An hour before the appointed time Ole Thorwald, under cover of a dark
night, stole out of his own dwelling with slow and wary step, and
crossed the little plot of ground that lay in front of it with the sly
and mysterious air of a burglar, rather than that of an honest man.
Outside his gate he was met in the same cautious manner by a
dark-skinned human being, the character of whose garments was something
between those of a sailor and a West India planter. This was Sambo,
Thorwald's major-domo, clerk, overseer, and right-hand man. Sambo was
not his proper name, but his master, regarding him as being the
embodiment of all the excellent qualities that could by any possibility
exist in the person of a South Sea islander, had bestowed upon him the
generic name of the dark race, in addition to that wherewith Mr Mason
had gifted him on the day of his baptism.
Sambo and his master exchanged a few words in low whispers, and then
gliding down the path that led from the stout merchant's house to the
south side of the village, they entered the woods that lined the shore,
like two men bent on a purpose which might or might not be of the
blackest possible kind.
"I don't half like this sort of work, Sambo," observed Thorwald,
speaking and treading with less caution as they left the settlement
behind them.
"Ambushments, and surprises, and night forages, especially when they
include Goats' Passes, don't suit me at all. I have a strong antipathy
to everything in the way of warfare, save a fair field and no favour
under the satisfactory light of the sun."
"Ho!" said Sambo quietly, as much as to say--I hear and appreciate, but
having no observation to make in reply, I wait for more from your
honoured lips.
"Now, you see," pursued Thorwald, "if I were to follow my own tastes--
which it seems to me I am destined not to be allowed to do any more in
the affairs of this world, if I may judge by the events of the past
month--if I were to follow my own tastes, I say I would go boldly to the
prison where this pestiferous pirate captain lies, put double irons on
him, and place a strong guard round the building. In this case I would
be ready to defend it against any odds, and would have the satisfaction
of standing up for the rights of the settlement like a man, and of
hurling defiance at the entire British navy (at least such portion of it
as happens to be on the island at this time) if they were to attempt a
rescue--as this Bumpus hints they are likely to do. Yet it seems to me
strange and unaccountable that they should thus interest themselves in a
vile pirate. I verily believe that I have been deceived, but it is too
late now to alter my plans or to hesitate. Truly, it seemeth to me that
I might style myself an ass without impropriety."
"Ho!" remarked Sambo, and the grin with which the remark was accompanied
seemed to imply that he not only appreciated his master's sentiment, but
agreed with it entirely.
"You've got eleven men, I trust, Sambo?"
"Yes, mass'r."
"All good and true, I hope? men who can be trusted both in regard to
their fighting qualities, and their ability to hold their tongues?"
"Dumb as owls, ebery von," returned Sambo.
"Good! You see, my man, I _must_ not permit that fellow to escape; at
the same time I do not wish to blazon abroad that it is my friend Henry
Stuart who is helping him. Neither do I wish to run the risk of killing
my friends in a scrimmage, if they are so foolish as to resist me;
therefore I am particular about the men you have told off for this duty.
Where did you say they are to meet us?"
"Close by de point, mass'r."
A few minutes' walk brought them to the point where the men were
awaiting them. As far as Ole could judge, by the dim light of a few
stars that struggled through the cloudy sky, they were eleven as stout
fellows as any warrior could desire to have at his back in a hand to
hand conflict. They were all natives, clothed much in the same manner
as Sambo, and armed with heavy clubs, for, as we have seen, Thorwald was
resolved that this should be a bloodless victory.
"Whereabout is the boat?" whispered Ole to his henchman, as he groped
his way down the rocky slopes towards the shore.
"'Bout two hondr'd yards more farder in front," said Sambo.
"Then I'll place the men here," said Ole, turning to the natives who
were following close at his heels. "Now, boys, remain under cover of
this rock till I lead you on to the attack; and mind what I say to
you--_no killing_! Some of party are my friends, d'ye understand? I
don't want to do them a damage, but I do want to prevent their letting
off as great a villain, I believe, as ever sailed the ocean under a
black flag--only his was a red one; because of his extreme
bloody-mindedness, no doubt, which led, him to adopt the colour of
blood. We will attack them in the rear, which means, of course, by
surprise, though I must confess that style of warfare goes much against
the grain with me. There are just four men, I am told, besides the
pirate. Our first onset will secure the fall of at least two of the
party by my own cudgel--and mark me, lads, I don't say this in the
spirit of boasting. He would indeed be but a poor warrior who could not
fell two men when he took them unawares and in the dark. No, I feel
half ashamed o' the work, but I suppose it is my duty. So you see there
will be just two men and the pirate left for us to deal with. Four of
you ought to be able to overcome the two men without drawing blood,
except, it may be, a little surface-fluid. The remaining nine of us
will fall on the pirate captain in a body. You will easily know him by
his great size, and I have no manner of doubt but that he will make
himself further known by the weight of his blows. If I happen to fall,
don't look after me till you have overcome and bound the pirate. The
ropes are all ready, and my man Sambo will carry them."
