"Now, Nicholls," said Henderson, as he hauled up and secured the doc.u.ment, "you mount guard here, keep a sharp look-out, and give the alarm the moment you note anything suspicious. Mr Manners and I are going below to see what news this letter contains."

That the letter was not from Gaunt was evident the moment it was opened, for it consisted of nothing more than a series of roughly but vigorously executed drawings.

The first sketch, or that which occupied the top of the sheet, consisted of a straight horizontal stroke with markings underneath it, which were evidently intended to represent waves; and on the centre of the horizontal line stood a semicircle with straight lines radiating from it, with a bold single upright stroke to the left of it. Though roughly executed, there was no doubt this was intended to represent either the rising or the setting sun, probably the former, the upright stroke being perhaps intended to indicate the first sunrise, or that of the next morning; at all events, so Henderson interpreted it.

The second sketch rudely but unmistakably represented the fort, with the exception that, in order to make his meaning perfectly clear, the artist had been obliged to add a door. Out of this door several white men were walking, with guns in their hands, which the leading figures were either delivering up, or had already delivered up, to a body of Malays. A second group of whites and Malays were shown to the right of the sketch, the Malays being represented as handing over to the unarmed whites two prisoners with ropes round their necks and their hands tied behind them.

One of the prisoners was an adult, whilst the other was much smaller; and there could be no doubt whatever that they were intended to indicate Gaunt and Percy.

The, third and last sketch was also a representation of the fort, but in this case it was drawn without a door. Looking over the parapet were a number of white men with guns in their hands, which they were pointing at a party of Malays on the ground below, who in turn were pointing guns at the whites; whilst to the right of this picture was drawn another group, a most sinister one, for it represented Gaunt and Percy bound to two trees and surrounded by a pile of--presumably--branches, to which other Malays were in the act of applying _a blazing torch_!

Henderson and Manners studied this doc.u.ment most attentively for some time, and they at length agreed that only one meaning could possibly be intended to be conveyed by it--namely, that if the fort and all it contained, including weapons, were surrendered by sunrise, or sunset-- but most probably the former--next day, Gaunt and Percy should be delivered up by their captors; but if not, then the fort would be attacked, and the two captives _burnt alive_!

"Why, this is horrible!" exclaimed Henderson, as he finally folded up the doc.u.ment and carefully placed it in his pocket. "We cannot possibly make the unconditional surrender which they demand, it would simply be placing the entire party, Gaunt and his child included, at the mercy of a pack of treacherous, bloodthirsty scoundrels, who would probably slaughter us all in cold blood as soon as we had delivered up our weapons. On the other hand, it is equally out of the question that we should abandon those two poor souls to the frightful fate with which they are threatened. What is to be done, Manners?"

"Let us go up on the parapet and talk the matter over with Nicholls, sir," was the reply. "He is a quiet, inoffensive fellow, but thoroughly to be depended upon in a fight, and he is pretty long-headed too, perhaps he may be able to help us out with a suggestion. At all events, sir, you may depend upon it neither Mr Gaunt nor little Percy--poor little chap!--shall be burnt, alive or dead, whilst I can strike a blow to prevent it."

"Come, then," said Henderson, "let us go and hear what Nicholls has to say upon the matter." And he led the way up to the parapet once more.

But Nicholls, honest man that he was, seemed completely to lose in horror the long-headedness with which Manners had credited him, as soon as he was made acquainted with the terms of the singular doc.u.ment handed in by the Malays, and beyond the utterance of several very hearty maledictions upon the heads of those scoundrels, and the reiterated declaration that they should kill him before they harmed a hair of the heads of either of the prisoners, he had nothing to say.

Henderson was reduced to a condition of absolute despair, for neither of the trio could think of any plan of rescue promising even the remotest prospect of success.

"Leave me, both of you," he at length exclaimed in desperation--"leave me to watch and to think out this matter alone; lie down and rest if you can for an hour or two, husband your strength as much as possible, for we shall have need of it all before sunrise"--he shuddered involuntarily as he uttered the last word--"and fear not, I will call you in good time."

The two men turned, and without a word retired below to their room, leaving the doctor to wrestle alone with the difficult question of what was his actual duty in this terrible strait.

