The sound of the Sabbath bell fell sweetly on the pastor's ear as he
descended to his dwelling to make a few final preparations for the
duties of the day, and from every hut in Sandy Cove trooped forth the
native Christians--young and old--to assemble in the house of God.
With great labour and much pains had this church been built, and pastor
and people alike were not a little proud of their handiwork. The former
had drawn the plans and given the measurements, leaving it to Henry
Stuart to see them properly carried out in detail, while the latter did
the work. They cut and squared the timbers, gathered the coral, burnt
it for lime and plastered the building. The women and children carried
the lime from the beach in baskets, and the men dragged the heavy logs
from the mountains--in some cases for several miles--the timber in the
immediate neighbourhood not being sufficiently large for their purpose.
The poor natives worked with heart and soul--for love, and the desire to
please and to be pleased, had been awakened within them. Besides this,
the work had for them all the zest of novelty. They wrought at it with
somewhat of the feelings of children at play,--pausing frequently in the
midst of their toil to gaze in wonder and admiration at the growing
edifice, which would have done no little credit to a professional
architect and to more skilled workmen.
The white men of the place also lent a willing hand; for although some
of them were bad men, yet they were constrained to respect the
consistent character and blameless life of the missionary, who not
unfrequently experienced the fulfilment of that word:
"When a man's ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at
peace with him." Besides this, all of them, however unwilling they
might be to accept Christianity for themselves, were fully alive to the
advantages they derived from its introduction among the natives.
With so many willing hands at work, the little church was soon finished;
and, at the time when the events we are describing occurred, there was
nothing to be done to it except some trifling arrangements connected
with the steeple, and the glazing of the windows. This latter piece of
work was, in such a climate, of little importance.
Long before the bell had ceased to toll, the church was full of natives,
whose dark, eager faces were turned towards the door, in expectation of
the appearance of their pastor. The building was so full, that many of
the people were content to cluster round the door, or the outside of the
unglazed windows. On this particular Sunday, there were strangers
there, who roused the curiosity and attracted the attention of the
congregation. Before Mr Mason arrived, there was a slight bustle at
the door as Captain Montague, with several of his officers and men,
entered, and were shewn to the missionary's seat by Master Corrie, who,
with his round visage elongated as much as possible, and his round eyes
expressing a look of inhuman solemnity, in consequence of his attempt to
affect a virtue which he did not possess, performed the duties of
door-keeper. Montague had come on shore to ascertain from Mr Mason
what likelihood there was of an early attack by the natives.
"Where's Alice," whispered the boy to Poopy, as the girl entered the
church, and seated herself beside a little midshipman, who looked at her
with a mingled expression of disgust and contempt, and edged away.
"Got a little headache, hee! hee!"
"Don't laugh in church, you monster," said Corrie, with a frown.
"I'se not larfin," retorted Poopy, with an injured look.
Just then the boy caught sight of a gigantic figure entering the church,
and darted away to usher the stranger into the pastor's seat; but
Gascoyne (for it was he) took no notice of him. He passed steadily up
the centre of the church, and sat down beside the Widow Stuart, whose
face expressed anxiety and surprise the moment she observed who was
seated there. The countenance of Henry, who sat on the other side of
his mother, flushed, and he turned with an angry glance towards the
captain of the _Foam_; but the look was thrown away, for Gascoyne had
placed his arms on the back of the seat in front of him, and rested his
head on them; in which position he continued to remain without motion
while the service was going on.
Mr Mason began with a short earnest prayer in English; then he read out
a hymn in the native tongue, which was sung in good tune, and with great
energy, by the whole congregation. This was followed by a chapter in
the New Testament, and another prayer; but all the service, with the
exception of the first prayer, was conducted in the native language.
The text was then read out:--"Though thy sins be as scarlet, they shall
be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as
wool."
Frederick Mason possessed the power of chaining the attention of an
audience, and a deep breathless silence prevailed, as he laboured, with
intense fervour, to convince his hearers of the love of God, and the
willingness and ability of Jesus Christ to save even the chief of
sinners. During one part of the service, a deep low groan startled the
congregation; but no one could tell who had uttered it. As it was not
repeated, it was soon forgotten by most of the people.