Having delivered this address to his followers, who by their "Ho's" and
grins indicated their perfect readiness to do as they were bid, Ole
Thorwald left them in ambush, and groped his way down to the beach,
accompanied by Sambo.
"Did you bring the chain and padlock, Sambo?"
"Yis, mass'r. But you no tink it am berer to take boat away--pull him
out ob sight?"
"No, Sambo, I have thought on that subject already, and have come to the
conclusion that it is better to let the boat remain. You see they have
placed it in such a way that as long as daylight lasted it could be seen
from the settlement, and even now it is visible at some distance, as you
see. If we were to remove it they would at once observe that it was
gone, and thus be put on their guard. No, no, Sambo. I may not be fond
of ambushments, but I flatter myself that I have some talent for such
matters."
The master and servant had reached the beach by this time, where they
found the boat in the exact position that had been indicated by John
Bumpus. It lay behind a low piece of coral rock, fastened to an iron
ring by means of a rope, while the oars lay in readiness on the thwarts.
Sambo now produced a heavy iron chain with which the boat was speedily
fastened to the ring. It was secured with a large padlock, the key of
which Ole placed in his pocket.
This being satisfactorily accomplished, they returned to the place of
ambush.
"Now, Mister Gascoyne," observed Thorwald with a grim smile, as he sat
down beside his men and pulled out his watch, "I will await your
pleasure. It is just half-past eleven; if you are a punctual man, as Jo
Bumpus led me to believe, I will try your metal in half-an-hour, and
have you back in your cage before one o'clock! What say you to that,
Sambo?"
The faithful native opened his huge mouth wide and shut his eyes,
thereby indicating that he laughed, but he said nothing, bad, good, or
indifferent, to his master's facetious observation. The other natives
also grinned in a quiet but particularly knowing manner, after which the
whole party relapsed into profound silence and kept their midnight watch
with exemplary patience and eager expectation.
At this same hour the pirate captain was seated in his cell on the edge
of the low bedstead, with his elbows resting on his knees and his face
buried in his hands.
The cell was profoundly dark--so dark that the figure of the prisoner
could scarcely be distinguished.
Gascoyne did not move for many minutes, but once or twice a deep sigh
escaped him, shewing that although his body was at rest, his thoughts
were busy. At last he moved and clasped his hands together violently as
if under a strong impulse. In doing so, the clank of his chains echoed
harshly through the cell. This seemed to change the current of his
thoughts, for he again covered his face with both hands and began to
mutter to himself.
"Ay," said he, "it has come at last. How often I have dreamed of this
when I was free and roaming over the wide ocean. I would say that I
have been a fool did I not feel that I have more cause to bow my head
and confess that I am a sinner. Ah! what a thing pride is. How little
do men know what it has cost me to humble myself before them as I have
done; yet I feel no shame in confessing it here, when I am all alone.
Alone! am I alone?"
For a long time Gascoyne sat in deep silence as if he were following out
the train of thought which had been suggested by the last words.
Presently his ideas again found vent in muttered speech.
"In my pride I have said that there is no God. I don't think I ever
believed that; but I tried to believe it, for I knew that my deeds were
evil. Surely my own words will condemn me, for I have said that I think
myself a fool, and does not the Bible say that `the fool hath said in
his heart there is no God?' Ay, I remember it well. The words were
printed in my brain when I learnt the Psalms of David at my mother's
knee, long, long ago. My mother! what bitter years have passed since
that day! How little did ye dream, mother, that your child would come
to _this_. God help me!"
The pirate relapsed into silence, and a low groan escaped him. But his
thoughts seemed too powerful to be restrained within his breast, for
they soon broke forth again in words.
"Your two texts have come true, pastor Mason. You did not mean them for
me, but _they were sent_ to me. `There is no rest, saith my God, to the
wicked.' No rest! I have not known rest since I was a boy. `Be sure
your sin shall find you out.' I laughed at these words once; they laugh
at _me_ now. I have found them out to be true--and found it out too
late. Too late! _Is_ it too late? If these words be true, are not all
the words of God equally true? `The blood of Jesus Christ his Son
cleanseth us from _all_ sin.' That was what you said, pastor Mason, on
that Sunday morning when the savages were stealing down on us. It gave
me comfort then, but, ah me! it seems to give me no comfort now. Oh!
that I had resisted the tempter when he _first_ came to me! Strange! I
often heard this said long, long ago; but I laughed at it--not in scorn,
no, it was in easy indifference. I did not believe it had anything to
do with me. And now, I suppose, if I were to stand in the public
streets and cry that I had been mistaken, with all the fervour of a
bursting heart, men would laugh at me in an easy way--as I did then.
"I don't fear death. I have often faced it, and I don't remember ever
feeling afraid of death. Yet I shrink from death _now_. Why is this?
What a mystery my thoughts and feelings are to me. I know not what to
think. But it will soon be over, for I feel certain that I shall be
doomed to die. God help me!"
Gascoyne again became silent. When he had remained thus a few minutes
his attention was roused by the sound of footsteps and of whispering
voices close under his window. Presently the key was put in the lock,
the heavy bolt shot back, and the door creaked on its hinges as it
opened slowly.
