Gascoyne, The Sandal Wood Trader | Page 8

length on
the ground. John Bumpus made a sudden plunge at the savage on
seeing this, but the latter ducked his head, passed like an eel under the
very arms of the sailor, and went off into the forest like a deer.
"Hold!" shouted Captain Gascoyne, as John turned, in a state of
mingled amazement and anger, to pursue. "Hold on, Bumpus; let the
miserable rascal go."
John stopped, looked over his shoulder, hesitated, and finally came
back, with a rolling air of nautical indifference, and his hands thrust
into his breeches pockets.

"You know best, capting," said he; "but I think it a pity to let sich a
dirty varmint go clear off, to dodge about in the bushes, and mayhap
treat us to a poisoned arrow, or a spear thrust on the sly.
Howsomedever, it ain't no consarn wotever to Jo Bumpus. How's your
beak, Dick, my boy?"
"None the better for your askin'," replied the surly mariner, who was
tenderly stroking the injured member of his face with the fingers of
both hands.
"Come, Dick, it is none the worse of being inquired after," said Henry,
laughing. "But 'tis as well to let the fellow go. He knows best how to
cure his wound, by the application of a few simples; and by thus
making off has relieved us of the trouble and responsibility of trying
our hands at civilized doctoring. Besides, John Bumpus (if that's your
name,--though I do think your father might have found you a better),
your long legs would never have brought you within a mile of the
savage."
"Young man," retorted Jo, gravely, "I'd have you to know that the
family of the Bumpuses is an old and a honorable one. They comed
over with the Conkerer to Ireland, where they picked up a deal o' their
good manners, after which they settled at last on their own estates in
Yorkshire. Though they have comed down in the world, and the last of
the Bumpuses--that's me--is takin' a pleasure-trip round the world
before the mast, I won't stand by and hear my name made game of, d'ye
see: and I'd have ye to know, further, my buck, that the Bumpuses has a
pecooliar gift for fightin'; and although you are a strappin' young feller,
you'd better not cause me for to prove that you're conkerable."
Having delivered himself of this oration, the last of the Bumpuses
frowned portentously on the youth who had dared to risk his anger, and
turning with a bland smile to surly Dick, asked him "if his beak was
any better now."
"There seems to be bad news in the letter, I think," observed Henry, as
Captain Gascoyne perused the epistle with evident signs of displeasure.

"Bad enough in these times of war, boy," replied the other, folding the
note and placing it in a pouch inside the breast of his flannel shirt. "It
seems that that pestiferous British frigate, the Talisman, lies at anchor
in the bay on the other side of the island."
"Nothing in that to cause uneasiness to an honest trader," said Henry,
leading the way up the steep path by which he had descended from the
mountain region of the interior.
"That speech only shows your ignorance of the usages of ships-of-war.
Know you not that the nature of the trade in which I am engaged
requires me to be strong-handed, and that the opinion of a commander
in the British navy as to how many hands are sufficient for the
navigation of a trading-schooner does not accord with mine?--a
difference of opinion which may possibly result in his relieving me of a
few of my best men when I can ill afford to spare them. And, by the
way," said Gascoyne, pausing as they gained the brow of an eminence
that commanded a view of the rich woodland on one side and the sea
on the other, "I had better take precautions against such a mischance.
Here, Dick" (taking the man aside and whispering to him), "go back to
the schooner, my lad, and tell the mate to send ten of the best hands
ashore with provisions and arms. Let them squat where they choose on
land, only let them see to it that they keep well out of sight and hearing
until I want them. And now, Master Henry, lead the way; John Bumpus
and I will follow at your heel like a couple of faithful dogs."
The scene through which young Henry Stuart now led his seafaring
companions was of that rich, varied, and beautiful character which is
strikingly characteristic of those islands of the Pacific which owe their
origin to volcanic agency. Unlike the low coral islets, this island
presented every variety of the boldest mountain scenery, and yet, like
them,