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Title: The Madman and the Pirate

Author: R.M. Ballantyne

Illustrator: Arthur Twidle

Release Date: June 12, 2007 [EBook #21813]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




THE MADMAN AND THE PIRATE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.



CHAPTER ONE.

A beautiful island lying like a gem on the breast of the great Pacific--
a coral reef surrounding, and a calm lagoon within, on the glass-like
surface of which rests a most piratical-looking schooner.

Such is the scene to which we invite our reader's attention for a little
while.

At the time of which we write it was an eminently peaceful scene.  So
still was the atmosphere, so unruffled the water, that the island and
the piratical-looking schooner seemed to float in the centre of a duplex
world, where every cloudlet in the blue above had its exact counterpart
in the blue below.  No sounds were heard save the dull roar of the
breaker that fell, at long regular intervals, on the seaward side of the
reef, and no motion was visible except the back-fin of a shark as it cut
a line occasionally on the sea, or the stately sweep of an albatross, as
it passed above the schooner's masts and cast a look of solemn inquiry
upon her deck.

But that schooner was not a pirate.  She was an honest trader--at least
so it was said--though what she traded in we have no more notion than
the albatross which gazed at her with such inquisitive sagacity.  Her
decks were not particularly clean, her sails by no means snow-white.
She had, indeed, four goodly-sized carronades, but these were not an
extraordinary part of a peaceful trader's armament in those regions,
where man was, and still is, unusually savage.  The familiar Union Jack
hung at her peak, and some of her men were sedate-looking Englishmen,
though others were Lascars and Malays, of the cut-throat type, of whom
any wickedness might be expected when occasion served.

The crew seemed to have been overcome by the same somnolent influence
that had subdued Nature, for they all lay about the deck sleeping or
dozing in various sprawling attitudes, with the exception of the captain
and the mate.

The former was a huge, rugged man of forbidding aspect, and obviously
savage temper.  The latter--well, it is not easy to say what were his
chief characteristics, so firmly did he control the features of a fine
countenance in which the tiger-like blue eyes alone seemed untamable.
He was not much above the middle height; but his compact frame was wiry
and full of youthful force.

"Lower away the dinghy," said the captain, gruffly, to the mate, "and
let one of these lazy lubbers get into her with a box of figs.  Get into
her yourself?  I may want you."

The mate replied with a stern "Ay, ay, sir," and rose from the
gun-carriage on which he had been seated, while the captain went below.

In a few minutes the latter reappeared, and soon the little boat with
its three occupants was skimming over the lagoon towards the land.

On that land a strange and interesting work was going on at the time.
It was no less than the erection of a church by men who had never before
placed one stone upon another--at least with a view to house-building.

The tribe to which these builders belonged had at first received their
missionary with yells of execration, had torn the garments from his
back, had kicked him into the sea and would infallibly have drowned him
if the boat from which he landed had not returned in haste and rescued
him.  Fortunately, that missionary was well accustomed to a state of
nudity, being himself a South Sea islander.  He was also used to a
pretty rough life, besides being young and strong.  He therefore soon
recovered from the treatment he had received, and, not many weeks
afterwards, determined to make another attempt to land on the island of
Ratinga--as our coral-gem on the ocean's breast was named.

For Waroonga's heart had been opened by the Holy Spirit to receive Jesus
Christ, and the consequent flame of love to the souls of his countrymen
burned too brightly to be quenched by a first failure.  The desire to
possess the little box of clothes and trifles with which he had landed
on Ratinga had been the cause, he thought, of the savages attacking him;
so he resolved to divest himself totally of this world's goods and go to
his brethren with nothing but the Word of God in his hand.  He did so.
The mission-boat once again conveyed him from headquarters to the scene
of his former discomfiture, and, when close to the beach, where the
natives awaited the landing of the party with warlike demonstrations, he
slipped out of his clothes into the water and swam ashore--the Bible, in
the native tongue, being tied carefully on the top of his head to keep
it dry.

Surprise at this mode of proceeding caused the natives to receive him
with less violence than before.  Their curiosity led them to listen to
what he had to say.  Then a chief named Tomeo took him by the shoulders,
placed his nose against that of Waroonga and rubbed it.  This being
equivalent to a friendly shake of the hand, the missionary signalled to
his friends in the boat to go away, which they accordingly did, and left
their courageous brother to his fate.

It is not our purpose to recount the whole history of this good man's
enterprise.  Let it suffice to say that the natives of Ratinga turned
round, childlike--and they were little more than grown up children--
swallowed all he had to say and did all he bid them do--or nearly all,
for of course there were a few self-willed characters among them who
objected at first to the wholesale changes that Waroonga introduced in
their manners and customs.  In the course of a few months they formally
embraced Christianity, burned their idols, and solemnly promised that if
any more unfortunate ships or boats chanced to be wrecked on their
shores they would refrain from eating the mariners.  Thus much
accomplished, Waroonga, in the joy of his heart, launched a canoe, and
with some of his converts went off to headquarters to fetch his wife.
He fetched her, and she fetched a fat little brown female baby along
with her.  Missionaries to the Southern seas, as is well known,
endeavour to impress on converts the propriety, not to say decency, of a
moderate amount of clothing.  Mrs Waroonga--who had been named Betsy--
was therefore presented to the astonished natives of Ratinga in a short
calico gown of sunflower pattern with a flounce at the bottom, a bright
yellow neckerchief, and a coal-scuttle bonnet, which quivered somewhat
in consequence of being too large and of slender build.  Decency and
propriety not being recognised, apparently, among infants, the brown
baby--who had been named Zariffa at baptism--landed in what may be
styled Adamite costume.

Then Waroonga built himself a bamboo house, and set up a school.  Soon
after that he induced a half Italian, half Spanish sailor, named Antonio
Zeppa, who had been bred in England, to settle with his wife and son on
the island, and take charge of the school.

For this post Zeppa and his wife were well qualified, both having
received an education beyond that usually given to persons in their rank
of life.  Besides this, Antonio Zeppa had a gigantic frame, a genial
disposition, and a spirit of humility, or rather childlike simplicity,
which went far to ingratiate him with the savages.

After several years' residence in this field of labour, Waroonga
conceived the grand idea of building a house of God.  It was to be built
of coral-rock, cemented together with coral-lime!

Now, it was while the good people of Ratinga were in the first fervour
of this new enterprise, that the dinghy with its three occupants
approached their shore.

At that particular point of time the walls of the new church had begun
to rise above the foundations, for the chief, Tomeo, had entered into
the matter with intense enthusiasm, and as Tomeo was supreme chief,
every one else felt bound to follow his example and work hard; but, to
do them justice, they required no stimulant; the whole community entered
into it with inexpressible glee.

Zeppa taught them everything, because no one else knew anything, except
of course Waroonga, who, however, was not much in advance of his native
congregation save in spiritual matters.  Zeppa showed them how to burn
lime out of the coral-rock, and they gazed with open-eyed--and
open-mouthed wonder at the process.  Then the great chief Tomeo gave the
word to burn lime, and Buttchee, the chief second in command, backed him
up by kicking the native nearest to his foot and echoing the order, "Go,
burn lime!"  The entire population began to burn lime forthwith, and
would have gone on burning lime enough to have built a South Sea pyramid
equal to Cheops, if they had not been checked and their blazing energies
turned into stone-hewing and dressing, and other channels.

Thus the work went on merrily, and so engrossed were they with it that
they did not at first observe the arrival of the visitors.  Of course
they were aware of the schooner's presence, and had been off to her the
previous day, before she had furled her sails, to offer fruits and
vegetables; but it was some time before they discovered that three
strangers had landed and were gazing at them while they toiled.

Zeppa had a black servant, a negro, whom he had induced to follow him.
This man took a prominent oversight of the works.  He was by nature a
cook, but church-building occupied his leisure moments, and he prided
himself upon being not only cleverer, but considerably blacker, than the
islanders.

"Now you keep out ob de road, leetil Za."  This was addressed to
Zariffa, who, by that time, could not only toddle but trowel, besides
being able to swim like a duck.  "Take care, missy Za, dat clumsy feller
wid the big stone--let him fall, and--oh!"

The negro gave vent to a yell, for the accident he feared actually
occurred.  The clumsy native let a huge piece of coral-rock fall from
his shoulder, which just missed crushing the brown little girl.  It
dropped on a mass of soft lime, which flew up in all directions, making
Zariffa piebald at once, and, what was more serious, sending a lump
straight into Tomeo's face.  This was too much for the great man.  He
seized the culprit by the neck, and thrust his brown visage down upon
the lime, from which he arose white, leaving a beautiful cast of his
features behind him.

Tomeo was pacified at once.  He burst into a loud laugh, while the
guilty man slunk humbly away, not, however, without receiving a salute
from Buttchee's active foot in passing.

At this moment Zeppa came up, holding his son Orlando, a well-grown lad
of fourteen, by the hand.  He at once observed the captain of the
schooner, and, going forward, shook hands with him and the mate.  He had
made their acquaintance the day before, when the vessel anchored in the
lagoon.

"I have come to say good-bye, Mr Zeppa.  We have finished taking in
fresh water sooner than I had expected, and will be ready to sail with
the evening breeze."

"Indeed?  I regret this for various reasons" replied Zeppa, in a soft
musical voice, that one scarcely expected to issue from such a capacious
chest.  There was about the man an air of gentle urbanity and tenderness
which might have induced a stranger to suppose him effeminate, had not
his manly looks and commanding stature rendered the idea absurd.  "In
the first place," he continued, "my wife and I had hoped to show you
some hospitality.  You know we seldom have visitors to this
out-of-the-way island.  Then we wanted your advice with regard to the
building of our church, which, you see, is progressing rapidly; and
last, but not least, I wished to ask a favour, which it will be
impossible to grant if you sail to-night."

"Perhaps not impossible," said Captain Daniel, whose gruff nature was
irresistibly mellowed by the sweet spirit of the giant who addressed
him.  "What d'ye want me to do?"

"I meant to ask a passage in your vessel for my son and myself to the
island of Otava.  It is not far off, and you said yesterday that you
intend to pass close to it.  You see, I am something of a trader, as
well as a missionary-schoolmaster; but if you sail to-night I have not
time to get ready."

"If that's all your difficulty," returned the captain, "I'll delay till
to-morrow night.  A day won't make much difference--will it, Mr Rosco?"
he said, turning to the mate.

"You know best" replied the mate somewhat sharply, "I don't command the
schooner."

The captain looked at the officer with an angry frown, and then, turning
quickly to Zeppa, said--

"Well, if that time will do, it is settled.  You and your son may go
with me.  And, see here, I've brought a box of figs for your wife, since
you won't take anything for the help you gave me this morning."

"You shall present it yourself," said Zeppa, with a pleased smile.

"Hi!  Ebony," hailing the negro, "tell Marie to come here.  She is in
the palm-grove."

Ebony found his mistress and delivered his message.

Madame Zeppa was a pretty little fair woman, of French extraction.  She
had been a lady's-maid, and, having been born and brought up chiefly in
England, spoke English fluently, though with a slightly foreign accent
derived from her mother.

"Missis," said the negro, in a low voice, and with a mysterious look, as
he followed her out of the palm-grove, "massa him wants to go wid
schooner.  Don' let him go."

"Why not, Ebony?"

"Kase I no likes him."

"You don't like the schooner?"

"No, de cappin ob de skooner.  Hims bad man for certin.  Please don' let
massa go."

"You know I never give master his orders," returned madame, with a light
laugh.

"Better if you did, now an' den," muttered the negro, in a tone,
however, which rendered the advice not very distinct.

The fair little woman received the box of figs graciously; the captain
and mate were invited to the abode of Zeppa, where they met the native
missionary, and soon after returned to their vessel to make preparations
for departure.

"Marie," said Zeppa that night as they, with their boy, sat down to rest
after the labours of the day, "I expect to be away about three weeks.
With anything of a wind the schooner will land us on Otava in two or
three days.  Business won't detain me long, and a large canoe, well
manned, will bring Orlando and me back to you in a week or so.  It is
the first time I shall have left you for so long since our wedding.  You
won't be anxious, little woman?"

"I would not be anxious if I were sure you went with good people,"
returned Marie, with a slightly troubled look; "but are you sure of the
captain?"

"I am sure of nobody except you, Marie," returned her husband, with a
smile that contained a dash of amusement in it.

"And me, father," said Orlando, assuming an injured look.

"Well, Orley, I can't say that I am quite sure of you, you rascal,"
returned his father playfully.  "That spice of mischief in your
composition shakes me at times.  However, we will leave that question to
another time.  Meanwhile, what makes you doubt the captain, Marie?"

"Ebony seems to doubt him; and I have great faith in Ebony's judgment."

"So have I; but he is not infallible.  We should never get on in life if
we gave way to groundless fears, dear wife.  Besides, have we not the
promise, `Lo, I am with you alway?'"

On the following afternoon a fresh breeze sprang up and the
piratical-looking schooner, bowing gracefully before it, sailed across
the now ruffled lagoon and stood out to sea, while Marie with the
missionary and his wife, and a crowd of natives, stood at the end of the
coral wharf, waving farewell to Zeppa and his son as long as their
figures could be distinguished.  After that, they continued to gaze at
the diminishing vessel until it melted like a little speck at the
meeting-place of sea and sky.

That night an event which had been long pending was precipitated.