Reader, do not mistake this man's character. No braver or more gallant Englishman--no n.o.bler or stauncher friend--ever lived than he. Had he been an unmarried man, or had those two women and that helpless child, his daughter, been in a place of safety, he would have unhesitatingly accepted the hints which Manners and Nicholls had so repeatedly thrown out, and placing himself at their head, would have marched with a light heart against the Malays, and either have rescued the captives or have perished with them. But the odds against him and his companions were so great--a little over seven to one even now, after the losses already sustained by the enemy--that he felt he _dared_ not indulge in any hope of success, especially as those odds would be so greatly increased by even _one_ casualty on his side; and if failure ensued, what would be the result to them all, including the women and the child still safe in the shelter of the fort? It would not bear thinking about.

"G.o.d help me!" he cried in his despair. "_What_ shall I do?"

"Ay, and why should not G.o.d help him?" was the thought which followed close upon the heels of his exclamation. And feeling that he had already too long neglected to seek the only counsel upon which he could safely rely, this simple-hearted, n.o.ble-minded gentleman went down upon his knees there and then, and laying the whole case before his Creator, humbly, yet fervently, sought for guidance and aid, for Christ's sake.

When he rose from his knees it was with a feeling of almost ecstatic relief, for--be it said with all reverence--he had cast his burden upon the Lord. He had sought for guidance and help; the one had been given him--for he had formed his resolution what to do; and the other he doubted not would be accorded to him in his time of need; there remained therefore nothing for him to do but to make his arrangements and then to carry them out.

He looked at his watch. Two o'clock, just four hours to sunrise; he had not much time to spare, for when the sun next rose. Gaunt and his child must be once more safe within the walls of the fort, or--well, that must not be thought of.

So taking one more keen glance around, to make quite sure that all was safe, Henderson went softly down the staircase leading to the court- yard, and quietly directed Manners and Nicholls to rejoin him at once upon the parapet. This done, he entered his own room. A lamp, turned low, was burning upon the table, and by its light he was just able to see that his little Lucille was sleeping calmly where he had laid her; but his wife was absent, he needed not to be told where she was. He stood for a moment looking with unspeakable fondness upon the sleeping child, and then bending softly over her, he pressed one long lingering kiss upon her forehead. As he did so she smiled in her sleep, her rosebud lips quivered a moment, and then he heard her whisper, "Dear Percy!" It was enough; had he felt the least lingering hesitation about the carrying out of his plan, that unconscious appeal made by his sleeping child would have effectually banished it, and dashing away the tears that rose to his eyes, the doctor quietly withdrew. There was a light burning in Mrs Gaunt's room; and as he pa.s.sed the door on tiptoe and stealthily, as though he had been engaged upon some unlawful errand, he caught the low murmur of his wife's voice, and a stifled sob. That was another appeal not to be resisted; and without venturing to disturb the two mourning watchers--though he never before yearned so hungrily for a parting word with his wife, or a sight of her sweet face--he pa.s.sed noiselessly on, and so regained the parapet, where Manners and Nicholls already awaited him. To them he fully unfolded his plan, minutely explaining not only his own but also their part in it; after which he gave them his final instructions, and then taking _both_ of Gaunt's magazine rifles in his hand, and thrusting a brace of revolvers into his belt--having previously loaded each weapon most carefully with his own hands--he quietly lowered the outer ladder, cautioning his companions to draw it up again after him, and stepped briskly but noiselessly out through the long dew-laden gra.s.s in the direction of the ship-yard.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

DOOMED TO DIE.

The story told by little Lucille relative to the first appearance of the Malays was so graphic and accurate up to the point of Gaunt's capture, that little or no addition is needed to complete it. The sh.e.l.l- gatherers had been most successful in their quest, and returning to Fay Island laden with their delicate and beautiful spoils, were about half- way across the stream--which, it will be remembered, was of considerable width at the point where they would have to cross--when the proa suddenly hove in sight round a bend of the channel. There was only one possible explanation of the reason why Gaunt had not seen her in ample time to avoid capture, and that was that whilst he had been busy with the children on the eastern beach, the proa must have been approaching from the westward, which would cause her to be hidden from view by the intervening high land. By what means, however, her crew had discovered the entrance to the harbour must remain a mystery; probably it was the result of pure accident, for--as has already been mentioned--it was so artfully concealed that even Gaunt himself, when voyaging to and fro in the raft during the earlier period of his sojourn upon the island, had upon more than one occasion been puzzled to find it.