While the pastor was thus engaged, a pistol-shot was heard, and
immediately after, a loud fierce yell burst from the forest, causing the
ears of those who heard it to tingle, and their hearts for a moment to
quail. In less than ten minutes, the church was empty, and the males of
the congregation were engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand conflict with
the savages; who, having availed themselves of the one unguarded pass,
had quietly eluded the vigilance of the scouts, and assembled in force
on the outskirts of the settlement.
Fortunately for the worshippers that morning, the anxiety of Master
Corrie for the welfare of his fair Alice induced him to slip out of the
church just after the sermon began. Hastening to the pastor's house, he
found the child sound asleep on a sofa, and a savage standing over her
with a spear in his hand. The boy had approached so stealthily, that
the savage did not hear him. Remembering that he had left his pistol on
the kitchen table, he darted round to the back door of the house, and
secured it just as Alice awoke with a scream of surprise and terror, on
beholding who was near her.
Next moment Corrie was at her side, and before the savage could seize
the child, he levelled the pistol at his head and fired. The aim was
sufficiently true to cause the ball to graze the man's forehead, while
the smoke and fire partially blinded him.
It was this shot that first alarmed the natives in church, and it was
the yell uttered by the wounded man, as he fell stunned on the floor,
that called forth the answering yell from the savage host, and
precipitated the attack.
It was sufficiently premature to give the people of the settlement time
to seize their arms; which, as has been said, they had placed so as to
be available at a moment's notice.
The fight that ensued was a desperate, and almost indiscriminate melee.
The attacking party had been so sure of taking the people by surprise,
that they formed no plan of attack; but simply arranged that, at a given
signal from their chief, a united rush should be made upon the church,
and a general massacre ensue. As we have seen, Corrie's pistol drew
forth the signal sooner than had been intended. In the rush that
immediately ensued, a party dashed through the house, the boy was
overturned, and a savage gave him a passing blow with a club that would
have scattered his brains on the floor had it taken full effect; but it
was hastily delivered; it glanced off his head, and spent its force on
the shoulder of the chief, who was thus unfortunate enough to be wounded
by friends as well as foes.
On the first alarm, Gascoyne sprang up, and darted through the door. He
was closely followed by Henry. Stuart, and the captain of the
_Talisman_, with his handful of officers and men, who were all armed, as
a matter of course.
"Sit where you are," cried Henry to his trembling mother, as he sprang
after Gascoyne; "the church is the safest place you'll find."
The widow fell on her knees and prayed to God, while the fight raged
without.
Among the first to leave the church was the pastor. The thought of his
child having been left in the house unprotected, filled him with an
agony of fear. He sought no weapon of war, but darted unarmed straight
into the midst of the savage host that stood between him and the object
of his affection. His rush was so impetuous, that he fairly overturned
several of his opponents by dashing against them. The numbers that
surrounded him, however, soon arrested his progress; but he had pressed
so close in amongst them, that they were actually too closely packed,
for a few seconds, to be able to use their heavy clubs and long spears
with effect.
It was well for the poor missionary, at that moment, that he had learned
the art of boxing when a boy! The knowledge so acquired had never
induced him to engage in dishonourable and vulgar strife; but it had
taught him how and where to deliver a straightforward blow with effect;
and he now struck out with tremendous energy, knocking down an adversary
at every blow,--for the thought of Alice lent additional strength to his
powerful arm. Success in such warfare, however, was not to be expected.
Still, Mr Mason's activity and vigour averted his own destruction for
a few minutes; and these minutes were precious, for they afforded time
for Captain Montague and his officers to cut their way to the spot where
he fought, just as a murderous club was about to descend on his head
from behind. Montague's sword unstrung the arm that upheld it, and the
next instant the pastor was surrounded by friends.
Among their number was John Bumpus, who was one of the crew of
Montague's boat, and who now rushed upon the savages with a howl
peculiarly his own, felling one with a blow of his fist, and another
with a slash of his cutlass.
"You must retire," said Montague, hastily, to Frederick Mason, who stood
panting and inactive for a few moments in order to recover breath. "You
are unarmed, sir; besides, your profession forbids you taking part in
such work as this. There are men of war enough here to keep these
fellows in play."
