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

they are so foolish as to resist me; therefore I am particular about the men you have told off for this duty. Where did you say they are to meet us?”

“Close by de point, mass’r.”

A few minutes’ walk brought them to the point where the men were awaiting them. As far as Ole could judge, by the dim light of a few stars that struggled through the cloudy sky, they were eleven as stout fellows as any warrior could desire to have at his back in a hand to hand conflict. They were all natives, clothed much in the same manner as Sambo, and armed with heavy clubs, for, as we have seen, Thorwald was resolved that this should be a bloodless victory.

“Whereabout is the boat?” whispered Ole to his henchman, as he groped his way down the rocky slopes towards the shore.

“’Bout two hondr’d yards more farder in front,” said Sambo.

“Then I’ll place the men here,” said Ole, turning to the natives who were following close at his heels. “Now, boys, remain under cover of this rock till I lead you on to the attack; and mind what I say to you—no killing! Some of party are my friends, d’ye understand? I don’t want to do them a damage, but I do want to prevent their letting off as great a villain, I believe, as ever sailed the ocean under a black flag—only his was a red one; because of his extreme bloody-mindedness, no doubt, which led, him to adopt the colour of blood. We will attack them in the rear, which means, of course, by surprise, though I must confess that style of warfare goes much against the grain with me. There are just four men, I am told, besides the pirate. Our first onset will secure the fall of at least two of the party by my own cudgel—and mark me, lads, I don’t say this in the spirit of boasting. He would indeed be but a poor warrior who could not fell two men when he took them unawares and in the dark. No, I feel half ashamed o’ the work, but I suppose it is my duty. So you see there will be just two men and the pirate left for us to deal with. Four of you ought to be able to overcome the two men without drawing blood, except, it may be, a little surface-fluid. The remaining nine of us will fall on the pirate captain in a body. You will easily know him by his great size, and I have no manner of doubt but that he will make himself further known by the weight of his blows. If I happen to fall, don’t look after me till you have overcome and bound the pirate. The ropes are all ready, and my man Sambo will carry them.”

Having delivered this address to his followers, who by their “Ho’s” and grins indicated their perfect readiness to do as they were bid, Ole Thorwald left them in ambush, and groped his way down to the beach, accompanied by Sambo.

“Did you bring the chain and padlock, Sambo?”

“Yis, mass’r. But you no tink it am berer to take boat away—pull him out ob sight?”

“No, Sambo, I have thought on that subject already, and have come to the conclusion that it is better to let the boat remain. You see they have placed it in such a way that as long as daylight lasted it could be seen from the settlement, and even now it is visible at some distance, as you see. If we were to remove it they would at once observe that it was gone, and thus be put on their guard. No, no, Sambo. I may not be fond of ambushments, but I flatter myself that I have some talent for such matters.”

The master and servant had reached the beach by this time, where they found the boat in the exact position that had been indicated by John Bumpus. It lay behind a low piece of coral rock, fastened to an iron ring by means of a rope, while the oars lay in readiness on the thwarts.

Sambo now produced a heavy iron chain with which the boat was speedily fastened to the ring. It was secured with a large padlock, the key of which Ole placed in his pocket.

This being satisfactorily accomplished, they returned to the place of ambush.

“Now, Mister Gascoyne,” observed Thorwald with a grim smile, as he sat down beside his men and pulled out his watch, “I will await your pleasure. It is just half-past eleven; if you are a punctual man, as Jo Bumpus led me to believe, I will try your metal in half-an-hour, and have you back in your cage before one o’clock! What say you to that, Sambo?”

The faithful native opened his huge mouth wide and shut his eyes, thereby indicating that he laughed, but he said nothing, bad, good, or indifferent, to his master’s facetious observation. The other natives also grinned in a quiet but particularly knowing manner, after which the whole party relapsed into profound silence and kept their midnight watch with exemplary patience and eager expectation.

At this same hour the pirate captain was seated in his cell on the edge of the low bedstead, with his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

The cell was profoundly dark—so dark that the figure of the prisoner could scarcely be distinguished.

Gascoyne did not move for many minutes, but once or twice a deep sigh escaped him, shewing that although his body was at rest, his thoughts were busy. At last he moved and clasped his hands together violently as if under a strong impulse. In doing so, the clank of his chains echoed harshly through the cell. This seemed to change the current of his thoughts, for he again covered his face with both hands and began to mutter to himself.

