Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader

Chapter Twenty Five

Surly Dick—The Rescue

We must turn aside here for a short time to follow the fortunes of the Talisman.

When that vessel went in chase of the Foam, after her daring passage across the reefs, she managed to keep her in view until the island was out of sight astern. Then the increasing darkness caused by the squall hid the two vessels from each other, and before the storm passed away the superior sailing qualities of the Foam carried her far beyond the reach of the cruiser.

But Mr Mulroy was not a man to be easily baffled. He resolved to continue the chase, and, supposing that his commander must have got safely to the shore, he made up his mind to proceed southward for a short time, thinking it probable that the pirate would run for the shelter of those remote islands which he knew were seldom visited by merchant ships. The importance of keeping the chase in view as long as possible, and following it up without delay, he felt it would be accepted as a sufficient excuse by Montague for not putting back to take him on board.

The squalls which happened to prevail at that time drove the Talisman farther south than her first lieutenant had intended to go, and she failed to fall in with the pirate schooner. Mulroy cruised far and wide for fully a week; then he gave up the chase as hopeless. Two days after the breaking of the storm that wrecked the Wasp, the Talisman’s prow was turned northward towards Sandy Cove.

It was the close of a calm beautiful evening when this was done. A gentle breeze fanned the topsails, although it failed to ruffle the sea.

“I don’t like to be baffled in this way,” said Mulroy to the second lieutenant, as they paced the quarterdeck together.

“It is very unfortunate,” returned the other. “Would it not be as well to examine the man called Surly Dick before leaving these waters? You know he let out that there is some island hereabouts at which the pirates are wont to rendezvous. Perhaps by threats, if not by persuasion, he may be induced to tell us where it lies.”

“True. I had forgotten that fellow altogether. Let him be sent for.”

In a few minutes Surly Dick stepped on the quarter-deck and touched his cap. He did not appear to have grown less surly since his introduction on board the frigate. Discipline had evidently a souring effect on his temper.

“Your late comrades have escaped me,” said the first lieutenant, “but you may depend upon it I will catch the villains in the long run.”

“It’ll be a pretty long run before you do,” remarked the man, sulkily.

Mulroy looked sternly at him. “You forget,” said he, “that you are a prisoner. Let me advise you to be at least civil in your manner and tone. Whether the run shall be a long or a short one remains to be seen. One thing is pretty certain, namely, that your own run of life will be a very short one. You know the usual doom of a pirate when he is caught.”

Surly Dick moved uneasily. “I was made a pirate against my will,” said he, in a still more sulky tone and disrespectful manner.

“You will find it difficult to prove that,” returned Mulroy. “Meanwhile I shall put you in irons and treat you as you deserve until I can place you in the hands of the civil authorities.”

Surly Dick stood first on one leg and then on the other; moved his fingers about nervously, and glanced in the lieutenant’s face furtively. It was evident that he was ill at ease.

“I never committed murder, sir,” said he in an improved tone. “It wasn’t allowed on board of the Avenger, sir. It’s a hard case that a fellow should be made a pirate by force, and then be scragged for it, though he’s done none o’ the bloody work.”

“This may be true,” rejoined the lieutenant, “but as I have said, you will find it difficult to convince your judges of it. But you will receive a fair trial. There is one thing, however, that will stand in your favour, and that is a full and free confession. If you make this, and give me all the information you can in order to bring your late comrades to justice, your judges will perhaps be disposed to view your case leniently.”

“Wot more can I confess, sir,” said Dick, beginning to look a little more interested. “I’ve already confessed that I wos made a pirate against my will, and that I’ve never done no murder—though I have plundered a little, just like the rest. As for helpin’ to bring my comrades to justice, I only wish as I know’d how, and I’d do it right off, I would.”

Surly Dick’s expression of countenance when he said this, was a sufficient guarantee that he was in earnest.

“There is an island somewhere hereabouts,” said the lieutenant, “where the pirates are in the habit of hiding sometimes, is there not?”

Surly Dick looked at his questioner slyly as he replied— “There is, sir.”

“Do you not think it very likely that they may have run there now—that they may be there at this moment?”

“It’s oncommom likely,” replied Dick with a grin. “Can you direct me how to steer, in order to reach that island?”

Surly Dick’s aspect changed. He became morose again, and looked silently at his feet for a few moments, as if he were debating something in his own mind. He was in truth perplexed; for, while he was extremely anxious to bring his hated comrades to justice, he was by no means so anxious to let the lieutenant into the secret of the treasures contained in the caverns of the Isle of Palms, all of which he knew would be at once swept hopelessly beyond his grasp if they should be discovered. He also reflected that if he could only manage to get his late companions comfortably hanged, and himself set free for having turned King’s evidence against them, he could return to the island and abstract the wealth it contained by degrees. The brilliant prospect thus opened up to him was somewhat marred, however, by the consideration that some of the pirates might make a confession and let this secret be known, in which case his golden dreams would vanish. The difficulty of making up his mind was so great that he continued for some time to twist his fingers and move his feet uneasily in silence.

