Gascoyne, The Sandal-Wood Trader: A Tale of the Pacific by R. M. Ballantyne (novels in english txt) 📕

"Peelers farm near
Sanfransko Aprile 11

"For
    John bumpuss,
  aboord the Schooner fome

"my darlin Jo,

"ever sins you towld me yisterday that youd bin an gaged yerself into the fome, my mind has been 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 sandle-wood skooners. the Haf ov thems pirits and The other hafs no better, whats wus is that my owld master was drownded in wan, or out o wan, but shure its All the Saim. down he wint and that wos the Endd.

"now Deer jo dont go to say in that skooner i beseech ye, jo. Ye towld me that ye liked the looks o the cappen and 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 cmunishakens Krupt yer maners, i misrember it, but ye no wot id be sayin' to ye.

"o jo Dont 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 forever!"

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

"Yes, wot I say is—Justice forever! Fair play an' no favor: 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?—aye, that's the word, a forgery? (Hear! hear!), got up apurpose 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 bade 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 postmark 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.

"Postmarks! wot do I care for postmarks? Can't a man forge a postmark 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, postmark 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 the 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; aye, 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' yer biggest men, black or white, before me, an' if I don't show 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 XXII. THE RENDEZVOUS—AN EPISODE—PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES—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 characterize 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 neighborhood 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 cocoanut palms grew here and there over its otherwise barren surface. In this respect it did not resemble most of the other islands of the Pacific.