Gascoyne knew by the sound that several men entered the cell, but as
they carried no light he could not tell how many there were. He was of
course surprised at a visit at such an unusual hour, as well as at the
stealthy manner in which his visitors entered; but having made up his
mind to submit quietly to whatever was in store for him, and knowing
that he could not hope for much tenderness at the hands of the
inhabitants of Sandy Cove, he was not greatly disturbed. Still, he
would not have been human had not his pulse quickened under the
influence of a strong desire to spring up and defend himself.
The door of the cell was shut and locked as quietly as it had been
opened; then followed the sound of footsteps crossing the floor.
"Is that you, jailer?" demanded Gascoyne.
"Ye'll know that time enough," answered a gruff voice that was not
unfamiliar to the prisoner's ear.
The others who had entered along with this man did not move from the
door--at least, if they did so, there was no sound of footsteps. The
man who had spoken went to the window and spread a thick cloth over it.
Gascoyne could see this, because there was sufficient light outside to
make the arms of the man dimly visible as he raised them up to
accomplish his object. The cell was thus rendered, if possible, more
impenetrably dark than before.
"Now, pirate," said the man, turning round, and suddenly flashing a dark
lantern full on the stern face of the prisoner, "you and I will have a
little convarse together--by yer leave or without yer leave. In case
there might be pryin' eyes about, I've closed the porthole, d'ye see."
Gascoyne listened to this familiar style of address in surprise, but did
not suffer his features to betray any emotion whatever. The lantern
which the seaman (for such he evidently was) carried in his hand threw a
strong light wherever its front was turned, but left every other part of
the cell in partial darkness. The reflected light was, however, quite
sufficient to enable the prisoner to see that his visitor was a short,
thick-set man, of great physical strength, and that three men of unusual
size and strength stood against the wall, in the deep shadow of a
recess, with their straw hats pulled very much over their eyes.
"Now, Mister Gascoyne," began the seaman, sitting down on the edge of
the small table beside the low pallet, and raising the lantern a little,
while he gazed earnestly into the prisoner's face, "I've reason to
believe--"
"Ha! you are the boatswain of the _Talisman_," exclaimed Gascoyne, as
the light reflected from his own countenance irradiated that of Dick
Price, whom, of course, he had seen frequently while they were on board
the frigate together.
"No, mister pirate," said Dick; "I am _not_ the bo's'n of the
_Talisman_, else I shouldn't be here this night. I _wos_ the bo's'n of
that unfortunate frigate, but I is so no longer."
Dick said this in a melancholy tone, and thereafter meditated for a few
moments in silence.
"No," he resumed with a heavy sigh, "the _Talisman's_ blow'd up, an' her
bo's'n's out on the spree--so to speak,--though it ain't a cheerful
spree by no means. But to come back to the pint, (w'ich wos wot the
clergyman said w'en he'd got so far away from the pint that he never
_did_ get back to it,) as I wos sayin', or was agoin' to say w'en you
prewented me, I've reason to b'lieve you're agoin' to try for to make
yer escape."
"You are mistaken, my man," said Gascoyne, with a sad smile; "nothing is
farther from my thoughts."
"I don't know how far it's from yer thoughts," said Dick, sternly, "but
it's pretty close to your intentions, so I'm told."
"Indeed you are mistaken," replied Gascoyne. "If Captain Montague has
sent you here to mount guard he has only deprived you of a night's rest
needlessly. If I had intended to make my escape I would not have given
myself up."
"I don't know that--I'm not so sure o' that," rejoined the boatswain
stoutly. "You're said to be a obstinate feller, and there's no sayin'
what a obstinate feller won't do or will do. But I didn't come here for
to argify the question with _you_, Mister Gascoyne. Wot I com'd here
for wos to do my duty, so, now, I'm agoing to do it."
Gascoyne, who was amused in spite of himself by the manner of the man,
merely smiled and awaited in silence the pleasure of his eccentric
visitor.
Dick now set down the lantern, went to the door and returned with a coil
of stout rope.
"You see," observed the boatswain, as he busied himself in uncoiling and
making a running noose on the rope, "I'm ordered to prewent you from
carryin' out your intentions--wotiver these may be--by puttin' a coil or
two o' this here rope round you. Now, wot I've got to ask of you is--
Will ye submit peaceable like to have it done?"
"Surely this is heaping unnecessary indignity upon me?" exclaimed
Gascoyne, flushing crimson with anger.
"It _may_ be unnecessary, but it's got to be done," returned Dick, with
cool decision, as he placed the end of a knot between his powerful
teeth, and drew it tight. "Besides, Mister Gascoyne, a pirate must
expect indignities to be heaped upon him. However, I'll heap as few as
possible on ye in the discharge of my duty."
Gascoyne had started to his feet, but he sat down abashed on being thus
reminded of his deserts.
"True," said he; "true. I will submit."
He added in his mind, "I deserve this;" but nothing more escaped his
lips, while he stood up and permitted the boatswain to pass the cord
round his arms, and lash them firmly to his sides.