Captain Daniel had given way to his fierce temper so often during the
voyage, and had behaved with such cruel tyranny to his crew, that they
had resolved to stand it no longer.  His harsh conduct to the mate, in
particular, who was a favourite with the men, had fostered the spirit of
indignation, and the mate himself, being a man of no fixed principles,
although good-natured enough when not roused, had at last determined to
side with the men.  He was a man of fierce passions, and had been roused
by his superior's tyranny and insolence to almost uncontrollable fury;
but he had not at that time been guilty of absolute insubordination.

When the vessel's course had been laid that night--which chanced to be a
Friday, as some of the crew afterwards remembered--and the cabin lamp
had been lighted, the captain sent for the mate, who saw by his looks
that a storm was brewing.

"What did you mean, sir," began the captain at once, "by that insolent
reply you made to me on shore yesterday?"

The young man might have answered temperately if they had been alone,
but Zeppa was lying on a locker reading, and his son was also present,
and Rosco knew that the captain meant to put him to shame before them.
His spirit fired.

"Scoundrel!" he cried, "the measure of your iniquity is filled.  You
shall no longer command this schooner--"

Thus far he got when the captain, livid with rage, sprang up to rush at
him.  Zeppa also leaped up to aid in putting down what he clearly
perceived was premeditated mutiny, but the mate sprang out of the cabin,
and, shutting the door with a bang, locked it.  At the same instant the
man at the wheel--knowing what had occurred--closed and fastened the
cabin sky-light.  The captain threw himself several times with all his
weight against the door, but it opened inwards and could not be forced.

There were two square windows in the stern of the schooner, one of which
was open.  Orlando perceived this, sprang up, clambered through it,
gained the deck unperceived, and, running down the companion stair, past
all the men, rushed against the cabin door, and burst it open.

Zeppa was endeavouring at the moment to wrench off the lock and was
nearly thrown back.  Recovering, he struck fiercely out at those who
thronged the dark passage.

"Oh! father," groaned Orlando, as he fell before the blow.

With a terrible cry of consternation Zeppa stooped to pick up his child.
He was felled with a handspike as he did so; the crew then rushed into
the cabin and the captain was overpowered and bound.

"Overboard wi' them all!" shouted one of the men.

There were some among these villains who, having once given the reins to
their rage, were capable of anything.  These, ready to act on the
diabolical suggestion, attempted to drag Zeppa and the captain up the
companion ladder, but their great size and weight rendered the effort
difficult.  Besides, Zeppa's consciousness was returning, and he
struggled powerfully.  It was otherwise with poor Orlando.  One of the
ruffians easily raised the lad's light frame and bore him to the deck.
Next moment a sharp cry and splash were heard.  Zeppa understood it, for
he had seen his son carried away.  With a wild shout he burst from those
who held him, and would certainly have gained the deck and leaped
overboard had not a mutineer from behind felled him a second time.

When Rosco heard what had been done he ran furiously on deck, but one
glance at the dark sea, as the schooner rushed swiftly over it sufficed
to show him that the poor boy's case was hopeless.

But Orley's case was not as hopeless as it seemed.  The plunge revived
him.  Accustomed to swim for hours at a time in these warm waters, he
found no difficulty in supporting himself.  Of course his progress was
aimless, for he could not see any distance around him, but a friend had
been raised up for him in that desperate hour.  At the moment he had
been tossed overboard, a sailor, with a touch of pity left in his breast
had seized a life-buoy and thrown it after him.  Orlando, after swimming
about for a few minutes, struck against this buoy by chance--if we may
venture to use that word in the circumstances.

Seizing the life-preserver with an earnest "thank God" in his heart if
not on his lips, he clung to it and looked anxiously around.

The sight was sufficiently appalling.  Thick darkness still brooded on
the deep, and nothing was visible save, now and then, the crest of a
breaking wave as it passed close to him, or, rolling under him, deluged
his face with spray.



CHAPTER TWO.

When Antonio Zeppa recovered consciousness, he found himself lying on a
mattress in the schooner's hold, bound, bleeding, and with a dull and
dreadful sense of pain at his breast, which at first he could not
account for.  Ere long the sudden plash of a wave on the vessel's side
recalled his mind to his bereavement; and a cry--loud, long, and
terrible--arose from the vessel's hold, which caused even the stoutest
and most reckless heart on board to quail.

Richard Rosco--now a pirate captain--heard it as he sat alone in his
cabin, his elbows resting on the table, and his white face buried in his
hands.  He did not repent--he could not repent; at least so he said to
himself while the fires kindled by a first great crime consumed him.

Men do not reach the profoundest depths of wickedness at one bound.  The
descent is always graduated--for there are successive rounds to the
ladder of sin--but it is sometimes awfully sudden.  When young Rosco
left England he had committed only deeds which men are apt lightly to
name the "follies" of youth.  These follies, however, had proved to be
terrible leaks through which streams of corruption had flowed in upon
his soul.  Still, he had no thought of becoming a reckless or heartless
man, and would have laughed to scorn any one who should have hinted that
he would ever become an outlaw and a pirate.  But oppression bore
heavily on his hasty, ill-disciplined temper, and now the lowest round
of the ladder had been reached.

Even in this extremity he did not utterly give way.  He would not become
an out-and-out pirate.  He would merely go forth as a plunderer to
revenge himself on the world which had used him so ill.  He would rob--
but he would not kill; except of course in self-defence, or when men
refused to give up what he demanded.  He would temper retributive
justice with mercy, and would not suffer injury to women or children.
In short, he would become a semi-honourable, high-minded sort of pirate,
pursuing wealth without bloodshed!  True, in the sad case of poor
Orlando, he had not managed to steer clear of murder; but then that deed
was done without his orders or knowledge.  If his comrades in crime had
agreed, he would have preferred some sort of smuggling career; but they
would not listen to that, so he had at last consented to hoist the black
flag.

While the wretched youth was endeavouring to delude himself and gather
crumbs of comfort from such thoughts as these, the awful cry from the
ship's hold again rang out, and as his thoughts reverted to the bereaved
father, and the fair, light-hearted little mother on Ratinga Island, the
deadly pallor that overspread his countenance was intensified.

Rising hastily--with what intent he himself hardly knew--he proceeded to
the hold.  It was broad day at the time, and sufficient light penetrated
the place to reveal the figure of Antonio Zeppa crouching on his
mattress, with his chin upon his knees, his handsome face disfigured
with the blood that had dried upon it, and a wild, fierce light gleaming
in his eyes.

He did not speak or move when Rosco entered and sat down on the head of
a cask near him.

"Zeppa," he said, with intense earnestness, "as God shall be my judge, I
did not mean to--to--throw--to do this to your boy.  It was done without
my knowledge."

"Hah!" burst from the stricken father; but nothing more, while he
continued to gaze in the pirate captain's face.

"Indeed it is true," continued Rosco hurriedly.  "I had no intention of
letting murder be done.  I would not even slay the captain who has used
me so ill.  I would give my life if I could alter it now--but I cannot."

"Hah!" gasped Zeppa again, still keeping his eyes fixed on Rosco's face.

"Don't look at me that way," pleaded the pirate, "as if I had done the
deed.  You know I didn't.  I swear I didn't!  If I had been there, I
would have saved Orlando at the cost of--"

He was interrupted at this point by the repetition of the cry which had
before reached him in the cabin; but how much more awful did that
despairing cry sound near at hand, as it issued full, deep-toned, and
strong, from the chest of the Herculean man!  There was a difference in
it also this time--it terminated in a wild, fiendish fit of laughter,
which caused Rosco to shrink back appalled; for now he knew that he
confronted a maniac!

For some minutes the madman and the pirate sat gazing at each other in
silent horror.  Then the latter rose hastily and turned to leave the
hold.  As he did so, the madman sprang towards him, but he was checked
by the chains which bound him, and fell heavily on the deck.

Returning to the cabin, Rosco went to a locker and took out a case
bottle, from which he poured half a tumbler of brandy and drank it.
Then he summoned the man who had been appointed his second in command.

"Redford," he said, assuming, by a mighty effort of self-restraint a
calm tone and manner, "you told me once of a solitary island lying a
long way to the south of the Fiji group.  D'you think you could lay our
course for it?"

"I'm sure I could, sir; but it is very much out of the way of commerce,
and--"

"There is much sandal-wood on it, is there not?" asked Rosco,
interrupting him.

"Ay, sir, plenty of that, an' plenty of fierce natives too, who will
give us a warm reception.  I would--"

"So much the better," returned the captain, with a cynical smile, again
interrupting; "we may be able to obtain a load of valuable wood for
nothing, and get rid of our cowards at the same time.  Go, lay our
course for--what's the island's name?"

"I don't know its right name, sir; but we call it Sugar-loaf Island from
the shape of one end of it."

"That will do.  And hark ye, friend, when I give orders or ask questions
in future, don't venture to offer advice or raise objections.  Let the
crew understand that we must be able to pass for lawful traders, and
that a load of sandal-wood will answer our purpose well enough.  It will
be your wisdom, also, to bear in mind that discipline is as useful on
board a Free Rover as on board a man-of-war, and that there is only one
way to maintain it."

The pirate captain pointed to a brace of pistols that lay on the table
beside him, and said, "Go."

Redford went, without uttering another word.  His was one of those
coarse natures which are ever ready to presume and take advantage when
there is laxity in discipline, but which are not difficult to subdue by
a superior will.  He forthwith spread the report that the new captain
was a "stiff un," a fact which nearly all the men were rather glad than
otherwise to hear.

For some days after leaving Ratinga a stiff breeze enabled the
schooner--which had been re-named by its crew the "Free Rover"--to
proceed southward rapidly.  Then a profound calm succeeded, and for a
couple of days the vessel lay almost motionless on the sea.

During all this time the poor maniac in her hold lay upon his
blood-stained couch, for no one dared--at least no one cared--to
approach him.  At meal times the cook pushed a plate of food within his
reach.  He usually took no notice of this until, hunger constrained him
to devour a little, almost savagely.  No word would he speak, but moaned
continually without intermission, save when, in a burst of
uncontrollable anguish, he gave vent to the terrible cry which so
weighed on the spirits of the men, that they suggested to each other the
propriety of throwing the father overboard after the son.  Redford's
report of his interview with the captain, however, prevented the
suggestion being acted on.

It is possible that the two tremendous blows which Zeppa had received
during the mutiny may have had something to do with his madness; but
there can be no doubt that the intense mutual affection which had
subsisted between him and his only child, and the sudden and awful
manner of that child's end, were of themselves sufficient to account for
it.

For Orlando had been all that a father could wish; loving, gentle,
tender, yet lion-like and courageous in action, with a powerful frame
like that of his father, and a modest, cheerful spirit like that of his
mother.  No wonder that both parents doted on him as their noblest
terrestrial gift from God.

"And now," thought the crushed man, as he crouched on his mattress in
the hold, "he is gone,--snatched away before my eyes, suddenly and _for
ever_!"

It was when this thought recurred, again and again, that the cry of
agony burst from him, but it was invariably succeeded by the thought,
"No, not _for ever_.  Orlando is with the Lord.  We shall see him again,
Marie and I, when we reach the better land."

And then Zeppa would laugh lightly, but the laugh would merge again into
the bitter cry, as the thought would recur persistently--"gone--gone--
for ever!"

Oh! it was pitiful to see the strong man thus reduced, and reason
dethroned; and terrible were the pangs endured by the pirate chief as he
heard and saw; but he had now schooled himself to accept what he called
his "fate," and was able to maintain a calm, indifferent demeanour
before his men.  Of course he never for a moment, during all that time,
thought of crying to God for mercy, for as long as a man continues to
ascribe his sins and their consequences to "fate," he is a rampant and
wilful, besides being an unphilosophical, rebel against his Maker.

At last, one afternoon, the peak of Sugar-loaf Island was descried on
the horizon, close to where the sun was descending amid a world of
golden clouds.

"Which side is the best for landing on!" asked the captain of his mate.

"The southern end, sir, which is steep and uninhabited," said Redford.

In half an hour they were under the shelter of the cliffs close to a
creek, at the inner end of which there was a morsel of flat beach.
Beyond this lay a richly wooded piece of land, which seemed to be
connected with a gorge among the hills.

"Lower the boat" said Rosco.  "Have three men ready, and, when I call,
send them to the hold."

He descended as he spoke, and approached Zeppa, who looked at him with
unmistakable ferocity.

"You are going on shore," he said to the poor madman, who seemed neither
to comprehend nor to care for what he said.

"Once again," continued Rosco, after a pause, "I tell you that I had no
hand in the death of your son.  My men, if they had their way, would
soon treat you as they treated him.  They want to get rid of you, so, to
save your life, I must send you on shore.  It is an island--inhabited.
I hope the natives will prove friendly to you.  I hope you will get
well--in time.  Do you understand what I say?"

Zeppa neither spoke nor moved, but continued to glare at the man whom he
evidently regarded as his deadliest foe.

A touch of pity seemed to influence the pirate captain, for he added in
a softer tone, "I would have taken you with me, if it had been possible,
and landed you on Ratinga.  Perhaps that may yet be done.  At any rate I
will return to this island--we shall meet again."

At last the madman spoke, in a harsh, grating tone,--"If we meet again,
you shall die!"

"I will do my best to avoid that fate," returned Rosco, with a touch of
sarcasm.  "Ho! lads! come down."

Three powerful seamen, who had stood at the hatchway awaiting the
summons, descended, and at once laid hold of Zeppa.  To their surprise,
he made no resistance.  To every one but the captain he behaved liked a
lamb.  Having been placed in the bottom of the boat alongside, with his
hands still bound, they shoved off, and Rosco, taking the tiller,
steered for the little creek.

