THE MISSIONARY--SUSPICIONS, SURPRISES, AND SURMISES.
Sandy Cove was a small settlement, inhabited partly by native converts
to Christianity, and partly by a few European traders, who, having found
that the place was in the usual track of South-Sea whalers, and
frequently visited by that class of vessels as well as by other ships,
had established several stores or trading-houses, and had taken up their
permanent abode there.
The island was one of those the natives of which were early induced to
agree to the introduction of the gospel. At the time of which we write,
it was in that transition state which renders the work of the missionary
one of anxiety, toil, and extreme danger, as well as one of love.
But the Rev. Frederick Mason was a man eminently fitted to fill the post
which he had selected as his sphere of labor. Bold and manly in the
extreme, he was more like a soldier in outward aspect than a missionary.
Yet the gentleness of the lamb dwelt in his breast and beamed in his
eye; and to a naturally indomitable and enthusiastic disposition was
added burning zeal in the cause of his beloved Master.
Six years previous to the opening of our tale, he had come to Sandy Cove
with his wife and child, the latter a girl of six years of age at that
time. In one year death bereaved the missionary of his wife, and, about
the same time, war broke out in the island between the chiefs who clung
to the idolatrous rites and bloody practises peculiar to the inhabitants
of the South Sea Islands, and those chiefs who were inclined to favor
Christianity. This war continued to rage more or less violently for
several years, frequently slumbering, sometimes breaking out with sudden
violence, like the fitful eruptions of the still unextinct volcanoes in
those distant, regions.
During all this period of bloodshed and alarms, the missionary stuck to
his post. The obstinacy of hatred was being gradually overcome by the
superior pertinacity of zeal in a good cause, and the invariable
practise--so incomprehensible to the savage mind--of returning good for
evil. The result was that the Sabbath bell still sent its tinkling sound
over the verdant slopes above Sandy Cove, and the hymn of praise still
arose, morning and evening, from the little church, which, composed
partly of wood, partly of coral rock, had been erected under the eye,
and, to a large extent, by the hands, of the missionary.
But false friends within the camp were more dangerous and troublesome to
Mr. Mason than avowed enemies without. Some of the European traders,
especially, who settled on the island a few years after the missionary
had made it habitable, were the worst foes he had to contend with.
In the same vessel that brought the missionary to the island, there came
a widow, Mrs. Stuart, with her son Henry, then a stout lad of thirteen.
The widow was not, however, a member of the missionary's household. She
came there to settle with her son, who soon built her a
rudely-constructed but sufficiently habitable hut, which, in after
years, was inclosed, and greatly improved; so that it at last assumed
the dimensions of a rambling picturesque cottage, whitewashed,
brilliant, and neat in its setting of bright green.
The widow, although not an official assistant to the missionary, was
nevertheless a most efficient one. She taught in his schools, being
familiar with the native tongue; and, when the settlement grew in
numbers, both of white and black, she became known as the good angel of
the place,--the one who was ever ready with sympathy for the sorrowful,
and comfort for the dying. She was fair and fragile, and had been
exceedingly beautiful; but care had stamped his mark deeply in her brow.
Neither care nor time, however, could mar the noble outline of her fine
features, or equal the love that beamed in her gentle eyes.
The widow was a great mystery to the gossips of Sandy Cove; for there
are gossips even in the most distant isles of the sea. Some men (we
refer, of course, to white men) thought that she must have been the wife
of an admiral at least, and had fallen into distressed circumstances,
and gone to these islands to hide her poverty. Others said she was a
female Jesuit in disguise, sent there to counteract the preaching of the
gospel by the missionary. A few even ventured to hint their opinion that
she was an outlaw, "or something of that sort," and shrewdly suspected
that Mr. Mason knew more about her than he was pleased to tell. But no
one, either by word or look, had ever ventured to express an opinion of
any kind to herself, or in the hearing of her son. The latter, indeed,
displayed such uncommon breadth of shoulders, and such unusual
development of muscle, that it was seldom necessary for him--even in
those savage regions and wild times--to display anything else in order
to make men respectful.