“Ay,” said he, “it has come at last. How often I have dreamed of this when I was free and roaming over the wide ocean. I would say that I have been a fool did I not feel that I have more cause to bow my head and confess that I am a sinner. Ah! what a thing pride is. How little do men know what it has cost me to humble myself before them as I have done; yet I feel no shame in confessing it here, when I am all alone. Alone! am I alone?”

For a long time Gascoyne sat in deep silence as if he were following out the train of thought which had been suggested by the last words. Presently his ideas again found vent in muttered speech.

“In my pride I have said that there is no God. I don’t think I ever believed that; but I tried to believe it, for I knew that my deeds were evil. Surely my own words will condemn me, for I have said that I think myself a fool, and does not the Bible say that ‘the fool hath said in his heart there is no God?’ Ay, I remember it well. The words were printed in my brain when I learnt the Psalms of David at my mother’s knee, long, long ago. My mother! what bitter years have passed since that day! How little did ye dream, mother, that your child would come to this. God help me!”

The pirate relapsed into silence, and a low groan escaped him. But his thoughts seemed too powerful to be restrained within his breast, for they soon broke forth again in words.

“Your two texts have come true, pastor Mason. You did not mean them for me, but they were sent to me. ‘There is no rest, saith my God, to the wicked.’ No rest! I have not known rest since I was a boy. ‘Be sure your sin shall find you out.’ I laughed at these words once; they laugh at me now. I have found them out to be true—and found it out too late. Too late! Is it too late? If these words be true, are not all the words of God equally true? ‘The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.’ That was what you said, pastor Mason, on that Sunday morning when the savages were stealing down on us. It gave me comfort then, but, ah me! it seems to give me no comfort now. Oh! that I had resisted the tempter when he first came to me! Strange! I often heard this said long, long ago; but I laughed at it—not in scorn, no, it was in easy indifference. I did not believe it had anything to do with me. And now, I suppose, if I were to stand in the public streets and cry that I had been mistaken, with all the fervour of a bursting heart, men would laugh at me in an easy way—as I did then.

“I don’t fear death. I have often faced it, and I don’t remember ever feeling afraid of death. Yet I shrink from death now. Why is this? What a mystery my thoughts and feelings are to me. I know not what to think. But it will soon be over, for I feel certain that I shall be doomed to die. God help me!”

Gascoyne again became silent. When he had remained thus a few minutes his attention was roused by the sound of footsteps and of whispering voices close under his window. Presently the key was put in the lock, the heavy bolt shot back, and the door creaked on its hinges as it opened slowly.

Gascoyne knew by the sound that several men entered the cell, but as they carried no light he could not tell how many there were. He was of course surprised at a visit at such an unusual hour, as well as at the stealthy manner in which his visitors entered; but having made up his mind to submit quietly to whatever was in store for him, and knowing that he could not hope for much tenderness at the hands of the inhabitants of Sandy Cove, he was not greatly disturbed. Still, he would not have been human had not his pulse quickened under the influence of a strong desire to spring up and defend himself.

The door of the cell was shut and locked as quietly as it had been opened; then followed the sound of footsteps crossing the floor.

“Is that you, jailer?” demanded Gascoyne.

“Ye’ll know that time enough,” answered a gruff voice that was not unfamiliar to the prisoner’s ear.

The others who had entered along with this man did not move from the door—at least, if they did so, there was no sound of footsteps. The man who had spoken went to the window and spread a thick cloth over it. Gascoyne could see this, because there was sufficient light outside to make the arms of the man dimly visible as he raised them up to accomplish his object. The cell was thus rendered, if possible, more impenetrably dark than before.

“Now, pirate,” said the man, turning round, and suddenly flashing a dark lantern full on the stern face of the prisoner, “you and I will have a little convarse together—by yer leave or without yer leave. In case there might be pryin’ eyes about, I’ve closed the porthole, d’ye see.”

Gascoyne listened to this familiar style of address in surprise, but did not suffer his features to betray any emotion whatever. The lantern which the seaman (for such he evidently was) carried in his hand threw a strong light wherever its front was turned, but left every other part of the cell in partial darkness. The reflected light was, however, quite sufficient to enable the prisoner to see that his visitor was a short, thick-set man, of great physical strength, and that three men of unusual size and strength stood against the wall, in the deep shadow of a recess, with their straw