What he alighted on he did not know, still less did he care.  It was
sufficiently soft to prevent death.

Another awful cry echoed and re-echoed from the heights above, and
intensified the electric battery within him.  He went down the slopes
regardless of gradient at a pace that might have left even Zeppa behind
if he had followed; but Zeppa did not follow.

When Wapoota went over the precipice and disappeared, Zeppa halted and
stood erect, gazing with a questioning aspect at the sky, and drawing
his hand slowly across his brows with that wearied and puzzled aspect
which had become characteristic.

Returning after a few minutes to his cave, he reseated himself quietly
beside his fire, and, with his usual placid expression, devoted himself
earnestly to his cocoa-nut.

That was the first and last occasion on which the poor madman
experienced intrusion from the natives in his mountain retreat.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Let us return, now, to our miserable and half-hearted pirate, far out
upon the raging sea.

It must not be supposed that the Pacific Ocean is always peaceful.  No--
there are days and nights when its winds howl, and its billows roar, and
heave, and fume, with all the violence and fury of any other terrestrial
sea.

On one such night, the pirate's barque was tossed like a cork on the
Pacific's heaving bosom, while the shrieking winds played, as it were,
fiendishly with the fluttering shreds of sails which they had previously
blown to ribbons.

Richard Rosco stood beside the weather-bulwarks holding on to one of the
mizzen back-stays.  His mate Redford assisted the man at the wheel.

Upwards of three years of Rosco's rule had subdued Redford to the
condition of a hypocritical and sly, but by no means a submissive,
savage.  One or two spurts at the commencement of their career had
satisfied the mate, as well as the men, that the only way to overcome
Rosco was to take his life; and as Redford had not sufficient courage,
and the men no desire, to do that, they pursued their evil courses in
comparative harmony.  Nevertheless, the pirate captain knew well that
the savage Redford was more acceptable to the pirates than himself so he
determined to carry out intentions which had been simmering in his brain
for some time, and rid the pirate crew of his presence.

"We will sight the island to-morrow afternoon, sir, if this holds," said
the mate.

"I know it," answered Rosco.

"There is no good anchorage around it," continued the mate.

"So you have told me before," returned the captain, "but it matters not;
we shall not anchor."

"Not anchor!" repeated Redford in surprise.  "I understood that we were
to land there to ship sandal-wood.  The crew thought so too, and I'm
quite sure--"

"Well--go on--what are you sure of?"

"Oh! nothing--only sure that Captain Rosco understands his own
intentions best."

Rosco made no reply, and nothing further passed between the inharmonious
pair at that time.  Next day the gale abated, and, as Redford had
predicted, Sugar-loaf Island was sighted in the afternoon.

Running close in under the shelter of the mountain, the barque was
hove-to and a boat lowered.

"The crew will take arms with them, I suppose, sir?" asked the mate.

"Of course, though there will not be occasion for them, as there are no
natives at this part of the island.  I merely wish to ascend the hill to
reconnoitre.  You will go with me.  Put your pistols in your belt, and
fetch my rifle.  We may get some fresh meat among the hills."

Breech-loading rifles had just come into fashion at that time, and the
pirate captain had possessed himself of a double-barrelled one, with
which he became wonderfully expert.  This weapon was put into the boat
with a large pouch full of cartridges.  No comments were made in regard
to this, the pirates having been accustomed to see their commander land
in various places for a day's shooting, the result of which was usually
an acceptable addition of fresh food to their larder.

"Remain by the boat, lads, till we return," said Rosco, leaping out when
the keel grated on the shore.  "Come with me, Redford."

The mate obeyed, following his commander towards the same ravine where,
about four years before, they had seen poor Zeppa disappear among the
recesses of the mountain.  Redford felt a little surprise, and more than
a little discomfort, at the peculiar conduct of his captain; but he
comforted himself with the thought that if he should attempt any
violence, there was a brace of pistols in his belt, and a cutlass at his
side.  He even for a moment meditated using the pistols when he looked
at Rosco's broad back; but he knew that some of the men in the boat had
a sort of sneaking fondness for their captain, and refrained--at least
till he should get out of sight of the boat and into the shelter of the
woods where his actions could not be seen, and any account of the affair
might be coloured to suit his convenience.

Richard Rosco divined pretty well what was passing in his mate's mind.
He also knew that as long as they were in sight of the boat, his enemy
would not dare to injure him; he therefore threw his rifle carelessly
over his shoulder, and walked with the most easy air of nonchalance over
the strip of level land that lay between the sea and the forest that
fringed the mountain base.