The instant the keel touched the land two of the men jumped out and
hauled the boat ashore.  The others assisted Zeppa to land.  They led
him to a grassy bank, and bade him sit down.  He obeyed meekly, and sat
there gazing at the ground as if unable to comprehend what was being
done.  Rosco remained in the boat while a small box of biscuit was
conveyed to the spot and left at the side of Zeppa.

Then, removing his bonds, the men re-embarked and returned to the
schooner, which soon left that part of the island far astern.  While it
receded, the pirate captain kept his glass fixed on the wretched man
whom he had thus forsaken.  He saw that Zeppa never once turned his head
seaward, but, after gazing in a state of abstraction at the ground for
some time, rose and sauntered slowly inland.  He did not appear to
observe the small supply of provision left for his use.  With his chin
sunk upon his breast and his hands clasped behind him, he appeared to
wander aimlessly forward until his tall figure was lost to view among
the palm-groves that fringed the bottom of the mountain.

Leaving him there, we shall turn now to poor Orlando, who had been
tossed so unceremoniously into the sea.  Probably the reader is aware
that the water of the southern seas is, in many parts, so much warmer
than that of our northern climes, that people may remain in it for hours
without being chilled.  Hence natives of the coral islands are almost
amphibious, and our young hero, having spent much of his life among
these islands, could swim for the greater part of a day without becoming
exhausted.

When, therefore, he caught hold of the life-preserver, as stated in the
last chapter, he clung to it with some degree of confidence; but by
degrees the depressing influence of continued darkness began to tell
upon him, and he became less and less hopeful of deliverance.  He
bethought him of the great distance they had sailed from Ratinga before
the mutiny broke out, and the utter impossibility of his being able to
swim back.  Then he thought of sharks, and a nervous tendency to draw up
his legs and yell out affected him.  But the thought of his father, and
of the probable fate that awaited him, at length overbore all other
considerations, and threw the poor boy into such a state of despair,
that he clung to the life-preserver for a long time in a state of
semi-stupor.

At last the day dawned faintly in the east and the glorious sun arose,
and Orley's heart was cheered.  From earliest infancy he had been taught
to pray, so you may be sure he did not fail at this crisis in his young
life.  But no answer was returned to his prayer until a great part of
the weary day had passed, and he had begun to look forward with dread to
the approaching night.

As evening advanced, exhaustion began to creep over him, and more than
once he felt himself slipping from his support under the influence of
sleep.  The struggle to retain consciousness now became terrible.  He
fought the battle in many ways.  Sometimes he tried to shake himself up
by shouting.  Then he again had recourse to prayer, in a loud voice.
Once he even attempted to sing, but his heart failed him, and at last he
could do nothing but grasp the life-buoy and cling with all the tenacity
of despair.  And, oh! what thoughts of his mother came over him then!
It seemed as if every loving act and look of hers was recalled to his
mind.  How he longed to clasp her once more in his arms and kiss her
before he died!

While these thoughts were gradually taking the form of a hazy dream, he
was rudely aroused by something grasping his hair.

Sharks, of course, leaped to his mind, and he struggled round with a
wild gurgling shriek, for the grasp partially sank him.  Then he felt
himself violently dragged upwards, and his eyes encountered the dark
face and glittering eye-balls of a savage.

Then was Orley's cry of fear turned into a shout of joy, for in that
dark countenance he recognised the face of a friend.  A canoe full of
Ratinga natives had nearly run him down.  They had been absent on an
expedition, and were alike ignorant of the visit of the Free Rover and
the departure of Antonio Zeppa.

Their astonishment at finding Orlando in such a plight was only equalled
by their curiosity to know how he had come there; but they were
compelled to exercise patience, for the poor boy, overcome by mingled
joy and exhaustion, fell back in a swoon almost as soon as he was hauled
out of the water.

Need we describe the state into which poor Madame Zeppa was thrown when
Orlando returned to her?--the strange mingling of grief and terrible
anxiety about her husband's fate, with grateful joy at the restoration
of her son?  We think not!

Ebony, the faithful and sable servitor of the family, got hold of
Orlando as soon as his poor mother would let him go, and hurried him off
to a certain nook in the neighbouring palm-grove where he was wont to
retire at times for meditation.

"You's quite sure yous fadder was not shooted?" he began, in gasping
anxiety, when he had forced the boy down on a grassy bank.

"I think not," replied Orley, with a faint smile at the negro's
eagerness.  "But you must remember that I was almost unconscious from
the blow I received, and scarce knew what was done."

"But you no hear no shootin'?" persisted Ebony.

"No; and if any shots had been fired, I feel certain I should have heard
and remembered them."

"Good! den der's a chance yous fadder's alive, for if de no hab shooted
him at first, de no hab de heart to shoot him arterwards.  No, he'd
smile away der wikitness; de _couldn'_ do it."

Orlando was unable to derive much comfort from this sanguine view of the
influence of his father's smile--bright and sweet though he knew it to
be--yet with the energy of youth he grasped at any straw of hope held
out to him.  All the more that Ebony's views were emphatically backed up
by the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee, both of whom asserted that Zeppa had
never failed in anything he had ever undertaken, and that it was
impossible he should fail now.  Thus encouraged, Orlando returned home
to comfort his mother.



CHAPTER THREE.

But Orley's mother refused to be comforted.  What she had heard or read
of pirates induced her to believe that mercy must necessarily be
entirely banished from their hearts; and her husband, she knew full
well, would sooner die than join them.  Therefore, she argued in her
despair, Antonio must have perished.

"But mother," said Orley, in a soothing tone, "you must remember that
Rosco and his men are not regular pirates.  I only heard them shout
`Hoist the black flag!' when they seized me; but that does not prove
that they did hoist it, or that Rosco agreed to do so.  They were only
mutineers, you see, and not hardened villains."

"Hardened enough when they threw you overboard, my son," returned poor
little Madame Zeppa, with a sob.

"True; but that was in the hurry of the rising, and without orders from
Rosco, as far as I know.  Besides, mother, have you not often told me
that God will never forsake His own children?  Surely, then, He will not
forsake father."

"No, oh, no! the good Lord will never forsake him.  He will certainly
deliver his soul from sin and death; but God sometimes sees fit to allow
the bodies of His children to suffer and die.  It may be so now."

"Yes, mother, but also it may _not_ be so now.  Let us take a hopeful
view, and do what we can to find out--to find--to--"

Poor Orlando broke down here, laid his head on his little mother's
shoulder, and wept for his mind had suddenly run itself blank.  What was
there to find out? what could they do?  Nothing, absolutely nothing,
except pray; and they did that fervently.

Then Orley went out to consult again with his friends.  Alas! there was
no other outlet for their grief, save prayer and consultation, for
action was, in the circumstances, impossible.

"Bin t'ink, t'inkin' horroble hard all last night.  Couldn' sleep a
wink," said Ebony one day, some weeks after the return of Orlando, when,
according to custom, he and the native missionary and his wife, with the
chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee, assembled for a consultation in the
palm-grove.

"What have you been thinking about?" asked Orley.

"Yous fadder, ob course."

"Of course," repeated the boy, "but what have you been thinking about
him--anything new?"

"Not zackly noo," returned the negro, with a very earnest look, "but ole
t'oughts turned in a noo d'rection.  Sit down, Tomeo, an' I will tell
you--an' try to forgit yous hat if poss'ble.  It's 'xtroarnar good
lookin', a'most as much good lookin' as yousself, so you got no occashin
to be always t'inkin' about it."

We may remark here that both Tomeo and Buttchee understood a little of
Ebony's English, though they could not speak a word.  The reader will
understand, therefore, that when we put words in their mouths we only
give a free translation of their language.  In like manner Ebony
understood a little of the Ratinga tongue, but could not speak much of
it, and Waroonga, who himself spoke uncommonly bad, though fluent,
English, interpreted when necessary.

"Well, you mus' know," said Ebony, "dat jus before I goes to bed las'
night I heat a little too much supper--"

"You doos that every night" interrupted Buttchee, with a grin.

Ebony ignored the interruption, and continued--

"So, you see, I dream berry bad--mos' drefful dreams!  Yes.  Well, what
I dream was dis.  I see Massa Zeppa forced by de pierits to walk de
plank--"

"What's that?" asked Tomeo.

Waroonga looked at Ebony for an explanation, and then translated--

"When pirates want to kill people they sometimes tie up their eyes, and
bind their hands, and make them walk along a plank stickin' over the
ship's side, till they fall off the end of it into the sea, where they
are left to drown."

Tomeo looked at Buttchee with a grin and nodded, as though he thought
the mode of execution rather a good one; then, recollecting suddenly
that any mode of slaying innocent men was inconsistent with his
character as a convert to Christianity, he cast a glance of awful
solemnity at Waroonga, and tried to look penitent.

"Well, hims walk de plank like a man," continued Ebony, "hims dood
eberyting like a man.  An' w'en hims topple into de sea hims give sitch
a most awful wriggle dat his bonds bu'sted.  But hims berry sly, was
Massa Zeppa--amazin' sly.  I t'ought him lie on's back zif him be dead.
Jest move a leetle to look like drownin', an' w'en he long way astern,
he slew round, off wid de hanky fro hims eyes an' larf to hisseff like
one o'clock.  Den he swum'd to a island an' git ashore, and climb up de
rocks, an' sit down--an'--an'--dat's all."

"What! be that all?" asked Waroonga.

"Dat's all," repeated the negro.  "I no dream no more arter dat, 'cause
I was woked by a fly what hab hoed up my nose, an' kep' bumblin' in it
like steam inside ob a kittle."

"Well, Ebony," asked Orlando, "what conclusions do you draw from that
dream?"

"I di'nt draw no kungklooshins from it 'cos I dunno what de are.  Nebber
hab notin' to do wid what I don' understan'.  But what I was t'ink was
dis: in de days ob old, some time after Adam an' Eve was born, a sartin
king, called Fair-ho, or some sitch name (Waroonga there knows all about
him) had a dream, that siven swine came up--"

"Kine, Ebony--not swine," interrupted the missionary, with a
good-humoured smile, "which is all the same as cows."

"Well, den, siven fat cows come up out ob a ribber, an' hoed slap at
siven thin cows--mis'rable skinny critters that--"

"All wrong, Ebony," again interrupted Waroonga.  "It's just the other
way.  The skinny ones went at the fat ones."

"Well, ob course you must be right," returned the negro, humbly, "though
I'd have 'spected it was t'other way.  But I s'pose the skinny ones was
so hungry that the fat ones hadn't a chance wid 'em.  However, it don't
matter.  What I was goin' to say was that a good man, called Joseph,
went to Fair-ho an' 'splained all his dream to him.  Now, if Joseph
could do dat, why shouldn't Waroonga 'splain my dream to me?"

"Because I's not Joseph, Ebony, an you're not Pharoah," returned
Waroonga promptly.

Tomeo and Buttchee turned looks of inquiry on Ebony as if to say, "What
d'ye say to that, you nigger?"  But the nigger said nothing for some
moments.  He seemed not to have viewed the matter in that light.

"Well, I don'no," he said at last with a deep sigh, "I t'ought I'd get
hold ob suthin' when I kitch hold ob dat dream.  But, I do b'lieve
myself, dat part of it means dat Zeppa hims git on an island, anyhow."

"If my dear father got upon _anything_, it must have been an island,"
said Orlando sadly.

"That's troo," remarked Mrs Waroonga.  "Keep your mouth shut, my
da'lin'."

She referred to her brown baby, which she placed with some violence on
her knee.  It is well to remark here that little Zariffa had been
supplied with a coal-scuttle bonnet proportioned to her size, made by
her mother out of native straw, and that she did not wear anything else
in the way of costume.

After Ebony's dream had been thoroughly discussed in all its bearings,
and viewed in every possible point of relation to their great sorrow,
the council adjourned, as usual, to various duties about the flourishing
little village, and Orlando went to lay the result before his mother,
who, although she could not believe these deliberations would end in
anything practical, found it impossible, nevertheless, to resist the
influence of so much faith and strong hopefulness, so that she was
somewhat comforted, as it were, in spite of herself.  Time flew by, and
upwards of three years elapsed without anything happening at Ratinga
Island to throw a single ray of light on the fate of the lost man.

During that period, however, much that was interesting and encouraging
occurred to comfort the heart of the native missionary and the sorrowing
Marie Zeppa.  In the first place they received several visits from the
mission-vessel, with small supplies of such luxuries as sugar, tea, and
coffee for the body, and, for the spirit, a few bundles of tracts and
books printed in the native tongue, among which, you may be sure, were
many copies of the Book of books, the blessed Bible.  Carpenters' and
smiths' tools were also brought to them, so that they not only carried
on their house-building and other operations with greater ease than
heretofore, but even essayed the building of small boats with
considerable success.

On the occasion of these visits, supplies of clothing were also left for
the use of those converts who could be persuaded to put them on.  But in
these matters of taste Waroonga was not so successful as he had been in
spiritual things.  After his first disastrous landing, he had found no
difficulty in persuading the natives to burn their false gods, and put
away their too numerous wives--reserving only one to each man;--but when
it was suggested that the usual bit of cloth round the loins was not
quite sufficient for Christians, and that additional clothing was
desirable, they betrayed decided symptoms of a tendency to rebel.

