Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  THE PASTOR'S HOUSEHOLD--PREPARATIONS FOR WAR.

  When the conference in the widow's cottage closed, Henry Stuart andGascoyne hastened into the woods together, and followed a narrowfootpath which led towards the interior of the island. Arriving at aspot where this path branched into two, Henry took the one that ranround the outskirts of the settlement towards the residence of MrMason, while his companion pursued the other which struck into therecesses of the mountains.

  "Come in," cried the missionary, as Henry knocked at the door of hisstudy. "Ah, Henry, I'm glad to see you. You were in my thoughts thismoment. I have come to a difficulty in my drawings of the spire of ournew church, and I want your fertile imagination to devise some planwhereby we may overcome it. But of that I shall speak presently. I seefrom 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, arenot altogether right in the settlement. I have had an unfortunaterencontre this morning with one of the savages, which is likely to leadto mischief, for blood was drawn, and I know the fellow to berevengeful. In addition to this, it is suspected that Durward, thepirate, 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; butGascoyne, the captain of the _Foam_, has been over at our cottage, andsays he has seen the pirate, and that there is no saying what he mayventure to attempt, for he is a bold fellow, and, as you know, cannothave a good-will to missionary settlements."

  "I'm not so sure of that," said the pastor, in answer to the lastremark. "It is well known that wherever a Christian settlement isfounded in these islands, that place becomes a safe port for vessels ofall sorts--pirates as well as others, if they sail under false coloursand pretend to be honest traders;--while in all the other islands, it isequally well known, the only safety one can count on, in landing, issuperior force. But I am grieved to hear of your affray with thenative. 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 byasking what the pastor advised should be done in the way of precaution.

  "It seems to me," said Mr Mason, gravely, "that our chief difficultywill be to save ourselves from our friends--"

  "Would friends harm us, father?" asked a sweet soft voice at thepastor's elbow. Next moment Alice Mason was seated on her father'sknee, gazing up in his face with an expression of undisguised amazement.

  Alice was a fair, delicate, gentle child. Twelve summers and wintershad passed over her little head without a cloud to obscure the sunshineof her life save one--but that one was a terribly dark one, and itsshadow lingered over her for many years. When Alice lost her mother,she lost the joy and delight of her existence; and although six yearshad passed since that awful day, and a fond Christian father had donehis best to impress on her young mind that the beloved one was not lostfor ever, but would one day be found sitting at the feet of Jesus in abright and beautiful world, the poor child could not recover her formerelasticity of spirits. Doubtless, her isolated position and the want ofsuitable companions, had something to do with the prolonged sadness ofher little heart.

  It is almost unnecessary to say that her love for her father wasboundless. This was natural, but it did not seem by any means sonatural that the delicate child should give the next place in her heartto a wild little boy, a black girl, and a ragged little dog! Yet so itwas, and it would have been difficult for the closest observer to tellwhich of these three Alice liked best.

  No one could so frequently draw forth the merry laugh that in formerdays had rung so sweetly over the hill-sides of the verdant isle, as ouryoung friend Will Corrie. Nothing could delight the heart of the childso much as to witness the mad gambols, not to mention the mischievousdeeds, of that ragged little piece of an old door-mat, which, in virtueof its being possessed of animal life, was named Toozle. And when Alicewished to talk quietly,--to pour out her heart, and sometimes hertears,--the bosom she sought on which to lay her head, next to herfather's, was that of her youthful nursery-maid, a good, kind, andgentle, but an awfully stupid native girl named Kekupoopi.

  This name was, of course, reduced in its fair proportions by littleAlice, who, however, retained the latter part thereof in preference tothe former, and styled her maid Poopy. Young Master Corrie, on theother hand, called her Kickup or Puppy, indifferently, according to thehumour he chanced to be in when he met her, or to the word that rosemost readily to his lips.

  Mr Mason replied to the question put by Alice, at the beginning of thissomewhat lengthy digression, "No, my lamb, friends would not willinglydo us harm; but there are those who call themselves friends who do notdeserve the name, who pretend to be such, but who are in reality secretenemies. But go, dearest, to your room; I am busy just now talking withHenry--he, at least, is a trusty friend. When I have done you shallcome back to me."

