CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
The Pacific is not always calm, but neither is it always stormy. Wethink it necessary to make this latter observation, because thesuccession of short-lived gales and squalls which have been prominentlyand unavoidably brought forward in our tale might lead the reader todeem the name of this ocean inappropriate.
Although the sea was not quite so still now, owing to the swell causedby the recent gale, it was quite as glassy as it was then. The sun,too, was as hot and the sky as brilliant, but the aspect of the _Foam_was much changed. The deep quiet was gone. Crowded on every part ofthe deck, and even down in her hold, were the crew of the man-of-war,lolling about listlessly and sadly, or conversing with grave looks aboutthe catastrophe which had deprived them so suddenly of their floatinghome.
Gascoyne and Henry leaned over the stern in order to avoid beingoverheard by those around them, and conversed in low tones.
"But why not attempt to escape?" said the latter, in reply to someobservation made by his companion.
"Because I am pledged to give myself up to justice."
"No; not to justice," replied the youth, quickly. "You said you wouldgive yourself up to me and Mr Mason. I for one won't act the part ofa--a--"
"Thief-catcher," suggested Gascoyne.
"Well, put it so if you will; and I am certain that the missionary willnot have anything to do with your capture. He will say that theofficers of justice are bound to attend to such matters. It would beperfectly right in you to try to escape."
"Ah! Henry, your feelings have warped your judgment," said Gascoyne,shaking his head. "It is strange how men will prevaricate and deceivethemselves when they want to reason themselves into a wrong course orout of a right one. But what you or Mr Mason think or will do hasnothing to do with my course of action."
"But the law holds, if I mistake not, that a man is not bound tocriminate himself," said Henry.
"I know not and care not what the law of man holds," replied the other,sadly. "I have forfeited my life to my country, and I am willing to layit down."
"Nay, not your life," said Henry; "you have done no murder."
"Well, then, at least my liberty is forfeited. I shall leave it tothose who judge me whether my life shall be taken or no. I sometimeswish that I could get away to some distant part of the world, and there,by living the life of an honest man, try to undo, if possible, a littleof what I have done. But, woe's me, wishes and regrets come too late.No, I must be content to reap what I have sown."
"They will be certain to hang you," said the youth, bitterly.
"I think it likely they will," replied his companion.
"And would you call that justice?" asked Henry, sharply. "Whateverpunishment you may deserve, you do not deserve to die. You know wellenough that your own word will go for nothing, and no one else can bearwitness in your favour. You will be regarded simply as a notoriouspirate. Even if some of the people whose lives you have spared whiletaking their goods should turn up, their testimony could not prove thatyou had not murdered others; so your fate is certain if you go to trial.Have you any right, then, to compass your own death by thus givingyourself up?"
"Ah! boy, your logic is not sound."
"But answer my question," said the youth, testily, "Henry, plead with meno longer," said Gascoyne, in a deep, stern tone. "My mind is made up.I have spent many years in dishonesty and self-deception. It is perhapspossible that by a life devoted to doing good, I might in the long runbenefit men more than I have damaged them. This is just possible, Isay, though I doubt it; but I have _promised_ to give myself up wheneverthis cruise is at an end, and I won't break the last promise I am likelyto give in this world; so do not attempt to turn me, boy."
Henry made no reply, but his knitted brows and compressed lips shewedthat a struggle was going on within him. Suddenly he stood erect, andsaid firmly--
"Be it so, Gascoyne. I will hold you to your promise. You shall _not_escape me!"
With this somewhat singular reply, Henry left his surprised companionand mingled with the crowd of men who stood on the quarter-deck.
A light breeze had now sprung up, and the _Foam_ was gliding rapidlytowards the island. Gascoyne's deep voice was still heard at intervalsissuing a word of command; for, as he knew the reefs better than any oneelse on board, Montague had intrusted him with the pilotage of thevessel into harbour.
When they had passed the barrier-reef, and were sailing over the calmwaters of the enclosed lagoon in the direction of Sandy Cove, the youngofficer went up to the pirate captain with a perplexed air and a degreeof hesitation that was very foreign to his character.