Mulroy observed the pirate’s indecision, and although he knew not its cause to the full extent, he was sufficiently acquainted with human nature to know that now was the moment to overcome the man, if he was to be overcome at all.

“Well, well,” he said, carelessly, “I’m sorry to see you throw away your only chance. As for the information you refuse to give, I can do without it. Perhaps I may find some of your late comrades when we make the island, who will stand witness against you. That will do, my man, you may go. Mr Geoffrey,” (turning to a midshipman,) “will you accompany that pirate forward and see that he is put in irons.”

“But you don’t know where the island is,” said Surly Dick, anxiously, as the lieutenant was turning away.

Mulroy turned back— “No,” said he, “but you ought to know that when a seaman is aware of the existence of an island, and knows that he is near it, a short time will suffice to enable him to find it.”

Again he was about to turn away when Dick cried out— “Stay, sir, will you stand by me if I shew you the way?”

“I will not deceive you,” said Mulroy, bluntly. “If you shew me how to steer for this island, and assist me in every way that you can to catch these villains, I will report what you have done, and the judges at your trial will give what weight they please to the facts; but if you suppose that I will plead for such a rascal as you are, you very much mistake me.”

A look of deep hatred settled on the pirate’s countenance as he said briefly— “Well, I’ll shew you how to steer.”

Accordingly Surly Dick, after being shewn a chart, and being made aware of the exact position of the ship, ordered the course to be altered to “north-half-east.” As this was almost dead in the eye of the light breeze that was blowing, the Talisman had to proceed on her course by the slow process of tacking.

While she was in the act of putting about on one of these tacks, the look-out reported “a boat on the lee bow.”

“Boat on the lee bow!” was passed from mouth to mouth, and the order was immediately given to let the frigate fall off. In another minute, instead of ploughing her way slowly and doggedly to windward, the Talisman ran swiftly before the breeze towards a dark object which at a distance resembled a boat with a mast and a small flag flying from it.

“It is a raft, I think,” observed the second lieutenant, as he adjusted the telescope more perfectly.

“You are right, and I think there is someone on it,” said Mulroy. “I see something like a man lying on it, but whether he is dead or alive I cannot say. There is a flag, undoubtedly—but no one waves a handkerchief or a rag of any kind. Surely, if a living being occupied the raft he would have seen the ship by this time. Stay, he moves! No; it must have been imagination. I fear that he is dead, poor fellow. Stand by to lower a boat.”

The lieutenant spoke in a sad voice, for he felt convinced that he had come too late to the aid of some unfortunate who had died in perhaps the most miserable manner in which man can perish.

Henry Stuart did indeed lie on the raft a dead man to all appearance. Towards the evening of his third day, he had suffered very severely from the pangs of hunger. Long and earnestly had he gazed round the horizon, but no sail appeared. He felt that his end was approaching, and in a fit of despair and increasing weakness, he fell on his face in a state of half consciousness. Then he began to pray, and, gradually, he fell into a troubled slumber.

It was while he was in this condition, that the Talisman hove in sight. Henry had frequently fallen into this species of sleep during the last few hours, but he never continued in it long, for the pains of thirst as well as hunger now racked his frame. Nevertheless, he was not much reduced in strength or vigour. A long slow process of dying would have still lain before the poor youth, had it been his lot to perish on that raft.

A delightful dream came over him as he lay. A rich banquet was spread before him. With wolfish desire he grasped the food, and ate as he never ate before. Oh! it was a rare feast that! Each morsel was delicious; each draught was nectar. But he could not devour enough. There was a strange feeling in him that he could by no means eat to satisfaction.

While he was thus feasting in dreams the Talisman drew near. Her bulwarks were crowded with faces gazing earnestly at the bit of red rag that fluttered in the breeze and the pile of loose spars on the man’s form lay extended and motionless.

Suddenly Henry awoke with a start, to find that his rich banquet was a terrible delusion! that he was starving to death—and that a large ship was hove-to within a few yards of him!

Starting up on his knees, he uttered a wild shriek. Then, as the truth entered his soul, he raised his hand and gave a faint cheer.

The revulsion of feeling in the crew of the Talisman was overpowering—a long, loud, tremendous cheer burst from every heart!

“Lower away!” was shouted to the men who stood at the fall-tackles of the boat!

As the familiar sounds broke on Henry’s ear, he leaped to his feet, and waving his hand above his head, again attempted to cheer; but his voice failed him. Staggering backwards, he fell fainting into the sea.