Savages in all parts of the world are usually much influenced for good
or evil by the example of their chiefs.  Those of Ratinga were no
exception to the general rule, and the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee did not
encourage the putting on of clothes.  In the matter of head-dress they
had indeed given in; but when one day, Waroonga presented Tomeo with a
pair of what are called slop-made trousers, and advised him to put them
on, slapping his own at the same time, and asserting (we trust
truthfully) that they were comfortable, Tomeo looked at them with an air
of contempt and Buttchee, who was irreverent, laughed.

After much persuasion, however, and being good-natured, he consented to
try.  He got one leg in easily enough, but when he attempted to put in
the other, not being accustomed to the feat, he staggered and had to let
the leg down.  Raising it a second time, he made a successful plunge,
got the foot in, lost his balance, made a frantic effort to disengage
his foot, and fell to the ground.

"Sit down, my friend, and try it again," said Waroonga, encouragingly.

Our missionary was of a gentle, loving disposition.  His successes were
in every case the result of suasion.  He never sought to coerce men.
Tomeo with childlike simplicity rebuked his own awkwardness, and humbly
seated his huge body on a bank for another effort.  In this position he
got his legs easily into the trousers and drew them on, but when he
stood up to complete the operation, it was found that they were very
much too small for him, besides which he had put them on with the back
to the front!

"Ah! my friend, they do not fit," said Waroonga, thinking it unnecessary
to refer to the error.  "I will find a larger pair for you in the store.
But try this coat.  It is the kind worn by the white man when he goes
to see his friends.  It will be much easier to put on, I think."  So
saying, Waroonga produced a blue surtout with bright brass buttons.

"No," said Tomeo, drawing himself up with dignity, and putting the
garment aside, "I do not require it.  Has not a coat of skin been given
to me?  I want no other."

And truly, the dark brown skin which fitted so perfectly to his muscular
frame--tattooed as it was with many elegant devices--seemed to warrant
his rejection of the ill-made surtout.  But in Ratinga, as elsewhere,
tastes differ.  Buttchee's fancy was caught by the brass buttons, and he
volunteered to put on the coat, although he had looked with scorn on the
trousers.

Like his brother chief, however, he experienced considerable difficulty,
especially in distinguishing the difference between the left arm-hole
and the breast pocket, despite the able assistance of Waroonga.  At last
he got the coat partially on, and with a mighty heave, forced it upon
his broad shoulders.  Then he stood with arms awkwardly curved and
extended, uncertain what to do next.  He was by no means properly into
the garment, and his look of solemn inquiry said as much to the
missionary.

"Try another heave, my friend," said Waroonga, in a tone of
encouragement.

Buttchee tried, with the result of a mysterious and incomprehensible
noise at his back.

"What is that?" he said quickly, with looks of alarm, as he endeavoured
to glance over his shoulder.

"I fear," replied Waroonga with some hesitation, "that the coat has
burst!"

There could be no doubt whatever about that, for a long strip of the
chief's back was visible, as if a gusset of brown leather had been
introduced into the blue coat, from the waist to the collar.

For a considerable time after this, both chiefs declined further
experiments in the clothing way, but ultimately Tomeo was induced to
wear a striped flannel jersey, and Buttchee, of his own accord, adopted
a scarlet flannel petticoat that had been given to his wife.  Thus was
the ice of conservatism broken in the island of Ratinga, and liberal
views prevailed thenceforward in the matter of costume--whether to the
advancement of taste and decency remains to this day an open question,
as all liberal and conservative questions will probably remain till the
crack of doom.

One day, to the inexpressible surprise and joy of the islanders, a large
vessel was seen to pass through the narrow opening in the coral reef,
and cast anchor in the lagoon.  The excitement on Ratinga was great, for
vessels rarely had occasion to visit the island, although some of them,
probably South Sea whalers, were seen to pass it on the horizon two or
three times a year.

Immediately four canoes full of natives put off to visit the stranger;
but on reaching her they were sternly told to keep off, and the order
was silently enforced by the protruding muzzle of a carronade, and the
forbidding aspect of several armed men who looked over the side.  "We
are men of peace," said Waroonga, who was in the foremost canoe, "and
come as Christian friends."

"We are men of war," growled one of the men, "an' don't want no friends,
Christian or otherwise."

"We came to offer you hospitality," returned the missionary in a
remonstrative tone.

"An' we came to take all the hospitality we want of you without waitin'
for the offer," retorted the sailor, "so you'd better go back to where
you came from, an' keep yourselves quiet, if ye don't want to be blowed
out o' the water."

This was sufficient.  With disappointed looks the natives turned their
canoes shoreward and slowly paddled home.

"Depend upon it, this is another pirate," said Orlando, when Waroonga
reported to him the result of his visit.

"What would you advise us to do?" asked Waroonga.

Lest the reader should be surprised at this question, we must remind him
that Orlando had, in the course of these three years, grown up almost to
manhood.  The southern blood in his veins, and the nature of the climate
in which he had been born and brought up, may have had something to do
with his early development; but, whatever the cause, he had, at the
early age of eighteen, become as tall and nearly as powerful as his
father had been, and so like to him in aspect and manner, that the
natives began to regard him with much of that respect and love which
they had formerly entertained towards Antonio.  Of course Orlando had
not the sprinkling of grey in his short black curly hair which had
characterised the elder Zeppa; but he possessed enough of the black
beard and moustache, in a soft rudimental form, to render the
resemblance to what his sire had been very remarkable.  His poor little
mother left the management of all her out-of-door affairs with perfect
confidence to her son.  Tomeo and Buttchee also had begun to regard him
as his father's successor.

"I would advise you to do nothing," said Orley, in reply to Waroonga's
question, "beyond having all the fighting men of the village prepared
for action, and being ready at a moment's notice to receive the
strangers as friends if they choose to come as such."

"Well, then, Orley, I will be ready for them, as you tell to me, if they
comes in peace; if not, you must go and carry out your own advice, for
you is manager of all secular affairs here."

In the afternoon a large boat, full of men armed to the teeth, put off
from the side of the strange vessel, which was barque-rigged, and rowed
to the beach near the mouth of a small stream.  Evidently the object of
the visit was to procure fresh water.  Having posted his men in ambush,
with orders to act in strict accordance with his signals, Orlando
sauntered down alone and unarmed to the place where the sailors were
filling their water-casks.

"Is your captain here?" he asked quietly.

The men, who were seemingly a band of thorough ruffians, looked at him
in surprise, but went on filling their casks.

"I am the captain," said one, stepping up to the youth with an insolent
air.

"Indeed!" said Orlando, with a look of surprise.

"Yes, indeed, and let me tell you that we have no time to trouble
ourselves wi' you or yours; but since you've put yourself in our power,
we make you stay here till we've done watering."

"I have no intention of leaving you," replied Orley, seating himself on
a rock, with a pleasant smile.

"What d'ee say to kidnap the young buck?" suggested one of the men; "he
might be useful."

"Perhaps he might be troublesome," remarked Orlando; "but I would advise
you to finish your work here in peace, for I have a band of three
hundred men up in the bush there--not ordinary savages, let me tell you,
but men with the fear of God in their hearts, and the courage of lions
in their breasts--who would think it an easy matter to sweep you all off
the face of the earth.  They are ready to act at my signal--or at my
fall--so it will be your wisdom to behave yourselves."

The quiet, almost gentle manner in which this was said, had a powerful
effect on the men.  Without more words they completed the filling of the
casks, and then, re-embarking, pushed off.  It was obvious that they
acted in haste.  When they had gone about a couple of boat-lengths from
the beach, one of the men rose up with a musket, and Orlando distinctly
heard him say--

"Shall I send a bullet into him?"

"If you do, the captain will skin you alive," was the reply from one of
the other men.

The alternative did not seem agreeable to the first speaker, for he laid
down his musket, and resumed his oar.

Soon after the boat reached her, the sails of the stranger were spread,
and she glided slowly out of the lagoon.



CHAPTER FOUR.

Let us waft ourselves away, now, over the sea, in pursuit of the strange
barque which had treated the good people of Ratinga so cavalierly.

Richard Rosco sits in the cabin of the vessel, for it is he who commands
her.  He had taken her as a prize, and, finding her a good vessel in all
respects, had adopted her in preference to the old piratical-looking
schooner.  A seaman stands before him.

"It is impossible, I tell you," says Rosco, while a troubled expression
crosses his features, which have not improved since we saw him upwards
of three years ago.  "The distance between the two islands is so great
that it is not probable he traversed it in a canoe, especially when we
consider that he did not know the island's name or position, and was
raving mad when I put him ashore."

"That may be so, captain," says the sailor: "nevertheless I seed him
with my own eyes, an no mistake.  Didn't you say he was a man that
nobody could mistake, tall, broad, powerful, handsome, black curly hair,
short beard and moustache, with sharp eyes and a pleasant smile?"

"The same, in every particular--and just bordering on middle age,"
answers the perplexed pirate.

"Well, as to age, I can't say much about that," returns the seaman; "he
seemed to me more like a young man than a middle-aged one, but he had
coolness and cheek enough for a hundred and fifty, or any age you like."

"Strange," muttered Rosco to himself, paying no regard to the last
observation; "I wish that I or Mr Redford had gone with you, or some
one who had seen him the last time we were here; but I didn't want to be
recognised;" then checking himself--"Well, you may go, and send Mr
Redford to me."

"I cannot account for Zeppa turning up in this way," he said, when the
mate entered.

"No more can I, sir."

"Do all the men agree in saying that he seems to be quite sane."

"All.  Indeed most of them seemed surprised when I asked the question.
You see, what with death by sword, shot, and sickness, there's not a man
in the ship who ever saw him, except yourself and me.  The last of the
old hands, you know, went with Captain Daniel when you sent him and the
unwilling men away in the old schooner.  I have no doubt, myself, from
what they say, that Zeppa has got well again, and managed to return home
as sound and sane as you or I."

"If you and I were sane, we should not be here," thought the pirate
captain; but he did not give expression to the thought, save by a
contemptuous curl of his lip.

"Well, Redford," he said, after a few seconds' pause, "my chief reason
for going to Sugar-loaf Island is removed, nevertheless we shall still
go there for a fresh load of sandal-wood and other things that will
fetch a good price."

"I fear, sir," returned the mate after some hesitation, "that the crew
will be apt to mutiny, if you insist on going there.  They are tired of
this mixture of _trade_ with free-roving, and are anxious to sail in
seas where we shall be more likely to fall in with something worth
picking up."

"Stop, Redford, I want to hear no more.  The crew shall go where I
please as long as I command them; and you may add that I will guarantee
their being pleased with my present plan.  There, don't refer to this
subject again.  Where did you say the British cruiser was last seen?"

"Bearing nor'-east, sir, hull down--on our starboard quarter.  I called
you at once, but she had changed her course to nor'-west and we lost
sight of her."

"That will just suit us," said Rosco, going into his private cabin and
shutting the door.

Well might the pirate captain be perplexed at that time, for he was
surrounded by difficulties, not the least of which was that his men were
thoroughly dissatisfied with him, and he with them.  He did not find his
crew sufficiently ready to go in for lucrative kidnapping of natives
when the chance offered, and they did not find their captain
sufficiently ferocious and bloodthirsty when prizes came in their way.
Nevertheless, through the influence of utter recklessness, contemptuous
disregard of death, and an indomitable will, backed by wonderful
capacity and aptitude in the use of fist, sword, and pistol, he had up
to this time held them in complete subjection.

In his heart Rosco had resolved to quit his comrades at the first
favourable opportunity, and, with this intent had been making for one of
the most out-of-the-way islands in the Pacific--there to go and live
among the natives, and never more to see the faces of civilised men--
against whom he had sinned so grievously.  His intentions were hastened
by the fact that a British man-of-war on the Vancouver station, hearing
of his exploits, had resolved to search for him.  And this cruiser did
in fact come across his track and gave chase; but being a poor sailer,
was left behind just before the pirate had reached Ratinga, where, as we
have seen, she put in for water.

The discovery there made, as he supposed, that Antonio Zeppa had
recovered his reason and returned home, not only amazed and puzzled
Rosco, but disconcerted part of his plan, which was to find Zeppa, whose
image had never ceased to trouble his conscience, and, if possible,
convey him to the neighbourhood of some port whence he could easily
return to Ratinga.  It now struck him that, since Zeppa was no longer on
Sugar-loaf Island, that spot would be as favourable a one as could be
found for his purpose, being far removed from the usual tracks of
commerce.  He would go there, take to the mountains as Zeppa had done
before him, leave his dissatisfied comrades to follow their own devices,
and, crossing over to the other side of the island, ingratiate himself
as well as he could with the natives, grow beard and moustache, which he
had hitherto shaved, and pass himself off as a shipwrecked sailor,
should any vessel or cruiser touch there.

"And shipwrecked I am, body, soul, and spirit," he muttered, bitterly,
as he sat in his cabin, brooding over the past and future.

Leaving him there, and thus, we will return to Ratinga, the peaceful
inhabitants of which were destined at this time to be tickled with
several little shocks of more or less agreeable surprise.

One of these shocks was the sudden disappearance of Zariffa, the native
missionary's brown baby.  It was an insignificant event in itself, and
is only mentioned because of its having led indirectly to events of
greater importance.

Zariffa had, by that time, passed out of the condition of
brown-babyhood.  She had, to her own intense delight, been promoted to
the condition of a decently-clad little savage.  In addition to the
scuttle bonnet which was not quite so tremulous as that of her mother,
she now sported a blue flannel petticoat.  This was deemed sufficient
for her, the climate being warm.

Zariffa was still, however, too young to take care of herself.  Great,
therefore, was Betsy Waroonga's alarm when she missed her one day from
her little bed where she should have been sleeping.