Having bound him in a peculiarly tight and nautical manner, Dick once
more went to his accomplices at the door, and returned with a hammer and
chisel, and a large stone. The latter he placed on the table, and,
directing Gascoyne to raise his arms--which were not secured below the
elbows--and place his manacles on the stone, he cut them asunder with a
few powerful blows, and removed them.
"The darbies ain't o' no use, you see, as we ye got you all safe with
the ropes. Now, Mister Gascoyne, I'm agoin' to heap one more indignity
on ye. I'm sorry to do it, d'ye see; but I'm bound for to obey orders.
You'll be so good as to sit down on the bed, for I ain't quite so long
as you--though I won't say that I'm not about as broad--and let me tie
this napkin over yer mouth."
"Why?" exclaimed Gascoyne, again starting and looking fiercely at the
boatswain; "this, at least, must be unnecessary. I have said that I am
willing to submit quietly to whatever the law condemns me. You don't
take me for a woman or a child, that will be apt to cry out when hurt?"
"Certainly not; but as I'm goin' to take ye away out o' this here limbo,
it is needful that I should prewent you from lettin' people know that
yer goin' on your travels; for I've heerd say there's some o' yer
friends as is plottin' to help you to escape."
"Have I not said already that I do not wish to escape, and therefore
will not take advantage of any opportunity afforded me by my friends?--
Friends! I have no friends! Even those whom I thought were my friends
have not been near my prison all this day."
Gascoyne said this bitterly, and in great anger.
"Hush!" exclaimed Dick; "not quite so loud, mister pirate. You see
there _is_ some reason in my puttin' this on your mouth. It'll be as
well to let me do it quietly, else I'll have to get a little help."
He pointed to the three stout men who stood motionless and silent in the
dark recess.
"Oh, it was cowardly of you to bind my arms before you told me this,"
said Gascoyne, with flashing eyes. "If my hands were free now--"
He checked himself by a powerful effort, and crushed back the boastful
defiance which rose to his lips.
"Now, I'll tell ye wot it is, Mister Gascoyne," said Dick Price, "I do
believe yer not such a bad feller as they say ye are, an' I'm disposed
to be marciful to ye. If ye'll give me your word of honour that you'll
not holler out, and that you'll go with us peaceably, and do wot yer
bid, I'll not trouble you with the napkin, nor bind ye up more than I've
done already. But," (here Dick spoke in tones that could not be
misunderstood,) "if ye won't give me that promise, I'll gag ye and bind
ye neck and heels, and we'll carry ye out o' this shoulder high. Now,
wot say ye to that?"
Gascoyne had calmed his feelings while the boatswain was speaking. He
even smiled when he replied--"How can you ask me to give my word of
honour? What honour has a pirate to boast of, think you?"
"Not much, pr'aps," said Dick; "howsomdever, I'll be content with wot's
left of it; and if there ain't none, why, then, give us yer word. It'll
do as well."
"After all, it matters little what is done with me," said Gascoyne, in a
resigned voice. "I am a fool to resist thus. You need not fear that I
will offer any further resistance, my man. Do your duty, whitever that
may be."
"That won't do," said Dick, stoutly; "ye must promise not to holler
out."
"I promise," said Gascoyne, sternly. "Pray cease this trifling, and if
it is not inconsistent with your duty, let me know where I am to be
taken to."
"That's just wot I'm not allowed for to tell. But you'll find it out in
the coorse of time. Now, all that you've got to do is to walk by my
side, and do wot I tell ye."
The prisoner made no answer. He was evidently weary of the
conversation, and his thoughts were already wandering on other subjects.
The door was now unlocked by one of the three men who stood near it. As
its hinges creaked, Dick shut the lantern, and threw the cell at once
into total darkness. Taking hold of Gascoyne's wrist gently, as if to
guide, not to force him away, he conducted him along the short passage
that led to the outer door of the prison. This was opened, and the
whole party stood in the open air.
Gascoyne looked with feelings of curiosity at the men who surrounded
him, but the night was so intensely dark that their features were
invisible. He could just discern the outlines of their figures, which
were enveloped in large cloaks. He was on the point of speaking to
them, when he remembered his promise to make no noise, so he restrained
himself, and followed his guard in silence.
Dick and another man walked at his side--the rest followed in rear.
Leading him round the out-skirts of the village, towards its northern
extremity, Gascoyne's conductors soon brought him to the beach, at a
retired spot, where was a small bay. Here they were met by one whose
stature proved him to be a boy. He glided up to Dick, who said in a low
whisper--
"Is all ready?"
"All right," replied the boy.
"The ooman aboard?"
"Ay."
"Now, Mr Gascoyne," said Dick, pointing to a large boat floating beside
the rocks on which they stood, "you'll be so good as to step into that
'ere boat, and sit down beside the individual you see a-sittin' there in
the stern-sheets."
"Have you authority for what you do?" asked Gascoyne, hesitating.
