It is said, in the proverbial philosophy of nautical men, that "a stern
chase is a long one." The present instance was an exception to the
general rule. Keona was wounded. Young Stuart was fleet as the
antelope, and strong as a young lion. In these circumstances it is not
surprising that, after a run of less than a quarter of a mile, he
succeeded in laying his hands on the neck of the savage and hurling him
to the ground, where he lay panting and helpless, looking up in the face
of his conqueror with an expression of hopeless despair--for savages and
wicked men generally are wont to judge of others by themselves, and to
expect to receive such treatment from their enemies as they themselves
would in similar circumstances accord.
The fear of instant death was before his eyes, and the teeth of Keona
chattered in his head, while his face grew more hideous than ever, by
reason of its becoming livid.
His fears were groundless. Henry Stuart was not a savage. He was
humane by nature; and, in addition to this, he had been trained under
the influence of that Book which teaches us that the most philosophical,
because the most effective, method of procedure in this world, is to
"overcome evil with good."
"So, you scoundrel," said Henry, placing his knee on Keona's chest, and
compressing his throat with his left hand, while, with his right, he
drew forth a long glittering knife, and raised it in the air--"So you
are not satisfied with what I gave you the last time we met, but you
must needs take the trouble to cross my path a second time, and get a
taste of cold steel, must you?"
Although Keona could speak no English, he understood it sufficiently to
appreciate the drift of the youth's words, even though he had failed to
comprehend the meaning of the angry frown and the glittering knife.
But, however much he might have wished to reply to the question, Henry
took care to render the attempt impossible, by compressing his windpipe
until he became blue in the face, and then black. At the same time, he
let the sharp point of his knife touch the skin just over the region of
the heart. Having thus convinced his vanquished foe that death was at
the door, he suddenly relaxed his iron gripe; arose, sheathed his knife,
and bade the savage get up.
The miserable creature did so, with some difficulty, just as the captain
and his men arrived on the scene.
"Well met, Henry," cried the former, extending his hand to the youth,
"had I been a moment later, my lads I fear that your life's blood would
have been on the sea shore."
"Then it was you who fired the shot, Captain Gascoyne? This is the
second time I have to thank you for saving my life," said the young man,
returning the grasp of the captain's hand.
"Truly, it is but a small matter to have to thank me for. Doubtless, if
my stout man, John Bumpus, had carried the carbine, he would have done
you as good service. And methinks, Henry, that you would have preferred
to owe your life to either of my men, rather than to me, if I may judge
by your looks."
"You should not judge by looks, captain," replied the youth
quickly--"especially the looks of a man who has just had a hand to hand
tussle with a savage. But, to tell the plain truth, Captain Gascoyne, I
would indeed rather have had to thank your worthy man, John Bumpus, than
yourself for coming to my aid, for although I owe you no grudge, and do
not count you an enemy, I had rather see your back than your face--and
you know the reason why."
"You give me credit, boy, for more knowledge than I possess," replied
Gascoyne, while an angry frown gathered for a moment on his brow; but
passed away almost as quickly as it came; "I know not the cause of your
unreasonable dislike to one who has never done you an injury."
"Never done me an injury!" cried Henry, starting and turning with a look
of passion on his companion; then, checking himself by a strong effort,
he added in a milder tone--"But a truce to such talk, and I ask your
forgiveness for my sharp words just after your rendering me such good
service in the hour of need. You and I differ in our notions on one or
two points--that is all; there is no need for quarrelling. See, here is
a note from my mother, who sent me to the bay to meet you."
During this colloquy, Dick and Bumpus had mounted guard over the wounded
savage, just out of ear-shot of their captain. Neither of the sailors
ventured to hold their prisoner, because they deemed it an unmanly
advantage to take of one who was so completely (as they imagined) in
their power. They kept a watchful eye on him, however; and while they
affected an easy indifference of attitude, held themselves in readiness
to pounce upon him if he should attempt to escape. But nothing seemed
farther from the mind of Keona than such an attempt. He appeared to be
thoroughly exhausted by his recent struggle and loss of blood, and his
body was bent as if he were about to sink down to the ground. There
was, however, a peculiar glance in his dark eyes that induced John
Bumpus to be more on his guard than appearances seemed to warrant.
While Gascoyne was reading the letter to which we have referred, Keona
suddenly placed his left leg behind surly Dick, and, with his unwounded
fist, hit that morose individual such a tremendous back-handed blow on
the nose, that he instantly measured his length on the ground. John
Bumpus made a sudden plunge at the savage on seeing this, but the latter
ducked his head, passed like an eel under the very arms of the sailor,
and went off into the forest like a deer.