Almost at the same instant, a man leaped from the bulwark of the frigate, and swam vigorously towards the raft. It was Richard Price, the boatswain of the frigate. He reached Henry before the boat did, and, grasping his inanimate form, supported him until it came up and rescued them both. A few minutes later Henry Stuart was restored to consciousness, and the surgeon of the frigate was ministering to him such restoratives as his condition seemed to require.

Chapter Twenty Six

The Capture and the Fire

Eight days after the rescue of Henry Stuart from a horrible death, as related in the last chapter, the Talisman found herself, late in the afternoon, within about forty hours’ sail of Sandy Cove.

Mulroy had visited the Isle of Palms, and found that the pirates had flown. The mate of the Avenger and his companions had taken advantage of the opportunity of escape afforded them by Gascoyne, and had hastily quitted their rendezvous with as much of the most valuable portion of their booty as the boat could carry. As this is their last appearance in these pages, it may be as well to say that they were never again heard of. Whether they perished in a storm, or gained some distant land, and followed their former leader’s advice—to repent of their sins,—or again took to piracy, and continued the practice of their terrible trade under a more bloody minded captain, we cannot tell. They disappeared as many a band of wicked men has disappeared before, and never turned up again. With these remarks we dismiss them from our tale.

Surly Dick now began to entertain sanguine hopes that he would be pardoned, and that he would yet live to enjoy the undivided booty which he alone knew lay concealed in the Isle of Palms—for, now that he had heard Henry’s account of the landing of Gascoyne on the island, he never doubted that the pirates would fly in haste from a spot that was no longer unknown to others, and that they would be too much afraid of being captured to venture to return to it.

It was, then, with a feeling of no small concern that the pirate heard the look-out shout on the afternoon referred to, “Sail ho!”

“Where away?”

“On the lee beam.”

The course of the frigate was at once changed, and she ran down towards the strange sail.

“A schooner, sir,” observed the second lieutenant to Mr Mulroy.

“It looks marvellously like the Foam, alias the Avenger,” observed the latter. “Beat to quarters. If this rascally pirate has indeed been thrown in our way again, we will give him a warm reception. Why, the villain has actually altered his course, and is standing towards us.”

“Don’t you think it is just possible,” suggested Henry Stuart, “that Gascoyne may have captured the vessel from his mate, and now comes to meet us as a friend?”

“I don’t know that,” said Mulroy, in an excited tone, for he could not easily forget the rough usage his vessel had received at the hands of the bold pirate. “I don’t know that. No doubt Gascoyne’s mate was against him; but the greater part of the crew were evidently in his favour, else why the secret manner in which he was deprived of his command? No, no. Depend upon it the villain has got hold of his schooner and will keep it. By a fortunate chance we have again met; I will see to it that we do not part without a close acquaintance. Yet why he should throw himself into my very arms in this way, puzzles me. Ha! I see his big gun amidships. It is uncovered. No doubt he counts on his superior sailing powers, and means to give us a shot and shew us his heels. Well, we shall see.”

“There goes his flag,” observed the second lieutenant.

“What! eh! It’s the Union Jack!” exclaimed Mulroy.

“I doubt not that your own captain commands the schooner,” said Henry, who had of course, long before this time, made the first lieutenant of the Talisman acquainted with Montague’s capture by the pirate, along with Alice and her companions. “You naturally mistrust Gascoyne, but I have reason to believe that, on this occasion at least, he is a true man.”

Mulroy returned no answer, for the two vessels were now almost near enough to enable those on board to distinguish faces with the telescope. A very few minutes sufficed to remove all doubts; and, a quarter of an hour later, Montague stood on his own quarterdeck, receiving the congratulations of his officers, while Henry Stuart was seized upon and surrounded by his friends Corrie, Alice, Poopy, the missionary, and Ole Thorwald.

In the midst of a volley of excited conversation Henry suddenly exclaimed, “But what of Gascoyne? Where is the pirate captain?”

“Why, we’ve forgotten him,” exclaimed Thorwald, whose pipe was doing duty like a factory chimney. “I shouldn’t wonder if he took advantage of us just now to give us the slip!”

“No fear of that,” said Mr Mason. “Poor fellow, he has felt your loss terribly, Henry, for we all believed that you were lost; but I am bound to confess that none of us have shewn a depth of sorrow equal to that of Gascoyne. It seems unaccountable to me. He has not shewn his face on deck since the day he gave up all hope of rescuing you, and has eaten nothing but a biscuit now and then, which he would suffer no one but Corrie to take to him.”

“Poor Gascoyne, I will go and relieve his mind,” said Henry, turning to quit the quarterdeck.

