When the conference in the widow's cottage closed, Henry Stuart and
Gascoyne hastened into the woods together, and followed a narrow
footpath which led towards the interior of the island. Arriving at a
spot where this path branched into two, Henry took the one that ran
round the outskirts of the settlement towards the residence of Mr
Mason, while his companion pursued the other which struck into the
recesses of the mountains.
"Come in," cried the missionary, as Henry knocked at the door of his
study. "Ah, Henry, I'm glad to see you. You were in my thoughts this
moment. I have come to a difficulty in my drawings of the spire of our
new church, and I want your fertile imagination to devise some plan
whereby we may overcome it. But of that I shall speak presently. I see
from your looks that more important matters have brought you hither.
Nothing wrong at the cottage, I trust?"
"No, nothing--that is to say, not exactly wrong, but things, I fear, are
not altogether right in the settlement. I have had an unfortunate
rencontre this morning with one of the savages, which is likely to lead
to mischief, for blood was drawn, and I know the fellow to be
revengeful. In addition to this, it is suspected that Durward, the
pirate, is hovering among the islands, and meditates a descent on us.
How much truth there may be in the report I cannot pretend to guess; but
Gascoyne, the captain of the _Foam_, has been over at our cottage, and
says he has seen the pirate, and that there is no saying what he may
venture to attempt, for he is a bold fellow, and, as you know, cannot
have a good-will to missionary settlements."
"I'm not so sure of that," said the pastor, in answer to the last
remark. "It is well known that wherever a Christian settlement is
founded in these islands, that place becomes a safe port for vessels of
all sorts--pirates as well as others, if they sail under false colours
and pretend to be honest traders;--while in all the other islands, it is
equally well known, the only safety one can count on, in landing, is
superior force. But I am grieved to hear of your affray with the
native. I hope that life will not be sacrificed."
"No fear of that; the rascal got only a flesh wound."
Here the young man related his adventure of the morning, and finished by
asking what the pastor advised should be done in the way of precaution.
"It seems to me," said Mr Mason, gravely, "that our chief difficulty
will be to save ourselves from our friends--"
"Would friends harm us, father?" asked a sweet soft voice at the
pastor's elbow. Next moment Alice Mason was seated on her father's
knee, gazing up in his face with an expression of undisguised amazement.
Alice was a fair, delicate, gentle child. Twelve summers and winters
had passed over her little head without a cloud to obscure the sunshine
of her life save one--but that one was a terribly dark one, and its
shadow lingered over her for many years. When Alice lost her mother,
she lost the joy and delight of her existence; and although six years
had passed since that awful day, and a fond Christian father had done
his best to impress on her young mind that the beloved one was not lost
for ever, but would one day be found sitting at the feet of Jesus in a
bright and beautiful world, the poor child could not recover her former
elasticity of spirits. Doubtless, her isolated position and the want of
suitable companions, had something to do with the prolonged sadness of
her little heart.
It is almost unnecessary to say that her love for her father was
boundless. This was natural, but it did not seem by any means so
natural that the delicate child should give the next place in her heart
to a wild little boy, a black girl, and a ragged little dog! Yet so it
was, and it would have been difficult for the closest observer to tell
which of these three Alice liked best.
No one could so frequently draw forth the merry laugh that in former
days had rung so sweetly over the hill-sides of the verdant isle, as our
young friend Will Corrie. Nothing could delight the heart of the child
so much as to witness the mad gambols, not to mention the mischievous
deeds, of that ragged little piece of an old door-mat, which, in virtue
of its being possessed of animal life, was named Toozle. And when Alice
wished to talk quietly,--to pour out her heart, and sometimes her
tears,--the bosom she sought on which to lay her head, next to her
father's, was that of her youthful nursery-maid, a good, kind, and
gentle, but an awfully stupid native girl named Kekupoopi.
This name was, of course, reduced in its fair proportions by little
Alice, who, however, retained the latter part thereof in preference to
the former, and styled her maid Poopy. Young Master Corrie, on the
other hand, called her Kickup or Puppy, indifferently, according to the
humour he chanced to be in when he met her, or to the word that rose
most readily to his lips.