Gascoyne flushed deeply when he observed him. "I know what you wouldsay to me," he said, quickly. "You have a duty to perform. I amready."
"Gascoyne," said Montague, with deep earnestness of tone and manner, "Iwould willingly spare you this, but, as you say, I have a duty toperform. I would, with all my heart, that it had fallen to other hands.Believe me, I appreciate what you have done within the last few days,and I believe what you have said in regard to yourself and your career.All this, you may depend upon it, will operate powerfully with yourjudges. But you know I cannot permit you to quit this vessel a _freeman_."
"I know it," said Gascoyne, calmly.
"And--and--" (here Montague stammered and came to an abrupt pause.)
"Say on, Captain Montague. I appreciate your generosity in feeling forme thus; but I am prepared to meet whatever awaits me."
"It is necessary," resumed Montague, "that you should be manacled beforeI take you on shore."
Gascoyne started. He had not thought of this. He had not fullyrealised the fact that he was to be deprived of his liberty so soon. Inthe merited indignity which was now to be put upon him, he recognisedthe opening act of the tragedy which was to terminate with his life.
"Be it so," he said, lowering his head and sitting down on a carronade,in order to avoid the gaze of those who surrounded him.
While this was being done, the youthful Corrie was in the fore-part ofthe schooner whispering eagerly to Alice and Poopy.
"O Alice, I've seen him!" exclaimed the lad.
"Seen who?" inquired Alice, raising her pretty little eyebrows just thesmallest morsel.
"Why, the boatswain of the _Talisman_, Dick Price, you know, who jumpedoverboard to save Henry when he fell off the raft. Come, I'll point himout."
So saying, Corrie edged his way through the crowd until he could see thewindlass. Here, seated on a mass of chain cable, sat a remarkablyrugged specimen of the British boatswain. He was extremely short,excessively broad, uncommonly jovial, and remarkably hairy. He wore hisround hat so far on the back of his head that it was a marvel how itmanaged to hang there, and smoked a pipe so black that the most powerfulimagination could hardly conceive of its ever having been white, and soshort that it seemed all head and no stem.
"That's him!" said Corrie, eagerly.
"Oh! is it?" replied Alice, with much interest.
"Hee! hee!" observed Poopy.
"Stand by to let go the anchor," shouted Montague.
Instantly bustle and noise prevailed everywhere. The crew of the lostfrigate had started up on hearing the order, but having no stations torun to, they expended the energy that had been awakened in shufflingabout and opening an animated conversation in under tones.
Soon the schooner swept round the point that had hitherto shut out theview of Sandy Cove, and a few minutes later the rattling of the chainannounced that the voyage of the _Foam_ had terminated.
Immediately after, a boat was lowered, and Gascoyne was conveyed by aparty of marines to the shore, and lodged in the prison which had beenbut recently occupied by our friend John Bumpus.
Mrs Stuart had purposely kept out of the way when she heard of thearrival of the _Foam_. She knew Gascoyne so well that she felt sure hewould succeed in recapturing his schooner. But she also knew that indoing this he would necessarily release Montague from his captivit
y, inwhich case it was certain that the pirate captain, having promised togive himself up, would be led on shore a prisoner. She could not bearto witness this; but no sooner did she hear of his being lodged in jailthan she prepared to visit him.
As she was about to issue from her cottage, Henry met her and claspedher in his arms. The meeting would have doubtless been a warmer one hadthe mother known what a narrow escape her son had so recently had. ButMrs Stuart was accustomed to part from Henry for weeks at a time, andregarded this return in much the same light as former homecomings,except in so far as he had news of their lost friends to give her. Shewelcomed him therefore with a kiss and a glad smile, and then hurriedhim into the house to inquire about the result of the voyage.
"I have already heard of your success in finding Alice and our friends.Come, tell me more."
"Have you heard how nearly I was lost, mother?"
"Lost!" exclaimed the widow in surprise; "no, I have heard nothing ofthat."
Henry rapidly narrated his escape from the wreck of the _Wasp_, andthen, looking earnestly in his mother's anxious face he said, slowly--
"But you do not ask for Gascoyne, mother. Do you know that he is now inthe jail?"