While our three friends were doing justice to the bacon and breadfruit
set before them by Widow Stuart, the widow herself was endeavoring to
repress some strong feeling, which caused her breast to heave more than
once, and induced her to turn to some trifling piece of household duty
to conceal her emotion. These symptoms were not lost upon her son, whose
suspicions and anger had been aroused by the familiarity of Gascoyne.
Making some excuse for leaving the room, towards the conclusion of the
meal, he followed his mother to an outhouse, whither she had gone to
fetch some fresh milk.
"Mother," said Henry, respectfully, yet with an unwonted touch of
sternness in his voice; "there is some mystery connected with this man
Gascoyne that I feel convinced you can clear up--"
"Dear Henry," interrupted the widow, and her cheek grew pale as she
spoke, "do not, I beseech you, press me on this subject. I cannot clear
it up."
"Say you _will_ not, mother," answered Henry, in a tone of
disappointment.
"I would if I dared," continued the widow. "The time may come when I--"
"But why not now," urged the youth, hastily. "I am old enough, surely,
to be trusted. During the four visits this man has paid to us, I have
observed a degree of familiarity on his part which no man has a right to
exhibit towards you; and which, did I not see that you permit it, no
man would _dare_ to show. Why do you allow him to call you 'Mary?' No
one else in the settlement does so."
"He is a very old friend," replied the widow, sadly. "I have known him
from childhood. We were playmates long ago."
"Humph, that's some sort of reason, no doubt; but you don't appear to
like him, and his presence always seems to give you pain. Why do you
suffer yourself to be annoyed by him? Only say the word, mother, and
I'll kick him out of the house, neck and crop--"
"Hush, boy; you are too violent."
"Too violent! Why, it would make a coward violent to see his mother
tormented as you are by this fellow, and not to be allowed to put a stop
to it. I suspect--"
"Henry," said the widow, again interrupting her exasperated son, "do you
think your mother would do what is wrong?"
"Mother," exclaimed the youth, seizing her hand, and kissing her brow
almost violently, "I would as soon think that the angels above would do
wrong; but I firmly believe that you are suffering wrong to be done _to
you_; and--just listen to the fellow! I do not believe he's howling for
more bacon at this moment!"
There could be no doubt whatever about the fact; for just then the deep
tones of Gascoyne's voice rang through the cottage, as he reiterated the
name of the widow, who hastened away, followed by her son. Henry
scarcely took the trouble to conceal the frown that darkened his brow as
he re-entered the apartment where his companions were seated.
"Why, Mary, your bacon surpasses anything I have tasted for the last
six months; let's have another rasher, like a good woman. That mountain
air sharpens the appetite amazingly; especially of men who are more
accustomed to mount the rigging of a ship than the hills on shore. What
say you, John Bumpus?"
John Bumpus could not at that moment say anything, in consequence of his
mouth being so full of the bacon referred to that there was no room for
a single word to pass his lips. In the height of his good-humor,
however, he did his best by signs to express his entire approval of the
widow's provender, and even _attempted_ to speak. In so doing he choked
himself, and continued in convulsions for the next five minutes, to the
immense delight of the captain, who vowed he had never before seen such
a blue face in the whole course of his life.
While this scene was enacting, and ere Jo Bumpus had effectually wiped
away the tears from his eyes, and cleared the bacon out of his windpipe,
the door opened, and the commander of H.M.S. Talisman entered.
Edmund Montague was a young man to hold such a responsible position in
the navy; but he was a bold, vigorous little Englishman,--a sort of
gentlemanly and well-educated John Bull terrier; a frank address,
agreeable manners, and an utterly reckless temperament, which was
qualified and curbed, however, by good sense and hard-earned experience.
"Good-day to you, Mrs. Stuart; I trust you will forgive my abrupt
intrusion, but urgent business must be my excuse. I have called to have
a little further conversation with your son respecting that rascally
pirate who has given me so much trouble. If he will have the good ness
to take a short walk with me, I shall be much indebted."