On the instant of entering the mouth of the ravine, however, he wheeled
suddenly round and said--

"Now, Redford, you will lead the way, and I will direct you."

The mate was startled, and his right hand moved, as if by involuntary
impulse, toward the handle of a pistol.

Instantly the muzzle of the captain's rifle was pointed at his breast.

"Drop your hand!" he said sternly.  "Another such threat, and I will
shoot you with as much indifference as I would a sneaking dog.  Now go
on and do as I bid you."

Redford gave in at once.  He was at Rosco's mercy.  Without a word he
passed on in advance, and ascended the ravine with a quick, steady step.
To say the truth, he knew well that while his commander, on the one
hand, would not threaten what he did not mean to perform, on the other
hand he would never shed human blood needlessly.  He therefore felt less
troubled than might have been expected.

They soon reached a small eminence or rocky plateau, from which was
obtained a splendid view of the sea, with the barque floating like a
large albatross on its surface.  From that point the boat could also be
clearly seen, and every step of the path by which they had reached the
eminence.

"Now, Redford," said Rosco, throwing his rifle into the hollow of his
left arm, so as to bring the muzzle full on the mate's chest, while,
with the forefinger of his right hand, he lightly touched the triggers,
"draw your pistols from your belt, and be very careful how you do it--
very careful--for if, even by chance, you touch hammer or trigger, you
are a dead man."

There was something of banter in Rosco's manner, yet this was associated
with an air and tone of such calm decision that the mate felt curiously
uncomfortable.  He obeyed orders, however, promptly, and stood with a
pistol in each hand.  It must have been a tantalising position, for, had
they been cocked, he could have blown out Rosco's brains in a moment.
Indeed, he was sorely tempted to break the half-cock catch on the chance
of one or both going off, but his commander's eye and muzzle forbade it.

"Drop them," said Rosco, suddenly.

If they had been red-hot irons, the mate could scarcely have let them go
more quickly.  It almost seemed as if his guilty desire had passed into
the weapons and intensified the laws of gravitation--they came to the
rock with such a clatter.

"That will do.  Now, two paces step--back, march!  Splendid.  Why,
Redford, I had no idea you were so well up in your drill," said Rosco,
stepping to the spot beside the pistols, which the mate had just
vacated.  "You are fit to act fugleman to the British army.  Now, clasp
your hands behind your back, and don't unclasp them till I give you
leave.  It's a new piece of drill but not difficult to learn."

The cowed pirate was too much alarmed to be amused by this last sally.
He stood, sulkily it is true, but anxiously, awaiting further orders.

"Look here, Redford," continued the pirate captain.  "I want to prove to
you that the distance from this spot to the boat is about five hundred
yards.  You see that gull on the water?  It is about the same distance
off as the boat--well--"

He sighted his rifle for five hundred yards, took a rapid aim, fired,
and the gull, leaping its own height out of the water, fell back dead.

"Oh! don't start my fine fellow, you forget the _other_ barrel!"

The reminder was in time to check an unwise impulse on the mate's part.

"Now," continued Rosco, assuming a more serious tone, "I have brought
you here for a last conversation.  You have long desired to command that
vessel, and I have long desired to resign the command.  We shall both
have our desires gratified this day.  I intend to take up my abode here;
you are free to go where you please--but not to come here again.  Lay my
words to heart, now, and let me advise you to impress them on your crew.
If you ever venture to come to this island again, I promise you to
shoot every man that puts his foot upon the shore, and to shoot all that
follow, as long as my ammunition lasts.  And, you see, I have brought a
pretty large bag of it on shore, which I do not mean to waste on gulls,
or anything else.  I mean to keep it entirely for your benefit, my
worthy friend--so, after this warning, you will please yourself, and
take your own course.  Now, go down to the boat; row straight back to
your ship, tell your crew whatever you choose as to our interview, and
go where you please.  But bear in mind that my rifle will cover you
during every step that you take from this spot down to the beach, ay,
and after you have left the beach too, until you are safe on board.
Remember, also, that the rifle is sighted for one thousand yards, and
that the barque is not much farther off than that.  Go!"

The last word was uttered in such a tone, that Redford instantly turned,
and, without even a word of reply, retraced his steps to the shore.
Then he promptly embarked, and the men promptly shoved off while Rosco
sat on the rocky eminence, quietly watching them.