"I have power to enforce wot I command," said Dick, quietly. "Remember
yer promise, mister pirate, else--"
Dick finished his sentence by pointing to the three men who stood near--
still maintaining a silence worthy of Eastern mutes; and Gascoyne,
feeling that he was completely in their power, stepped quickly into the
boat, and sat down beside the "individual" referred to by Dick, who was
so completely enveloped in the folds of a large cloak as to defy
recognition. But the pirate captain was too much occupied with his own
conflicting thoughts and feelings to bestow more than a passing glance
on the person who sat at his side. Indeed it was not surprising that
Gascoyne was greatly perplexed by all that was going on at that time;
for he could not satisfactorily account to himself for the mystery and
secrecy which his guards chose to maintain. If they were legitimate
agents of the law, why these muffled oars with which they swept the boat
across the lagoon, through the gap in the coral reef and out to sea?
And if they were _not_ agents of the law, who were they, and where were
they conveying him?
The boat was a large one, half-decked, and fitted to stand a heavy sea
and rough weather. It would have moved sluggishly through the water had
not the four men who pulled the oars been possessed of more than average
strength. As soon as they passed the barrier reef, the sails were
hoisted, and Dick took the helm. The breeze was blowing fresh off the
land, and the water rushed past the boat as she cut swiftly out to sea,
leaving a track of white foam behind her. For a few minutes the mass of
the island was dimly seen rising like a huge shade on the dark sky, but
soon it melted away and nothing remained for the straining eyes to rest
upon save the boat with its silent crew and the curling foam on the
black sea.
"We've got him safe now, lads," said Dick Price, speaking, for the first
time that night, in unguarded tones, "you'd better do the deed. The
sooner it's done the better."
While he was speaking one of the three men opened a large clasp knife
and advanced towards Gascoyne.
"Father," said Henry, cutting the rope that bound him, "you are free at
last!"
Gascoyne started, but before he had time to utter the exclamation of
surprise that sprang to his lips, his hand was seized by the muffled
figure that sat at his side.
"Oh! Gascoyne, forgive us--forgive _me_!" said Mary Stuart in a
trembling voice. "I did, indeed, know something of what they meant to
do, but I knew nothing of the cruel violence that these bonds--"
"Violence!" cried Dick Price, "I put it to yourself, Mister Gascoyne, if
I didn't treat ye as if ye wos a lamb?"
"Wot a blissin' it is for a man to git his mouth open agin, and let his
breath go free," cried Jo Bumpus, with a deep sigh. "Come, Corrie, give
us a cheer--hip! hip! hip!--"
The cheer that followed was stirring and wonderfully harmonious, for it
was given in a deep bass, and a shrill treble, with an intermediate
baritone "Ho!" from Jakolu.
"I know it, Mary, I know it;" said Gascoyne, and there was a slight
tremor in his deep voice as he drew his wife towards him, and laid her
head upon his breast. "You have never done me an evil turn--you have
done me nothing but good--since you were a little child. Heaven bless
you, Mary!"
"Now, father," said Henry, "I suppose you have no objection to make your
escape?"
"No need to raise that question, lad," said Gascoyne, with a perplexed
smile. "I am not quite clear as to what my duty is now that I am free
to go back and again give myself up."
"Go back!--free!" exclaimed John Bumpus in a tone of withering sarcasm.
"So, Mister Gascoyne, ye've got sich an oncommon cargo o' conceit in ye
yet, that you actually think ye could go back without so much as `By
your leave!'"
While Jo was speaking he bared to the shoulder an arm that was the
reverse of infantine, and, holding it up, said slowly--
"I've often had a sort o' desire, d'ye see, to try whether this bit of a
limb or the one that's round Mrs Stuart's waist is the strongest. Now
if _you_ have any desire to settle this question, just try to shove this
boat's head up into the wind--that's all!"
This was said so emphatically by the pugnacious Bumpus that his
companions laughed, and Corrie cheered in admiration.
"You see," observed Henry, "you need not give yourself any concern as to
this point, you have no option in the matter."
"No, not a bit o' poption in it wotiver--though wot that means I ain't
rightly sure," said Dick Price.
"Perhaps I ought to exercise my parental authority over you, Henry,"
said Gascoyne, "and _command_ you to steer back to Sandy Cove."
"But we wouldn't let him, mister pirate," said Dick Price, who, now that
his difficult duties were over, was preparing to solace himself with a
pipe; an example that was immediately followed by Bumpus, who backed his
friend by adding--
"No more we would."
"Nay, then, if Henry joins me," said Gascoyne, "I think that we two will
not have a bad chance against you three."
"Come, that's good! so _I_ count for nothing," exclaimed Corrie.
"Ha! stick up, lad," observed Bumpus. "The niggers wot you pitched into
at the mouth o' yon cave didn't think that--eh! didn't they not?"
"Well, well, if Corrie sides with you I feel that my wisest course is to
submit. And now, Henry," said Gascoyne, resuming his wonted gravity of
tone and demeanour, "sit down here and let me know where we are going to
and what you mean to do. It is natural that I should feel curious on
these points even although I _have_ perfect confidence in you all."
