Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader Part 27

Toozle whined, wagged his tail, and said, a's plainly as if he had spoken, "Yes, of course it is--an uncommonly bad joke, no doubt; but a joke, undoubtedly; so keep up your heart, my man."

"Ah! you're a funny dog," continued b.u.mpus, "but you don't know wot it is to be hanged, my boy. Hanged! why it's agin all laws o' justice, moral an' otherwise, it is. But I'm dreamin', yes, it's dreamin' I am-- but I don't think I ever did dream that I thought I was dreamin' an' yet wasn't quite sure. Really it's perplexin', to say the least on it.

Ain't it, Toozle?"

Toozle wagged his tail.

"Ah, here comes my imaginary jailer to let me out o' this here abominably real-lookin' imaginary lockup. Hang Jo b.u.mpus! why it's--"

Before Jo could find words sufficiently strong to express his opinion of such a murderous intention, the door opened and a surly-looking man--a European settler--entered with his breakfast. This meal consisted of a baked breadfruit and a can of water.

"Ha! you've come to let me out, have you?" cried Jo, in a tone of forced pleasantry, which was anything but cheerful.

"Have I, though!" said the man, setting down the food on a small deal table that stood at the head of the bedstead; "don't think it, my man; your time's up in another two hours--hallo! where got ye the dog?"

"It came in with me last night--to keep me company, I fancy, which is more than the human dogs o' this murderin' place had the civility to do."

"If it had know'd you was a murderin' pirate," retorted the jailer, "it would ha' thought twice before it would ha' chose _you_ for a comrade."

"Come, now," said b.u.mpus, in a remonstrative tone, "you don't really b'lieve I'm a pirate, do you?"

"In coorse I do."

"Well, now, that's xtraor'nary. Does everybody else think that too?"

"Everybody."

"An' am I _really_ goin' to be hanged?"

"Till you're dead as mutton."

"That's entertainin', ain't it, Toozle?" cried poor b.u.mpus with a laugh of desperation, for he found it utterly impossible to persuade himself to believe in the reality of his awful position.

As he said nothing more, the jailer went away, and b.u.mpus, after heaving two or three very deep sighs, attempted to partake of his meagre breakfast. The effort was a vain one. The bite stuck in his throat, so he washed it down with a gulp of water, and, for the first time in his life, made up his mind to go without his breakfast.

A little before twelve o'clock the door again opened, and the surly jailer entered bearing a halter, and accompanied by six stout men. The irons were now removed from b.u.mpus's wrists, and his arms pinioned behind his back. Being almost stupified with amazement at his position, he submitted without a struggle.

"I say, friends," he at last exclaimed, "would any amount of oaths took before a maginstrate convince ye that I'm not a pirate, but a true-blue seaman?"

"If you were to swear from this time till doomsday it would make no difference. You admit that you were one of the _Foam's_ crew. We now know that the _Foam_ and the _Avenger_ are the same schooner. Birds of a feather flock together. A pirate would swear anything to save his life. Come, time's up."

b.u.mpus bent his head for a minute. The truth forced itself upon him now in all its dread reality. But no unmanly terrors filled his breast at that moment. The fear of man or of violent death was a sensation which the seaman never knew. The feeling of the huge injustice that was about to be done filled him with generous indignation; the blood rushed to his temples, and, with a bound like a tiger, he leaped out of the jailer's grasp, hurling him to the ground in the act.

With the strength almost of a Samson he wrestled with his cords for a few seconds; but they were new and strong. He failed to burst them. In another moment he was overpowered by the six men who guarded him. True to his principles, he did his utmost to escape. Strong in the faith that while there is life there is hope, he did not cease to struggle, like a chained giant, until he was placed under the limb of the fatal tree which had been selected, and round which an immense crowd of natives and white settlers had gathered.

During the previous night the widow Stuart had striven to save the man whom she knew to be honest, for Gascoyne had explained to her all about his being engaged in his service. But those to whom she appealed, even on her knees, were immovable. They considered the proof of the man's guilt quite conclusive, and regarded the widow's intercession as the mere weakness of a tender-hearted woman.

On the following morning, and again beside the fatal tree itself, the widow pled for the man's life with all her powers of eloquence, but in vain. When all hope appeared to have pa.s.sed away, she could not stand to witness so horrible a murder. She fled to her cottage, and, throwing herself on her bed, burst into an agony of tears and prayer.

But there were some among the European settlers there who, now that things had come to a point, felt ill at ease, and would fain have washed their hands of the whole affair. Others there were who judged the man from his countenance and his acts, not from circ.u.mstances. These remonstrated even to the last, and advised delay. But the half dozen who were set upon the man's death--not to gratify a thirst for blood, but to execute due justice on a pirate whom they abhorred--were influential and violent, men. They silenced all opposition at last, and John b.u.mpus finally had the noose put round, his neck.

