On the particular day of which we are writing, Alice Mason felt an
unusual depression of spirits. She had been told by her father of the
intended departure of the widow and her son, and had been warned not to
mention it to any one. In consequence of this, the poor child was
debarred her usual consolation of pouring her grief into the black bosom
of Poopy. It naturally followed, therefore, that she sought her next
favourite--the tree.
Here, to her surprise and comfort, she found Corrie seated on one of its
roots, with his head resting on the stem, and his hands clasped before
him. His general appearance was that of a human being in the depths of
woe. On observing Alice, he started up, and assuming a cheerful look,
ran to meet her.
"Oh! I'm so glad to find you here, Corrie," cried Alice, hastening
forward, "I'm in such distress! Do you know that--Oh!--I forgot; papa
said I was to tell nobody about it!"
"Don't let that trouble you, Alice," said Corrie, as they sat down
together under the tree. "I know what you were about to say--Henry and
his mother are going away."
"How do you know that? I thought it was a great secret!"
"So it is, a _tremendous_ secret," rejoined Corrie, with a look that was
intended to be very mysterious; "and I know it, because I've been let
into the secret for reasons which I cannot tell even to you. But there
is another secret which you don't know yet, and which will surprise you
perhaps. _I_ am going away, too!"
"You," exclaimed the little girl, her eyes dilating to their full size.
"Ay, me!"
"You're jesting, Corrie."
"Am I? I wish I was; but it's a fact."
"But where are you going to?" said Alice, her eyes filling with tears.
"I don't know."
"Corrie!"
"I tell you, I don't know; and if I did know, I couldn't tell. Listen,
Alice, I will tell you as much as I am permitted to let out."
The boy became extremely solemn at this point, took the little girl's
hand, and gazed into her face as he spoke.
"You must know," he began, "that Henry and his mother and I go away
to-night--"
"To-night?" cried Alice, quickly.
"To-night," repeated the boy. "Bumpus and Jakolu go with us. I have
said that I don't know where we are going to, but I am pretty safe in
assuring you that we are going somewhere. Why we are going, I am
forbidden to tell--divulge, I think Henry called it, but what that means
I don't know. I can only guess it's another word for tell, and yet it
can't be that either, for you can speak of _telling_ lies, but you can't
speak of _divulging_ them. However, that don't matter. But I'm not
forbidden to tell you why _I_ am going away. In the first place, then,
I'm going to seek my fortune! Where I'm to find it remains to be seen.
The only thing I know is, that I mean to find it somewhere or other, and
then," (here Corrie became very impressive,) "come back and live beside
you and your father, not to speak of Poopy and Toozle."
Alice smiled sadly at this. Corrie looked graver than ever, and went
on--
"Meanwhile, during my absence, I will write letters to you, and you'll
write ditto to me. I am going away because I ought to go and be doing
something for myself. You know quite well that I would rather stop
beside you than go anywhere in this wide world, Alice; but that would be
stupid. I'm getting to be a man now, and mustn't go on shewin' the
weaknesses of a boy. In the second, or third, place--I forget which,
but no matter--I am going with Henry because I could not go with a
better man; and in the fourth--if it's not the fifth--place, I'm going
because Uncle Ole Thorwald has long wished me to go to sea, and, to tell
you the truth, I would have gone long ago had it not been for you,
Alice. There's only one thing that bothers me." Here Corrie looked at
his fair companion with a perplexed air.
"What is that?" asked Alice, sympathetically.
"It is that I must go without saying good-bye to Uncle Ole. I'm _very_
sorry about it. It will look so ungrateful to him; but it _can't_ be
helped."
"Why not?" inquired Alice. "If he has often said he wished you to go to
sea, would he not be delighted to hear that you are going?"
"Yes; but he must not know that I am going to-night, and with Henry
Stuart."
"Why not?"