"Ebony!" cried Betsy, turning sharply round and glaring, "Zariffa's
gone."

"_Quite_ dead," exclaimed the negro, aghast.

"Not at all dead," said Betsy; "but gone--gone hout of hers bed."

"Dat no great misfortin', missis," returned Ebony, with a sigh of
relief.

"It's little you knows, stoopid feller," returned the native
missionary's wife, while her coal-scuttle shook with imparted emotion;
"Zariffa never dis'beyed me in hers life.  She's lost.  We must seek--
seek quick!"

The sympathetic negro became again anxious, and looked hastily under the
chairs and tables for the lost one, while her mother opened and searched
a corner cupboard that could not have held a child half her size.  Then
the pair became more and more distracted as each excited the other, and
ran to the various outhouses shouting, "Zariffa!" anxiously,
entreatingly, despairing.

They gathered natives as they ran, hither and thither, searching every
nook and corner, and burst at last in an excited crowd into the presence
of Waroonga himself, who was in the act of detailing the history of
Joseph to a select class of scholars, varying from seven to seventeen
years of age.

"Oh! massa, Zariffa's lost!" cried Ebony.

Waroonga glanced quickly at his wife.  The excessive agitation of her
bonnet told its own tale.  The missionary threw Joseph overboard
directly, proclaimed a holiday, and rushed out of the school-house.

"No use to go home, massa," cried Ebony; "we's sarch eberywhere dar; no
find her."

"Has you been to the piggery?" demanded the anxious father, who was well
aware of his child's fondness for "little squeakers."

"Oh, yes; bin dar.  I rousted out de ole sow for make sure Zariffa no
hides behind her."

At this juncture Orlando came up with a sack of cocoa-nuts on his back.
Hearing what had occurred he took the matter in hand with his wonted
energy.

"We must organise a regular search," he said, throwing down the sack,
"and go to work at once, for the day is far advanced, and we can do
little or nothing after dark."

So saying he collected all the able men of the village, divided them
into bands, gave them minute, though hurried, directions where they were
to go, and what signals they were to give in the event of the child
being found; and then, heading one of the bands, he joined eagerly in
the search.  But, before going, he advised Betsy Waroonga to keep his
mother company, as women could not be of much use in such work.

"No," said Mrs Waroonga, with decision; "we will go home an' pray."

"Right, that will be better," said Orlando.  "You go back with her,
Ebony, and fetch my gun.  I left it in Waroonga's house when I went in
for a sack to hold the cocoa-nuts.  It is behind the door.  You'll find
me searching in the palm-grove.  Now, boys, away; we've no time to
lose."

Returning to her house with her sable attendant, poor Betsy rushed into
her private apartment threw herself on her knees and half across her
lowly bed in an agony of alarm.

She was startled and horrified by a sharp, though smothered cry, while
some living creature heaved under the bed-clothes.  Instantly she swept
them off, and lo! there lay Zariffa safe and well, though somewhat
confused by her rude awaking and her mother's weight.

"You's keep up heart, missis," said the sympathetic Ebony, looking
hastily into the room in passing; "we's sartin sure to find--"

He stopped.  Blazing amazement sat on his countenance for about six
moments--a pause similar to that of an injured infant just preparing for
a yell--then he exploded into a fit of laughter so uncontrollable that
it seemed as if a hurricane had been suddenly let loose in the room,
insomuch that Betsy's remonstrances were quite unheard.

"Oh! missis," he exclaimed at last, wiping his eyes, "I's a-goin' to
bust."

"Yes, an' I'll help you to do it," she replied impatiently, seizing an
old shoe, and laying it on the negro's bare back with a crack like a
pistol-shot.

Ebony strove to calm himself.

"Go 'long, you noisy feller, an' tell Waroonga to stop the search."

It was plain that Ebony had not sufficiently relieved his feelings, for
his broad chest heaved, and ominous sounds came out of his nose.

"On'y tink," said he, "dat you hoed down to say yous prayers on de berry
top ob de babby!"

The thought was too much for him.  He exploded again, and, rushing from
the house, ascended the hills, and filled the groves as he went with
hilarious melody.

But he did not find Orlando, who had completed his search of the
palm-grove and passed over the ridge that formed the summit of the
island in that part.  It was by no means the highest part, but from it
could be seen a large bay which lay on the side of the island opposite
to the mission village.  And here he beheld the cause of another of the
little surprises with which we have said the people of Ratinga were
visited at that time.  It was a stately man-of-war, with the Union Jack
flying from her peak, and her sails backed so as to check her way.

A boat was being lowered from her side, and Orlando with his party
hastened to the beach to meet it.

The officer in command was evidently not aware that he had come to an
island where the peaceful influences of the gospel of Jesus prevailed,
for, on landing, he drew up his men, who were all armed to receive
either as friends or foes the party of natives who advanced towards him.
The officer was not a little surprised to observe that the natives were
led by a white man, who halted them when within about three hundred
yards off, and advanced alone and unarmed to the beach.

"I am happy to welcome you and offer hospitality," said Orlando, taking
off his cap.

"Thanks, good sir, I accept your offer most gladly," returned the
officer, holding out his hand; "all the more heartily that I had
expected to meet with none but savages here."

"We are Christians, thank God," said Orlando.

"Then this must be the island of Ratinga, of which we have heard so much
of late."

"Even so."

"But where, then, is your village, your church?" asked the officer,
looking round.

"It is on the other side of the island.  If you will take your ship
round there you will find good anchorage and fresh water, of which last,
if I may judge from the casks in your boat you are in search."

The officer at once acted on this advice, and Orlando accompanied him on
board to pilot the vessel round.

On the way the captain--Fitzgerald--asked if any suspicious craft had
been seen lately, and, on hearing that a barque, flying British colours,
had put in there only a day or two before, said that he had been sent
out in chase of that barque, as she was commanded by a celebrated and
rather eccentric pirate, named Rosco.

"I know him well," said Orlando quickly, "he was mate of a schooner
which called here between three and four years ago.  It was commanded by
a poor fellow named Daniel, who, I fear, was murdered by his crew.
Alas!  I have only too good reason to remember it."

He then related the visit of the piratical-looking schooner to Ratinga;
its departure with his father and himself on board; the mutiny, and all
the other circumstances connected with that memorable event.

"And have you never heard of your father since then?" asked Captain
Fitzgerald.

"Never.  I am almost forced to the conclusion that he must have been
murdered by the mutineers, for if he had escaped them, he would surely,
long ere now, have managed to find his way home.  And yet I cannot help
feeling that perhaps God may have spared his life, and may yet restore
him to us."

"It is, perhaps, cruel to encourage hopes which may be doomed to bitter
disappointment," returned the captain, regarding Orlando's sad face with
a look of sympathy; "but it is by no means impossible that your father
may be alive.  Listen.  I, too, know something of this affair, and will
tell you all I know.  Captain Daniel, of the schooner whose crew
mutinied, was not murdered.  This Rosco seems to have had, all through
his career, a strong tendency to mercy.  So much so that his men have
threatened his own life more than once.  At the same time, he possesses
great power over them, and has held them for many years under command.
We have heard of him more than once from persons whom he has set free,
after taking their vessels; among others from Captain Daniel, who turned
up in Vancouver's Island.  It seems that after you were thrown overboard
and supposed to be drowned, your poor father went--went--that is to say,
his mind was unhinged, owing, no doubt, to the combined effect of your
supposed murder and the two terrible blows by which he was felled during
the mutiny."

"My father--mad!" exclaimed Orlando, in a low, horrified tone, clasping
his hands, and gazing into Captain Fitzgerald's face.

"Nay, I did not say mad.  It was a great shock, you know, and quite
sufficient to account for temporary derangement.  Then Rosco sailed away
to a distant island, where he put your father ashore, and left him."

"What island--did you hear its name?" asked Orlando, quickly.

"It is an almost unknown island, not marked or named in any chart; but
it had been seen by one of the mutineers on one of his early voyages,
and named Sugar-loaf Island, from its shape.  Well, after leaving the
island Rosco attacked, and easily captured, a large merchantman.
Finding it both good and new, he transhipped all that was worth
retaining, including arms and guns, into this barque, and took command;
then he assembled his men, asked who were willing to follow him, put
those who were unwilling into the old schooner with Captain Daniel at
their head, and left them to sail where they pleased.  They landed, as I
have said, at Vancouver's Island.  The pirate Rosco, and his barque, the
`Flame,' have become notorious since then, both for daring and
eccentricity, and I have been ordered to get hold of them, if possible.
Now, I mean to go to Sugar-loaf Island, because, from various things I
have heard of this scoundrel, I think it not unlikely that he will go
there."

"And you will let me go with you?" suddenly exclaimed Orlando, in a
voice of earnest entreaty.

"I will, my poor fellow," returned the captain; "but don't be too
sanguine; and let me advise you to say nothing of all this to your
mother."

"You are right.  She must not know--at least not now.  It will be the
first time in my life I have had a secret from my mother; but she must
not know till--till we return."

That night there was great rejoicing in Ratinga, because of the
recovery, if we may so call it, of Zariffa, and the visit of the British
man-of-war.

In the midst of the rejoicings a huge, lustrous pair of black eyes gazed
earnestly into Orlando's face, and an enormously thick pair of red lips
said, "I go too, massa--eh?"

"Well, you may, Ebony, if the captain will let you.  He has already
agreed to take the missionary and the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee; but,
mind, not a whisper of our secret hope to any one."

Thus, with the approval of Madame Zeppa and Betsy Waroonga, these five
representatives of Ratinga embarked on board the British man-of-war, and
left the island.



CHAPTER FIVE.

We left the poor madman, Antonio Zeppa, wandering aimlessly up into the
mountains of Sugar-loaf Island.  Whether it was the loss of his beloved
Orley alone that had turned his brain, or that loss coupled with the
injury to his head, we cannot tell, but certain it is that the outward
and visible violence of his great sorrow seemed to depart from him after
he had entered the rugged defiles of the mountain range.  His mental
malady appeared to take the form of simple indifference and inactivity.
Sometimes he muttered to himself as he went slowly and wearily along,
but generally he was silent with his chin sunk upon his breast as he
gazed upon the ground with lack-lustre eyes.

At other times he started and looked around him with a sharp, inquiring,
almost timid, glance; but the gleam of memory--if such it was--soon
passed away, and his handsome face resumed the gentle, almost childish,
look which had settled down on it.  But never again did he give vent to
the heart-broken cries and wails which had marked the first stage of his
derangement.

The mutterings to which we have referred were seldom coherent; but the
disjointed utterances sufficed to indicate the natural character of the
man.  As the ruling passion is said to become dominant in death, so, in
this death of reason which appeared to have passed upon Zeppa, love of
his wife and child and the natives of Ratinga, as well as profound
reverence and love to his God, became conspicuous in the broken
sentences that occasionally dropped from his lips.

At first he had been like some grand instrument thrown wildly out of
tune and swept by a reckless hand.  Now he resembled the same instrument
with the framework shattered, the strings hanging loose, and the music
of discord as well as harmony gone for ever.

Oh it was sad, inexpressibly sad, to see the grand and good man--the
image of himself, yet not himself, with bowed head and bent form, the
very personification of humility--wandering forth on that lonely island
of the southern seas!

After quitting the shore he continued slowly to ascend the mountain
until he gained the summit.  Here, seating himself on a rock, he lifted
his eyes and looked slowly around him.

It was a glorious sight that met his unintelligent gaze.  On the side
which he had ascended, the mountain sloped abruptly into the sea, yet
its precipices were not forbidding or gloomy, for they were clothed with
the luxuriant and lovely vegetation of those favoured regions.

The rocks were fringed with grasses and wild flowers; the cliffs were
softened by palmated leaves and gorgeous shrubs.  Wild fruits in
abundance grew on every side; in short, the land presented the
appearance of a terrestrial paradise.

On the other side of the range similar, but softer, scenery rolled away
for several miles in easy slopes, until it terminated in a plain, the
farther end of which was bounded by the white sands of the shore.

Around all lay the great sea, like a transparent blue shield, on which
the sun glinted in myriad ripples of burnished gold.  Everywhere God's
work was glorious, but God's image in man was not there, for poor Zeppa
looked upon it all with total indifference.

The schooner was still visible from that lofty outlook, like a snowflake
on the sea; but Zeppa saw it, or regarded it, not.  On the shore of the
island furthest from the mountain, the clustering huts of a native
village could be seen; but Zeppa looked at it without a gleam of
interest, and passed it over as if it were a group of ant-hills.

Hunger, however, soon claimed attention.  After remaining motionless for
more than an hour, he arose and plucked some fruit from a neighbouring
tree.

"God is good--has always been good to me and mine," he murmured, as he
placed the fruit on the grass and sat down beside it.

Then, clasping his hands and closing his eyes, he asked a blessing on
his food in the same words and tone which he had been wont to use when
at home.

After his hunger was appeased, he again wandered about apparently
without aim; but as night began to descend, he sought and found a
slightly hollowed part of a cliff with an overhanging ledge.

It was scarcely deep enough to be styled a cave, but appeared to be a
sufficient shelter in the maniac's eyes, for he busied himself in
gathering ferns and dried grass, until he had made himself a comfortable
couch at the inner end of it.

Before lying down he knelt, clasped his hands, and poured out his soul
in fervent prayer.

His words were now no longer incoherent and the burthen of his petition
was--a blessing on the dear ones at home, and forgiveness of all his
sins through Jesus Christ.  It seemed evident judging by his words, that
he had forgotten the recent past, and imagined that Orlando was still
alive.