Be this as it may, the moment of the proa's arrival in the river was a most unfortunate one for the occupants of the punt, who were seen and chased by the Malays the moment that their vessel rounded the point.

Gaunt at once saw that escape for himself as well as for the children was impossible; he was as near Fay Island as he was to the main, and in whichever direction he headed he must inevitably be overtaken before he could make good his retreat, and with his usual prompt.i.tude he at once decided to continue his course for the islet, hoping to be able to make a sufficiently long stand against the enemy to permit of the children gaining the safe refuge of the fort. He was hailed as soon as seen; but, of course, the only notice he took of this was to urge the clumsy, heavy punt with redoubled speed through the water. Finding him so contumacious, the Malays then fired upon him several times, and succeeded in slightly wounding him in the head. As the proa advanced further up the stream, and drew closer and closer still in under the lee of the high land, the wind grew light and shy with her, and then, perhaps fearing that after all their prey might escape them, the crew hastily launched a boat and gave chase in her. But for that unlucky wound in the head it is possible that Gaunt might have succeeded in his plucky effort; but though the bullet inflicted but little actual damage the blow stunned and dazed him, so that for a minute or two he scarcely knew where he was or what he was doing. Trifling as was the amount of time thus lost it was sufficient to ruin what little chance he originally had; for when the punt at length grounded with a shock on the sandy beach of the creek the Malays were scarcely a dozen yards astern of her, and Gaunt had only just time to lift the youngsters out on the sand, to give the hasty injunction, "Run away home, children, as fast as ever you can," and to seize an oar in self-defence, when the enemy--nine of them--were upon him. Of course, armed as he was with no better weapon than a clumsy oar, he had no chance whatever against such overwhelming odds, and though he managed to fell three of his antagonists the fight had not lasted two minutes before his arms were pinioned from behind, his feet tripped from under him, and himself made a prisoner. He was quickly rolled over on his face and his arms securely lashed behind him, when, this being satisfactorily accomplished, his captors raised him to his feet, and, conducting him to a tree, firmly bound him to its trunk. The idea then seemed to occur to the Malays that possibly the children might not yet be beyond the reach of capture, for two of them set off at a run in pursuit along the path leading to the fort. Gaunt guessed only too surely at the object of this sudden and hurried departure, and his heart sank with dismal apprehension as he thought of the distance those little feet would have to traverse ere the refuge of the fort could be won, of their liability to become f.a.gged and to lag upon the way, and of the fleetness of foot displayed by their cruel pursuers when starting upon their relentless errand. And when, from the prolonged absence of the pursuers, apprehension was beginning to yield to a hope that the children were safe, he was plunged into the bitterest distress by the reappearance of one of the miscreants, roughly and cruelly dragging along by the arm his darling and only son, Percy; the poor child crying bitterly with terror and the ruffianly usage to which he was being subjected. Upon seeing his father the little fellow managed, by a sudden and unexpected effort, to break away from his captor, and, running up to Gaunt, embraced him, crying:

"Oh, father, make that cruel man leave me alone; he has been whipping me and twisting my arm and hurting it so much that I can scarcely use it.

Oh, don't let him touch me again, father," as he saw the Malay approaching him with a scowl of hideous malignity upon his already sufficiently ugly features.

"My darling boy, I cannot help you," groaned Gaunt. "Would to G.o.d that I could! but you see they have bound me to this tree so that I cannot move. Listen, Percy dear; we can do nothing at present but submit to these men, who have us in their power, so you must just let them do what they will with you, my precious one; go with the man very quietly, and then perhaps he will not ill-treat you any more."

"_Must_ I, father?" asked the little fellow tearfully, and looking at his father in vague surprise at so seemingly heartless a command.

"Yes, dear boy; yes. It is for your own good that I tell you to do this," answered Gaunt brokenly, for he keenly felt the unspoken reproach which he saw in the child's eyes as the little fellow forlornly turned away and with a piteous sob quietly surrendered himself to the brute, who now again with ruffianly violence seized upon his helpless victim.

"Oh, don't! you hurt me so," the poor little fellow suddenly screamed out; and the father's heart swelled almost to bursting with impotent fury as he saw the cruel clutch with which the wretch was digging his long thin sinewy fingers into the tender flesh of the boy's shoulder as he forced him toward an adjoining tree, to which he forthwith proceeded to lash him, drawing the cord so tightly round the slender wrists that the little fellow fairly screamed and writhed with the intolerable pain.