No words did Redford speak to his wondering men, except such as were
needed to direct the boat.  On gaining the vessel, he sprang up the
side, ordered all sail to be set and the guns to be loaded.  When the
vessel had increased her distance a few hundred yards from the shore, he
brought her broadside to bear on the land, and then, having carefully
laid the guns, gave the word to fire.

The hull of the pirate vessel was instantly enveloped in a snowy curtain
of smoke, and, next moment, the echoes of the hills were rudely startled
by a thunderous crash, while a dozen or more iron balls burst like
bomb-shells on the cliffs immediately above the spot where Rosco sat,
sending showers of rock in all direction; and driving the sea-mews in
shrieking terror from their nests.

"A mere waste of ammunition," murmured Rosco, with a contemptuous curl
of his lip, as he rose.  "But the next may be better aimed, so I'll bid
you good-bye, Redford!"

Descending into the ravine, he was soon safe from the iron messengers of
death, of which the enraged Redford sent another group ashore before
finally bidding the island farewell.

Now, it so happened that Zeppa was ascending the Sugar-loaf mountain on
its other side, when all this cannonading was going on.  He was
naturally surprised at such unwonted sounds, and, remembering that
cannon implied ships, and that ships were necessary to deliverance from
his enforced exile, he naturally hastened his steps, and experienced an
unusual degree of excitement.

When he reached his favourite outlook--a ledge of flat land on the
southern face of the hill, partially covered with bushes--he saw the
pirate vessel sailing away from the island, and the smoke of her two
broadsides rising like two snowy cloudlets into the blue sky.  At first
an expression of disappointment flitted across Zeppa's countenance, but
it quickly passed, leaving the usual air of childlike submission behind.
He sat down on a ledge of rock, and gazed long and wistfully at the
retreating vessel.  Then, casting his eyes upwards to the blue vault, he
gave way to an impulse which had been growing upon him for some time--he
began to pray aloud.

It was while he was engaged in this act of devotion that Richard Rosco
came upon the scene.

At the first sound of the madman's deep voice, the pirate stopped and
listened with a feeling of superstitious dread which seemed to check the
very action of his heart--for, at the moment, a few bushes concealed his
old enemy from his sight.  Stepping cautiously forward, he could see
through the interlacing boughs without himself being seen; and then the
blood forsook his visage, and his limbs trembled as if he had been a
paralysed old man.

Could the man before him, in tattered garments, with the dishevelled
mass of flowing, curly, iron-grey hair, with the long, heavy beard and
moustache, the hollow cheeks, and the wonderfully solemn eyes--could
_that_ be Zeppa?  It seemed impossible, yet there was no mistaking the
well known and still handsome features, or the massive, sinewy frame--
still less was it possible to doubt the deep, sonorous voice.  But
then--Zeppa had been seen on Ratinga Island, and the description given
of him by those who had seen him had been so exact that Rosco had never
doubted his return home and recovery of reason.

Whatever he thought or felt, however, the pirate's whole being was soon
absorbed in the madman's prayer.  It was simple, like himself.  He asked
for permission to return home, and made a humble confession of sin.
From the tenor of it, there could be no doubt that poor Zeppa had come
to regard his exile as a direct punishment from God.  Then the prayer
changed to a petition for blessings on his wife and son and the deep
voice became deeper and full of tenderness.

The pirate experienced a shock of surprise--was the son, then, still
alive?  And, if so, how came Zeppa to know?  He could not know it!  The
man before him must either be the creature of his own disordered fancy,
or a real visitant from the world of spirits!

As these thoughts coursed like lightning through the pirate's brain, he
was suddenly startled by the sound of his own name.

"And Rosco," said the madman, still looking steadily up into the sky,
while a dark frown slowly gathered on his brow--"Oh!  God, curse--no--
no, no.  Forgive me, Lord, and forgive _him_, and save him from his
sins."  He stopped abruptly here, and looked confused.

The mention of the pirate and his sins seemed to remind the poor father
that his son had been murdered, and yet, somehow, he had fancied him
alive, and had been praying for him!  He could not understand it at all.
The old look of mingled perplexity and patient submission was beginning
again to steal over his face, and his hand was in the familiar act of
passing over the troubled brow, when Zeppa's eyes alighted on Rosco's
countenance.

It would be difficult to say which, at that moment, most resembled a
maniac.  The sight of his enemy did more, perhaps, to restore Zeppa to a
spurious kind of sanity than anything that had occurred since the fatal
day of his bereavement, and called up an expression of fierce
indignation to his countenance.  All memory of his previous prayer
vanished, and he glared for a moment at the pirate with intense fury.