"Hold!" shouted Captain Gascoyne, as John turned in a state of mingled
amazement and anger to pursue. "Hold on, Bumpus, let the miserable
rascal go."
John stopped, looked over his shoulder, hesitated, and finally came back
with a rolling air of nautical indifference, and his hands thrust into
his breeches pockets.
"You know best, capting," said he, "but I think it a pity to let sich a
dirty varmint go clear off, to dodge about in the bushes, and mayhap
treat us to a pisoned arrow, or a spear-thrust on the sly.
Howsomedever, it aint no consarn wotever to Jo Bumpus. How's your beak,
Dick, my boy?"
"None the better for your askin'," replied the surly mariner, who was
tenderly stroking the injured member of his face with the fingers of
both hands.
"Come, Dick, it is none the worse of being inquired after," said Henry,
laughing. "But 'tis as well to let the fellow go. He knows best how to
cure his wound, by the application of a few simples, and by thus making
off, has relieved us of the trouble and responsibility of trying our
hands at civilised doctoring. Besides, John Bumpus, (if that's your
name,--though I do think your father might have found you a better,)
your long legs would never have brought you within a mile of the
savage."
"Young man," retorted Jo, gravely, "I'd have you to know that the family
of the Bumpuses is an old and a honourable one. They comed over with
the Conkerer to Ireland, where they picked up a deal o' their good
manners, after which they settled at last on their own estates in
Yorkshire. Though they _have_ comed down in the world, and the last of
the Bumpuses--that's me--is takin' a pleasure trip round the world
before the mast, I won't stand by and hear my name made game of, d'ye
see; and I'd have ye to know, farther, my buck, that the Bumpuses has a
pecooliar gift for fightin', and although you _are_ a strappin' young
feller, you'd better not cause me for to prove that you're conkerable."
Having delivered himself of this oration, the last of the Bumpuses
frowned portentously on the youth who had dared to risk his anger, and
turning with a bland smile to surly Dick, asked him "if his beak was any
better _now_."
"There seems to be bad news in the letter, I think," observed Henry, as
Captain Gascoyne perused the epistle with evident signs of displeasure.
"Bad enough in these times of war, boy," replied the other, folding the
note and placing it in a pouch inside the breast of his flannel shirt.
"It seems that that pestiferous British frigate the _Talisman_, lies at
anchor in the bay, on the other side of the island."
"Nothing in that to cause uneasiness to an honest trader," said Henry,
leading the way up the steep path by which he had descended from the
mountain region of the interior.
"That speech only shews your ignorance of the usages of ships of war.
Know you not that the nature of the trade in which I am engaged requires
me to be strong-handed, and that the opinion of a commander in the
British navy as to how many hands are sufficient for the navigation of a
trading schooner does not accord with mine?--a difference of opinion
which may possibly result in his relieving me of a few of my best men
when I can ill afford to spare them. And, by the way," said Gascoyne,
pausing as they gained the brow of an eminence that commanded a view of
the rich woodland on one side and the sea on the other, "I had better
take precautions against such a mischance. Here, Dick," (taking the man
aside and whispering to him,) "go back to the schooner, my lad, and tell
the mate to send ten of the best hands ashore with provisions and arms.
Let them squat where they choose on land, only let them see to it that
they keep well out of sight and hearing until I want them. And now,
Master Henry, lead the way; John Bumpus and I will follow at your heel
like a couple of faithful dogs."
The scene through which young Henry Stuart now led his seafaring
companions was of that rich, varied, and beautiful character which is
strikingly characteristic of those islands of the Pacific which owe
their origin to volcanic agency. Unlike the low coral islets, this
island presented every variety of the boldest mountain scenery, and yet,
like them, it displayed all the gorgeous beauty of a rich tropical
vegetation. In some places the ground had been cracked and riven into
great fissures and uncouth caverns of the wildest description, by
volcanoes apparently long since extinct. In others the landscape
presented the soft beauty of undulating grove-like scenery, in which,
amid a profusion of bright green herbage, there rose conspicuous the
tall stems and waving plumes of the cocoa-nut palm; the superb and
umbrageous ko-a, with its laurel-green leaves and sweet blossoms; the
_kukui_ or candle-nut tree, the fragrant sandal-wood, and a variety of
other trees and shrubs for which there are no English names.
Hundreds of green paroquets with blue heads and red breasts,
turtle-doves, wood-pigeons, and other birds, enlivened the groves with
sound, if not with melody, and the various lakelets and pools were alive
with wild ducks and water-hens.
The route by which the party travelled, led them first across a country
of varied and beautiful aspect; then it conducted them into wild
mountain fastnesses, among which they clambered, at times with
considerable difficulty. Ere long they passed into a dreary region
where the ancient fires that upheaved the island from the deep seemed to
have scorched the land into a condition of perpetual desolation.
