Gascoyne, The Sandal-Wood Trader: A Tale of the Pacific by R. M. Ballantyne (read a book .TXT) 📖

"It looks marvelously like the Foam, alias the Avenger," observed the latter. "Beat to quarters. If this rascally pirate has indeed been thrown in our way again, we will give him a warm reception. Why, the villain has actually altered his course, and is standing towards us."

"Don't you think it is just possible," suggested Henry Stuart, "that Gascoyne may have captured the vessel from his mate, and now comes to meet us as a friend?"

"I don't know that," said Mulroy, in an excited tone; for he could not easily forget the rough usage his vessel had received at the hands of the bold pirate. "I don't know that. No doubt Gascoyne's mate was against him; but the greater part of the crew were evidently in his favor, else why the secret manner in which he was deprived of his command? No, no. Depend upon it, the villain has got hold of his schooner and will keep it. By a fortunate chance we have again met; I will see to it that we do not part without a close acquaintance. Yet why he should throw himself into my very arms in this way, puzzles me. Ha! I see his big gun amidships. It is uncovered. No doubt he counts on his superior sailing powers, and means to give us a shot and show us his heels. Well, we shall see."

"There goes his flag," observed the second lieutenant.

"What! eh! It's the Union Jack!" exclaimed Mulroy.

"I doubt not that your own captain commands the schooner," said Henry, who had, of course, long before this time, made the first lieutenant of the Talisman acquainted with Montague's capture by the pirate, along with Alice and her companions. "You naturally mistrust Gascoyne; but I have reason to believe that, on this occasion at least, he is a true man."

Mulroy returned no answer; for the two vessels were now almost near enough to enable those on board to distinguish faces with the telescope. A very few minutes sufficed to remove all doubts; and a quarter of an hour later, Montague stood on his own quarter-deck, receiving the congratulations of his officers, while Henry Stuart was seized upon and surrounded by his friends Corrie, Alice, Poopy, the missionary, and Ole Thorwald.

In the midst of a volley of excited conversation, Henry suddenly exclaimed, "But what of Gascoyne? Where is the pirate captain?"

"Why, we've forgotten him" exclaimed Thorwald, whose pipe was doing duty like a factory chimney. "I shouldn't wonder if he took advantage of us just now to give us the slip!"

"No fear of that," said Mr. Mason. "Poor fellow, he has felt your loss terribly, Henry; for we all believed that you were lost; but I am bound to confess that none of us have shown a depth of sorrow equal to that of Gascoyne. It seems unaccountable to me. He has not shown his face on deck since the day he gave up all hope of rescuing you, and has eaten nothing but a biscuit now and then, which he would suffer no one but Corrie to take to him."

"Poor Gascoyne! I will go and relieve his mind," said Henry, turning to quit the quarter-deck.

Now, the noise created by the meeting of the two vessels had aroused Gascoyne from the lethargic state of mind and body to which he had given way. Coming on deck, he was amazed to find himself close to the Talisman. A boat lay alongside the Foam, into which he jumped, and, sculling towards the frigate, he stepped over the bulwarks just as Henry turned to go in search of him.

The pirate captain's face wore a haggard, careworn, humbled look, that was very different from its usual bold, lion-like expression. No one can tell what a storm had passed through the strong man's breast while he lay alone on the floor of his cabin,—the deep, deep sorrow; the remorse for sin; the bitterness of soul, when he reflected that his present misery was chargeable only to himself. A few nights had given him the aspect of a much older man.

For a few seconds he stood glancing round the quarter-deck of the Talisman with a look of mingled curiosity and sadness. But when his eye fell on the form of Henry he turned deadly pale, and trembled like an aspen leaf.

"Well, Gascoyne, my—my—friend," said the youth, with some hesitation, as he advanced.

The shout that Gascoyne uttered on hearing the young man's voice was almost superhuman. It was something like a mingled cheer and cry of agony. In another moment he sprang forward, and, seizing Henry in his arms, pressed him to his breast with a grasp that rendered the youth utterly powerless.

Almost instantly he released him from his embrace, and, seizing his hand, said, in a wild, gay, almost fierce manner:

"Come, Henry, lad; I have somewhat to say to you. Come with me."

He forced rather than led the amazed youth into the boat, sculled to the schooner, hurried him into the cabin, and shut and locked the door.

We need scarcely say that all this was a matter of the deepest curiosity and interest to those who witnessed it; but they were destined to remain with their curiosity unsatisfied for some time after that.

When Henry Stuart issued from the cabin of the Avenger after that mysterious interview, his countenance wore a surprised and troubled expression. Gascoyne's on the contrary, was grave and calm, yet cheerful. He was more like his former self.

The young man was, of course eagerly questioned as to what had been said to him, and why the pirate had shown such fondness for him; but the only reply that could be got from him was, "I must not tell. It is a private matter. You shall know time enough."

With this answer they were fain to be content. Even Corrie failed to extract anything more definite from his friend.

A prize crew was put on board the Foam, and the two vessels proceeded towards the harbor of Sandy Cove in company.

