Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  PLANS PARTIALLY CARRIED OUT--THE CUTTER'S FATE--AND A SERIOUSMISFORTUNE.

  The cutter was a fast sailer, and although the pirate schooner had leftSandy Cove nearly two days before her, the _Wasp_, having had a fairwind, followed close on her heels. The _Avenger_ cast anchor in theharbour of the Isle of Palms on the morning of her fifth day out; the_Wasp_ sighted the island on the evening of the same day.

  It was not Gascoyne's purpose to run down at once and have a hand tohand fight with his own men. He felt that his party was too weak forsuch an attempt, and resolved to accomplish by stratagem what he couldnot hope to compass by force. He therefore hove-to the instant the topsof the palm-trees appeared on the horizon, and waited till night shouldset in and favour his designs.

  "What do you intend to do?" inquired Henry Stuart, who stood on the deckwatching the sun as it sank into the ocean behind a mass of goldenclouds, in which, however, there were some symptoms of stormy weather.

  "I mean to wait till it is dark," said Gascoyne, "and then run down andtake possession of the schooner."

  Henry looked at the pirate captain in surprise, and not withoutdistrust. Ole Thorwald, who was smoking his big German pipe with greatenergy, looked at him with undisguised uneasiness.

  "You speak as if you had no doubt whatever of succeeding in thisenterprise, Mr Gascoyne," said the latter.

  "I _have_ no doubt," replied Gascoyne.

  "I do believe you're right," returned Thorwald, smoking furiously as hebecame more agitated. "I make no question but your villains willreceive you with open arms. What guarantee have we, Mister Gascoyne, orMister Durward, that we shall not be seized and made to walk the plank,or perform some similarly fantastic feat--in which, mayhap, our feetwill have less to do with the performance than our necks--when you getinto power?"

  "You have no guarantee whatever," returned Gascoyne, "except the word ofa pirate!"

  "You say truth," cried Ole, springing up and pacing the deck withunwonted energy, while a troubled and somewhat fierce expression settledon his usually good-humoured countenance. "You say truth, and I thinkwe have been ill-advised when we took this step--for my part, I regardmyself as little better than a maniac for putting myself obstinately,not to say deliberately, into the very jaws of a lion, perhaps I shouldsay a tiger. But mark my words, Gascoyne, _alias_ Durward," (here hestopped suddenly before the pirate, who was leaning in a carelessattitude against the mast, and looked him full in the face,) "if youplay us false, as I have no hesitation in saying I believe that youfully intend to do, your life will not be worth a pewter shilling."

  "I am yet in your power, Mr Thorwald," said Gascoyne; "if your friendsagree to it, I cannot prevent your putting about and returning to SandyCove. But in that case the missionary's child _will be lost_!"

  "I do not believe that my child's safety is so entirely dependent onyou," said Mr Mason, who had listened in silence to the foregoingdialogue; "she is in the hands of that God on whom you have turned yourback, and with whom all things are possible. But I feel disposed totrust you, Gascoyne, and I feel thus, because of what was said of you byMrs Stuart, in whose good sense I place implicit confidence. I wouldadvise Mr Thorwald to wait patiently until he sees more cause than hedoes at present for distrust."

  Gascoyne had turned round and, during the greater part of this speech,had gazed intently towards the horizon.

  "We shall have rough weather to-night," said he; "but our work will bedone before it comes, I hope. Up with the helm now, Henry, and slackoff the sheets; it is dark enough to allow us to creep in without beingobserved. Manton will of course be in the only harbour in the island;we must therefore go round to the other side and take the risk ofrunning on the reefs."

  "Risk!" exclaimed Henry; "I thought you knew all the passages about theisland?"

  "So I do, lad--all the passages; but I don't profess to know every rockand reef in the bottom of the sea. Our only chance is to make theisland on the south side, where there are no passages at all except onethat leads into a bay; but if we run into that, our masts will be seenagainst the southern sky, even from the harbour where the schooner lies.If we are seen, they will be prepared for us, in which case we shallhave a desperate fight with little chance of success and the certaintyof much bloodshed. We must therefore run straight for another part ofthe shore, not far from the bay I have referred to, and take our chanceof striking. I _think_ there is enough of water to float this littlecutter over the reefs, but I am not sure."

  "Think! sure!" echoed Thorwald, in a tone of exasperated surprise; "andif we _do_ strike, Mr Gascoyne, do you mean us to go beg for mercy atthe hands of your men, or to swim back to Sandy Cove?"

  "If we strike I shall take the boat, land with the men, and leave thecutter to her fate. The _Avenger_ will suffice to take us back to SandyCove."

  Ole was rendered speechless by the coolness of this remark, so herelieved himself by tightening his belt and spouting forth volcanoes ofsmoke.

