"More's the pity; she would have been safer with me than with my first mate, who is the greatest villain afloat on the high seas. He does not like our milk-and-water style of robbing. He is an out-and-out pirate in heart, and has long desired to cut my throat. I have to thank him for being here to-night. Some of the crew who are like himself seized me while I was asleep, bound and gagged me, put me into a boat and rowed me ash.o.r.e;--for we had easily escaped the _Talisman_ in the squall, and doubling or our course came back here. The mate was anxious to clear off old scores by cutting my throat at once and pitching me into the sea. Luckily some of the men, not so bloodthirsty as he, objected to this, so I was landed and cast loose."

"But what of Alice?" cried Mr Mason, anxiously. "How can we save her?"

"By taking my advice," answered Gascoyne. "You have a small cutter at anchor off the creek at the foot of the hill. Put a few trusty men aboard of her, and I will guide you to the island where the _Avenger_ has been wont to fly when hard pressed."

"But how do you know that Manton will go there?" inquired Henry, eagerly.

"Because he is short of powder, and all our stores are concealed there, besides much of our ill-gotten wealth."

"And how can you expect us to put ourselves so completely in your power?" said Mr Mason.

"Because you _must_ do so if you would save your child. She is safe now, I know, and will be until the _Avenger_ leaves the island where our stores are concealed. If we do not save her before that happens, _she is lost to you for ever_!"

"That no man can say. She is in the hands of G.o.d," cried Mr Mason, fervently.

"True, true," said Gascoyne, musing. "But G.o.d does not work by miracles. We must be up and doing at once. I promise you that I shall be faithful, and that, after the work is done, I will give myself up to justice."

"May we trust him, mother?" said Henry.

"You may trust him, my son," replied the widow, in a tone of decision that satisfied Henry, while it called forth a look of grat.i.tude from the pirate.

The party now proceeded to arrange the details of their plan for the rescue of Alice and her companions. These were speedily settled, and Henry rose to go and put them in train. He turned the key of the door and was on the point of lifting the latch, when this was done for him by some one on the outside. He had just time to step back when the door flew open, and he stood face to face with Hugh Barnes the cooper.

"Have you heard the news, Henry?--hallo!"

This abrupt exclamation was caused by the sight of Gascoyne, who rose quietly the moment he heard the door open, and, turning his back towards it, walked slowly into a small apartment that opened off the widow's parlour, and shut the door.

"I say, Henry, who's that big fellow?" said the cooper, casting a suspicious glance towards the little room into which he had disappeared.

"He is a _friend_ of mine," replied Mrs Stuart, rising hastily, and welcoming her visitor.

"Humph! it's well he's a _friend_," said the man as he took a chair, "I shouldn't like to have him for an enemy."

"But what is the news you were so anxious to tell us?" inquired Henry.

"That Gascoyne, the pirate captain, has been seen on the island by some of the women, and there's a regular hunt organising. Will you go with us?"

"I have more important work to do, Hugh," replied Henry, "besides, I want you to go with me on a hunt which I'll tell you about if you'll come with me to the creek."

"By all means, come along."

Henry and the cooper at once left the cottage. The latter was let into the secret, and prevailed on to form one of the crew of the _Wasp_, as the little cutter was named. In the course of the afternoon everything was in readiness. Gascoyne waited till the dusk of the evening, and then embarked along with Ole Thorwald; that stout individual having insisted on being one of the party, despite the remonstrances of Mr Mason, who did not like to leave the settlement, even for a brief period, so completely deprived of all its leading men. But Ole entertained a suspicion that Gascoyne intended to give them the slip; and having privately made up his mind to prevent this he was not to be denied.

The men who formed the crew--twelve in number--were selected from among those natives and settlers who were known never to have seen the pirate captain. They were chosen with a view to their fighting qualities, for Gascoyne and Henry were sufficient for the management of the little craft. There were no large guns on board, but all the men were well armed with cutla.s.ses, muskets, and pistols.

Thus equipped, the _Wasp_ stood out to sea with a light breeze, just as the moon rose on the coral reef and cast a shower of sparkling silver across the bay.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

A TERRIBLE DOOM FOR AN INNOCENT MAN.

"So, you're to be hanged for a pirate, Jo b.u.mpus, ye are--that's pleasant to think of anyhow."

Such was the remark which our stout seaman addressed to himself when he awoke on the second morning after the departure of the _Wasp_. If the thought was really as pleasant as he a.s.serted it to be, his visage must have been a bad index to the state of his mind; for at that particular moment Jo looked uncommonly miserable.

The wonted good-humoured expression of his countenance had given place to a gaze of stereotyped surprise and solemnity. Indeed b.u.mpus seemed to have parted with much of his reason and all of his philosophy, for he could say nothing else during at least half-an-hour after awaking except the phrase--"So, you're going to be hanged for a pirate." His comments on the phrase were, however, a little varied, though always brief--such as--"Wot a sell! Who'd ha' thought it! It's a dream, it is, an 'orrible dream! _I_ don't believe it--who does? Wot'll your poor mother say?"--and the like.

b.u.mpus had, unfortunately, good ground for making this statement.

After the cutter sailed it was discovered that b.u.mpus was concealed in Mrs Stuart's cottage. This discovery had been the result of the seaman's own recklessness and indiscretion; for when he ascertained that he was to be kept a prisoner in the cottage until the return of the _Wasp_, he at once made up his mind to submit with a good grace to what could not be avoided. In order to prove that he was by no means cast down, as well as to lighten the tedium of his confinement, Jo entertained himself by singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of sea songs--such as, "My tight little craft,"--"A life on the stormy sea,"--"Oh! for a draught of the howling blast," etcetera, all of which he delivered in a ba.s.s voice so powerful that it caused the rafters of the widow's cottage to ring again.