Then he lay down and fell asleep.

Thus days and weeks and months rolled on, and still the madman wandered
aimlessly among the mountain peaks.

The savages at the other end of the island never molested him, for,
having no occasion to clamber up these rocky heights, they did not
become aware of his existence until a considerable time had elapsed.

His discovery at last was the result of a crime.

One of the savages committed a theft in the native village, and fled for
refuge to the mountains.  Wapoota, being a funny fellow, was a favourite
with his chief Ongoloo, and occupied a position somewhat analogous to
the court jester of old.  Moreover, he was often consulted in serious
matters by his chief--in short, was a sort of humorous prime minister.

But he could not resist the tendency to steal, and one day pilfered
something or other from Ongoloo, who finally lost patience with him, for
he was an old offender.

Ongoloo, though neither a warlike nor ferocious fellow, vowed to cut out
the heart and liver of Wapoota, and expose them to public gaze.

Disliking publicity after this fashion, the thief fled, purposing to
abide in the mountains until his chief's wrath should have evaporated.

Rambling one day in his mountain refuge, the dishonest savage turned a
jutting point of rock, and suddenly stood face to face with Zeppa.  His
jaw dropped, his eyes glared, his knees smote together, and lemon-yellow
took the place of brown-ochre on his cheeks.  It was an awkward place of
meeting, for the path, if we may so style it, was a mere ledge, with a
perpendicular cliff on one side, a precipice on the other.

And well might the savage by overcome with fear, on such a spot with
such a man before him, for, in addition to his commanding stature, Zeppa
had now the wild appearance resulting from long untrimmed locks and a
shaggy beard.

Both locks and beard had also changed from black to iron-grey during
these months of lonely wandering.  His dress, too, had become much
disordered and ragged, so that altogether his appearance and fierce
aspect were eminently fitted to strike terror to the heart of a more
courageous man than Wapoota, who happened to be rather mild in
disposition.

After the first stare of astonishment he sank on his knees and held up
his hands as if supplicating mercy.  But he had nothing to fear from the
maniac.

"My poor fellow," said Zeppa, in English, laying his hand on the
native's head and patting it, "do not fear.  I will not harm you."

Of course Wapoota did not understand the words but he fully appreciated
the action, and the lemon-yellow began to fade while the brown-ochre
returned.

Without uttering another word, Zeppa took Wapoota by the hand and led
him to his cave, where he set before him such fruits as remained over
from his last meal, and then, sitting down, gazed abstractedly on the
ground.  Wapoota ate from fear of offending his host, rather than
hunger.

When he had finished, Zeppa rose, pointed to his couch at the inner part
of the cave, nodded to him with a kindly smile, and left him.

At first the savage seemed disposed to make off when Zeppa's back was
turned, but when he saw him slowly ascend the hill with his head bowed
down he changed his mind, made some significant grimaces--which we will
not attempt to explain--and lay down to sleep.

On his return, Wapoota tried to enter into conversation with his host
but Zeppa only smiled, patted him gently on the head and shoulder, and
paid no further attention to him.  The savage was somewhat overawed by
such treatment.

Observing his host more closely, it soon began to dawn upon him that he
was in the power of a madman, and some tinges of the lemon-yellow
reappeared; but when he perceived that Zeppa was not merely a harmless
but an exceedingly gentle madman, his confidence and the brown-ochre
reasserted themselves.

Thus, for several days, the madman and the savage dwelt amicably
together, and slept side by side during the night; but Zeppa made it
very apparent that he did not wish for his visitor's society during the
day-time, and the visitor had the sense to let him wander forth alone.

Wapoota was mistaken when he calculated on the cooling of Ongoloo's
wrath.  That angry chief, bent on the fulfilment of his anatomical vow,
set forth with a small party of picked men to explore the Sugar-loaf in
quest of the runaway.  He found him one day gathering fruits for Zeppa's
supper--for Wapoota had already become a sort of attached Friday to this
unfortunate Crusoe.

On beholding his countrymen, the thief's visage underwent a series of
remarkable changes, for he knew that escape was impossible, and the
expression of his chief's face forbade him to hope for mercy.

"I have found you, mine enemy," growled Ongoloo--of course in the native
tongue.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Wapoota, in a piteous tone.  "Mercy no longer dwells
in my breast," returned the chief.

In proof of the truth of this assertion he ordered his men to seize and
bind Wapoota, and proceed at once with the execution of his cruel
purpose.

The unfortunate wretch, unable to face the appalling prospect gave vent
to a series of terrible shrieks, and struggled fiercely while they bound
him.  But in vain would he have struggled if his cries for mercy had not
reached other ears than those of his countrymen.

Not far from the spot where the thief had been captured, Zeppa chanced
to be sitting, idly toying with the branch of a tree which he had
fashioned into a rude staff wherewith to climb the mountain more easily.

When the first shriek ran among the cliffs, it seemed to startle the
maniac out of the depressing lethargy under which he had laboured so
long.  He sprang up and listened, with dilated eyes and partly open
mouth.

Again and again the shrieks rang out, and were echoed from cliff to
cliff.

As a tigress bounds to the rescue of her young, so sprang Zeppa down the
hillside in the direction of the cries.  He came suddenly to the edge of
a cliff which overlooked the scene, and beheld a savage just about to
plunge a knife into Wapoota's breast.

Zeppa gave vent to a tremendous roar, which terminated in a wild laugh.
Then he wrenched a mass of rock from the cliffs and hurled it down.

The height was greater than any sane man would have ventured to leap
even to save his life; but the maniac gave no time to thought.

He followed the mass of rock with another wild laugh, and next moment
stood in the midst of the savage group.

These men were no cowards.  They were Ongoloo's picked warriors, and
would have scorned to fly before a single foe, however large or fierce.

But when they saw plainly that Zeppa was a white man and a maniac, they
turned, with one consent, and fled as if a visitant from the nether
realms had assailed them.

Zeppa did not follow.  All his sudden wrath vanished with the enemy.  He
turned calmly to the prostrate man, cut his bonds, and set him free.
Then, without saying a word, he patted him on the shoulder, and wandered
listlessly away with his head dropped as of old.

You may be sure that Wapoota did not hesitate to make good use of his
freedom.  He fled on the wings--or legs--of fear to the most
inaccessible recesses of the mountains, from which he did not emerge
till night had enshrouded land and sea.  Then he crept stealthily back
to Zeppa's cave, and laid himself quietly down beside his friend.

The inherent tendency of Zeppa's nature was towards peace and goodwill.
Even in his madness and misery his spirit trickled, if it did not run,
in the customary direction.  His dethroned reason began, occasionally,
to make fitful efforts after some plan which it sought to evolve.  But
before the plan could be arranged, much less carried out, the dull sense
of a leaden grief overwhelmed it again, and he relapsed into the old
condition of quiet apathy.

Chance, however, brought about that which the enfeebled intellect could
not compass.

One day--whether inadvertently or not we cannot tell--Zeppa wandered
down in the direction of the native settlement.  That same day Ongoloo
wandered towards the mountain, and the two men suddenly met so close to
each other that there was no possibility of escape to either.

But, sooth to say, there was no thought of escape in the breast of
either.  Ongoloo, being a brave savage, was ashamed of having given way
to panic at his first meeting with the madman.  Besides, he carried his
huge war-club, while his opponent was absolutely unarmed--having
forgotten to take his usual staff with him that day.

As for Zeppa, he had never at any time feared the face of man, and, in
his then condition, would have faced man or fiend with equal
indifference.  But the sight of the savage chief seemed to recall
something to his mind.  He stood with his arms crossed, and an
expression of perplexity on his countenance, while Ongoloo assumed an
attitude of defence.

Suddenly a beaming smile overspread Zeppa's face.  We have already said
that his smile had fascination in it.  The effect on the savage was to
paralyse him for the moment.  Zeppa advanced, took Ongoloo's face
between both hands, and, placing his nose against that of the chief,
gently rubbed it.

For the benefit of the ignorant, we may explain that this is the usual
salutation of friendship among some of the South Sea Islanders.

Ongoloo returned the rub, and dropped his club.  He was obviously glad
of this peaceful termination to the rencontre.

Then, for the first time, it occurred to Zeppa to use the language of
Ratinga.  The chief evidently understood it.

"God is love," said Zeppa solemnly, pointing upward with his finger.
"God forgives.  You will forgive, and so be like God."

The chief was completely overawed by Zeppa's grandeur and gentleness.
He had never before seen the two qualities combined.

Zeppa took him by the hand, as he had previously taken Wapoota, and led
him up into the mountains.  The chief submitted meekly, as if he thought
a being from the better world were guiding him.  On reaching the cave
they found Wapoota arranging the supper-table--if we may so express it--
for he had been in the habit of doing this for some time past, about
sunset, at which time his protector had invariably returned home--alas!
it was a poor home!

To say that Wapoota was transfixed, or petrified, on beholding Ongoloo,
would not convey the full idea of his condition.  It is useless to say
that he glared; that his knees smote, or that lemon-yellow supplanted
brown-ochre on his visage.  Words can do much, but they cannot describe
the state of that savage on that occasion.  The reader's imagination is
much more likely to do justice to the situation.  To that we leave it.

But who, or what language, shall describe the state of mind into which
both Ongoloo and Wapoota were thrown when Zeppa, having brought them
close to each other, grasped them firmly by their necks and rubbed their
noses forcibly together.  There was no resisting the smile with which
this was dune.  The chief and the thief first glanced at each other,
then at their captor, and then they laughed--absolutely roared--after
which they rubbed noses of their own accord, and "made it up."

We may remark, in passing, that Ongoloo was not sorry for the
reconciliation, because Wapoota had become necessary to him both in
council and during relaxation, and of late he had come to feel
low-spirited for want of his humourist.

But both of them were much concerned to observe that after this
reconciliation, the reconciler relapsed into his pensive mood and
refused to be interested in anything.

They tried in vain to rouse him from his strange apathy--which neither
of them could at all understand.  Next day Ongoloo took occasion to give
him the slip, and returned to his village.

Zeppa cared nothing for that.  He did not even ask Wapoota what had
become of him.

At this time a new idea occurred to Wapoota, who had been ordered by his
chief to induce Zeppa to visit the native village.  It struck him that
as he had been led, so he might lead.  Therefore one morning he waited
until Zeppa had finished breakfast, and when he rose, as was his wont,
to go off for the day, Wapoota took him gently by the hand and led him
forth.  To his surprise--and comfort, for he had had strong misgivings--
Zeppa submitted.  He did not seem to think that the act was peculiar.

Wapoota led him quietly and slowly down the mountain side, and so, by
degrees, right into the native village, where Ongoloo was, of course,
prepared to meet and welcome him.

He was received by the head men of the tribe with deep respect and
conducted to a tent which had been prepared for him, where Wapoota, who
had constituted himself his servant--or lieutenant--made him comfortable
for the night.

Zeppa at first expressed some surprise at all the fuss that was made
regarding him, but soon ceased to trouble himself about the matter, and
gradually relapsed into his old condition.  He was content to remain
with the natives, though he did not cease his lonely wanderings among
the hills, absenting himself for days at a time, but always returning,
sooner or later, to the tent that had been provided for him in the
village.

Now, in Sugar-loaf Island, there was a tribe that had, for years past,
been at war with the tribe into whose hands Zeppa had thus fallen, and,
not long after the events just narrated, it chanced that the Ratura
tribe, as it was named, resolved to have another brush with their old
enemies, the subjects of Ongoloo.  What they did, and how they did it,
shall be seen in another chapter.



CHAPTER SIX.

After Zeppa had remained a short time in his new quarters, he began to
take an interest in the children of his savage friends.  At first the
mothers of the village were alarmed when they saw their little ones in
his strong arms, playing with his beard, which had by that time grown
long and shaggy, as well as grey like his curly locks; but soon
perceiving that the children had nothing to fear from the strange white
man, they gave themselves no further concern on the subject.

If Zeppa had been in his right mind when the savages first found him, it
is probable that they would have hunted him down and slain him without
remorse--for it is well known that many of the South Sea Islanders
regard shipwrecked persons as victims who have no claim on their
hospitality, but are a sort of windfall to be killed and devoured.
Their treatment of Zeppa, therefore, must have been owing to some
feeling of respect or awe, inspired by his obvious insanity, coupled, no
doubt, with his commanding size and presence as well as his singular
conduct on the occasion of their first meeting.

Whatever the reason, it is certain that the natives amongst whom the
poor madman's lot had thus been cast, treated him in an exceptional
manner, and with an amount of respect that almost amounted to reverence.
At first Ongoloo made a slight attempt to ascertain where his guest had
come from, and what was his previous history, but as Zeppa always met
such inquiries with one of his sweetest smiles, and with no verbal reply
whatever, the chief felt unusually perplexed, dropped the subject, and
began to regard the madman as a species of demigod.  Of course no one
else dared to question him, so that ever afterwards he remained in the
eyes of his entertainers as a "Great Mystery."

By degrees Zeppa became intimately acquainted with the little boys and
girls of the village, and took much pleasure in watching them at play.
They soon found out that he was fond of them, and might have become
rather troublesome in their attentions to him, if he had been a busy
man, but as he had nothing whatever to do except follow his own
inclinations, and as his inclinations led him to sympathise with
childhood, he was never ruffled by their familiarities or by their wild
doings around his tent.  He even suffered a few of the very smallest of
the brown troop to take liberties with him, and pull his beard.