  Alice kissed her father, and, getting off his knee, went at once insearch 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 nichein which the domestic fire was wont to burn when anything of a culinarynature was going on. At the time when her mistress entered, nothing ofthe kind was in progress, and the fire had subsided to extinction.

  The girl, who might have been any age between twelve and sixteen--nearerthe latter, perhaps, than the former--was gazing with expressionlesseyes straight before her, and thinking, evidently, of nothing. She wasclothed in a white tunic, from which her black legs, arms, neck, andhead protruded--forming a startling contrast therewith.

  "Oh! Poopy, what a bad girl you are!" cried Alice, laughing, as sheobserved where her maid was seated.

  Poopy's visage at once beamed with a look of good humour, a wide gashsuddenly appeared somewhere near her chin, displaying a double row ofbrilliant teeth surrounded by red gums; at the same time the whites ofher eyes disappeared, because, being very plump, it was a physicalimpossibility 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 feelthat we have done, of our friend Kekupoopi, but a regard for truthcompels us to shew the worst of her character first. She was notdemonstrative; and the few words and signs by which she endeavoured tocommunicate the state of her feelings to the outward world were noteasily interpreted except by those who knew her well. There is no doubtwhatever that Poopy was--we scarcely like to use the expression, but weknow of no other more appropriate--a donkey! We hasten to guardourselves from misconstruction here. That word, if used in anill-natured and passionate manner, is a bad one, and by no means to becountenanced; but, as surgeons may cut off legs at times, withoutthereby sanctioning the indiscriminate practice of amputation in amiscellaneous sort of way as a pastime, to this otherwise objectionableword may, we think, be used to bring out a certain trait of character infull force. Holding this opinion, and begging the reader to observethat 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 anamount of love in her heart for her young mistress which words cannotconvey, and which it is no wonder, therefore, that Poopy herself couldnot adequately express either by word or look.

  "It's all very well for you to sit there and say `Hee! hee!'" criedAlice, advancing to the fire-place; "but you must have made a dreadfulmark 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 ofthe pot neatly printed off on Poopy's garment, was so emphatic, that thegirl 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 ofvain 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 herexperience in the laundry had not yet been so extensive as to enable herto pronounce at once on the eradicability of such a frightfully deepimpression. While she was still shaking her head in dubiety on thispoint, and while Poopy was still making futile attempts to obtain a viewof the spot, the door of the kitchen opened, and Master Corrie swaggeredin with his hands thrust into the outer pockets of his jacket, his shirtcollar thrown very much open, and his round straw hat placed very muchon 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 aman-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 hisamusement, joined heartily in the shout of delight that burst from theyouthful Corrie when he beheld the extraordinary figure in thefireplace.

  "Well, I say, Kickup," cried the youth, picking up his hat, which hadfallen off in the convulsion, and drying his tears, "you're a sweetlookin' creetur, you are! Is this a new frock you've got to go tochurch with? Come, I rather like that pattern, but there's not quiteenough 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 bringdown 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, andmake haste, for I've something to say to you."

  Thus admonished, the girl ran to a small apartment that opened off thekitchen, and speedily reappeared in another tunic. Meanwhile, Corriehad seated himself on the floor, with Toozle between his knees and Aliceon a stool at his side. Poopy, in a fit of absence of mind, was aboutto 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 floorbeside her mistress.

  "Now, tell me, Poopy," said Alice, "did you ever hear of friends whowere not really friends, but enemies?"

  The girl stared with a vacant countenance at the bright intelligent faceof the child, and shook her head slowly.

  "Why don't you ask _me_?" inquired Corrie. "_You_ might as well askToozle as that potato Kickup. Eh? Puppy, don't you confess that youare 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 areenemies."

  "Does he, though? Now, that's mysterious," said the boy, becomingsuddenly grave. "That requires to be looked to. Come, Alice, tell meall the particulars. Don't omit anything--our lives may depend on it."

  The deeply serious manner in which Corrie said this, so impressed andsolemnised the child, that she related, word for word, the briefconversation she had had with her father, and all that she had heard ofthe previous converse between him and Henry.

  When she had concluded, Master Corrie threw a still more grave andprofoundly philosophical expression into his chubby face, and asked, ina hollow tone of voice, "Your father didn't say anything against theGrampus, did he?"