Mr Mason replied to the question put by Alice, at the beginning of this
somewhat lengthy digression, "No, my lamb, friends would not willingly
do us harm; but there are those who call themselves friends who do not
deserve the name, who pretend to be such, but who are in reality secret
enemies. But go, dearest, to your room; I am busy just now talking with
Henry--he, at least, is a trusty friend. When I have done you shall
come back to me."
Alice kissed her father, and, getting off his knee, went at once in
search of her friend Poopy.
That dark-skinned and curly black-headed domestic was in the kitchen,
seated on the bottom of an overturned iron pot, inside the dingy niche
in which the domestic fire was wont to burn when anything of a culinary
nature was going on. At the time when her mistress entered, nothing of
the kind was in progress, and the fire had subsided to extinction.
The girl, who might have been any age between twelve and sixteen--nearer
the latter, perhaps, than the former--was gazing with expressionless
eyes straight before her, and thinking, evidently, of nothing. She was
clothed in a white tunic, from which her black legs, arms, neck, and
head protruded--forming a startling contrast therewith.
"Oh! Poopy, what a bad girl you are!" cried Alice, laughing, as she
observed where her maid was seated.
Poopy's visage at once beamed with a look of good humour, a wide gash
suddenly appeared somewhere near her chin, displaying a double row of
brilliant teeth surrounded by red gums; at the same time the whites of
her eyes disappeared, because, being very plump, it was a physical
impossibility that she should laugh and keep them uncovered.
"Hee! hee!" exclaimed Poopy.
We are really sorry to give the reader a false impression, as we feel
that we have done, of our friend Kekupoopi, but a regard for truth
compels us to shew the worst of her character first. She was not
demonstrative; and the few words and signs by which she endeavoured to
communicate the state of her feelings to the outward world were not
easily interpreted except by those who knew her well. There is no doubt
whatever that Poopy was--we scarcely like to use the expression, but we
know of no other more appropriate--a donkey! We hasten to guard
ourselves from misconstruction here. That word, if used in an
ill-natured and passionate manner, is a bad one, and by no means to be
countenanced; but, as surgeons may cut off legs at times, without
thereby sanctioning the indiscriminate practice of amputation in a
miscellaneous sort of way as a pastime, to this otherwise objectionable
word may, we think, be used to bring out a certain trait of character in
full force. Holding this opinion, and begging the reader to observe
that we make the statement gravely and in an entirely philosophical way,
we repeat that Poopy was--figuratively speaking--a donkey!
Yet she was an amiable, affectionate: good girl for all that, with an
amount of love in her heart for her young mistress which words cannot
convey, and which it is no wonder, therefore, that Poopy herself could
not adequately express either by word or look.
"It's all very well for you to sit there and say `Hee! hee!'" cried
Alice, advancing to the fire-place; "but you must have made a dreadful
mark on your clean white frock. Get up and turn round."
"Hee! hee!" exclaimed the girl, as she obeyed the mandate.
The "Oh! oh!! oh!!!" that burst from Alice, on observing the pattern of
the pot neatly printed off on Poopy's garment, was so emphatic, that the
girl became impressed with the fact that she had done something wrong,
and twisted her head and neck in a most alarming manner in a series of
vain attempts to behold the extent of the damage.
"_What_ a figure!" exclaimed Alice, on recovering from the first shock.
"It vill vash," said Poopy, in a deprecatory tone.
"I hope it will," replied Alice, shaking her head doubtfully, for her
experience in the laundry had not yet been so extensive as to enable her
to pronounce at once on the eradicability of such a frightfully deep
impression. While she was still shaking her head in dubiety on this
point, and while Poopy was still making futile attempts to obtain a view
of the spot, the door of the kitchen opened, and Master Corrie swaggered
in with his hands thrust into the outer pockets of his jacket, his shirt
collar thrown very much open, and his round straw hat placed very much
on the back of his head; for, having seen some of the crew of the
_Talisman_, he had been smitten with a strong desire to imitate a
man-of-war's-man in aspect and gait.
At his heels came that scampering mass of ragged door-mat Toozle, who,
feeling that a sensation of some kind or other was being got up for his
amusement, joined heartily in the shout of delight that burst from the
youthful Corrie when he beheld the extraordinary figure in the
fireplace.