One brown mite in particular--a female baby of the smallest conceivable
dimensions, and the wildest possible spirit--became an immense favourite
with him.  Her name was Lippy, or some sound which that combination of
letters produces.

Lippy's mother, a large-eyed, good-looking young woman, with
insufficient clothing--at least in the estimate of a Ratingaite--was
transfixed the first time she saw her little one practise her
familiarities on their demigod.

Zeppa was lying on his back at the time, in front of his hut, when Lippy
prowled cautiously towards him, like a very small and sly kitten about
to pounce on a very huge dog.  She sprang, just as her mother caught
sight of her, and was on his broad chest in a moment.  The mother was,
as we have said, transfixed with alarm.  The human kitten seized Zeppa
by the beard and laughed immoderately.  Zeppa replied with a gentle
smile--he never laughed out now--and remained quite still.

Having finished her laugh, Lippy drew herself forward until she was
close to her human dog's chin.  At this point her mother would have
rushed to the rescue, but she was still paralysed!  Having reached the
chin Lippy became more audacious, stretched forth one of her little
hands, and seized Zeppa's nose.  Still he did not move, but when the
little brown kitten proceeded to thrust a thumb into one of his eyes, he
roused himself, seized the child in his powerful hands, and raised her
high above his head; then, lowering her until her little mouth was
within reach, he kissed her.

This sufficed to relieve the mother's fears, so she retired quietly from
the scene.

She was not so easily quieted, however, some weeks later, when she
beheld Zeppa, after amusing himself one day with Lippy for half an hour,
start up, place her on his shoulder, and stalk off towards the
mountains.  He absented himself for three days on that occasion.
Lippy's mother at first became anxious, then terrified, then desperate.
She roused Ongoloo to such a pitch that he at last called a council of
war.  Some of the head men were for immediate pursuit of the madman;
others were of opinion that the little brat was not worth so much
trouble; a few wretches even expressed the opinion that they were well
rid of her--there being already too many female babies in the community!

While the conflict of opinions was at its fiercest, Zeppa stalked into
the midst of them with Lippy on his shoulder, looked round with a
benignant expression of countenance, delivered the child to her mother,
and went off to his hut without uttering a word.  The council
immediately dissolved itself and retired humiliated.

It was during one of Zeppa's occasional absences that the Ratura tribe
of natives, as before mentioned, decided to have another brush with the
Mountain-men, as they styled their foes.

We are not sure that the word used in the Ratura language was the exact
counterpart of the words "brush" and "scrimmage" in ours, but it meant
the same thing, namely, the cutting of a number of throats, or the
battering in of a number of human skulls unnecessarily.

Of course there was a _casus belli_.  There always is among savage as
well as civilised nations, and it is a curious coincidence that the
reasons given for the necessity for war are about as comprehensible
among the civilised as the savage.  Of course among civilised nations
these reasons for war are said to be always good.  Christians, you know,
could not kill each other without _good_ reasons; but is it not strange
that among educated people, the reasons given for going to war are often
very much the reverse of clear?

The origin of the war which was about to be revived, besides being
involved in the mists of antiquity, was somewhat shrouded in the clouds
of confusion.  Cleared of these clouds, and delivered from those mists,
it would have been obviously a just--nay, even a holy war--so both
parties said, for they both wanted to fight.  Unfortunately no living
man could clear away the clouds or mists; nevertheless, as they all saw
plainly the exceeding righteousness of the war, they could not in
honour, in justice, or in common sense, do otherwise than go at it.

At some remote period of antiquity--probably soon after the dispersion
at Babel--it was said that the Mountain-men had said to the Raturans,
that it had been reported to them that a rumour had gone abroad that
they, the men of Ratura, were casting covetous eyes on the summit of
their mountain.  The Raturans replied that it had never entered into
their heads either to covet or to look at the summit of their mountain,
but that, if they had any doubts on the subject, they might send over a
deputation to meet a Ratura deputation, and hold a palaver to clear the
matter up.

The deputations were sent.  They met.  They palavered for about
half-an-hour with an air of sententious sincerity, then the leading
chief of the mountaineer deputation cracked the crown of the leading
chief of the Raturan deputation, and the two deputations spent the
remainder of that day in fighting.  Reinforcements came up on both
sides.  The skirmish became a pitched battle.  Blood was shed lavishly,
heads were broken beyond repair, and women, coming to the help of the
men with the baskets of stones, were slain in considerable numbers, as
well as little children who had an inconvenient but not uncommon habit
of getting in the way of the combatants.  At last the Raturans were
driven into the impregnable swamps that bordered part of their country;
their villages and crops were burned, and those of their women and
children who had not escaped to the swamps were carried into slavery,
while the aged of both sexes were slaughtered in cold blood.

It was a complete victory.  We are inclined to think that the
Mountain-men called it a "glorious" victory.  Judging from the world's
history they probably did, and the mountain women ever afterwards were
wont to tell their little ones of the prowess of their forefathers--of
the skulls battered in and other deeds of heroism done--in that just and
reasonable war!

As centuries rolled on, the old story came to be repeated again, and
over again, with slight variations to suit the varying ages.  In
particular it came to be well understood, and asserted, that that
unconquerable desire of the Raturans to take possession of the
mountain-top was growing apace and had to be jealously watched and
curbed.

In one of the centuries--we are not sure which--the Raturan savages made
some advances into their swampy grounds and began to improve them.  This
region lay very remote from the Mountain-men's villages, but, as it
approached the mountain base in a round-about manner, and as the
mountain-tops could be distinctly seen from the region, although
well-nigh impassable swamps still lay between the reclaimed lands and
the mountain base, these advances were regarded as another _casus
belli_, and another war was waged, with practically the same results--
damage to everybody concerned, and good to no one.

Thus was the game kept up until the chief Ongoloo began to strut his
little hour upon the stage of time.

There are always men, savage as well as civilised, in every region and
age, who march in advance of their fellows, either because of
intellectual capacity or moral rectitude or both.  Ongoloo was one of
these.  He did not believe in "war at any price."  He thought it
probable that God lived in a state of peace, and argued that what was
best for the Creator must naturally be best for the creature.

He therefore tried to introduce a peace-policy into Sugar-loaf Island.
His efforts were not successful.  The war-party was too strong for him.
At last he felt constrained to give in to the force of public opinion
and agreed to hold an unarmed palaver with the men of Ratura.  The
war-at-any-price party would have preferred an armed palaver, but they
were overruled.

The Raturans chanced at this time to be in somewhat depressed
circumstances, owing to a sickness which had carried off many of their
best warriors and left their lands partly waste, so that their finances,
if we may so express it were in a bad condition.

"Now is our chance--now or never," thought the war-party, and pushed
matters to extremity.

On the day appointed for the palaver, one of the most pugnacious of the
Mountain-men got leave to open the deliberations.

"You're a low-minded, sneaking son of an ignorant father," he said to
the spokesman of the Raturans.

"You're another," retorted his foe.

Having disposed of these preliminary compliments, the speakers paused,
glared, and breathed hard.

Of course we give the nearest equivalent in English that we can find for
the vernacular used.

"You and your greedy forefathers," resumed the Mountain-man, "have
always kept your false eyes on our mountain-top, and you are looking at
it still."

"That's a lie," returned the man of Ratura with savage simplicity.

Had they been armed, it is probable that the palaver would have closed
abruptly at this point.

Seeing that the relations between the parties were "strained" almost to
the breaking-point, one of the less warlike among the Ratura chiefs
caught his own spokesman by the nape of the neck, and hurled him back
among his comrades.

"We have _not_, O valiant men of the Mountain," he said, in a gentle
tone, "looked upon your hill-tops with desire.  We only wish to improve
our swamps, increase our sweet-potato grounds, and live at peace."

"That is not true," retorted the fiery Mountain-man, "and we must have a
promise from you that you will let the swamps alone, and not advance one
step nearer to the top of our mountain."

"But the swamps are not yours," objected the other.

"No matter--they are not yours.  They are neutral ground, and must not
be touched."

"Well, we will not touch them," said the peaceful Raturan.

This reply disconcerted the fiery mountaineer, for he was anxious to
fight.

"But that is not enough," he resumed, as a bright idea struck him, "you
must promise not even to _look_ at our mountain."

The man of Ratura reflecting how ill able his tribe was to go to war
just then, agreed not even to _look_ at the mountain!

"More than that" resumed the mountaineer, "you must not even wink at
it."

"We will not even wink at it," replied his foe.  "Still further,"
continued the warlike mountaineer in sheer desperation, "you must not
even _think_ of it."

"We will not _think_ of it" answered the accommodating man of Ratura.

"Bah! you may go--you peace-loving cowards," said the disappointed
mountaineer, turning on his heel in bitter disappointment.

"Yes, you may go--in peace!" said Ongoloo with sententious gravity,
waving his band grandly to the retiring men of Ratura, and walking off
with an air of profound solemnity, though he could not help laughing--in
his arm, somewhere, as he had not a sleeve to do it in.

But the Raturans did not go in peace.  They went away with bitter
animosity in their hearts, and some of them resolved to have a brush
with their old foes, come what might.

Savages do not, as a rule, go through the formality of declaring war by
withdrawing ambassadors.  They are much more prone to begin war with
that deceptive act styled "a surprise."

Smarting under the taunts of their foes, the Raturans resolved to make
an attack on the enemy's village that very night, but Ongoloo was more
than a match for them.  Suspecting their intentions, he stalked them
when the shades of evening fell, heard all their plans while concealed
among the long grass, and then, hastening home, collected his warriors.

It chanced that Zeppa had returned from one of his rambles at the time
and was lying in his hut.

"Will you come out with us and fight?" demanded Ongoloo, entering
abruptly.

The mention of fighting seemed to stir some chord which jarred in
Zeppa's mind, for he shook his head and frowned.  It is possible that,
if the savage had explained how matters stood, the poor madman might
have consented, but the chief had not the time, perhaps not the will,
for that.  Turning quickly round, therefore, he went off as abruptly as
he had entered.

Zeppa cared nothing for that.  Indeed he soon forgot the circumstance,
and, feeling tired, lay down to sleep.

Meanwhile Ongoloo marched away with a body of picked men to station
himself in a narrow pass through which he knew that the invading foe
would have to enter.  He was hugely disgusted to be thus compelled to
fight, after he had congratulated himself on having brought the recent
palaver to so peaceful an issue.  He resolved, however, only to give his
enemies a serious fright, for he knew full well that if blood should
flow, the old war-spirit would return, and the ancient suspicion and
hatred be revived and intensified.  Arranging his plans therefore, with
this end in view, he resolved to take that peaceful, though thieving,
humorist Wapoota, into his secret councils.

Summoning him, after the ambush had been properly arranged and the men
placed, he said,--"Come here, you villain."

Wapoota knew that Ongoloo was not displeased with him by the nature of
his address.  He therefore followed, without anxiety, to a retired spot
among the bush-covered rocks.

"You can screech, Wapoota?"

"Yes, chief," answered the ex-thief in some surprise, "I can screech
like a parrot the size of a whale."

"That will do.  And you love peace, like me, Wapoota, and hate
bloodshed, though you love thieving."

"True, chief," returned the other, modestly.

"Well then, listen--and if you tell any one what I say to you, I will
squeeze the eyes out of your head, punch the teeth from your jaws, and
extract the oil from your backbone."

Wapoota thought that this was pretty strong for a man who had just
declared his hatred of bloodshed, but he said nothing.

"You know the rock, something in shape like your own nose, at the foot
of this pass?" said Ongoloo.

"I know it, chief."

"Well, go there; hide yourself, and get ready for a screech.  When you
see the Ratura dogs come in sight, give it out--once--only once,--and if
you don't screech well, I'll teach you how to do it better afterwards.
Wait then till you hear and see me and my men come rushing down the
track, and _then_ screech a second time.  Only once, mind! but let it be
long and strong.  You understand?  Now--away!"

Like a bolt from a crossbow Wapoota sped.  He had not been in hiding two
minutes when the Ratura party came stealthily towards the rock before
mentioned.  Wapoota gathered himself up for a supreme effort.  The head
of the enemy's column appeared in view--then there burst, as if from the
bosom of silent night, a yell such as no earthly parrot ever uttered or
whale conceived.  The very blood in the veins of all stood still.  Their
limbs refused to move.  Away over the rolling plain went the horrid
sound till it gained the mountain where, after being buffeted from cliff
to crag, it finally died out far up among the rocky heights.

"A device of the Ratura dogs to frighten us," growled Ongoloo to those
nearest him.  "Come, follow me, and remember, not a sound till I shout."

The whole party sprang up and followed their chief at full gallop down
the pass.  The still petrified Raturans heard the sound of rushing feet.
When Wapoota saw the dark forms of his comrades appear, he filled his
chest and opened his mouth, and the awful skirl arose once again, as if
to pollute the night-air.  Then Ongoloo roared.  With mingled surprise
and ferocity his men took up the strain, as they rushed towards the now
dimly visible foe.

Savage nerves could stand no more.  The Raturans turned and fled as one
man.  They descended the pass as they had never before descended it;
they coursed over the plains like grey-hounds; they passed through their
own villages like a whirlwind; drew most of the inhabitants after them
like the living tail of a mad comet, and only stopped when they fell
exhausted on the damp ground in the remotest depths of their own dismal
swamps.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

Strange to say, the anger of the Raturans was not assuaged by the rebuff
which they received at that time.  They took counsel again, and resolved
to wait till the suspicions of the Mountain-men had been allayed, and
then attack them when off their guard.