Montague spoke somewhat sharply, for he erroneously fancied that the
missionary's love of fighting had led him into the fray.
"My profession does not forbid me to save my child," exclaimed the
pastor, wildly.
He turned in the direction of his cottage, which was full in view; and,
at that moment, smoke burst from the roof and windows. With a cry of
despair, Mr Mason once more launched himself on the host of savages;
but these were now so numerous that, instead of making head against
them, the little knot of sailors who opposed them at that particular
place found it was as much as they could do to keep them at bay.
The issue of the conflict was still doubtful, when a large accession to
their numbers gave the savages additional power and courage. They made
a sudden onset, and bore back the small band of white men. In the rush
the pastor was overthrown and rendered for a time insensible.
While this was going on in one part of the field, in another, stout Ole
Thorwald, with several of the white settlers and the greater part of the
native force, was guarding the principal approach to the church against
immensely superior numbers. And nobly did the descendant of the Norse
sea-kings maintain the credit of his warlike ancestors that day. With a
sword that might have matched that of Goliath of Gath, he swept the way
before him wherever he went, and more than once by a furious onset
turned the tide of war in favour of his party when it seemed about to
overwhelm them.
In a more distant part of the field, on the banks of a small stream,
which was spanned by a bridge about fifty paces farther down, Gascoyne
and Henry Stuart contended, almost alone; with about thirty savages.
These two had rushed so impetuously forward at the first onset as to
have been separated from their friends, and, with four Christian
natives, had been surrounded. Henry was armed with a heavy claymore,
the edge of which betokened that it had once seen much service in the
wars of the youth's Scottish ancestors. Gascoyne, not anticipating this
attack, had returned to the settlement armed only with his knife. He
had seized the first weapon that came to hand, which chanced to be an
enormous iron shovel, and with this terrific implement the giant carried
all before him.
It was quite unintentionally that he and Henry had come together. But
the nature and power of the two men being somewhat similar, they had
singled out the same point of danger, and had made their attack with the
same overwhelming vehemence. The muscles of both seemed to be made of
iron, for, as increasing numbers pressed upon them, they appeared to
deliver their terrible blows with increasing rapidity and vigour, and
the savages, despite their numbers, began to quail before them.
Just then Keona--who, although wounded, hovered about doing as much
mischief as he could with his left hand, (which, by the way, seemed to
be almost as efficient as his right,)--caught sight of this group of
combatants on the banks of the stream. He, with a party, had succeeded
in forcing the bridge, and now, uttering a shout of wild delight at the
sight of his two greatest enemies within his power--as he thought--he
rushed towards them and darted his spear with unerring aim and terrible
violence. The man's anger defeated his purpose, for the shout attracted
the attention of Gascoyne, who saw the spear coming straight towards
Henry's breast. He interposed the shovel instantly, and the spear fell
harmless to the ground. At the same time, with a back-handed sweep he
brained a gigantic savage who at the moment was engaging Henry's
undivided attention. Bounding forward with a burst of anger, Gascoyne
sought to close with Keona. He succeeded but too well, however, for he
could not check himself sufficiently to deliver an effective blow, but
went crashing against his enemy, and the two fell to the ground
together.
In an instant a rush was made on the fallen man; but Henry leaped
forward, and sweeping down two opponents with one cut of his claymore,
afforded his companion time to leap up.
"Come, we are quits," said Henry, with a grim smile, as the two darted
again on the foe.
At that moment Ole Thorwald, having scattered the party he first
engaged, came tearing down towards the bridge, whirling the great sword
round his head, and shouting "victory" in the voice of a Stentor.
"Hah! here is more work," he cried, as his eye fell on Gascoyne's
figure. "Thorwald to the rescue! hurrah!"
In another moment the savages were flying pellmell across the bridge
with Gascoyne and Henry close on their heels, and the stout merchant
panting after them, with his victorious band, as fast as his less agile
limbs could carry him.
It was at this moment that Gascoyne and Henry noticed the attack made on
the small party of sailors, and observed the fall of Mr Mason.
"Thorwald to the rescue!" shouted Gascoyne, in a voice that rolled deep
and loud over the whole field like the roar of a lion.