"Well, I say, Kickup," cried the youth, picking up his hat, which had
fallen off in the convulsion, and drying his tears, "you're a sweet
lookin' creetur, you are! Is this a new frock you've got to go to
church with? Come, I rather like that pattern, but there's not quite
enough of 'em. Suppose I lend a hand and print a few more all over you.
There's plenty of pots and pans here to do it; and if Alice will bring
down her white frock I'll give it a touch up too."
"How can you talk such nonsense, Corrie!" said Alice, laughing. "Down,
Toozle; silence, sir. Go, my dear Poopy, and put on another frock, and
make haste, for I've something to say to you."
Thus admonished, the girl ran to a small apartment that opened off the
kitchen, and speedily reappeared in another tunic. Meanwhile, Corrie
had seated himself on the floor, with Toozle between his knees and Alice
on a stool at his side. Poopy, in a fit of absence of mind, was about
to resume her seat on the iron pot, when a simultaneous shriek, bark,
and roar, recalled her scattered faculties, produced a "hee! hee!"
varied with a faint "ho!" and induced her to sit down on the floor
beside her mistress.
"Now, tell me, Poopy," said Alice, "did you ever hear of friends who
were not really friends, but enemies?"
The girl stared with a vacant countenance at the bright intelligent face
of the child, and shook her head slowly.
"Why don't you ask _me_?" inquired Corrie. "_You_ might as well ask
Toozle as that potato Kickup. Eh? Puppy, don't you confess that you
are no better than a vegetable? Come, now, be honest."
"Hee! hee!" replied Poopy.
"Humph! I thought so. But that's an odd question of yours, Alice.
What do you mean by it?"
"I mean that my papa thinks there are friends in the settlement who are
enemies."
"Does he, though? Now, that's mysterious," said the boy, becoming
suddenly grave. "That requires to be looked to. Come, Alice, tell me
all the particulars. Don't omit anything--our lives may depend on it."
The deeply serious manner in which Corrie said this, so impressed and
solemnised the child, that she related, word for word, the brief
conversation she had had with her father, and all that she had heard of
the previous converse between him and Henry.
When she had concluded, Master Corrie threw a still more grave and
profoundly philosophical expression into his chubby face, and asked, in
a hollow tone of voice, "Your father didn't say anything against the
Grampus, did he?"
"The what?" inquired Alice.
"The Grampus--the man, at least, whom _I_ call the Grampus, and who
calls hisself Jo Bumpus."
"I did not hear such names mentioned, but Henry spoke of a wounded
nigger."
"Ay, they're all a set of false rascals together," said Corrie.
"Niggers ob dis here settlement is good mans, ebery von," said Poopy,
promptly.
"Hallo! Kickup, wot's wrong? I never heard ye say so much at one time
since I came to this place."
"Niggers is good peepils," reiterated the girl.
"So they are, Puppy, and you're the best of 'em; but I was speakin' of
the fellers on the other side of the island, d'ye see?"
"Hee! hee!" ejaculated the girl.
"Well, but what makes you so anxious?" said Alice, looking earnestly
into the boy's face.
Corrie laid his hand on her head and stroked her fair hair as he
replied--
"This is a serious matter, Alice; I must go at once and see your father
about it."
He rose with an air of importance, as if about to leave the kitchen.
"Oh! but please don't go till you have told me what it is; I'm so
frightened," said Alice; "do stay and tell me about it before you go to
papa."
"Well, I don't mind if I do," said the boy, sitting down again. "You
must know, then, that it's reported there are pirates on the island."
"Oh!" exclaimed Alice.
"D'ye know what pirates are, Puppy?"
"Hee! hee!" answered the girl.
"I do believe she don't know nothin'," said the boy, looking at her with
an air of compassion "wot a sad thing it is to belong to a lower species
of human natur! Well, I s'pose it can't be helped. A pirate, Kickup,
is a sea-robber. D'ye understand?"
"Ho! ho!"