Meanwhile Zeppa, who did not at all concern himself with these matters,
took it into his head one day that he would teach his little favourite,
Lippy, to sing.  Being a religious man he naturally selected hymns as
the foundation of his teaching.  At first he found it rather up-hill
work, for Lippy happened to be gifted with a strong sense of the
ludicrous, so that when he took her on his knee--the day on which the
idea occurred to him--opened his mouth, and gave forth the first notes
of a hymn in a fine sonorous bass voice, the child gazed at him for a
few moments in open-eyed wonder, and then burst into an uncontrollable
fit of open-mouthed laughter.

Poor Zeppa! till that day, since his mental break-down, the idea of
singing had never once occurred to him, and this reception of his first
attempt to teach disconcerted him.  He stopped abruptly and gazed at the
child with a perplexed expression.  This gaze was evidently regarded by
Lippy as an additional touch of humour, for she went off into renewed
explosions of delight and the lesson had to be given up for that time.
Zeppa was gifted, however, with patient perseverance in a remarkable
degree.  He renewed his efforts, but changed his plan.  From that time
forward he took to humming hymns in a low, sweet voice, as if for his
own amusement.  In a short time he had the satisfaction of hearing Lippy
attempt, of her own accord, to sing one of the hymns that had taken her
fancy.  She went wrong in one or two notes, however, which gave Zeppa
the opportunity of putting her right.  He took her on his knee, and told
her, in her own tongue, to try it again.

"Listen, this is the way," he said, opening his mouth to give an
example; but the first note had scarcely begun to sound when Lippy
thrust her brown fist into his mouth, and told him to stop.  She would
sing it herself!

Accordingly, she began in a sweet, tiny little voice, and her teacher
gazed at her with intense pleasure depicted on his handsome face until
she reached the note where she had formerly gone wrong.

"No--not so; sing thus," he said, giving the right notes.

The pupil took it up at once, and thus the singing lessons were fairly
begun.

But the matter did not rest here, for Lippy, proud of her new
acquirement soon began to exhibit her powers to her little companions,
and ere long a few of the smallest of these ventured to creep into
Zeppa's hut while the daily lesson was going on.  Gradually they grew
bolder, and joined in the exercise.  Zeppa took pleasure in helping
them, and at last permitted as many as could crowd into his hut to do
so.  Those who could not get inside sat on the ground outside, and, as
the hut was open in front, the gathering soon increased.  Thus,
insensibly, without a well-defined intention or effort on the part of
any one, the praise of God and the sweet name of Jesus ascended to
heaven from that heathen village.

The assembling of these children for their lesson brought powerfully to
Zeppa's mind, one day, the meetings of the Ratinga people for worship,
and the appropriateness of beginning with prayer occurred to him.
Accordingly, that morning, just as he was about to commence the hymns,
he clasped his hands, raised his eyes, and briefly asked God's blessing
on the work.

Profound astonishment kept the little ones quiet, and before they had
time to recover the prayer was over.

Zeppa's mode of terminating the assembly was characteristic.  He did not
like to order the children away, much less to put them out of his hut,
and the little creatures, being fond of the teacher, were prone to
remain too long.  When, therefore, he thought it time to close, he
simply rose up and took himself off, leaving his congregation to
disperse when and how it pleased!  Sometimes on these occasions he would
remain away for, perhaps, two or three days, having totally forgotten
the singing class, to the great disappointment of the children.

One night, while he was thus absent, the men of Ratura delivered the
attack which they had long meditated.

It was an unusually dark and still night; such a night as tends almost
irresistibly to quiet and subdue wayward spirits, and induces man to
think of his Creator.  Such a night as is apt to fill the guilty
conscience with unresting fears, as though it felt the near approach of
that avenging sword which sooner or later it must meet.

Nevertheless, unmoved by its influences--except in so far as it suited
their dark designs--the Raturans chose it for the fell purpose of
invading their neighbours' lands, and exterminating their ancient foes;
for, driven to desperation by the taunts and scorn of the Mountain-men,
they felt that nothing short of extermination would suffice.  And they
were right.  Extermination of the sinners, or the sins, was indeed their
only chance of peace!  Not knowing the Gospel method of blotting out the
latter, their one resource lay in obliterating the former.

In the dead of night--that darkest hour when deeds of villainy and
violence are usually done--the Raturan chief once more assembled his men
from all quarters of the rolling plains and the dismal swamps, until the
entire force of the tribe was under his command.

Leaving the aged men and boys to protect the women and children, those
dark-skinned warriors marched away to battle--not with the flaunting
banners and martial music of civilised man, but with the profound
silence and the stealthy tread of the savage.  Though the work in hand
was the same, the means to the end were different; we will therefore
describe them.

Had it been a daylight battle to which they went forth, their women and
boys would have followed with reserve ammunition in the shape of baskets
full of stones, and spare javelins; but, being a night attack, the
fighting men went alone--each armed with a heavy club, a light spear,
and a stone knife or hatchet.

Arrived at the pass where they had met with such a singular repulse on a
former occasion, the main body was halted, and scouts were sent out in
advance to see that all was clear.  Then the plan of attack was formed.
One detachment was to approach the enemy's village on the right; another
was to go round to the left; while the main body was to advance in
front.

There is a proverb relating to the plans of men as well as mice, which
receives verification in every land and time.  Its truth received
corroboration at this time on Sugar-loaf Island.  On that same night it
chanced that the chief Ongoloo was unable to sleep.  He sent for his
prime-ministerial-jester and one of his chiefs, to whom he proposed a
ramble.  The chief and jester professed themselves charmed with the
proposal, although each had been roused from a pleasant slumber.

In the course of the ramble they came unexpectedly on one of the Raturan
scouts, whom they temporarily extinguished with a club.  Ongoloo became
at once alive to the situation, and took instant action.

"Wapoota!" he said in an excited whisper, "run to the rear of the foe.
Go swiftly, like the sea bird.  When you get there, yell, shriek--like--
like--you know how!  As you did last time!  Change your ground at each
yell--so they will think you a host.  Fear not to be captured.  Your
death is nothing.  Away!"

A kick facilitated Wapoota's flight, and the two chiefs returned at
speed to rouse the sleeping camp.

Wapoota performed his part nobly--and without being captured, for he did
not agree with Ongoloo as to the unimportance of his own death!  At the
unexpected outcry in the rear the Raturans halted, and held a hasty
council of war.

"Let us go back and fight them," said one.

"No use, they are evil spirits--not men," said another.

Some agreed with the former--some with the latter.

"While we waste time here," said the leading chief, "the mountain dogs
will get ready for us.  Come!  Forward!"

The chief was right.  Ongoloo's ruse caused delay, so that when the
Raturans reached the village they found armed men ready to receive them.
These they attacked with great courage, and waged a somewhat scrambling
fight until daylight enabled each party to concentrate its forces.

Meanwhile, at the first alarm, the women and children of the village had
been sent off to the mountains for safety.  Among the fugitives were
Lippy and her mother.  These happened to meet with the enemy's
detachment which had been sent to assault the village on the left.  The
women scattered and fled.  The savage warriors pursued, and several were
taken, among them Lippy and her mother, who were promptly despatched to
the rear.  Those of the broken band that escaped continued their flight
to the hills.

They had not gone far when they met Zeppa returning from one of his
rambles.  His surprise on hearing that the village had been attacked was
great and his anxiety considerable.  Although he had refused to go out
to war with his entertainers, he felt no disposition to stand idly by
when they were attacked.  Disordered though his mind was, he could make
a clear distinction between aggressive war and self-defence.

"And where is Lippy?" he asked, glancing round on the terrified faces.

"She is caught and carried away--with her mother."

"What!" exclaimed Zeppa, with a flash of his bright eyes that told of
natural rage mingling with the fires of insanity.

The women did not wait for more.  They ran away from him in terror.

But Zeppa had heard enough.  Turning his face towards the village he
sped over the ground at a pace that soon brought him in sight of the
combatants, who seemed to be swaying to and fro--now here, now there--as
the tide of battle flowed and victory leaned sometimes to one side
sometimes to the other.

Zeppa was unarmed.  As he drew near he was observed by both parties to
stop abruptly in his career, and wrench out of the ground a stake that
had been meant for the corner-post of a newly-begun hut.  It resembled
the great club of Hercules rather than a weapon of modern man.

Whirling it like a feather round his head, the maniac rushed on.  He was
thoroughly roused.  A feeling of desperate anxiety coupled with a sense
of horrible injustice had set his spirit in a blaze.  His great size,
which became more apparent as he advanced, his flashing eyes, compressed
lips, and the wild flowing of his uncut hair and beard, gave him
altogether an aspect so terrible that his foes trembled, while his
friends rejoiced, and when at last he uttered a roar like a mad bull,
and launched himself into the thickest of the fight the Raturans could
not stand it, but turned and fled in a body under the impression that he
was more than human.  He was too fleet for them, however.  Overtaking a
flying knot, he brought the the corner-post down on the mass, and three
warriors were levelled with the ground.  Then, hurling the mighty club
away as if it were a mere hindrance to him, he ran straight at the
leader of the Raturans, who, being head and shoulders above his fellows,
seemed a suitable foe to single out.

Before reaching him, however, his attention was arrested by a cry from
some one in the midst of the enemy in front.  It was the voice of
Wapoota, who was trying to break his way through the flying foe to his
own people.

Fortunately Zeppa recognised the voice, and darted towards his friend,
who was hard pressed at the time by a crowd of opponents.

One roar from the maniac sent these flying like chaff before the wind.
It must be added, however, for the credit of the men of Ratura, that
Ongoloo and his warriors had backed up their new leader gallantly.

When Wapoota saw his deliverer, he ran to him, panting, and said--

"Come with me--this way--Lippy is here!"

That was sufficient.  Zeppa became submissive like a child, while the
jester, taking him by the hand, ran with him at racing speed in the
direction of the Raturan villages, towards which the child and her
mother were being led by the party which had captured them.

This was briefly explained to Zeppa by Wapoota, who had chanced to
encounter the party when returning from his yelling mission, if we may
so express it.

The race was a long one, but neither the madman nor his friend flagged
until they overtook the party.  It consisted of about thirty warriors,
but if it had been thirty hundred it would have made no difference in
the effect of Zeppa's roar and aspect as he rushed upon them with
obviously awful intentions, though without arms.  In fact the latter
circumstance tended rather to increase the fears of the superstitious
natives.  They fled as one man at the first sight of the maniac and
Lippy was recovered!

Instantly Zeppa's ferocity vanished, and the tenderest of smiles rippled
over his face as he took the child in his arms and kissed her.

But Wapoota did not feel quite so easy, for in their mad race they had
outstripped the flying enemy, bands of whom were constantly passing them
in their flight before the Mountain-men.  His anxieties, however, were
groundless, for no sooner did any of the Raturans set eyes on Zeppa,
than, with howls of consternation, they diverged at a tangent like
hunted hares, and coursed away homeward on the wings of terror.

As on former occasions of conquest, the Mountain-men pursued the flying
host into their swamps, but they did not, as in former times, return to
slay the aged and carry the women and children into captivity.

To the surprise of all his followers, and the anger of not a few,
Ongoloo commanded his men to return to their village and leave the
Raturans alone.  One of his chiefs, who showed a disposition to resist
his authority, he promptly knocked down, whereupon the rest became
obedient and went quietly home.

On reaching the village, Zeppa went straight to his hut with Lippy on
his shoulder.  Apparently he had forgotten all about the recent fight
for, without even waiting to take food or rest he sat down, and began to
give his little friend a singing lesson!

With the air of a little princess, who felt that she was only receiving
her due, the child accepted the attention.  Her young companions,
attracted by the sweet sounds, soon flocked to the old place of
rendezvous, and when the last of the straggling warriors returned from
the field of battle they found the singing class going full swing as if
nothing had happened.

But when the wounded and the dead were brought in, other sounds began to
arise--sounds of wailing and woe, which soon drowned the hymns of
praise.  As soon as Zeppa became fully alive to this fact he ceased
singing and went about trying to comfort those who wept but, from his
perplexed air, and the frequency with which he paused in his wanderings
to and fro and passed his hand across his brow, as if to clear away some
misty clouds that rested there, it was evident that his shattered
intellect had taken in a very imperfect impression of what had occurred.

As if to get rid of this beclouded state, he started off that evening at
a quick walk towards his favourite haunts among the hills.  No one ever
followed him on these occasions.  The natives regarded his person as in
some measure sacred, and would have deemed it not only dangerous but
insolent to go up among the rocky heights when the madman was known to
be there.

Once, indeed, Wapoota, with that presumptuous temerity which is a
characteristic of fools in general, ventured, on the strength of old
acquaintance, to follow him, and even went towards the well known cave
where he had found refuge and protection in the day of his distress; but
Zeppa had either forgotten his former intercourse with the jester or
intended to repudiate the connection, for he did not receive him kindly.

On the way up, Wapoota, who felt somewhat timorous about the visit, had
made up his mind as to the best mode of address with which to approach
his friend.  He had decided that, although he was not particularly
youthful, the language and manner of a respectful son to a revered
father would best befit the occasion.  Accordingly when he reached the
cave and saw Zeppa busy beside his fire with a cocoa-nut, he assumed a
stooping attitude of profound respect, and drew near.

Zeppa looked up with a frown, as if annoyed at the intrusion.

"Your unworthy son," began Wapoota, "comes to--"

But he got no further.  He could not well have hit upon a more
unfortunate phrase.

"My unworthy _son_!