A WILD CHASE--HOPE, DISAPPOINTMENT, AND DESPAIR--THE SANDAL-WOOD TRADER
OUTWITS THE MAN-OF-WAR.
When the wild pig, referred to in the last chapter, was first observed,
it was standing on the margin of a thicket, from which it had just
issued, gazing, with the profoundly philosophical aspect peculiar to
that animal, at our four friends, and seeming to entertain doubts as to
the propriety of beating an immediate retreat.
Before it had made up its mind on this point, Corrie's eye alighted on
it.
"Hist!" exclaimed he with a gesture of caution to his companions. "Look
there! We've had nothing to eat for an awful time,--nothing since
breakfast on Sunday morning. I feel as if my interior had been
amputated. Oh, what a jolly roast that fellow would make if we could
only kill him!"
"Wot's in the pistol?" inquired Bumpus, pointing to the weapon which
Corrie had stuck ostentatiously into his belt.
"Nothin'," answered the boy. "I fired the last charge in the face of a
savage."
"Fling it at him," suggested Bumpus, getting cautiously up. "Here, hand
it to me. I've seed a heavy horse-pistol like that do great execution
when well aimed by a stout arm."
The pig seemed to have an intuitive perception that danger was
approaching; for it turned abruptly round just as the missile left the
seaman's hand, and received the butt with full force close to the root
of its tail.
A pig's tendency to shriek on the receipt of the slightest injury is
well known. It is therefore not to be wondered at that this pig went off
into the bushes under cover of a series of yells so terrific they might
have been heard for miles around.
"I'll after him," cried Bumpus, catching up a large stone, and leaping
forward a few paces almost as actively as if nothing had happened to
him.
"Hurrah!" shouted Corrie; "I'll go too."
"Hold on," cried Bumpus, stopping suddenly.
"Why?" inquired the boy.
"'Cause you must stop an' take care of the gals. It won't do to leave
'em alone again, you know, Corrie."
This remark was accompanied with an exceedingly huge wink, full of deep
meaning, which Corrie found it convenient not to notice, as he observed
gravely:
"Ah! true. One of us _must_ remain with 'em, poor, helpless things;
so--so _you_ had better go after the squeaker."
"All right," said Bumpus, with a broad grin--"Hallo! why, here's a
spear, that must ha' been dropped by one o' them savages. That's a piece
o' good luck, anyhow, as the man said when he f'und the fi' pun' note.
Now, then, keep an eye on them gals, lad, and I'll be back as soon as
ever I can; though I does feel rather stiffish. My old timbers ain't
used to such deep divin', d'ye see."
Bumpus entered the thicket as he spoke, and Corrie returned to console
the girls with the feeling and the air of a man whose bosom is filled
with a stern resolve to die, if need be, in the discharge of an
important duty.
Now, the yell of this particular pig reached other ears beside those of
the party whose doings we have attempted to describe. It rang in those
of the pirates, who had been sent ashore to hide, like the scream of a
steam-whistle, in consequence of their being close at hand, and it
sounded like a faint cry in those of Henry Stuart and the missionary,
who, with their party, were a long way off, slowly tracing the footsteps
of the lost Alice, to which they had been guided by the keen scent of
that animated scrap of door-mat, Toozle. The effect on both parties was
powerful, but not similar. The pirates, supposing that a band of savages
were near them, lay close, and did not venture forth until a prolonged
silence and strong curiosity tempted them to creep, with slow movements
and extreme caution, towards the place whence the sounds proceeded.
Mr. Mason and Henry, on the other hand, stopped and listened with
intense earnestness, expecting, yet fearing, a recurrence of the cry,
and then sprang forward with their party, under the belief that they had
heard the voice of Alice calling for help.
Meanwhile, Bumpus toiled up the slopes of the mountain, keeping the pig
well in view; for that animal having been somewhat injured by the blow
from the pistol, could not travel at its ordinary speed. Indeed, Jo
would have speedily overtaken it but for the shaky condition of his own
body after such a long fast, and such a series of violent shocks, as
well mental as physical.
Having gained the summit of a hill, the pig, much exhausted, sat down on
its hams, and gazed pensively at the ground. Bumpus took advantage of
the fact, and also sat down on a stone to rest.
"Wot a brute it is" said he to himself. "I'll circumvent it yet,
though."
Presently he rose, and made as if he had abandoned the chase, and were
about to return the way he had come; but when he had effectually
concealed himself from the view of the pig, he made a wide detour, and,
coming out suddenly at a spot higher up the mountain, charged down upon
the unsuspecting animal with a yell that would have done credit to
itself.