"Ah! that's the point. Mystery! Alice--mystery! What a world of
mystery this is!" observed the precocious Corrie, shaking his head with
profound solemnity. "I've been involved, (I think that's the word,)
rolled up, drowned, and buried in mystery for more than three weeks, and
I'm beginning to fear that I'll never again git into the unmysteriously
happy state in which I lived before this abominable man-of-war came to
the island. No Alice, I dare not say anything more on that point even
to you _just now_. But _won't_ I give it you all in my first letter?
and _won't_ you open your eyes just until they look like two blue
saucers?"
Further conversation between the friends was interrupted at this point
by the inrushing of Toozle, followed up by Poopy, and, a short time
after, by Mr Mason, who took Alice away with him, and left poor Corrie
disconsolate.
While this was going on, John Bumpus was fulfilling his mission to Ole
Thorwald.
He found that obstinate individual in his own parlour, deep in the
investigation of the state of his books of business, which had been
allowed to fall into arrear during his absence.
"Come in, Bumpus. So I hear you were half-hanged when we were away."
Ole wheeled round on his stool and hooked his thumbs into the arm-holes
of his vest as he said this, leaned his back against his desk, and
regarded the seaman with a facetious look.
"Half-hanged, indeed," said Bumpus, indignantly. "I was more than
half--three-quarters at least. Why, the worst of it's over w'en the
rope's round your neck."
"That is a matter which you can't speak to, John Bumpus, seeing that
you've never gone beyond the putting of the rope round your neck."
"Well, I'm content with wot I does happen to know about it," remarked
Jo, making a wry face; "an' I hope that I'll never git the chance of
knowin' more. But I comed here on business, Mr Thorwald," (here John
became mysterious and put his finger to his lips.) "I've comed here, Mr
Thorwald, to--_split_."
As Ole did not quite understand the meaning of this word, and did not
believe that the seaman actually meant to rend himself from head to
foot, he said--"Why, Bumpus, what d'ye mean?"
"I mean as how that I've comed to split on my comrades--w'ich means, I'm
goin' to tell upon 'em."
"Oh!" exclaimed Ole, eyeing the man with a look of distrust.
"Yes," pursued Bumpus, "I'm willin' to tell ye all about it, and prevent
his escape, if you'll only promise, on yer word as a gin'lmun, that ye
won't tell nobody else, but six niggers, who are more than enough to
sarve your turn."
"Prevent whose escape?" said Thorwald with an excited look.
"Gascoyne's."
Ole jumped off his stool and hit his left palm a sounding blow with his
right fist.
"I knew it!" he exclaimed, staring into the face of the seaman. "I was
sure of it! I said it! But how d'ye know, my man?"
"Ah! I'll not say another word if ye don't promise to let me go free,
and only take six niggers with ye."
"Well, Bumpus, I do promise, on the word of a true Norseman, which is
much better than that of a gentleman, that no harm shall come to you if
you tell me all you know of this matter. But I will promise nothing
more; because if you won't tell me, you have told me enough to enable me
to take such measures as will prevent Gascoyne from escaping."
"No, ye can't prevent it," said Bumpus, with an air of indifference.
"If ye don't choose to come to my way o' thinkin', ye can take yer own
coorse. But, let me tell you, there's more people on the island that
will take Gascoyne's part than ye think of. There's the whole crew of
the _Talisman_, whose cap'n he saved, and a lot besides; an' if ye do
come to a fight about it, ye'll have a pretty tough scrimmage. Ther'll
be blood spilt, Mr Thorwald, an' it was partly to prevent that as I
comed here for. But you know best. You better take yer own way, an
I'll take mine."
The cool impudence, of manner with which John Bumpus said this had its
effect on Ole, who, although fond enough of fighting against enemies,
had no sort of desire to fight against friends, especially for the sake
of a pirate.
"Come, Bumpus," said he, "you and I understand each other. Let us talk
the thing over calmly. I've quite as much objection to see unnecessary
bloodshed as you have. We have had enough of that lately. Tell me what
you know, and I promise to do what you recommend as far as I can in
reason."