  Meanwhile, the cutter had run to within a short distance of the island.The night was rendered doubly dark by the rapid spreading of those heavyclouds which indicated the approach of a squall, if not a storm.

  "This is well," said Gascoyne in a low tone to Henry Stuart, who stoodnear him; "the worse the storm is to-night the better for the success ofour enterprise. Henry, lad, I'm sorry you think so badly of me."

  Henry was taken aback by this unexpected remark, which was made in a lowsad tone.

  "Can I think too badly of one who confesses himself to be a _pirate_?"said Henry.

  "The confession is at least in my favour. I had no occasion to confess,nor to give myself up to you."

  "Give yourself up! It remains to be seen whether you mean to do that ornot."

  "Do you not believe me, Henry? Do you not believe the account that Igave of myself to you and your mother?"

  "How can I?" said the young man, hesitatingly.

  "Your mother believed me."

  "Well, Gascoyne, to tell you the plain truth, I _do_ feel more than halfinclined to believe you; and I'm sorry for you--I am, from my soul. Youmight have led a different life--you might even do so yet."

  "You forget," said Gascoyne, smiling sadly, "I have given myself up, andyou are bound to prevent my escaping."

  Henry was perplexed by this reply. In the enthusiasm of his awakenedpity he had for a moment forgotten the pirate in the penitent. Beforehe could reply, however, the cutter struck violently on a rock, and anexclamation of alarm and surprise burst from the crew, most of whom wereassembled on deck.

  "Silence!" cried Gascoyne in a deep sonorous tone, that was wonderfullydifferent from that in which he had just been speaking to Henry; "getout the boat. Arm yourselves and jump in. There is no time to lose."

  "The cutter is hard and fast," said Henry; "if this squall does not comeon, or if it turns out to be a light one, we may get her off."

  "Perhaps we may, but I have little hope of that," returned Gascoyne."Now, lads, are you all in the boat? Come, Henry, get in at once."

  "I will remain here," said Henry.

  "For what end?" said Gascoyne, in surprise.

  "The cutter belongs to a friend; I do not chose to forsake her in thisoff-hand manner."

  "But nothing can save her, Henry."

  "Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I will do what I can. She moves a little.If she is lifted over this reef while we are on shore, she will becarried out to sea and lost, and that must not be allowed. Leave mehere till you land the men, and then send the boat back with two ofthem. We will put some of the cutter's ballast into it and try to towher off. It won't take half-an-hour, and that will not interfere withyour plans, I should think, for the whole night lies before us."

  Seeing that he was determined, Gascoyne agreed, and left the cutter,promising to send off the boat directly. But it took half-an-hour torow from the _Wasp_ to the shore, and before the half of that time hadelapsed, the storm which had been impending burst
over the island.

  It was much more violent than had been expected. The cutter was liftedover the reef by the first wave, and struck heavily as she slid intodeep water. Then she rushed out to sea before the gale. Henry seizedthe helm and kept the little vessel right before the wind. He knewnothing of the sea around, and the intense darkness of the nightprevented his seeing more than a dozen yards beyond the bow.

  It was perhaps as well that he was kept in ignorance of what awaitedhim, for he was thus spared at least the anticipation of what appearedcertain destruction. He fancied that the rock over which he had beencarried was the outer reef of the island. In this he was mistaken. Thewhole sea around and beyond him was beset with reefs, which at thatmoment were covered with foam. Had daylight revealed the scene, hewould have been appalled. As it was, he stood stoutly and hopefully tothe helm while the cutter rushed wildly on her doom.

  Suddenly she struck with terrific violence, and Henry was hurled to thedeck. Leaping up, he sprang again to the helm and attempted to putabout, but the shock had been so great that the whole framework of thelittle craft was dislocated. The fastenings of the rudder had been tornout, and she was unmanageable. The next wave lifted her over the reefand the gale swept her away.

  Even then the hopes of the young man did not quite fail him. Hebelieved that the last reef had now been passed, and that he would bedriven out to the open sea, clear at least of immediate danger. It wasa vain hope. In another moment the vessel struck for the third time,and the mast went over the side. Again and again she rose and fell withall her weight on the rocks. The last blow burst out her sides, and shefell to pieces, a total wreck, leaving Henry struggling with the waves.

  He seized the first piece of wood that came in his way, and clung to it.For many hours he was driven about and tossed by the winds and wavesuntil he began to feel utterly exhausted, but he clung to the spar withthe tenacity of a drowning man. In those seas the water is not so coldas in our northern climes, so that men can remain in it for a greatlength of time without much injury. There are many instances of theSouth Sea Islanders having been wrecked in their canoes, and havingspent not only hours but days in the water, clinging to broken pieces ofwood, and swimming for many miles, pushing these before them.