Now, the noise created by the meeting of the two vessels had aroused Gascoyne from the lethargic state of mind and body to which he had given way. Coming on deck, he was amazed to find himself close to the Talisman. A boat lay alongside the Foam, into which he jumped, and, sculling towards the frigate, he stepped over the bulwarks just as Henry turned to go in search of him.

The pirate captain’s face wore a haggard, careworn, humbled look, that was very different from its usual bold, lion-like expression. No one can tell what a storm had passed through the strong man’s breast while he lay alone on the floor of his cabin. The deep, deep sorrow—the remorse for sin—the bitterness of soul when he reflected that his present misery was chargeable only to himself. A few nights had given him the aspect of a much older man.

For a few seconds he stood glancing round the quarterdeck of the Talisman with a look of mingled curiosity and sadness. But when his eye fell on the form of Henry he turned deadly pale, and trembled like an aspen leaf.

“Well, Gascoyne, my—my—friend,” said the youth with some hesitation as he advanced.

The shout that Gascoyne uttered on hearing the young man’s voice was almost superhuman. It was something like a mingled cheer and cry of agony. In another moment he sprang forward, and seizing Henry in his arms, pressed him to his breast with a grasp that rendered the youth utterly powerless.

Almost instantly he released him from his embrace, and seizing his hand, said, in a wild, gay, almost fierce manner—

“Come, Henry, lad, I have somewhat to say to you. Come with me.”

He forced rather than led the amazed youth into the boat, sculled to the schooner, hurried him into the cabin, and shut and locked the door.

We need scarcely say that all this was a matter of the deepest curiosity and interest to those who witnessed it; but they were destined to remain with their curiosity unsatisfied for some time after that.

When Henry Stuart issued from the cabin of the Avenger after that mysterious interview, his countenance wore a surprised and troubled expression. Gascoyne’s, on the contrary, was grave and calm, yet cheerful. He was more like his former self.

The young man was, of course, eagerly questioned as to what had been said to him, and why the pirate had shewn such fondness for him; but the only reply that could be got from him was, “I must not tell. It is a private matter. You shall know time enough.”

With this answer they were fain to be content—even Corrie failed to extract anything more definite from his friend.

A prize crew was put on board the Foam, and the two vessels proceeded towards the harbour of Sandy Cove in company.

Henry and his friends went in the Foam, but Gascoyne was detained a prisoner on board the Talisman. Montague felt that it was his duty to put him in irons, but he could not prevail on himself to heap unnecessary indignity on the head of one who had rendered him such good service, so he left him at large, intending to put him in irons only when duty compelled him to do so.

During the night a stiff breeze amounting almost to a gale of fair wind sprang up, and the two vessels flew towards their destination, but the Foam left her bulky companion far behind.

That night a dark and savage mind was engaged on board the Talisman in working out a black and desperate plot. Surly Dick saw, in the capture of Gascoyne and the Foam, the end of all his cherished hopes, and in a fit of despair and rage he resolved to be avenged.

This man, when he first came on board the frigate, had not been known as a pirate, and afterwards, as we have seen, he had been treated with leniency on account of his offer to turn informant against his former associates. In the stirring events that followed he had been overlooked, and, on the night of which we are writing he found himself free to retire to his hammock with the rest of the watch.

In the night, when the wind was howling mournfully through the rigging, and the greater part of the crew were buried in repose, this man rose stealthily from his hammock, and with noiseless tread found his way to a dark corner of the ship where the eyes of the sentries were not likely to observe him. Here he had made preparations for his diabolical purpose. Drawing a flint and steel from his pocket, he proceeded to strike a light. This was procured in a few seconds, and as the match flared up in his face it revealed the workings of a countenance in which all the strongest and worst passions of human nature had stamped deep and terrible lines.

The pirate had taken the utmost care, by arranging an old sail over the spot, to prevent the reflection of the light being seen. It revealed a large mass of oakum and tar. Into the heart of this he thrust the match, and instantly glided away, as he had come, stealthily and without noise.

For a few seconds the fire smouldered, for the sail that covered it kept it down, as well as hid it from view. But such combustible material could not be smothered long. The smell of burning soon reached one of the marines stationed on the lower-deck, who instantly gave the alarm; but almost before the words had passed his lips the flames burst forth.

“Fire! fire! fire!”

What a scene ensued! There was confusion at first, for no sound at sea rings so terribly in the ear as the shout of “Fire!”

But speedily the stern discipline on board a man-of-war prevailed. Men were stationed in rows; the usual appliances for the extinction of fire were brought into play; buckets of water were passed down below as fast as they could be drawn. No miscellaneous shouting took place; but the orders that were necessary, and the noise of action, together with the excitement and the dense smoke that rolled up the hatchway, produced a scene of the wildest and most stirring description.