The pig echoed the yell, and rushed down the hill towards the cliffs,
closely followed by the hardy seaman, who, in the ardor of the chase,
forgot or ignored his aches and pains, and ran like a greyhound, his
hair streaming in the wind, his eyes blazing with excitement, and the
spear ready poised for a fatal dart. Altogether, he was so wild and
strong in appearance, and so furious in his onset, that it was
impossible to believe he had been half dead little more than an hour
before; but then, as we have before remarked, Bumpus was hard to kill!
For nearly half an hour did the hungry seaman keep up the chase, neither
gaining nor losing distance; while the affrighted pig, having its
attention fixed entirely on its pursuer, scrambled and plunged forward
over every imaginable variety of ground, receiving one or two severe
falls in consequence. Bumpus, being warned by its fate, escaped them. At
last the two dashed into a gorge and out at the other end, scrambled
through a thicket, plunged down a hill, and doubled a high rock, on the
other side of which they were met in the teeth by Henry Stuart at the
head of his band.
The pig attempted to double. Failing to do so, it lost its footing, and
fell flat on its side. Jo Bumpus threw his spear with violent energy
deep into the earth about two feet beyond it, tripped on a stump, and
fell headlong on the top of the pig, squeezing the life out of its body
with the weight of his ponderous frame, and receiving its dying yell
into his very bosom.
"Hilloa! my stalwart chip of old Neptune," cried Henry, laughing,
"you've bagged him this time effectually. Hast seen any of the niggers;
or did you mistake this poor pig for one?"
"Aye, truly, I have seen them, and given a few of 'em marks that will
keep 'em in remembrance of me. As for this pig," said Jo, throwing the
carcass over his shoulder, "I want a bit of summat to eat--that's the
fact; an' the poor children will be--"
"Children," cried Mr. Mason, eagerly; "what do you mean, my man; have
you seen any?"
"In course I has, or I wouldn't speak of 'em," returned Jo, who did not
at first recognize the missionary; and no wonder, for Mr. Mason's
clothes were torn and soiled, and his face was bruised, bloodstained,
and haggard.
"Tell me, friend, I entreat you," said the pastor, earnestly, laying his
hand on Jo's arm; "have you seen my child?"
"Wot! are you the father of the little gal? Why, I've seed her only half
an hour since. But hold on, lads; come arter me, an I'll steer you to
where she is at this moment."
"Thanks be to God," said Mr. Mason, with a deep sigh of relief. "Lead
on, my man, and, pray, go quickly."
Bumpus at once led the way to the foot of the cliffs, and went over the
ground at a pace that satisfied even the impatience of the bereaved
father.
While this was occurring on the mountain slopes, the pirates at the foot
of the cliffs had discovered the three children, and finding, that no
one else was near, had seized them and carried them off to a cave near
to which their boat lay on the rocks. They hoped to have obtained some
information from them as to what was going on at the other side of the
island; but, while engaged in a fruitless attempt to screw something out
of Corrie, who was peculiarly refractory, they were interrupted, first
by the yells of Bumpus and his pig, and afterwards by the sudden
appearance of Henry and his party on the edge of a cliff a short way
above the spot where they were assembled. On seeing these, the pirates
started to their feet and drew their cutlasses, while Henry uttered a
shout and ran down the rocks like a deer.
"Shall we have a stand-up fight with 'em, Bill?" said one of the
pirates.
"Not if I can help it; there's four to one," replied the other.
"To the boat," cried several of the men, leading the way; "and let's
take the brats with us."
As Henry's party came pouring down the hill the more combatively
disposed of the pirates saw at glance that it would be in vain to
attempt a stand. They therefore discharged a scattering volley from
their pistols (happily without effect), and, springing into their boat,
pushed off from the shore, taking the children along with them.
Mr. Mason was the first to gain the beach. He had hit upon a shorter
path by which to descend, and, rushing forward, plunged into the sea.
Poor little Alice, who at once recognized her father, stretched out her
arms towards him, and would certainly have leaped into the sea had she
not been forcibly detained by one of the pirates, whose special duty it
was to hold her with one hand, while he restrained the violent
demonstrations of Corrie with the other.