"By all means," said Henry, rising and putting on his cap.
"Perhaps," said Gascoyne, as they were about to leave the room, "if the
commander of the Talisman would condescend to take a little information
from a stranger, he might learn something to the purpose regarding the
pirate Durward; for he it is, I presume, of whom you are in search."
"I shall be happy to gain information from any source," replied
Montague, eying the captain narrowly, "Are you a resident in this
island?"
"No, I am not; my home is on the sea, and has been since I was a lad."
"Ah! you have fallen in with this pirate, then, on your native ocean, I
fancy, and have disagreeable cause to remember him, perchance," said
Montague, smiling. "Has he given you much trouble?"
"Aye, that he has," replied Gascoyne, with a sudden scowl of ferocity.
"No one in these seas has received so much annoyance from him as I have.
Any one who could rid them of his presence would do good service to the
cause of humanity. But," he added, while a grim smile overspread his
handsome face, "it is said that few vessels can cope with his schooner
in speed, and I can answer for it that he is a bold man, fond of
fighting, with plenty of reckless cut-throats to back him, and more
likely to give chase to a sloop-of-war than to show her his heels. I
trust you are well manned and armed, Captain Montague; for this Durward
is a desperate fellow, I assure you."
The young commander's countenance flushed as he replied, "Your anxiety
on my account, sir, is quite uncalled for. Had I nothing but my own
longboat wherewith to attack this pirate, it would be my duty to do so.
I had scarcely expected to find unmanly fears exhibited in one so
stalwart in appearance as you are. Perhaps it may relieve you to know
that I am both well manned and armed. It is not usual for a British
man-of-war to cruise in distant seas in a less suitable condition to
protect her flag. And yet, methinks, one who has spent so many years of
his life on salt water might know the difference between a frigate and a
sloop-of-war."
"Be not so hasty, young man," answered Gascoyne, gravely; "you are not
on your own quarter-deck just now. There ought to be civility between
strangers. I may, indeed, be very ignorant of the cut and rig of British
war vessels, seeing that I am but a plain trader in seas where ships of
war are not often wont to unfurl their flags, but there can be no harm,
and there was meant no offense, in warning you to be on your guard."
A tinge of sarcasm still lingered in Captain Montague's tone as he
replied, "Well, I thank you for the caution. But to come to the point,
what know you of this pirate,--this Durward, as he calls himself; though
I have no doubt he has sailed under so many aliases that he may have
forgotten his real name."
"I know him to be a villain," replied Gascoyne.
"That much I know as well as you," said Montague.
"And yet it is said he takes fits of remorse at times, and would fain
change his way of life if he could," continued Gascoyne.
"That I might guess," returned the other; "most wicked men have their
seasons of remorse. Can you tell me nothing of him more definite than
this, friend?"
"I can tell you that he is the very bane of my existence," said
Gascoyne, the angry expression again flitting for a moment across his
countenance, "He not only pursues and haunts me like my own shadow, but
he gets me into scrapes by passing his schooner off for mine when he is
caught."
The young officer glanced in surprise at the speaker as he uttered these
words.
"Indeed," said he, "that is a strange confusion of ideas. So, then, the
two schooners bear so strong a resemblance as to be easily mistaken for
each other?"
"They are twins. They were built at the same time, from the same molds,
and were intended for the sandal-wood trade between these islands and
Calcutta, Manila, and Australia. One of them, the Avenger, was seized on
her first voyage by this Durward, then mate of the schooner, and has
ever since scoured the South Seas as a pirate; the other, named the
Foam, which I have the misfortune to command, still continues the
traffic for which she was originally built."
"Ha!" exclaimed Montague, turning suddenly round with an inquiring gaze
at the stalwart figure of the sandal-wood trader; "it is most fortunate
that I have met with you, Mr. Gascoyne. I doubt not that you can conduct
me to this vessel of yours, so that I may know the pirate when I fall in
with him. If the two vessels resemble each other so closely, a sight of
the Foam will be of great service to me in my search after the
Avenger."