Henry obeyed, and their voices sank into low tones as they mingled in
earnest converse about their future plans.
Thus did Gascoyne, with his family and friends, leave Sandy Cove in the
dead of that dark night, and sail away over the wide waste of the great
Pacific Ocean.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reader, our tale is nearly told. Like a picture, it contains but a
small portion of the career of those who have so long engaged your
attention, and, I would fain hope, your sympathy. The life of man may
be comprehensively epitomised almost to a point, or expanded out _ad
infinitum_. He was born, he died, is its lowest term. Its highest is
not definable.
Innumerable tomes, of encyclopaedic dimensions, could not contain, much
less exhaust, an account of all that was said and done (and all that
might be said about what was said and done) by our _ci-devant_
sandal-wood trader and his friends. Yet there are main points, amid the
little details of their career, which it would be unpardonable to pass
over in silence. To these we shall briefly refer before letting the
curtain fall.
There is a distant isle of the sea, a beautiful spot, an oceanic gem,
which has been reclaimed by the Word of God, from those regions that
have been justly styled "the dark places of the earth." We will not
mention its name; we will not even indicate its whereabout, lest we
should furnish a clue to the unromantic myrmidons of the law, whose
inflexible justice is only equalled by their pertinacity in tracking the
criminal--to his lair!
On this beautiful isle, at the time of our tale, the churches and houses
of Christian men had begun to rise. The natives had begun to cultivate
the arts of civilisation, and to appreciate, in some degree, the
inestimable blessings of Christianity. The plough had torn up the
virgin soil, and the anchors of merchant-ships had begun to kiss the
strand. The crimes peculiar to civilised men had not yet been
developed. The place had all the romance and freshness of a flourishing
infant colony.
Early one fine morning, a half-decked boat rowed into the harbour of
this isle, and ran alongside the little quay, where the few natives who
chanced to be lounging there were filled with admiration at the sight of
five stalwart men who leaped upon the rocks, an active lad who held the
boat steady, and a handsome middle-aged woman, who was assisted to land
with much care by the tallest of her five companions.
There were a few small bales of merchandise in the boat. These being
quickly tossed ashore, one of the natives was asked to shew the way to
the nearest store, where they might be placed in safe keeping.
This done; the largest man of the party, who was clad in the rough
garments of a merchant captain, offered his arm to the female, who was
evidently his wife, and went off in search of the chief magistrate of
the settlement, leaving his companions to look after the boat and smoke
their pipes.
The handsome stranger introduced himself to the magistrate as Mr
Stuart; stated that he intended to settle on the island as a general
merchant, having brought a few bales of merchandise with him; that he
had been bred an engineer and a shipwright, and meant also to work at
his old trade, and concluded by asking for advice and general
information in regard to the state of trade on the island.
After having obtained all the information on these subjects that the
magistrate could give, insomuch that that functionary deemed him a
perfect marvel of catechetical wisdom and agreeable address,--the
stalwart stranger proceeded to inquire minutely into the state of
religion and education among the natives and settlers, and finally left
the charmed magistrate rejoicing in the belief that he was a most
intelligent philanthropist, and would be an inestimable acquisition to
the settlement.
A small trading store was soon built. The stranger was not a rich man.
He began in a humble way, and sought to eke out his subsistence by doing
the ordinary work of a wright. In this latter occupation he was ably
assisted by his stout son, Henry; for the duties of the store were
attended to chiefly by the lad Corrie, superintended by Mr Stuart.
The mysterious strangers were a source of much gossip and great
speculation, of course, to the good people of Green Isle, (as we shall
style this gem of the Pacific, in order to thwart the myrmidons of the
law!) They found them so reserved and uncommunicative, however, on the
subject of their personal affairs, that the most curious gossip in the
settlement at last gave up speculating in despair.
In other respects, the new family were noted for kindliness and
urbanity. Mrs Stuart, especially, became an intimate friend of the
missionary who dwelt there, and one of his hardest-working parishioners.
Mr Stuart also became his friend; but the stern gravity of
countenance, and reserved, though perfectly well-bred and even kindly
manner of the stranger forbade close intimacy. He was a most regular
attender at church, not only on Sundays but at the weekly
prayer-meetings and occasional festivals, and the missionary noticed
that his Bible looked as if it were a well-thumbed one.
At first the two seamen, whom people soon found out, were named
respectively Jo and Dick, wrought in the wright's workshop, and at all
kinds of miscellaneous jobs; besides making frequent and sometimes long
voyages in their boat to the neighbouring islands. As time flew by
things seemed to prosper with the merchant. The keel of a little
schooner was laid. Father, and son, and seamen (as well as the native
servant, who was called Jako) toiled at this vessel incessantly until
she was finished--then, Henry was placed in command of her, Jo and Dick
were appointed first and second mates, two or three natives completed
the crew, and she went to sea under the somewhat peculiar name of the
_Avenger_.