These melodious not to say thunderous sounds, also caused the ears of a small native youth to tingle with curiosity. This urchin crept on his brown little knees under the window of b.u.mpus's apartment, got on his brown and dirty little tiptoes, placed his brown little hands on the sill, hauled his brown and half-naked little body up by sheer force of muscle, and peeped into the room with his large and staring brown eyes, the whites of which were displayed to their full extent.

Jo was in the middle of an enthusiastic "oh!" when the urchin's head appeared. Instead of expressing his pa.s.sionate desire for a "draught of the howling blast," he prolonged the "oh!" into a hideous yell, and thrust his blazing face close to the window so suddenly that the boy let go his hold, fell backwards, and rolled head over heels into a ditch, out of which he scrambled with violent haste, and ran with the utmost possible precipitancy to his native home on the sea-sh.o.r.e.

Here he related what he had seen to his father. The father went and looked in upon Jo's solitude. He happened to have seen b.u.mpus during the great fight and knew him to be one of the pirates. The village rose _en ma.s.se_. Some of the worst characters in it stirred up the rest, went to the widow's cottage, and demanded that the person of the pirate should be delivered up.

The widow objected. The settlers insisted. The widow protested. The settlers threatened force. Upon this the widow reasoned with them; besought them to remember that the missionary would be back in a day or two, and that it would be well to have his advice before they did anything, and finally agreed to give up her charge on receiving a promise that he should have a fair trial.

b.u.mpus was accordingly bound with ropes, led in triumph through the village, and placed in a strong wooden building which was used as the jail of the place.

The trial that followed was a mere mockery. The leading spirits of it were those who had been styled by Mr Mason, "enemies within the camp."

They elected themselves to the offices of prosecutor and judge as well as taking the trouble to act the part of jurymen and witnesses.

Poor John b.u.mpus's doom was sealed before the trial began. They had prejudged the case, and only went through the form to ease their own consciences and to fulfil their promise to the widow.

It was in vain that b.u.mpus a.s.serted, with a bold, honest countenance, that he was not a pirate; that he never had been, and never would be a pirate; that he did not believe the _Foam_ was a pirate--though he was free to confess its crew "_wos_ bad enough for anything a'most;" that he had been hired in South America (where he had been shipwrecked) by Captain Gascoyne, the sandal-wood trader; that he had made the voyage straight from that coast to this island without meeting a single sail; and that he had never seen a shot fired or a cutla.s.s drawn aboard the schooner.

To all this there was but one coa.r.s.ely-expressed answer--"It is a lie!"

Jo had no proof to give of the truth of what he said, so he was condemned to be hanged by the neck till he should be dead; and as his judges were afraid that the return of the _Wasp_ might interfere with their proceedings, it was arranged that he should be executed on the following day at noon!

It must not be imagined that, in a Christian village such as we have described, there was no one who felt that this trial was too hastily gone into, and too violently conducted. But those who were inclined to take a merciful view of the case, and who pled for delay, were chiefly natives, while the violent party was composed of most of the ill-disposed European settlers.

The natives had been so much accustomed to put confidence in the wisdom of the white men since their conversion to Christianity, that they felt unable to cope with them on this occasion, so that b.u.mpus, after being condemned, was led away to his prison, and left alone to his own reflections.

It chanced that there was one friend left, unintentionally, in the cell with the condemned man. This was none other than our friend Toozle, the ma.s.s of ragged door-mat on which Alice doted so fondly. This little dog had, during the course of the events which have taken so long to recount, done nothing worthy of being recorded. He had, indeed, been much in every one's way, when no one had had time or inclination to take notice of him. He had, being an affectionate dog, and desirous of much sympathy, courted attention frequently, and had received many kicks and severe rebuffs for his pains, and he had also, being a tender-hearted dog, howled dreadfully when he lost his young mistress; but he had not in any way promoted the interests of humanity or advanced the ends of justice. Hence our long silence in regard to him.

Recollecting that he had witnessed evidences of a friendly relation subsisting between Alice and b.u.mpus, Toozle straightway sought to pour the overflowing love and sorrow of his large little heart into the bosom of that supposed pirate. His advances were well received, and from that hour he followed the seaman like his shadow. He shared his prison with him, trotted behind him when he walked up and down his room in the widow's cottage; lay down at his feet when he rested; looked up inquiringly in his face when he paused to meditate; whined and wagged his stump of a tail when he was taken notice of, and lay down to sleep in deep humility when he was neglected.

Thus it came to pa.s.s that Toozle attended the trial of b.u.mpus, entered his cell along with him, slept with him during the night, accompanied him to the gallows in the morning, and sat under him, when they were adjusting the noose, looking up with feelings of unutterable dismay, as was clearly indicated by the lugubrious and woe-begone cast of his ragged countenance,--but we are antic.i.p.ating.

It was on the morning of his execution that b.u.mpus sat on the edge of his hard pallet, gazed at his manacled wrists, and gave vent to the sentiments set down at the beginning of this chapter.

Toozle sat at his feet looking up in his face sympathetically.

"No, I _don't_ believe it's possible," said b.u.mpus, for at least the hundredth time that morning. "It's a joke, that's wot it is. Ain't it, Toozle, my boy?"