"O Susan, Susan," cried the poor man in an agony of intense feeling, "it's little ye thought your Jo would come to such an end as this when ye last sot eyes on him--an' sweet blue eyes they wos, too!"

There was something ludicrous as well as pathetic in this cry. It did more for him than the most eloquent pleading could have done. Man, in a crowd, is an unstable being. At any moment he will veer right round and run in an opposite direction. The idea that the condemned man had a Susan who would mourn over his untimely end, touched a cord in the hearts of many among the crowd. The reference to her sweet blue eyes at such a moment raised a smile, and an extremely dismal but opportune howl from poor Toozle raised a laugh.

b.u.mpus started and looked sternly on the crowd.

"You may think me a pirate," said he, "but I know enough of the feelin's of honest men to expect no mercy from those wot can laugh at a fellow-creetur in such an hour. You had better get the murder over as soon as ye can. I am ready--Stay! one moment more. I had a'most forgot it. There's a letter here that I want one o' you to take charge of.

It's the last I ever got from my Susan, an' if I had taken her advice to let alone havin' to do with all sandalwood traders, I'd never ha' bin in such a fix as I am this day. I want it sent back to her with my blessin' and a lock o' my hair. Is there an honest man among ye who'll take in hand to do this for me?"

As he spoke, a young man, in a costume somewhat resembling that of a sailor, pushed through the crowd, leaped upon the deal table on which Jo stood, and removed the noose from his neck.

An exclamation of anger burst from those who surrounded the table, but a sound something like applause broke from the crowd, and restrained any attempt at violence. The young man at the same time held up his hand and asked leave to address them.

"Ay! ay! let's hear what he has got to say. That's it; speak up, Dan!"

The youth, whose dark olive complexion proclaimed him to be a half-caste, and whose language shewed that he had received at least the rudiments of education, stretched out his hand and said--

"Friends, I do not stand here to interfere with justice. Those who seek to give a pirate his just reward do well. But there has been doubt in the minds of some that this man may not be a pirate. His own word is of no value; but if I can bring forward anything to shew that perhaps his word is true, then we have no right to hang him till we have given him a longer trial."

"Hear! hear!" from the white men in the crowd, and "Ho! ho!" from the natives.

Meanwhile the young man, or Dan, as some one called him, turned to b.u.mpus and asked for the letter to which he had referred. Being informed that it was in the inside pocket of his jacket, the youth put his hand in and drew it forth.

"May I read it? Your life may depend on what I find here."

"Sartinly, by all manner of means," replied Jo, not a little surprised at the turn affairs were taking.

Dan opened and perused the epistle for a few minutes, during which intense silence was maintained in the crowd, as if they expected to _hear_ the thoughts of the young man as they pa.s.sed through his brain.

"Ha! I thought so," exclaimed Dan, looking up and again addressing the crowd. "At the trial yesterday you heard this man say that he was engaged at San Francis...o...b.. Gascoyne on the 12th of April last, and that he believed the schooner to be a sandalwood trader when he s.h.i.+pped."

"Yes, yes, ho!" from the crowd.

"If this statement of his be true, then he was not a pirate when he s.h.i.+pped, and he has not had much time to become one between that time and this. The letter which I hold in my hand proves the truth of this statement. It is dated San Francisco, 11th _April_, and is written in a female hand. Listen, I will read it, and you shall judge for yourselves."

The young man then read the following letter, which, being a peculiar as well as an interesting specimen of a love-letter, we give _verbatim et literatim_:--

"Peelers farm near Sanfransko Aprile 11.

"For John b.u.mpuss, aboord the Skooner fome

"my darlin Jo,

"ever sins you towld me yisterday that youd bin an gaged yerself into the fome, my mind has bin Onaisy. Ye no, darlint, from the our ye cald me yer own Susan--in clare county More betoken--iv bin onaisy about ye yer so bowld an Rekles, but this is wurst ov all. Iv no noshun o them sandlewood skooners. The Haf ov thems pirits an The other hafs no beter. Whats wus is that my owld master was drownded in wan, or out o wan, but shure its All the Saim. Down he wint an that wos the Endd.

"now Deer jo don't go to say in that skooner i beseech ye, jo. Ye towld me that ye liked the looks o the cappen an haited the looks o the Krew. Now deer, take warnin, think ov me. Think ov the words in the coppie book weev writ so often together at owld makmahons skool, eevil emunishakens Krupt yer maners, i misrember it, but ye no wot id be sayin' to ye.

"o jo Don't go, but c.u.m an see me as soon as iver ye can