This seemed to be the first decided advance in the fortunes of the new
family. Business increased in a wonderful way. The _Avenger_ returned
again and again to the Green Isle laden with rich and varied commodities
for the successful merchant. In course of time the old store was taken
down, and a new one built; the _Avenger_ was sold, and a large brig
purchased, the rather pretty name of which--"_Evening Star_"--was
erased, and the mysterious word _Avenger_ put in its place. Everything,
in short, betokened that Mr Stuart was on the high road to fortune.
But there were some mysteries connected with the merchant which sorely
puzzled the wisest heads in the place, and which would have puzzled
still wiser heads had they been there. Although it soon became quite
evident to the meanest capacity that Mr Stuart was the richest man on
the island; yet he and his family continued to occupy the poor, shabby,
little, ill-furnished cottage which they had erected with their own
hands when they first landed, and although they sold the finest silks
and brocades to the wives and daughters of the other wealthy settlers,
they themselves wore only the plainest and most sombre fabrics that
consisted with respectability.
People would have called them a family of misers, but for their goodness
of character in other respects, and for the undeniable fact that they
were by far the most liberal contributors to the church and to the
poor--not only in their own island, but in all the other islands around
them.
Another thing that puzzled the mercantile men of the place extremely was
the manner in which Mr Stuart kept his books of business. They soon
began to take note that he kept two ledgers and two distinct sets of
books--the one set small, the other set very bulky. Some of the more
audacious among his customers ventured to peep over his shoulder, and
discovered that the small set contained nothing but entries of boats
made, and repairs to shipping executed, and work connected exclusively
with the shipwright department of his business--while the large books
contained entries of those silks, and sugars, and teas, and spices,
etcetera, which turned so much gold into his coffers.
It thus became evident to these men of business that the merchant kept
the two departments quite separate, in order to ascertain the distinct
profits on each. They were the more amazed at this when they considered
that the shipwright work must necessarily be a mere driblet, altogether
unworthy the attention of one so wealthy. But that which amazed them
most of all was, that such a man, in such circumstances, could waste his
time in doing with his own hands the work of an ordinary mechanic--thus
(as they concluded) entailing on himself the necessity of devoting much
of the night to his more lucrative concern.
These long-headed men of business little knew the man. They did not
know that he was _great_ in the highest sense of the term, and that,
among other elements of his greatness, he possessed the power of seizing
the little things--the little opportunities--of life, and turning them
to the best account; that he not only knew what should be done, and how
to do it, but was gifted with that inflexible determination of purpose
to carry out a design, without which knowledge and talent can never
accomplish great things. The merchant did not, as they supposed, work
late at night. He measured his time, and measured his work. In this he
was like many other men in this struggling world; but he _stuck_ to his
time and to his work, in which respect he resembled the great few whose
names stand prominent on the page of history.
In consequence of this, Mr Stuart wrought with success at both
departments of his business, and while in the one he coined thousands,
in the other he earned more than the average wages of a working man.
The _Avenger_ was erratic and uncertain in her voyages. She evidently
sailed to the principal islands of the South Seas, and did business with
them all. From one of these voyages, Henry, her captain, returned with
a wife--a dark-haired, dark-eyed, ladylike girl--for whom he built a
small cottage beside his father's, and left her there while he was away
at sea.
It was observed by the clerks in Mr Stuart's counting-room, that their
chief accountant, Mr Corrie, was a great letter writer--that when one
letter was finished, he invariably began another, and kept it by him,
adding sheet after sheet to it until the _Avenger_ returned and carried
it off. Once Mr Corrie was called hurriedly away while in the act of
addressing one of these epistles. He left it lying on his desk, and a
small, contemptible, little apprentice allowed his curiosity so far to
get the better of him, that he looked at the address, and informed his
companions that Mr Corrie's correspondent was a certain Miss Alice
Mason!
Of course, Mr Corrie received voluminous replies from this mysterious
Alice; and, if one might judge from his expression on reading these
epistles, (as that contemptible little apprentice _did_ judge,) the
course of _his_ love ran smoother than usual; thus, by its
exceptionality, proving the truth of the rule.
Years passed away. The merchant's head became grey, but his gigantic
frame was as straight and his step as firm as ever. His wife, strange
to say, looked younger as she grew older! It seemed as if she were
recovering from some terrible illness that had made her prematurely old,
and were now renewing her youth. The business prospered to such an
extent that, by becoming altogether too wonderful, it ceased to be a
matter of wonder altogether to the merchants of the Green Isle. They
regarded it as semi-miraculous--the most unprecedented case of "luck"
that had ever been heard of in the annals of mercantile history.
But the rich merchant still dwelt in the humble, almost mean, cottage,
and still wrought as an engineer and shipwright with his own hands.
In the little cottage beside his own there were soon seen (and _heard_)
three stout children, two boys and a girl, the former being named
respectively Gascoyne and Henry, the latter, Mary. It is needless to
say that these were immense favourites with the eccentric merchant.
