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 passed 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 circumstances. 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 Bumpus finally had the noose put round, his neck.
“O Susan, Susan,” cried the poor man in an agony of intense feeling, “it’s little ye thought your Jo would come to such an end as this when ye last sot eyes on him—an’ sweet blue eyes they wos, too!”
There was something ludicrous as well as pathetic in this cry. It did more for him than the most eloquent pleading could have done. Man, in a crowd, is an unstable being. At any moment he will veer right round and run in an opposite direction. The idea that the condemned man had a Susan who would mourn over his untimely end, touched a cord in the hearts of many among the crowd. The reference to her sweet blue eyes at such a moment raised a smile, and an extremely dismal but opportune howl from poor Toozle raised a laugh.
Bumpus started and looked sternly on the crowd.
“You may think me a pirate,” said he, “but I know enough of the feelin’s of honest men to expect no mercy from those wot can laugh at a fellow-creetur in such an hour. You had better get the murder over as soon as ye can. I am ready—Stay! one moment more. I had a’most forgot it. There’s a letter here that I want one o’ you to take charge of. It’s the last I ever got from my Susan, an’ if I had taken her advice to let alone havin’ to do with all sandalwood traders, I’d never ha’ bin in such a fix as I am this day. I want it sent back to her with my blessin’ and a lock o’ my hair. Is there an honest man among ye who’ll take in hand to do this for me?”
As he spoke, a young man, in a costume somewhat resembling that of a sailor, pushed through the crowd, leaped upon the deal table on which Jo stood, and removed the 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—