The widow looked perplexed. "I know it," said she. "I was just goingto see him when you came in."
"Ah! mother," said Henry, reproachfully, "why did you not tell me soonerabout Gascoyne? I--"
He was interrupted here by Corrie and Alice rushing into the room, thelatter of whom threw herself into the widow's arms and burst into tears,while Master Corrie indulged in some eccentric bounds and cheers by wayof relieving his feelings. For some time Henry allowed them to talkeagerly to each other; then he told Corrie and Alice that he hadsomething of importance to say to his mother, and led her into anadjoining room.
Corrie had overheard the words spoken by Henry just as he entered, andgreat was his curiosity to know what was the mystery connected with thepirate captain. This curiosity was intensified when he heard ahalf-suppressed shriek in the room where mother and son were closeted.For one moment he was tempted to place his ear to the key-hole! But ablush covered his fat cheeks at the very thought of acting such adisgraceful part. Like a wise fellow he did not give the tempter asecond opportunity, but, seizing the hand of his companion, said--
"Come along, Alice, we'll go seek for Bumpus."
Half-an-hour afterwards the widow stood at the jail door. The jailerwas an intimate friend, and considerately retired during the interview.
"O Gascoyne, has it come to this?" She sat down beside the pirate, andgrasped one of his manacled hands in both of hers.
"Even so, Mary, my hour has come. I do not complain of my doom. I havebrought it on myself."
"But why not try to escape?" said Mrs Stuart, earnestly. "There aresome here who could aid you."
Here the widow attempted to reason with Gascoyne, as her son had donebefore, but with similar want of success. Gascoyne remained immovable.He did indeed betray deep emotion while the woman reasoned with him, intones of intense earnestness; but he would not change his mind. He saidthat if Montague, as the representative of the law, would set him freein consideration of what he had recently done, he would accept ofliberty; but nothing would induce him to attempt to escape.
Leaving him in this mood, Mrs Stuart hurried to the cottage whereMontague had taken up his abode.
The young captain received her kindly. Having learned from Corrie allabout the friendship that existed between the widow and Gascoyne, helistened with the utmost consideration to her.
"It is impossible," said he, shaking his head; "I _cannot_ set himfree."
"Do his late services weigh nothing with you?" pleaded the widow.
"My dear madam," replied Montague, sorrowfully, "you forget that I amnot his judge. I have no right to weigh the circumstances of his case.He is a convicted and self-acknowledged pirate. My only duty is toconvey him to England and hand him over to the officers of justice. Isympathise with you, indeed I do, for you seem to take his case to heartvery much, but I cannot help you. I _must_ do my duty. The _Foam_ willbe ready for sea in a few days, in it I shall convey Gascoyne toEngland."
"O Mr Montague, I do take his case to heart, as you say, and no one onthis earth has more cause to do so. Will it interest you more inGascoyne, and induce you to use your influence in his favour, if I tellyou that--that--_he is my husband_?"
"Your husband!" cried Montague, springing up and pacing the apartmentwith rapid strides.
"Ay," said Mrs Stuart, mournfully, covering her face with her hands; "Ihad hoped that this secret would die with me and him, but in the hopethat it may help, ever so little, to save his life, I have revealed itto you."
"Believe me, the secret shall be safe in my keeping," said Montague,tenderly, as he sat down again and drew his chair near to that of MrsStuart. "But, alas! I do not see how it is possible for me to helpyour husband. I will use my utmost influence to mitigate his sentence,but I cannot, I _dare_ not set him free."
The poor woman sat pale and motionless while the captain said this. Shebegan to perceive that all hope was gone, and felt despair settling downon her heart.
"What will be his doom," said she, in a husky voice, "if his life isspared?"
"I do not know. At least I am not certain. My knowledge of criminallaw is very slight, but I should suppose it would be transportationfor--"
Montague hesitated, and could not find it in his heart to add the word"life."
Without uttering a word Mrs Stuart rose, and, staggering from the room,hastened with a quick unsteady step towards her own cottage.
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