The father was too late, however. Already the boat was several yards
from the shore, and the frantic efforts he made, in the madness of his
despair, to overtake it only served to exhaust him. When Henry Stuart
reached the beach, it was with difficulty he prevented those members of
his band who carried muskets from firing on the boat. None of them
thought for a moment, of course, of making the mad attempt to swim
towards her. Indeed, Mr. Mason himself would have hesitated to do so had
he been capable of cool thought at the time; but the sudden rush of hope
when he heard of his child being near, combined with the agony of
disappointment on seeing her torn, as it were, out of his very grasp,
was too much for him. His reasoning powers were completely overturned;
he continued to buffet the waves with wild energy, and to strain every
fiber of his being in the effort to propel himself through the water,
long after the boat was hopelessly beyond reach.
Henry understood his feelings well, and knew that the poor missionary
would not cease his efforts until exhaustion should compel him to do so,
in which case his being drowned would be a certainty; for there was
neither boat nor canoe at hand in which to push off to his rescue.
In these circumstances, the youth took the only course that seemed left
to him. He threw off his clothes, and prepared to swim after his friend,
in order to render the assistance of his stout arm when it should be
needed.
"Here, Jakolu!" he cried to one of the natives who stood near him.
"Yes, mass'r," answered the sturdy young fellow, who has been introduced
at an earlier part of this story as being one of the missionary's best
behaved and most active church members.
"I mean to swim after him; so I leave the charge of the party to Mr.
Bumpus there. You will act under his orders. Keep the men together, and
guard against surprise. We don't know how many more of these blackguards
may be lurking among the rocks."
To this speech Jakolu replied by shaking his head slowly and gravely, as
if he doubted the propriety of his young commander's intentions. "You no
can sweem queek nuff to save him," said he.
"That remains to be seen," retorted Henry, sharply; for the youth was
one of the best swimmers on the island,--at least the best among the
whites, and better than many of the natives, although some of the latter
could beat him. "At any rate," he continued, "you would not have me
stand idly by while my friend is drowning, would you?"
"Him's not drownin' yet," answered the matter-of-fact native. "Me 'vise
you to let Jakolu go. Hims can sweem berer dan you. See, here am bit
plank, too,--me take dat."
"Ha! that's well thought of," cried Henry, who was now ready to plunge;
"fetch it me, quick; and mind, Jakolu, keep your eye on me; when I hold
up both hands you'll know that I'm dead beat, and that you must come off
and help us both."
So saying, he seized the small piece of driftwood which the native
brought to him, and, plunging into the sea, struck out vigorously in the
direction in which the pastor was still perseveringly, though slowly,
swimming.
While Henry was stripping, his eye had quickly and intelligently taken
in the facts that were presented to him on the bay. He had seen, on
descending the hill, that the man-of-war had entered the bay and
anchored there, a fact which surprised him greatly, and that the Foam
still lay where he had seen her cast anchor on the morning of her
arrival. This surprised him more for, if the latter was really a pirate
schooner (as had been hinted more than once that day by various members
of the settlement), why did she remain so fearlessly and peacefully
within range of the guns of so dangerous and powerful an enemy? He also
observed that one of the large boats of the Talisman was in the water
alongside, and full of armed men, as if about to put off on some warlike
expedition, while his pocket telescope enabled him to perceive that
Gascoyne, who must needs be the pirate captain, if the suspicions of his
friends were correct, was smoking quietly on the quarter-deck,
apparently holding amicable converse with the British commander. The
youth knew not what to think; for it was preposterous to suppose that a
pirate captain could by any possibility be the intimate friend of his
own mother.
These and many other conflicting thoughts kept rushing through his mind
as he hastened forward; but the conclusions to which they led him--if,
indeed, they led him to any--were altogether upset by the unaccountable
and extremely piratical conduct of the seamen who carried off Alice and
her companions, and whom he knew to be part of the crew of the Foam,
both from their costume and from the direction in which they rowed their
little boat.
The young man's perplexities were, however, neutralized for the time by
his anxiety for his friend the pastor, and by the necessity of instant
and vigorous effort for his rescue. He had just time, before plunging
into the sea, to note with satisfaction that the man-of-war's boat had
pushed off, and that if Alice really was in the hands of pirates, there
was the certainty of her being speedily rescued.
In this latter supposition, however, Henry was mistaken.
The events on shore which we have just described had been witnessed, of
course, by the crews of both vessels with, as may be easily conjectured,
very different feelings.
In the Foam, the few men who were lounging about the deck looked
uneasily from the war vessel to the countenance of Manton, in whose
hands they felt that their fate now lay. The object of their regard
paced the deck slowly, with his hands in his pockets and a pipe in his
mouth, in the most listless manner, in order to deceive the numerous
eyes which he knew full well scanned his movements with deep curiosity.
