have done you. When that last act is completed, you may do with me what you please. I deserve to die, and I care not to live.”
“O Gascoyne, speak not thus,” exclaimed the widow, earnestly. “However much and deeply you have sinned against man, if you have not taken life you do not deserve to die. Besides, there is a way of pardon open to the very chief of sinners.”
“I know what you mean, Mary, I know what you mean; but — well, well, this is neither the time nor place to talk of such things. Your little girl, Mr Mason, is in the hands of the pirates.”
“I know that,” said the missionary, wincing as if he had received a deep wound, “but she is not in your power now.”
“More’s the pity; she would have been safer with me than with my first mate, who is the greatest villain afloat on the high seas. He does not like our milk-and-water style of robbing. He is an out-and-out pirate in heart, and has long desired to cut my throat. I have to thank him for being here to-night. Some of the crew who are like himself seized me while I was asleep, bound and gagged me, put me into a boat and rowed me ashore;—for we had easily escaped the Talisman in the squall, and doubling or our course came back here. The mate was anxious to clear off old scores by cutting my throat at once and pitching me into the sea. Luckily some of the men, not so bloodthirsty as he, objected to this, so I was landed and cast loose.”
“But what of Alice?” cried Mr Mason, anxiously. “How can we save her?”
“By taking my advice,” answered Gascoyne. “You have a small cutter at anchor off the creek at the foot of the hill. Put a few trusty men aboard of her, and I will guide you to the island where the Avenger has been wont to fly when hard pressed.”
“But how do you know that Manton will go there?” inquired Henry, eagerly.
“Because he is short of powder, and all our stores are concealed there, besides much of our ill-gotten wealth.”
“And how can you expect us to put ourselves so completely in your power?” said Mr Mason.
“Because you must do so if you would save your child. She is safe now, I know, and will be until the Avenger leaves the island where our stores are concealed. If we do not save her before that happens, she is lost to you for ever!”
“That no man can say. She is in the hands of God,” cried Mr Mason, fervently.
“True, true,” said Gascoyne, musing. “But God does not work by miracles. We must be up and doing at once. I promise you that I shall be faithful, and that, after the work is done, I will give myself up to justice.”
“May we trust him, mother?” said Henry.
“You may trust him, my son,” replied the widow, in a tone of decision that satisfied Henry, while it called forth a look of gratitude from the pirate.
The party now proceeded to arrange the details of their plan for the rescue of Alice and her companions. These were speedily settled, and Henry rose to go and put them in train. He turned the key of the door and was on the point of lifting the latch, when this was done for him by some one on the outside. He had just time to step back when the door flew open, and he stood face to face with Hugh Barnes the cooper.
“Have you heard the news, Henry?—hallo!”
This abrupt exclamation was caused by the sight of Gascoyne, who rose quietly the moment he heard the door open, and, turning his back towards it, walked slowly into a small apartment that opened off the widow’s parlour, and shut the door.
“I say, Henry, who’s that big fellow?” said the cooper, casting a suspicious glance towards the little room into which he had disappeared.
“He is a friend of mine,” replied Mrs Stuart, rising hastily, and welcoming her visitor.
“Humph! it’s well he’s a friend,” said the man as he took a chair, “I shouldn’t like to have him for an enemy.”
“But what is the news you were so anxious to tell us?” inquired Henry.
“That Gascoyne, the pirate captain, has been seen on the island by some of the women, and there’s a regular hunt organising. Will you go with us?”
“I have more important work to do, Hugh,” replied Henry, “besides, I want you to go with me on a hunt which I’ll tell you about if you’ll come with me to the creek.”
“By all means, come along.”
Henry and the cooper at once left the cottage. The latter was let into the secret, and prevailed on to form one of the crew of the Wasp, as the little cutter was named. In the course of the afternoon everything was in readiness. Gascoyne waited till the dusk of the evening, and then embarked along with Ole Thorwald; that stout individual having insisted on being one of the party, despite the remonstrances of Mr Mason, who did not like to leave the settlement, even for a brief period, so completely deprived of all its leading men. But Ole entertained a suspicion that Gascoyne intended to give them the slip; and having privately made up his mind to prevent this he was not to be denied.
The men who formed the crew—twelve in number—were selected from among those natives and settlers who were known never to have seen the pirate captain. They were chosen with a view to their fighting qualities, for Gascoyne and Henry were sufficient for the management of the little craft. There were no large guns on board, but all the men were well armed with cutlasses, muskets, and pistols.
Thus equipped, the Wasp stood out to sea with a light breeze, just as the moon rose on the coral reef and cast a shower of sparkling silver across the bay.
“So, you’re to be hanged for a pirate, Jo Bumpus, ye are—that’s pleasant to think of anyhow.”
Such was the remark which our stout seaman addressed to himself when he awoke on the second morning after the departure of the Wasp. If the thought was really as pleasant as he asserted it to be, his visage must have been a bad index to the state of his mind; for at that particular moment Jo looked uncommonly miserable.
The wonted good-humoured expression of his countenance had given place to a gaze of stereotyped surprise and solemnity. Indeed Bumpus seemed to have parted with much of his reason and all of his philosophy, for he could say nothing else during at least half-an-hour after awaking except the phrase—“So, you’re going to be hanged for a pirate.” His comments on the phrase were, however, a little varied, though always brief—such as—“Wot a sell! Who’d ha’ thought it! It’s a dream, it is, an ’orrible dream! I don’t believe it—who does? Wot’ll your poor mother say?”—and the like.
Bumpus had, unfortunately, good ground for making this statement.
After the cutter sailed it was discovered that Bumpus was concealed in Mrs Stuart’s cottage. This discovery had been the result of the seaman’s own recklessness and indiscretion; for when he ascertained that he was to be kept a prisoner in the cottage until the return of the Wasp, he at once made up his mind to submit with a good grace to what could not be avoided. In order to prove that he was by no means cast down, as well as to lighten the tedium of his confinement, Jo entertained himself by singing snatches of sea songs—such as, “My tight little craft,”—“A life on the stormy sea,”—“Oh! for a draught of the howling blast,” etcetera, all of which he delivered in a bass voice so powerful that it caused the rafters of the widow’s cottage to ring again.
These melodious not to say thunderous sounds, also caused the ears of a small native youth to tingle with curiosity. This urchin crept on his brown little knees under the window of Bumpus’s apartment, got on his brown and dirty little tiptoes, placed his brown little hands on the sill, hauled his brown and half-naked little body up by sheer force of muscle, and peeped into the room with his large and staring brown eyes, the whites of which were displayed to their full extent.
Jo was in the middle of an enthusiastic “oh!” when the urchin’s head appeared. Instead of expressing his passionate desire for a “draught of the howling blast,” he prolonged the “oh!” into a hideous yell, and thrust his blazing face close to the window so suddenly that the boy let go his hold, fell backwards, and rolled head over heels into a ditch, out of which he scrambled with violent haste, and ran with the utmost possible precipitancy to his native home on the sea-shore.
Here he related what he had seen to his father. The father went and looked in upon Jo’s solitude. He happened to have seen Bumpus during the great fight and knew him to be one of the pirates. The village rose en masse. Some of the worst characters in it stirred up the rest, went to the widow’s cottage, and demanded that the person of the pirate should be delivered up.
The widow objected. The settlers
Comments (0)