During all this time there was a firm in Liverpool which received
periodical remittances of money from an unknown source. The cashier of
that firm, a fat little man, with a face like a dumpling and a nose like
a cherry, lived, as it were, in a state of perpetual amazement in regard
to these remittances. They came regularly, from apparently nowhere,
were acknowledged to nobody, and amounted, in the course of time, to
many thousands. This firm had, some years previously, lost a fine
vessel. She was named the _Brilliant_; had sailed for the South Sea
islands with a rich cargo, and was never more heard of. The fat cashier
knew the loss sustained by this vessel to a penny. He had prepared and
calculated all the papers and sent duplicates on board, and as he had a
stake in the venture he never forgot the amount of the loss sustained.
One day the firm received a remittance from the Unknown, with a note to
the following effect at the foot of it:--"This is the last remittance on
account of the _Brilliant_. The value of the cargo, including compound
interest, and the estimated value of the vessel, have now been repaid to
the owners."
The fat cashier was thunderstruck! He rushed to his ledger, examined
the account, calculated the interest, summed up the whole, and found it
correct. He went home to bed and fell sound asleep in amazement; awoke
in amazement; went back to the office in amazement; worked on day after
day in amazement; lived, and eventually died, in a state of unrelieved
amazement in regard to this incomprehensible transaction!
About the same time that this occurred Mr Stuart entered his poor
cottage, and finding his wife there, said--
"Mary, I have sent off the last remittance to-day. I have made amends
for that evil deed. It has cost me a long and hard struggle to realise
the thousands of pounds that were requisite; for some of the goods had
got damaged by damp in the cavern of the Isle of Palms, but the profits
of my engineering and shipwright business have increased of late, and I
have managed to square it all off with interest. And now, Mary, I can
do no more. If I knew of any others who have suffered at my hands I
would restore what I took tenfold--but I know of none. It therefore
remains that I should work this business for the good of mankind. Of
all the thousands that have passed through my hands I have not used one
penny. You know that I have always kept the business that has grown out
of the labour of my own hands distinct from that which has been reared
on the stolen goods. I have lived and supported you by it, and now,
through God's blessing, it has increased to such an extent that I think
we may afford to build a somewhat more commodious house and furnish it a
little better."
"As for the mercantile business--it _must_ go on. It has prospered and
still prospers. Many mouths are dependent on it for daily bread. I
will continue to manage it, but every penny of profit shall go in
charity as long as I live. After that, Henry may do with it as he
pleases. He has contributed largely to make it what it is, and deserves
to reap where he has sown so diligently. Do you think I am right in all
this, Mary?"
We need scarcely remark that Mary did think it all right, for she and
Gascoyne had no differences of opinion _now_.
Soon after this, Corrie went off on a long voyage in the _Avenger_. The
vessel touched at San Francisco, and, while there, some remarkable
scenes took place between Jo Bumpus and a good-looking woman whom he
called Susan. This female ultimately went on board the _Avenger_, and
sailed in her for Green Isle.
On the way thither they touched at one of the first of the South Sea
islands that they came in sight of, where scenes of the most
unprecedented description took place between Corrie and a bluff old
gentleman named Ole Thorwald, and a sweet, blue-eyed, fair-haired,
maiden named Alice Mason!
Strange to say this fair girl agreed to become a passenger in the
_Avenger_; and, still more strange to say, her father and Ole Thorwald
agreed to accompany her, also an ancient piece of animated door-matting
called Toozle and a black woman named Poopy, whose single observation in
regard to every event in sublunary history was, "Hee! hee!"
On reaching Green Isle, Corrie and Alice were married, and on the same
day Bumpus and Susan were also united. There was great rejoicing on the
occasion; Ole Thorwald and Dick Price distinguished themselves by
dancing an impromptu and maniacal _pas de deux_ at the double wedding!
Of Captain Montague's future career we know nothing. He may have been
killed in the wars of his country, or he may have become an admiral in
the British navy, for all we know to the contrary. One thing only we
are certain of, and that is, that he sailed for England in the pirate
schooner, and seemed by no means to regret the escape of the pirate
captain!
Years rolled away. The head of Gascoyne became silvery white, but Time
seemed impotent to subdue the vigour of his stalwart frame, or destroy
the music of his deep bass voice. He was the idol of numerous
grandchildren as well as of a large circle of juveniles, who, without
regard to whether they had or had not a right to do so, styled him
"Grandfather."
Little did these youngsters think, as they clambered over his huge
frame, and listened with breathless attention to his wild stories of the
sea, that "grandfather" had once been the celebrated and much-dreaded
Durward, the pirate!
Nothing would induce Gascoyne to take a prominent part in the public
affairs of his chosen home; but he did attempt to teach a class of the
very smallest boys and girls in the missionary's Sunday school, and he
came, in time, to take special delight in this work.
He was never so happy as when telling to these little ones the story of
redeeming love. In the choice of subjects for his class, he was
somewhat peculiar as well as in his manner of treating them. He was
particularly emphatic and earnest, used to fill his little hearers with
awe, when he spoke of the danger of sin and the importance of resisting
its beginnings. But his two favourite themes of all--and those which
dwelt most frequently on his lips--were, "God is Love," and, "Love is
the fulfilling of the law."