The frowning brow and the tightly compressed lips alone indicated the
storm of anger which was in reality raging in the pirate's breast at
what he deemed the obstinacy of his captain in running into such danger,
and the folly of his men in having shown fight on shore when there was
no occasion for doing so. But Manton was too much alive to his own
danger and interests to allow passion at such a critical moment to
interfere with his judgment. He paced the deck slowly, as we have said,
undecided as to what course he ought to pursue, but ready to act with
the utmost energy and promptitude when the time for action should
arrive.
On board the Talisman, on the other hand, the young commander began to
feel certain of his prize; and when he witnessed the scuffle on shore,
the flight of the boat's crew with the three young people, and the
subsequent events, he could not conceal a smile of triumph as he turned
to Gascoyne and said:
"Your men are strangely violent in their proceedings, sir, for the crew
of a peaceable trader. If it were not that they are pulling straight for
your schooner, where, no doubt, they will be received with open arms, I
would have fancied they had been part of the crew of that wonderful
pirate, who seems to be able to change _color_ almost as quickly as he
changes _position_."
The allusion had no effect whatever on the imperturbable Gascoyne, on
whose countenance good humor seemed to have been immovably enthroned;
for the worse his case became, the more amiable and satisfied was his
aspect.
"Surely, Captain Montague does not hold me responsible for the doings of
my men in my absence," said he, calmly. "I have already said that they
are a wild set--not easily restrained even when I am present; and fond
of getting into scrapes when they can. You see, we have not a choice of
men in these out-of-the-way parts of the world."
"Apparently not," returned Montague; "but I hope to have the pleasure of
seeing you order your men to be punished for their misdeeds; for, if
not, I shall be under the necessity of punishing them for you. Is the
boat ready, Mr. Mulroy?"
"It is, sir."
"Then, Mr. Gascoyne, if you will do me the favor to step into this boat,
I will have much pleasure in accompanying you on board your schooner."
"By all means," replied Gascoyne, with a bland smile, as he rose and
threw away the end of another cigar, after having lighted therewith the
sixth or seventh in which he had indulged that day. "Your boat is well
manned, and your men are well armed, Captain Montague; do you go on some
cutting-out expedition, or are you so much alarmed at the terrible
aspect of the broadside of my small craft that--"
Gascoyne here smiled with ineffable urbanity, and bowed slightly by way
of finishing his sentence. Montague was saved the annoyance of having to
reply by a sudden exclamation from his lieutenant, who was observing the
schooner's boat through a telescope.
"There seems to be some one swimming after that boat," said he. "A
man--evidently a European, for he is light-colored. He must have been
some time in the water, for he is already a long way from shore, and
seems much exhausted."
"Why! the man is drowning, I believe," cried Montague, quickly, as he
looked through the glass.
At that moment Frederick Mason's strength had given way. He made one or
two manful efforts to struggle after the retreating boat, and then,
tossing his arms in the air, uttered a loud cry of agony.
"Ho! shove off and save him!" shouted Montague, the moment he heard it.
"Look alive, lads! give way! and when you have picked up the man, pull
straight for yonder schooner."
The oars at once fell into the water with a splash, and the boat, large
and heavy though it was, shot from the ship's side like an arrow.
"Lower the gig," cried the captain. "And now, Mr. Gascoyne, since you
seem disposed to go in a lighter boat, I will accommodate you. Pray,
follow me."
In a few seconds they were seated in the little gig, which seemed to fly
over the sea under the vigorous strokes of her crew of eight stout men.
So swift were her motions that she reached the side of the schooner only
a few minutes later than the Foam's boat, and a considerable time before
his own large boat had picked up Mr. Mason, who was found in an almost
insensible condition, supported by Henry Stuart.
When the gig came within a short distance of the Foam, Gascoyne directed
Montague's attention to the proceedings of the large boat, and at the
same instant made a private signal with his right hand to Manton, who,
still unmoved and inactive, stood at the schooner's bow awaiting and
evidently expecting it.
"Ha!" said he aloud; "I thought as much. Now, lads, show the red; make
ready to slip; off with Long Tom's nightcap; let out the skulkers; take
these children down below, and a dozen of you stand by to receive the
captain and his _friends_."
These somewhat peculiar orders, hurriedly given, were hastily obeyed,
and in a few seconds more the gig of the Talisman ranged up alongside of
the Foam.