"Curse you!" yelled Gaunt, now fairly stung to madness and foaming at the mouth with fury; "curse you, fiend that you are!" And as he hurled forth words of rage and defiance he tugged and strained with such superhuman strength upon his bonds that the stout rope fairly cracked whilst it cut into the flesh of his wrists down to the bone. But the lashing was too strong to yield to even his frenzied efforts, apart from the fact that, with his arms lashed behind him, he had no opportunity to exert his strength effectively, and at length, completely exhausted, he was fain to desist, to the undisguised delight of a little knot of the Malays who had gathered round and were keenly enjoying the scene. So much pleasure, indeed, did they derive from it that they said something to little Percy's tormentor which was evidently an incitement of him to continue his ill-treatment of the child, for the fellow, with an acquiescent grin, had no sooner finished his task of lashing the little fellow to the tree--a task which he performed with the utmost deliberation and gusto--than he retired a pace or two, contemplating the helplessness of his little victim with malignant satisfaction, and then, with a glance toward Gaunt and a few laughing words to his companions, he stepped forward and dealt the poor child a savage blow upon the mouth with his clenched fist--so cruel a blow that it extorted another piercing scream of pain and terror from the sufferer and caused his quivering lips to stream with blood. Gaunt said nothing this time, nor did he renew his worse than useless efforts to burst his bonds, but he directed toward the fellow a look of such deadly ferocity that the wretch actually quailed under it, and seemed glad enough to slink away into the background under cover of an order which another Malay, apparently one of the officers of the proa, now stepped forward and gave him. Possibly the order given may have been to desist from further ill- treatment of the child, for the new-comer next said something to the group of onlookers which caused them also to retire, with many a backward glance of animosity at Gaunt--which he returned with interest; and, these dismissed, the officer, if such he was, looked at the sobbing child's bonds and, with a muttered word or two, proceeded to loosen them sufficiently to relieve the little fellow from the cruel suffering they had caused him--a proceeding which won for him a look of unspeakable grat.i.tude from Gaunt which seemed to be not wholly unappreciated.

The loosening of his bonds afforded the poor child so much relief that he now felt almost comfortable, comparatively speaking; and, exhausted with the pain and terror he had already endured, he soon sank into a kind of stupor, which, if it did not amount to actual insensibility, approached it so nearly as to afford the poor little fellow at least a temporary forgetfulness of his situation and surroundings. Gaunt, speaking quietly once or twice to him without obtaining a reply, at once saw with intense satisfaction the state his child had fallen into; and to such a state of despair had he now been brought that he would have been positively happy could he have been a.s.sured that his darling boy was dead and beyond the reach of further suffering. For as he now had leisure to reflect, the future, so far as they two were concerned, was without a single ray of hope to brighten it. He knew, of course, that those staunch comrades of his at the fort would not abandon him and his child to the mercy of the Malays without making some attempt at a rescue; but there were only three of them, and what could three men, however brave, do against such overwhelming odds unless acting upon the defensive and behind stone walls? _There_, indeed, but not in the open field, he had some hopes for them, and there he fully expected they would all very shortly have their hands full, for he momentarily expected to see the whole body of the Malays--except, of course, a man or two to guard himself and his boy--move off to the attack of the fort.

And if the attack failed, as he hoped and believed it would, the Malay loss would doubtless be very heavy; and he had heard quite enough of their vindictive nature to feel a.s.sured they would take their revenge upon him and Percy. Yes, the more he thought about it the more convinced did he become that it was their doom to die. "Well," he murmured, "G.o.d's will be done!" It was best, perhaps, that his child should die now, young and innocent as he was; and as for himself, if he could but be satisfied that the little fellow's death was quick and easy, he cared not how soon he followed him.

But if this was to be the end of the matter so far as they two were concerned, there was a task before him to which he must at once give his best attention--the task of preparing his little son for the awful ordeal before him. To paint Death in colours so attractive as that they should rob the grim king of his terrors and make him welcome, was, he felt, a task of no ordinary difficulty; and coupled with this was the fact that the poor child had been dreadfully terrified already. How was this task to be accomplished--how even begun?

