Part 27 (1/2)

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.