Blackened and bare lava rocks, steep volcanic ridges and gorges,
irregular truncated coves, deep-mouthed caves and fissures, overhanging
arches, natural bridges, great tunnels and ravines, surrounded them on
every side, and so concealed the softer features of the country that it
was scarcely possible to believe in the reality of the verdant region
out of which they had just passed. In another hour this chaotic scenery
was left behind; the highest ridge of the mountains was crossed, and the
travellers began to descend the green slopes on the other side of the
island. These slopes terminated in a beach of white sand, while beyond
lay the calm waters of the enclosed lagoon, the coral reef with its
breakers, and the mighty sea.
"'Tis a pretty spot?" said Henry, interrogatively, as the party halted
on the edge of a precipice, whence they obtained an uninterrupted view
of the whole of that side of the island.
"Ay, pretty enough," replied Gascoyne in a somewhat sad tone of voice;
"I had hoped to have led a quiet life here once,--but that was not to
be. How say you, Bumpus; could you make up your mind to cast anchor
here for a year or so?"
"Wot's that you say, capting?" inquired honest John, who was evidently
lost in admiration of the magnificent scene that lay spread out before
him.
"I ask if you have no objection to come to an anchor here for a time,"
repeated the captain.
"Objection! I'll tell ye wot it is, capting, I never seed sich a place
afore in all my born days. Why it's a slice out o' paradise. I do
believe if Adam and Eve wos here they'd think they'd got back again into
Eden. It's more beautifuller than the blue ocean, by a long chalk, an'
if you wants a feller that's handy at a'most anything after a fashion--a
jack of all trades and master of none (except seamanship, which aint o'
no use here)--Jo Bumpus is your man!"
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Jo," said Henry, laughing, "for we are
greatly in need of white men of your stamp in these times, when the
savages are so fierce against each other that they are like to eat us up
altogether, merely by way of keeping their hands in practice."
"_White_ men of my stamp!" remarked Bumpus, surveying complacently his
deeply-bronzed hands, which were only a shade darker than his visage;
"well, I would like to know what ye call black if I'm a white man."
"Blood, and not skin, is what stamps the colour of the man, Jo. If it
were agreeable to Captain Gascoyne to let you off your engagement to
him, I think I could make it worth your while to engage with me, and
would find you plenty of work of all kinds, including a little of that
same fighting for which the Bumpuses are said to be so famous."
"Gentlemen," said Jo, gravely, "I'm agreeable to become a good and
chattel for this occasion only, as the playbills say, and hold myself up
to the highest bidder."
"Nay, you are sold to me, Bumpus," said Gascoyne, "and must do as I bid
you."
"Wery good, then bid away as fast as you like."
"Come, captain, don't be hard," said Henry, "what will you take for
him?"
"I cannot afford to sell him at any price?" replied the other, "for I
have brought him here expressly as a gift to a certain Mary Stuart,
queen of women, if not of Scotland--a widow who dwells in Sandy Cove."
"What, my mother?" interrupted Henry, while a shade of displeasure
crossed his countenance at what he deemed the insolent familiarity with
which Gascoyne mentioned her name.
"The same. On my last visit I promised to get her a man-servant who
could do her some service in keeping off the savages when they take a
fancy to trouble the settlement; and if Bumpus is willing to try his
luck on shore, I promise him he'll find her a good mistress, and her
house pleasant quarters."
"So," exclaimed the stout seaman, stopping short in his rolling walk,
and gazing earnestly into his captain's face, "I'm to be sold to a
woman?"
"With your own consent entirely, Master Bumpus," said Gascoyne with a
smile.
"Come, Jo," cried Henry, gaily, "I see you like the prospect, and feel
assured that you and I shall be good friends. Give us your flipper, my
boy!"
John Bumpus allowed the youth to seize and shake a "flipper," which
would have done credit to a walrus, both in regard to shape and size.
After a short pause he said, "Whether you and me shall be good friends,
young man, depends entirely on the respect which you shew to the family
of the Bumpuses--said family havin' comed over to Ireland with the
Conkerer in the year, ah! I misremember the year, but that don't
matter; bein' a subject of no consarn wotiver, 'xcept to schoolboys
who'll get their licks if they can't tell, and sarve 'em right too. But
if you're willin' I'm agreeable, and there's an end o' the whole
affair."
So saying, John Bumpus suffered a bland smile to light up his ruddy
countenance, and resumed his march in the "wake," as he expressed it, of
his companions.
Half an hour later they arrived at Sandy Cove, a small native settlement
and mission station, and were soon seated at the hospitable board of
Widow Stuart.