  When, therefore, the morning broke, and the bright sun, shone out, andthe gale had subsided, Henry found himself still clinging to the spar,and although much weakened, still able to make some exertion to savehimself.

  On looking round he found that numerous pieces of the wreck floated nearhim, and that the portion to which he clung was the broken lower-mast.A large mass of the deck, with part of the gunwale attached to it, layclose beside, him, held to the mast by one of the shrouds. He at onceswam to this, and found it sufficiently large to sustain his weight,though not large enough to enable him to get quite out of the water.While here, half-in and half-out of the water, his first act was to fallon his knees and thank God for sparing his life, and to pray for help inthat hour of need.

  Feeling that it would be impossible to exist much longer unless he couldget quite out of the water so as to allow the sun to warm his chilledframe, he used what strength remained in him to drag towards him severalspars that lay within his reach. These he found to be some of the roughtimbers that had lain on the deck of the cutter to serve as spare mastsand yards. They were, therefore, destitute of cordage, so that it wasnot possible to form a secure raft. Nevertheless, by piling themtogether on the top of the broken portion of the deck, he succeeded inconstructing a platform which raised him completely out of the water.

  The heat of the sun speedily dried his garments, and as the day wore onthe sea went down sufficiently to render the keeping of his rafttogether a matter of less difficulty than it was at first. In trying tomake some better arrangement of the spars on which he rested, hediscovered the corner of a sail sticking between two of them. This hehauled out of the water, and found it to be a portion of the gaff. Itwas a fortunate discovery; because, in the event of long exposure, itwould prove to be a most useful covering. Wringing it out, he spread itover the logs to dry.

  The doing of all this occupied the shipwrecked youth so long, that itwas nearly mid-day before he could sit down on his raft and think calmlyover his position. Hunger now began to remind him that he was destituteof food; but Henry had been accustomed, while roaming among themountains of his island home, to go fasting for long periods of time.The want of breakfast, therefore, did not inconvenience him much; butbefore he had remained inactive more than ten minutes, the want of sleepbegan to tell upon him. Gradually he felt completely overpowered by it.He laid his head on one of the spars at last, and resigned himself toan influence he could no longer resist.

  It was evening before he awoke from that slumber. The sun had justdisappeared below the horizon, and the red clouds that remained behindwere beginning to deepen, as night prepared to throw her dark mantleover the sea. A gull wheeled over the youth's head and uttered a wildcry as he awoke, causing him to start up with a feeling of bewildereduncertainty as to where he was.

  The true nature of his position was quickly forced upon him. A deadcalm now prevailed. Henry gazed eagerly, wistfully round the horizon.It was an unbroken line; not a speck that resembled a sail was to beseen. Remembering for the first time that his low raft would be quiteinvisible at a very short distance, he set about erecting a flag. Thiswas easily done. Part of his red shirt was torn off and fastened to alight spar, the end of which he stuck between the logs. Having set uphis signal of distress he sat down beside it, and, drawing part of thesail over his shoulders, leaned on the broken part of the bulwark, andpondered his forlorn condition.

  It was a long, sad reverie into which poor Henry Stuart fell thatevening. Hope did not, indeed, forsake his breast--for hope is strongin youth; but he was too well acquainted with the details of a sailor'slife and risks to be able to shut his eyes to the real dangers of hisposition. He knew full well that if he should be cast on any of theinhabited islands of the South Seas (unless it might be one of the veryfew that had at that time accepted the Gospel) he would certainly bekilled by the savages, whose practice it is to slay and eat allunfortunates who chance to be wrecked and cast upon their shores. Butno islands were in sight, and it was possible that he might be left tofloat on the boundless ocean until the slow and terrible process ofstarvation did its work, and wore away the life which he felt to be sofresh and strong within him.

  When he thought of this he shuddered, and reverted, almost with afeeling of pleasure, to the idea that another storm might spring up erelong, and by dashing his frail raft to pieces, bring his life to aspeedy termination. His hopes were not very clear even to his own mind.He did indeed hope, because he could not help it; but what it was thathe hoped for would have puzzled him to state. A passing ship findinghim in a part of the Pacific where ships were not wont to pass was,perhaps, among the least animating of all his hopes.

  But the thoughts that coursed through the youth's brain that night werenot centred alone upon the means or the prospects of deliverance. Hethought of his mother,--her gentleness, her goodness, her unaccountablepartiality for Gascoyne; but more than all, he thought of her love forhimself. He thought, too, of his former life--his joys, his sorrows,and his sins. As he remembered these last, his soul was startled, andhe thought of his God and his Saviour as he had never thought before.Despite his efforts to restrain them, tears, but not unmanly tears,_would_ flow down his cheeks as he sat that evening on his raft;meditated on the past, the present, and the future, and realised theterrible solemnity of his position--without water or food--almostwithout hope--alone on the deep. [See Frontispiece.]