"You are most welcome to a sight of my craft," replied Gascoyne. "The
only difference between the two is, that the figurehead of the pirate is
a griffin's head, painted scarlet; that of my schooner is a female,
painted white. There is also a red streak round the sides of the pirate;
the hull of the Foam is entirely black."
"Will you come on board my vessel, and accompany me in one of my boats
to yours?" inquired Montague.
"That is impossible," replied Gascoyne. "I came here on urgent business,
which will not brook delay; but my schooner lies on the other side of
the island. If you pull round, my mate will receive you. You will find
him a most intelligent and hospitable man. He will conduct you over the
vessel, and give you all the information you may desire. Meanwhile,"
added the captain of the Foam, rising and putting on his cap, "I must
bid you adieu."
"Nay, but you have not yet told me when or where you last saw or heard
of this remarkable pirate, who is so clever at representing other
people; perhaps I should rather say misrepresenting them," said
Montague, with a meaning smile.
"I saw him no longer ago than this morning," replied Gascoyne, gravely.
"He is now in these waters, with what intent I know not, unless from his
unnatural delight in persecuting me, or, perhaps, because fate has led
him into the very jaws of the lion."
"Humph! he will find that I bite before I roar, if he does get between
my teeth," said the young officer.
"Surely you are mistaken, Gascoyne," interposed Henry Stuart, who, along
with John Bumpus, had hitherto been silent listeners to the foregoing
conversation. "Several of our people have been out fishing among the
islands, and have neither seen nor heard of this redoubted pirate."
"That is possible enough, boy; but I have seen him, nevertheless, and I
shall be much surprised if you do not see and hear more of him than you
desire before many days are out. That villain does not sail the seas for
pastime, you may depend on it."
As Gascoyne said this, the outer door of the house was burst violently
open, and the loud voice of a boy was heard in the porch or short
passage that intervened between it and the principal apartment of the
cottage shouting wildly--"Ho! hallo! hurrah! I says Widow Stuart! Henry!
here's a business--sich fun! only think, the pirate's turned up at last,
and murdered half the niggers in--"
There was an abrupt stoppage both of the voice and the muscular action
of this juvenile tornado as he threw open the door with a crash, and,
instead of the widow or her son, met the gaze of so many strangers. The
boy stood for a few seconds on the threshold, with his curly brown hair
disheveled, and his dark eyes staring in surprise, first at one, then at
another of the party, until at length they alighted on John Bumpus. The
mouth which up to that moment had formed a round O of astonishment,
relaxed into a broad grin, and, with sudden energy, exclaimed: "_What_ a
grampus!"
Having uttered this complimentary remark, the urchin was about to
retreat, when Henry made a sudden dart at him, and caught him by the
collar.
"Where got you the news, Will Corrie?" said Henry giving the boy a
squeeze with his strong hand.
"Oh, please, be merciful, Henry, and I'll tell you all about it. But,
pray, don't give me over to that grampus," cried the lad, pretending to
whimper. "I got the news from a feller, that said he'd got it from a
feller, that saw a feller, who said he'd heard a feller tell another
feller, that he saw a _black_ feller in the bush, somewhere or other
'tween this and the other end o' the island, with a shot-hole in his
right arm, running like a cogolampus, with ten pirates in full chase.
Ah! oh! have mercy, Henry; really, my constitution will break down if
you--"
"Silence, you chatter-box! and give me a reasonable account of what you
have heard or seen, if you can."
The volatile urchin, who might have been about thirteen years of age,
became preternaturally grave all of a sudden, and, looking up earnestly
in his questioner's face, said, "Really, Henry, you are becoming
unreasonable in your old age, to ask me to give you a reasonable account
of a thing, and at the same time to be silent!"
"I'll tell you what, Corrie, I'll throttle you if you don't speak," said
Henry.
"Ah! you _couldn't_," pleaded Corrie, in a tone of deep pathos.