As he cogitated painfully over this problem he saw a party of twelve Malays detach themselves from the rest and move off in the direction of the fort. Then after a considerable interval came the sounds of firing, followed some twenty minutes later by the return of four only out of the twelve. A sickening fear came over him at first that those in the fort had succ.u.mbed to the attack, and that the eight absentees were remaining behind in charge of the prisoners. But a little reflection led him to believe that, had such been the case, the prisoners would have been brought in triumph to the Malay camp. Could it be possible, then, he asked himself, that the missing eight had fallen in the attack? It might be so. The bearing of the four who had returned was anything but triumphant; and then there was a great deal of excited talk and gesticulation on their part, seemingly in the nature of an explanation, and more excited talk among the others, followed, after a long and stormy debate, by the preparation and despatch of the letter, the delivery of which we witnessed in the preceding chapter. This last act of the Malays completely rea.s.sured Gaunt as to the safety of the fort and its inmates, but it also confirmed him in his belief that his own fate and that of his child was sealed.

The messenger soon returned, a few questions were put to them and answered; a couple of sentries were posted with loaded muskets at the entrance to the bush-path leading to the fort; a man was detailed to keep watch upon the two prisoners; the watch-fire was bountifully replenished with brushwood; and then the camp sank gradually into a state of repose.

Then again the question arose in Gaunt's mind. In what manner could he best set about the task of preparing his child to meet death unflinchingly? Whilst he was painfully grappling with the problem Percy himself afforded his father an opening of which the latter at once gladly availed himself. Stirring uneasily, and with a sobbing sigh seeming to recover his recollection of where he was and what had happened to him, the little fellow looked up and asked shudderingly:

"What will the Malays do to us, father?--will they kill us?"

"That is as G.o.d wills, dear boy," answered Gaunt with an affected cheerfulness which he was very far from feeling.

"They may or they may not, I cannot tell. But if they do you will not be sorry to die with father, will you?"

"I--I--don't know," answered the little fellow, looking terrified.

"Will it hurt us?"

"Oh, no," answered Gaunt, "not at all--nothing, that is, worth thinking or troubling about. It will _very_ soon be over; and then--_then_, dear boy, when we come to ourselves again, we shall find that, hand in hand, you know, we are going up, and up, and up, higher and higher, toward heaven. And very soon we shall see the glorious light shining upon the jewelled walls of the heavenly city, the New Jerusalem. And as we draw near we shall see the pearly gates unfold to admit us, and G.o.d's holy angels coming to meet us, clad in their white robes. And we shall hear the first sweet sounds of the celestial music. And as we enter in at the gates we shall meet all those dear ones who have gone before us.

Dear grandpa, whom you never saw, my precious one, but about whom, you know, I have told you so many pretty stories--he will be there to welcome us; and--"

"Oh, that _will_ be nice!" exclaimed the child with kindling eyes. He meditated for a moment, and then, looking up, he asked eagerly: "When are we going, father?"

"Oh, very soon now, dear," answered Gaunt, "_very_ soon--perhaps in two or three hours' time. We can wait patiently until then, can we not?"

"Yes," answered Percy in a perfectly contented tone of voice. And the father was inwardly congratulating himself upon the ease with which his difficult task had been accomplished--though he of course felt that it would be absolutely necessary to keep the child in that frame of mind by constant conversation until the arrival of the supreme moment--when the little fellow looked up and with sudden anxiety asked:

"And will mother be there too?"

How little the poor child knew what poignant anguish he inflicted upon his father by asking this innocent and perfectly natural question!

Gaunt would have given worlds, had he possessed them, for the priceless privilege of saying farewell to his idolised wife; but he knew it could not be--it was impossible. And the child had still to be thought of, still to be cheered and encouraged and strengthened to meet death with a smiling face--_nothing_ must be allowed to interfere with that; so, choking back his anguish as best he could, the father answered:

"Well--no, dear boy; I scarcely think she will be there quite so early as ourselves. But she will not be long in following us. When she finds that we are gone she will be anxious to come, too; and she will not delay for one unnecessary moment, you may depend upon it."

"Oh, father!" exclaimed the poor little fellow in sudden distress, "let us not go without mother; it will be so lonely for her to be down here all by herself. Let us wait for her and all go together; it will be ever so much nicer. I don't want to go without her, father. I would rather not go without mother, if you please." And the poor little fellow began to cry piteously.