Henry and his friends went in the Foam; but Gascoyne was detained a prisoner on board the Talisman. Montague felt that it was his duty to put him in irons; but he could not prevail on himself to heap unneccessary indignity on the head of one who had rendered him such good service; so he left him at large, intending to put him in irons only when duty compelled him to do so.

During the night a stiff breeze, amounting almost to a gale, of fair wind sprang up, and the two vessels flew towards their destination; but the Foam left her bulky companion far behind.

That night a dark and savage mind was engaged on board the Talisman in working out a black and desperate plot. Surly Dick saw, in the capture of Gascoyne and the Foam, the end of all his cherished hopes, and in a fit of despair and rage he resolved to be avenged.

This man, when he first came on board the frigate, had not been known as a pirate, and afterwards, as we have seen, he had been treated with leniency on account of his offer to turn informant against his former associates. In the stirring events that followed, he had been overlooked, and, on the night of which we are writing, he found himself free to retire to his hammock with the rest of the watch.

In the night, when the wind was howling mournfully through the rigging, and the greater part of the crew were buried in repose, this man rose stealthily from his hammock, and, with noiseless tread, found his way to a dark corner of the ship where the eyes of the sentries were not likely to observe him. Here he had made preparations for his diabolical purpose. Drawing a flint and steel from his pocket, he proceeded to strike a light. This was procured in a few seconds; and as the match flared up in his face, it revealed the workings of a countenance in which all the strongest and worst passions of human nature had stamped deep and terrible lines.

The pirate had taken the utmost care, by arranging an old sail over the spot, to prevent the reflection of the light being seen. It revealed a large mass of oakum and tar. Into the heart of this he thrust the match, and instantly glided away, as he had come, stealthily and without noise.

For a few seconds the fire smoldered: for the sail that covered it kept it down, as well as hid it from view. But such combustible material could not be smothered long. The smell of burning soon reached one of the marines stationed on the lower deck, who instantly gave the alarm; but almost before the words had passed his lips the flames burst forth.

"Fire! fire! fire!"

What a scene ensued! There was confusion at first; for no sound at sea rings so terribly in the ear as the shout of "Fire!"

But speedily the stern discipline on board a man-of-war prevailed. Men were stationed in rows; the usual appliances for the extinction of fire were brought into play; buckets of water were passed down below as fast as they could be drawn. No miscellaneous shouting took place; but the orders that were necessary, and the noise of action, together with the excitement and the dense smoke that rolled up the hatchway, produced a scene of the wildest and most stirring description.

In the midst of this, the pirate captain, as might have been expected, performed a prominent part. His great physical strength enabled him to act with a degree of vigor that rendered his aid most valuable. He wrought with the energy of a huge mechanical power, and with a quick promptitude of perception and a ready change of action which is denied to mere mechanism. He tore down the bulkheads that rendered it difficult to get at the place where the fire was; he hurled bucket after bucket of water on the glowing mass, and rushed, amid clouds of hot steam and suffocating smoke, with piles of wet blankets to smother it out.

Montague and he wrought together. The young captain issued his orders as calmly as if there were no danger, yet with a promptitude and vigor that inspired his men with confidence. Gascoyne's voice was never heard. He obeyed orders, and acted as circumstances required; but he did not presume, as men are apt to do on such occasions, to give orders and advice when there was a legitimate commander. Only once or twice were the deep tones of his bass voice heard, when he called for more water, or warned the more daring among the men when danger from falling timber threatened them.

But all this availed not to check the flames. The men were quickly driven upon deck, and it soon became evident that the vessel must perish. The fire burst through the hatchways, and in a short time began to leap up the rigging.

It now became necessary to make arrangements for the saving of the crew.

"Nothing more can be done, Mr. Mulroy," said Montague, in a calm voice, that accorded ill with the state of his mind. "Get the boats ready, and order the men to assemble on the quarter-deck."

"If we were only nearer the island," said Gascoyne, in a low tone, as if he were talking to himself, "we might run her on the reef, and the breakers would soon put out the fire."

"That would be little consolation to me," said Montague, with a bitter smile. "Lower the boats, Mr. Mulroy. The Foam has observed our condition, I see. Let them row to it. I will go in the gig."

The first lieutenant hastened to obey the order, and the men embarked in the boats, lighted by the flames, which were now roaring high up the masts.

Meanwhile the man who had been the cause of all this was rushing about the deck, a furious maniac. He had wrought at the fire almost as fiercely as Gascoyne himself, and now that all hope was past, he continued, despite the orders of Montague to the contrary, to draw water and rush with bucket after bucket into the midst of the roaring flames. At last he disappeared, no one knew where, and no one cared; for in such a scene he was soon forgotten.

The last man left the ship when the heat on the poop became so great that it was scarcely possible to stand there. Still Montague and Gascoyne stood side by side near the taffrail, and the gig with her crew floated just below them. The last boatful of men pulled away from the burning vessel and then Montague turned, with a deep sigh, and said:

"Now, Mr. Gascoyne, get into the boat. I must be the last man to quit the ship."

Without a word, Gascoyne swung himself over the stern, and, sliding down by a rope,