"P'raps," observed John Bumpus, "p'raps if you hand over the young
gen'l'm'n to the 'grampus,' _he'll_ make him speak."
On hearing this, the boy set up a howl of affected despair, and suffered
Henry to lead him unresistingly to within a few feet of Bumpus; but,
just as he was within an inch of the huge fist of that nautical monster,
he suddenly wrenched his collar out of his captor's grasp, darted to
the door, turned round on the threshold, hit the side of his own nose a
sounding slap with the forefinger of his right hand, uttered an
unexpressively savage yell, vanished from the scene, and,
"Like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Left not a wreck behind,"
except the wreck of the milk-saucer of the household cat, which
sagacious creature had wisely taken to flight at the first symptom of
war.
The boy was instantly followed by Henry, but so light was his foot, that
the fastest runner in the settlement had to penetrate the woods
immediately behind his mother's house for a quarter of a mile before he
succeeded in again laying hold of the refractory lad's collar.
"What do you mean, Corrie, by such conduct?" said his captor, shaking
him vigorously. "I have half a mind to give you a walloping."
"Never do anything by halves, Henry," said the boy, mildly. "_I_ never
do. It's a bad habit; always go the whole length or none. Now that we
are alone, I'll give you a reasonable account of what I know, if you'll
remove your hand from my collar. You forget that I am growing, and that,
when I am big enough, the day of reckoning between us will surely come!"
"But why would you not give me the information I want in the house. The
people you saw there are as much interested in it as I am."
"Oh! are they?" returned Corrie, with a glance of peculiar meaning;
"perhaps they are _more_ interested than you are."
"How so?"
"Why, how do I know, and how do you know, that these fellows are not
pirates in disguise?"
"Because," said Henry, "one of them is an old friend,--that is, an
acquaintance--at least a sort of intimate, who has been many and many a
time at our house before, and my mother knows him well. I can't say I
like him,--that is to say, I don't exactly like some of his
ways,--though I don't dislike the man himself."
"A most unsatisfactory style of reply, Henry, for a man--ah, beg pardon,
a boy--of your straightforward character. Which o' the three are you
speaking of--the grampus?"
"No, the other big, handsome-looking fellow."
"And you're sure you've known him long?" continued the boy, while an
expression of perplexity flitted over his face.
"Quite sure;--why?"
"Because _I_ have seen you often enough, and your house and your
mother,--not to mention your cat and your pigs, and hens; but I've never
seen _him_ before to-day."
"That's because he usually comes at night, and seldom stays more than an
hour or two."
"A most uncomfortable style of acquaintance," said Corrie, trying to
look wise, which was an utterly futile effort, seeing that his
countenance was fat and round and rosy, and very much the reverse of
philosophical. "But how do you know that the grampus is not the pirate?"
"Because he is one of Gascoyne's men."
"Oh! his name is Gascoyne, is it?--a most piratical name it is. However,
since he is your friend, Henry, it's all right; what's t'other's name?"
"Bumpus--John Bumpus."
On hearing this, the boy clapped both hands to his sides, expanded his
eyes and mouth, showed his teeth, and finally gave vent to roars of
uncontrollable laughter, swaying his body about the while as if in
agony.
"Oh dear!" he cried, after a time, "John Bumpus, ha! ha! the
grampus--why, it's magnicicent, ha! ha!" and again the boy gave free
vent to his merriment, while his companion looked on with a quiet grin
of amusement.
Presently Corrie became grave, and said, "But what of the third, the
little chap, all over gold lace? P'r'aps he's the pirate. He looked bold
enough a'most for any thing."
"Why, you goose, that's the commander of his Britannic Majesty's frigate
Talisman."
"Indeed? I hope his Britannic Majesty has many more like him."
"Plenty more like him. But come, boy; what have you heard of this
pirate, and what do you mean about a wounded nigger?"
