Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader, Robert Michael Ballantyne [english novels to improve english .TXT] 📗

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 Bumpus 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 passed 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 Francisco by Gascoyne on the 12th of April last, and that he believed the schooner to be a sandalwood trader when he shipped."

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

"If this statement of his be true, then he was not a pirate when he shipped, 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 bumpuss, 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 cum an see me as soon as iver ye can

"yours til deth.

"SUSAN.

"P.S. the piggs is quite livly but ther not so hansum heer as in the
owld country. Don't forgit to rite to your susan."


No one can conceive the indignation that swelled the broad chest of honest John Bumpus when he listened to the laughter with which some parts of this letter were received.

"Now," said Dan, "could any man want better proof than this that John Bumpus _is not_ a pirate?"

This question was answered by a perfect yell from the crowd.

"Set him free; cut his cords!" cried a voice.

"Stop, friends," cried a big coarse-looking man, leaping on the table and jostling Dan out of the way. "Not quite so fast. I don't pretend to be a learned feller, and I can't make a speech with a buttery tongue like Dan here. But wot I've got to say is--Justice for ever!"

"Hurrah!" from some of the wild spirits of the crowd. "Go on, Burke," from others.

"Yes, wot I say is--Justice for ever! Fair play an' no favour: _That's_ wot I say!"

Another cheer greeted the bold assertion of these noble sentiments.

"Now, here it is," continued Burke, becoming much excited, "wot's to hinder that there letter bein' a forgery?--ay, that's the word, a forgery? (Hear! hear!) got up a-purpose to bamboozle us chaps that ain't lawyers. D'ye see?"

Burke glanced at Dan and smote his thigh triumphantly as he said this.

"It does not _look_ like a forgery," said Dan, holding up the letter and pointing to the writing. "I leave it to yourselves to say if it _sounds_ like a forgery--"

"I don't care a farthin' dip for yer _looks_ and _sounds_," cried Burke, interrupting the other. "No man is goin' for to tell me that anybody can trust to _looks_ and _sounds_. Why, I've know'd the greatest villain that ever chewed the end of a smuggled cigar _look_ as innocent as the babe unborn. An' is there a man here wot'll tell me he hasn't often an' over again mistook the crack of a big gun for a clap o' thunder?"

This was received with much approval by the crowd, which had evidently more than half-forgotten the terrible purpose for which it had assembled there, and was now much interested in what bid fair to be a keen dispute. When the noise abated, Dan raised his voice and said--"If Burke had not interrupted me, I was going to have said that another thing which proves the letter to be no forgery is, that the post-mark of San Francisco is on the back of it, with the date all right."

This statement delighted the crowd immensely, and caused Burke to look disconcerted for a few seconds; he rallied, however, and returned to the charge.

"Post-marks! wot do I care for post-marks? Can't a man forge a post-mark as easy as any other mark?"

"Ah! that's true," from a voice in the crowd.

"No, not so easily as _any_ other mark," retorted Dan, "for it's made with a kind of ink that's not sold in shops. Everything goes to prove that the letter is no forgery. But, Mr Burke, will you answer me this--if it _was_ a forgery, got up for the purpose of saving this man's life, _at what time was it forged_? for Bumpus could not know that he would ever need such a letter until yesterday afternoon, and between that time and this there was but little time to forge a letter from San Francisco, post-mark and all, and make it soiled and worn at the edges like an old letter. (`Hear!' and sensation.) More than that," cried Dan, waxing eager and earnest, "if it was a forgery, got up for this purpose, _why was it not produced at the trial_? (`Hear! hear!' and cheers!) And, last of all, why, if this forgery was so important to him, did John Bumpus forget all about it until he stood on this table; ay, _until the rope was round his neck_?"

A perfect storm of cheers and applause followed this last sentence, in the midst of which there were cries of "You're floored, Burke! Hurrah for Bumpus! Cut the ropes!"

But although John's life was now safe, his indignation at Susan's letter having been laughed at was not altogether allayed.

"I'll tell ye wot it is," said he, the instant there was a lull in the uproar of voices. "If you think that I'll stand here and see my Susan's letter insulted before my eyes, you're very far out o' your reckoning. Just cut them ropes an put any two o' ye'r biggest men, black or white, before _me_, an' if I don't shew them a lot o' new stars as hasn't been seed in no sky wotiver since Adam was a little boy, my name's--"

Up to this point Jo was heard, but the conclusion of his defiance was drowned in roars of laughter.

"Cut the ropes," shouted the crowd.

Dan drew a clasp-knife from his pocket, and with one stroke set Bumpus free.

"Shoulder high," yelled a voice; "hurrah!"

A wild rush was made at the table. Jo's executioners were overturned and trampled under foot, and the table, with himself and his young advocate sprawling on it, was raised on the shoulders of the crowd and borne off in triumph.

Half-an-hour later, Bumpus was set down at the widow's door. Mrs Stuart received him with a scream of surprise and joy, for she had given him up as a lost man.

"Now, then, Mrs Stuart," said Jo, throwing himself on a chair and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "don't make such a fuss about me, like a good creetur. But do get me a bit o' bacon, and let's be thankful that I'm here to eat it. Cut it fat, Mrs Stuart; cut it fat; for it's wonderful wot a appetite I've got after such a mornin's work as I've gone through. Well, well, after all that yer friends have said of ye, Jo Bumpus, I do believe that yer _not_ born to be hanged?"


CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.


THE RENDEZVOUS--AN EPISODE--PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES--AND OTHER MATTERS.

About five or six days' sail from the scene of our tale there lies one of those small rocks or islets with which the breast of the Pacific is in many places thickly studded.

It is a lonely coral isle, far removed from any of its fellows, and presenting none of those grand features which characterise the island on which the settlement of Sandy Cove was situated. In no part does it rise more than thirty feet above the level of the sea; in most places it is little more than a few feet above it. The coral reefs around it are numerous; and as many of them rise to within a few feet of the surface, the navigation in its neighbourhood is dangerous in the extreme.

At the time of which we write, the vegetation of the isle was not very luxuriant. Only a few clusters of cocoa-nut palms grew here and there over its otherwise barren surface. In this respect it did not resemble most of the other islands