"Do you promise to let no one else know wot I tell ye?"
"I do."
"An' d'ye promise to take no more than six niggers to prewent this
escape?"
"Will six be enough?"
"Plenty; but, if that bothers ye, say twelve; I'm not partic'lar--say
twelve. That's more than enough, for they'll only have four to fight
with."
"Well, I promise that too."
"Good. Now I'll tell ye all about it," said Bumpus. "You see, although
I'm splittin', I don't want to get my friends into trouble, and so I got
you to promise; an' I trust to yer word, Mr Thorwald--you bein' a
gen'lmun. This is how it is. Young Henry Stuart thinks that although
Gascoyne is a pirate, or, rather, _was_ a pirate, he don't deserve to be
hanged. 'Cause why? Firstly, he never committed no murder; secondly,
he saved the lives o' some of your people--Alice Mason among the rest;
and, thirdly, he's an old friend o' the family as has done 'em good
sarvice long ago. So Henry's made up his mind that, as Gascoyne's sure
to be hanged if he's tried, it's his duty to prewent that there from
happenin' of. Now, ye see, Gascoyne is quite willin' to escape--"
"Hah! the villain!" exclaimed Ole; "I was sure of that. I knew well
enough that all his smooth-tongued humility was hypocrisy. I'm sorry
for Henry, and don't wish to thwart him; but it's clearly my duty to
prevent this escape if I can."
"So I think, sir," said Bumpus; "so I think. That's just w'at I said to
myself w'en I made up my mind for to split. Gascoyne bein' willin'
then, Henry has bribed the jailer, and he intends to open the jail door
for him at twelve o'clock this night, and he'll know w'at to do with his
legs w'en he's got 'em free."
"But how am I to prevent his escape if I do not set a strong guard over
the prison?" exclaimed Ole, in an excited manner. "If he once gets into
the mountains I might as well try to catch a hare."
"All fair and softly, Mr Thorwald. Don't take on so. It ain't two
o'clock yet; we've lots o' time. Henry has arranged to get a boat ready
for him. At twelve o'clock to-night the doors will be opened and he'll
start for the boat. It will lie concealed among the rocks off the Long
Point. There's no mistakin' the spot, just west of the village; an' if
you place your niggers there you'll have as good a chance as need be to
nab 'em. Indeed, there's _two_ boats to be in waitin' for the pirate
captain and his friends--set 'em up!"
"And where is the second boat to be hidden?" asked Ole.
"I'm not sure of the exact spot, but it can't be very far off from the
tother, cer'nly not a hundred miles," said Bumpus with a grin. "Now,
wot I want is, that if ye get hold of the pirate ye'll be content, an'
not go an' peach on Henry an' his comrades. They'll be so ashamed o'
themselves at bein' nabbed in the wery act that they'll give it up as a
bad job. Besides, ye can then go an' give him in charge of Capting
Montague. But if ye try to _prewent_ the escape bein' attempted, Henry
will take the bloody way of it--for I tell _you_ his birse is up, an' no
mistake."
"How many men are to be with Gascoyne?" asked Thorwald, who, had he not
been naturally a stupid man, must have easily seen through this clumsy
attempt to blind him.
"Just four," answered Bumpus; "an' I'm to be one of 'em."
"Well, Bumpus, I'll take your advice. I shall be at the Long Point
before twelve, with a dozen niggers, and I'll count on you lending us a
hand."
"No, ye mustn't count on that, Mr Thorwald. Surely it's enough if I
run away and leave the others to fight."
"Very well, do as you please," said Thorwald, with a look of contempt.
"Good day, Mr Thorwald. You'll be sure to be there?"
"Trust me."
"An' you'll not say a word about it to nobody?"
"Not a syllable."
"That's all square. You'll see the boat w'en ye git there, and as long
as ye see that boat yer all right. Good day, sir."
John Bumpus left Thorwald's house chuckling, and wended his way to the
widow's cottage, whistling the "Groves of Blarney."