  "The what?" inquired Alice.

  "The Grampus--the man, at least, whom _I_ call the Grampus, and whocalls hisself Jo Bumpus."

  "I did not hear such names mentioned, but Henry spoke of a woundednigger."

  "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 timesince 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' ofthe 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 earnestlyinto the boy's face.

  Corrie laid his hand on her head and stroked her fair hair as hereplied--

  "This is a serious matter, Alice; I must go at once and see your fatherabout 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 sofrightened," said Alice; "do stay and tell me about it before you go topapa."

  "Well, I don't mind if I do," said the boy, sitting down again. "Youmust 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 withan air of compassion "wot a sad thing it is to belong to a lower speciesof 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 theGrampus, who is the best feller I ever met--a regular trump he is; andthere's all sorts o' doubts, and fears, and rumours, and things of thatsort, with a captain of the British navy, that you and I have read somuch about, trying to find this pirate out, and suspectin' everybody hemeets is him. I only hope he won't take it into his stupid head tomistake _me_ for him--not so unlikely a thing after all." And theyouthful Corrie shook his head with much gravity, as he surveyed hisrotund little legs complacently.

  "What are you laughing at?" he added, suddenly, on observing that abright 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 eventsand rumours of the day, when Mr Mason's voice was heard the other endof the house.

  "Ho! Corrie."

  "That's me," cried the boy, promptly springing up and rushing out of theroom.

  "Here, my boy, I thought I heard your voice. I want you to go a messagefor me. Run down, like a good lad, to Ole Thorwald and tell him to comeup here as soon as he conveniently can. There are matters to consultabout which will not brook delay."

  "Ay, ay, sir," answered Corrie, sailor fashion, as he touched hisforelock and bounded from the room.

  "Off on pressing business," cried the sanguine youth, as he dashedthrough the kitchen, frightening Alice, and throwing Toozle intoconvulsions of delight--"horribly important business that `won't brookdelay;' but what _brook_ means is more than I can guess."

  Before the sentence was finished, Corrie was far down the hill, leapingover every obstacle like a deer. On passing through a small field heobserved a native bending down, as if picking weeds, with his backtowards him. Going softly up behind, he hit the semi-naked savage asounding 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 stalwartyoung fellow who had for some years been one of the best behaved andmost active members of Frederick Mason's dark-skinned congregation. Hestood erect for some time, with a broad grin on his swarthy face, and atwinkle in his eye, as he gazed after the young hopeful, muttering tohimself, "Ho! yes--bery wicked boy dat, bery; but hims capital chap forall da
t."

  A few minutes later, Master Corrie burst in upon the sturdy middle-agedmerchant, named Ole Thorwald, a Norwegian who had resided much inEngland, and spoke the English language well, and who prided himself onbeing entitled to claim descent from the old Norwegian sea-kings. Thisman was uncle and protector to Corrie.

  "Ho! uncle Ole; here's a business. Sich a to do--wounds, blood, andmurder! or at least an attempt at it;--the whole settlement in arms, andthe parson sends for you to take command!"

  "What means the boy?" exclaimed Ole Thorwald, who, in virtue of hishaving once been a private in a regiment of militia, had been appointedto the chief command of the military department of the settlement. Thisconsisted of about thirty white men, armed with fourteen fowling-pieces,twenty daggers, fifteen swords, and eight cavalry pistols; and about twohundred native Christians, who, when the assaults of their unconvertedbrethren were made, armed themselves--as they were wont to do in daysgone by--with formidable clubs, stone hatchets, and spears. "What meansthe 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 ofan old pewter mug which the lad knew, from experience, would certainlyreach his head before he could gain the door if he did not behave; so hebecame polite, and condescended to explain his errand more fully.

  "So, so," observed the descendant of the sea-kings, as he rose andslowly buckled on a huge old cavalry sabre, "there is double mischiefbrewing this time. Well, we shall see--we shall see. Go, Corrie, myboy, and rouse up Terrence and Hugh and--"

  "The whole army, in short," cried the boy, hastily--"you're so awfullyslow, 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 theimpertinent Corrie sped forth to call the settlement to arms.