"Ay, ay, my noisy stranger; it's easy for your tough limbs to carry you
up the hill," gasped Ole, "but the weight of ten or fifteen years will
change your step. Hurrah!"
The cry of the bold Norseman, coupled with that of Gascoyne, had the
double effect of checking the onset of the enemy, and of collecting
their own scattered forces around them. The battle was now drawing to a
point. Men who were skirmishing in various places left off and hastened
to the spot on which the closing scene was now evidently to be enacted;
and for a few minutes the contending parties paused, as if by mutual
consent, to breathe and scan each other before making the final attack.
It must not be supposed that, during the light which we have described,
the crew of the _Talisman_ were idle. At the first sign of disturbance
on shore, the boats were lowered, and a well-armed force rowed for the
landing-place as swiftly as the strong and willing arms of the men could
pull. But the distance between the vessel and the shore was
considerable, and the events we have recounted were quickly enacted, so
that before the boats had proceeded half the distance the fight was
nearly over, and the settlement seemed about to be overwhelmed.
These facts were not lost upon the first lieutenant of the _Talisman_,
Mr Mulroy, who, with telescope in hand, watched the progress of the
fight with great anxiety. He saw that it was impossible for the boats
to reach the shore in time to render efficient aid. He also observed
that a fresh band of savages were hastening to reinforce their comrades,
and that the united band would be so overpoweringly strong as to render
the chances of a successful resistance on the part of the settlers very
doubtful indeed almost hopeless.
In these circumstances he adopted a course which was as bold as it was
dangerous. Observing that the savages mustered for the final onset in a
dense mass on an eminence which just raised their heads a little above
those of the party they were about to attack, he at once loaded three of
the largest guns with round shot and pointed them at the mass of human
beings with the utmost possible care. There was the greatest danger of
hitting friends instead of foes, but Mr Mulroy thought it his duty to
incur the responsibility of running the risk.
Montague, to whom the command of the united band of settlers had been
given by general consent, had thrown them rapidly into some sort of
order, and was about to give the word to charge, when the savage host
suddenly began to pour down the hill with frantic yells.
Mulroy did not hear the shouts, but he perceived the movement.
Suddenly, as if a thunderstorm had burst over the island, the echoes of
the hills were startled by the roar of heavy artillery, and, one after
another, the three guns hurled their deadly contents into the centre of
the rushing mass, through which three broad lanes were cut in quick
succession.
The horrible noise and the dreadful slaughter in their ranks, seemed to
render the affrighted creatures incapable of action, for they came to a
dead halt.
"_Well_ done, Mulroy," shouted Montague, "forward, boys--charge!"
A true British cheer burst from the tars and white settlers, which
served farther to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. In
another moment they rushed up the hill, led on by Montague, Gascoyne,
Henry, and Thorwald. But the savages did not await the shock. Seized
with a complete panic, they turned and fled in utter confusion.
Just as this occurred, Mr Mason began to recover consciousness.
Recollecting suddenly what had occurred, he started up and followed his
friends, who were now in hot pursuit of the foe in the direction of his
own cottage. Quickly though they ran, the anxious father overtook and
passed them, but he soon perceived that his dwelling was wrapt in
flames, from end to end.
Darting through the smoke and fire to his daughter's room he shouted her
name, but no voice replied. He sprang to the bed--it was empty. With a
cry of despair, and blinded by smoke, he dashed about the room, grasping
wildly at objects in the hope that he might find his child. As he did
so he stumbled over a prostrate form, which he instantly seized, raised
in his arms, and bore out of the blazing house, round which a number of
the people were now assembled.
The form he had thus plucked from destruction was that of the poor boy,
who would willingly have given his life to rescue Alice, and who still
lay in the state of insensibility into which he had been thrown by the
blow from the savage's heavy club.
The missionary dropped his burden, turned wildly round, and was about to
plunge once again into the heart of the blazing ruin, when he was seized
in the strong arms of Henry Stuart, who, with the assistance of Ole
Thorwald, forcibly prevented him from doing that which would have
resulted in almost certain death.
The pastor's head sunk on his breast; the excitement of action and hope
no longer sustained him; with a deep groan he fell to the earth
insensible.