"I just mean this," answered the lad, suddenly becoming serious, "that
when I was out on the mountain this morning, I thought I would cross the
ridge, and when I did so, the first thing I saw was a schooner lying in
the bay at the foot of the hill, where you and I have so often gone
chasing pigs together. Well, being curious to know what sort of a craft
she was, I went down the hill, intendin' to go aboard; but before I'd
got half way through the cocoanut grove, I heard a horrible yell of a
savage. So, thinks I, here comes them blackguard pagans again, to attack
the settlement; and before I could hide out of the way, a naked savage
almost ran into my arms. He was sea-green in the face with fright, and
blood was running over his right arm.
"The moment he saw me, instead of splitting me up with his knife and
eating me alive, as these fellers are so fond of doin', he gave a
start, and another great cry, and doubled on his track like a hare. His
cry was answered by a shout from half a dozen sailors, who burst out of
the thicket at that moment, and I saw they were in pursuit of him. Down
I went at once behind a thick bush, and the whole lot o' the blind bats
passed right on in full cry, within half an inch of my nose. And never
saw sich a set o' piratical-looking villains since I was born. I felt
quite sure that yon schooner is the pirate that has been doing so much
mischief hereabouts; so I came back as fast as my legs could carry me,
to tell you what I had seen. There, you have got all that I know of the
matter now."
"You are wrong, boy. The schooner you saw is not the pirate; it is the
Foam. Strange, very strange!" muttered Henry.
"What's strange," inquired the lad.
"Not the appearance of the wounded nigger," answered the other; "I can
explain all about him, but the sailors--that puzzles me."
Henry then related the morning's adventure to his young companion.
"But," continued he, after detailing all that the reader already knows,
"I cannot comprehend how the pirates you speak of could have landed
without their vessel being in sight; and that nothing is to be seen from
the mountain-tops except the Talisman on the one side of the island and
the Foam on the other, I can vouch for. Boats might lie concealed among
the rocks on the shore, no doubt. But no boats would venture to put
ashore with hostile intentions, unless the ship to which they belonged
were within sight. As for the crew of the Foam, they are ordinary
seamen, and not likely to amuse themselves chasing wounded savages,
even if they were allowed to go ashore, which I think is not likely; for
Gascoyne knows well enough that that side of the island is inhabited by
the pagans, who would as soon kill and eat a man as they would a pig."
"Sooner,--the monsters!" exclaimed the boy, indignantly; for he had, on
more than one occasion, been an eyewitness of the horrible practise of
cannibalism which prevails, even at the present day, among some of the
South Sea islanders.
"There is a mystery here," said Henry, starting up, "and the sooner we
alarm the people of the settlement, the better. Come, Corrie, we shall
return to the house, and let the British officer hear what you have told
me."
When the lad had finished relating his adventure to the party in Widow
Stuart's cottage, Gascoyne said quietly, "I would advise you, Captain
Montague, to return to your ship and make your preparations for
capturing this pirate, for that he is even now almost within range of
your guns, I have not the slightest doubt. As to the men appearing
piratical-looking fellows to this boy, I don't wonder at that; most men
are wild enough when their blood is up. Some of my own men are as savage
to look at as one would desire. But I gave strict orders this morning
that only a few were to go ashore, and these were to keep well out of
sight of the settlement of the savages. Doubtless they are all aboard by
this time. If you decide upon anything like a hunt among the mountains,
I can lend you a few hands."
"Thank you. I may perhaps require some of your hands," said Montague,
with a dash of sarcasm in his tone; "meanwhile, since you will not favor
me with your company on board, I shall bid you good afternoon."
He bowed stiffly, and leaving the cottage, hastened on board his ship
where the shrill notes of the boatswain's whistle, and the deep hoarse
tones of that officer's gruff voice, quickly announced to the people on
shore that orders had been promptly given, and were in course of being
as promptly obeyed.
During the hour that followed these events, the captain of the Foam was
closeted with Widow Stuart and her son, and the youthful Corrie was
engaged in laying the foundations of a never-to-die friendship with John
Bumpus, or, as that eccentric youngster preferred to style him, Jo
Grampus.