"Ay, I thought so. Well, Alice, I am told that there's been a lot o'
them landed on the island and took to chasin' and killin' the niggers,
and Henry was all but killed by one o' the niggers this very morning,
an' was saved by a big feller that's a mystery to me, and by the
Grampus, who is the best feller I ever met--a regular trump he is; and
there's all sorts o' doubts, and fears, and rumours, and things of that
sort, with a captain of the British navy, that you and I have read so
much about, trying to find this pirate out, and suspectin' everybody he
meets is him. I only hope he won't take it into his stupid head to
mistake _me_ for him--not so unlikely a thing after all." And the
youthful Corrie shook his head with much gravity, as he surveyed his
rotund little legs complacently.
"What are you laughing at?" he added, suddenly, on observing that a
bright smile had overspread Alice's face.
"At the idea of you being taken for a pirate," said the child.
"Hee! hee! ho! ho!" remarked Poopy.
"Silence, you lump of black putty!" thundered the aspiring youth.
"Come, don't be cross to my maid," said Alice, quickly.
Corrie laughed, and was about to continue his discourse on the events
and rumours of the day, when Mr Mason's voice was heard the other end
of the house.
"Ho! Corrie."
"That's me," cried the boy, promptly springing up and rushing out of the
room.
"Here, my boy, I thought I heard your voice. I want you to go a message
for me. Run down, like a good lad, to Ole Thorwald and tell him to come
up here as soon as he conveniently can. There are matters to consult
about which will not brook delay."
"Ay, ay, sir," answered Corrie, sailor fashion, as he touched his
forelock and bounded from the room.
"Off on pressing business," cried the sanguine youth, as he dashed
through the kitchen, frightening Alice, and throwing Toozle into
convulsions of delight--"horribly important business that `won't brook
delay;' but what _brook_ means is more than I can guess."
Before the sentence was finished, Corrie was far down the hill, leaping
over every obstacle like a deer. On passing through a small field he
observed a native bending down, as if picking weeds, with his back
towards him. Going softly up behind, he hit the semi-naked savage a
sounding slap, and exclaimed, as he passed on, "Hallo! Jackolu,
important business, my boy--hurrah!"
The native to whom this rough salutation was given, was a tall stalwart
young fellow who had for some years been one of the best behaved and
most active members of Frederick Mason's dark-skinned congregation. He
stood erect for some time, with a broad grin on his swarthy face, and a
twinkle in his eye, as he gazed after the young hopeful, muttering to
himself, "Ho! yes--bery wicked boy dat, bery; but hims capital chap for
all dat."
A few minutes later, Master Corrie burst in upon the sturdy middle-aged
merchant, named Ole Thorwald, a Norwegian who had resided much in
England, and spoke the English language well, and who prided himself on
being entitled to claim descent from the old Norwegian sea-kings. This
man was uncle and protector to Corrie.
"Ho! uncle Ole; here's a business. Sich a to do--wounds, blood, and
murder! or at least an attempt at it;--the whole settlement in arms, and
the parson sends for you to take command!"
"What means the boy?" exclaimed Ole Thorwald, who, in virtue of his
having once been a private in a regiment of militia, had been appointed
to the chief command of the military department of the settlement. This
consisted of about thirty white men, armed with fourteen fowling-pieces,
twenty daggers, fifteen swords, and eight cavalry pistols; and about two
hundred native Christians, who, when the assaults of their unconverted
brethren were made, armed themselves--as they were wont to do in days
gone by--with formidable clubs, stone hatchets, and spears. "What means
the boy!" exclaimed Ole, laying down a book which he had been reading,
and thrusting his spectacles up on his broad bald forehead.
"Exactly what the boy says," replied Master Corrie.
"Then add something more to it, pray."
Thorwald said this in a mild tone, but he suddenly seized the handle of
an old pewter mug which the lad knew, from experience, would certainly
reach his head before he could gain the door if he did not behave; so he
became polite, and condescended to explain his errand more fully.
"So, so," observed the descendant of the sea-kings, as he rose and
slowly buckled on a huge old cavalry sabre, "there is double mischief
brewing this time. Well, we shall see--we shall see. Go, Corrie, my
boy, and rouse up Terrence and Hugh and--"
"The whole army, in short," cried the boy, hastily--"you're so awfully
slow, uncle, you should have been born in the last century, I think."
Farther remark was cut short by the sudden discharge of the pewter mug,
which, however, fell harmlessly on the panel of the closing door as the
impertinent Corrie sped forth to call the settlement to arms.