At the same time Rosco stood with blanched cheeks, intense horror in his
eyes, his lower jaw dropped, and his whole frame, as it were,
transfixed.

The inaction of both was, however, but momentary.  The madman sprang up,
clutched the heavy staff he was wont to use in climbing the hills, and
rushed impetuously but without word or cry at his foe.  The pirate,
brave though he undoubtedly was, lost all self-control, and fled in
abject terror.  Fortunately, the first part of the descent from the spot
was unobstructed; for, in the then condition of their feelings, both men
would probably have flung themselves over any precipice that had lain in
their way.  A few moments, however, sufficed to restore enough of
self-possession to the pirate to enable him to direct his course with
some intelligence.  He naturally followed the path by which he had
ascended, and soon gained the beach, closely followed by Zeppa.

In speed the two men were at the time well matched, for any advantage
that Zeppa had in point of size and strength was counterbalanced by the
youth and superstitious terror of Rosco.  At first, indeed, the madman
gained on his foe, but as the impetuosity of his first dash abated, the
pirate's courage returned, and, warming to the race, he held his ground.

Like hare and greyhound they coursed along the level patch of ground
that lay on that side of the island, until they came in sight of the
swampy land, covered with low but dense wood which bounded the lands of
the Raturans.  Dismay overwhelmed the pirate at first sight of it.  Then
hope rebounded into his soul, and he put on a spurt which carried him
considerably ahead of his pursuer.  He reached the edge of the
swamp-land, and dashed into its dark recesses.  He had barely entered it
a few yards when he plunged into water up to the neck.  The heavy root
of a tree chanced to hang over him.  Drawing himself close beneath it,
he remained quite still.  It was his best--indeed his only--chance.

Next moment Zeppa plunged headlong into another part of the same
half-hidden pool.  Arising, like some shaggy monster of the swamp, with
weeds and slimy plants trailing from his locks, he paused a moment, as
if to make sure of his direction before resuming the chase.  At that
moment he was completely in the power of the pirate, for his broad back
was not more than a few feet from the screen of roots and tendrils by
which Rosco was partially hidden.  The temptation was strong.  The
pirate drew the keen knife that always hung at his girdle, but a feeling
of pity induced him to hesitate.  The delay sufficed to save Zeppa's
life.  Next moment he seized an overhanging branch, drew himself out of
the swamp, and sped on his way; but, having lost sight of his enemy, he
soon paused and looked round with indecision.

"It must have been a dream," he muttered, and began to retrace his steps
with an air of humiliation, as if half ashamed of having given way to
such excitement.  From his hiding-place the pirate saw him pass, and
watched him out of sight.  Then, clambering quickly out of the stagnant
pool, he pushed deeper and deeper into the recesses of the morass,
regardless of every danger, except that of falling into the madman's
hands.

CHAPTER NINE.

Who shall tell, or who shall understand, the thoughts of Richard Rosco,
the ex-pirate, as he wandered, lost yet regardless, in that dismal
swamp?

The human spirit is essentially galvanic.  It jumps like a grasshopper,
bounds like a kangaroo.  The greatest of men can only restrain it in a
slight degree.  The small men either have exasperating trouble with it,
or make no attempt to curb it at all.  It is a rebellious spirit.  The
best of books tells us that, "Greater is he that ruleth it, than he that
taketh a city."

Think of that, youngster, whoever you are, who readeth this.  Think of
the conquerors of the world.  Think of the "Great" Alexander, whose
might was so tremendous that he subjugated kingdoms and spent his life
in doing little else.  Think of Napoleon "the Great," whose armies
ravaged Europe from the Atlantic to Asia: who even began--though he
failed to finish--the conquest of Africa; who made kings as you might
make pasteboard men, and filled the civilised world with fear, as well
as with blood and graves--all for his own glorification!  Think of these
and other "great" men, and reflect that it is written, "He who rules his
own spirit" is _greater_ than they.

Yes, the human spirit is difficult to deal with, and uncomfortably
explosive.  At least so Richard Rosco found it when, towards the close
of the day on which his enemy chased him into the dismal swamp, he sat
down on a gnarled root and began to reflect.

His spirit jumped almost out of him with contempt, when he thought that
for the first time in his life, he had fled in abject terror from the
face of man!  He could not conceal that from himself, despite the excuse
suggested by pride--that he had half believed Zeppa to be an apparition.
What even if that were true?  Had he not boastfully said more than once
that he would defy the foul fiend himself if he should attempt to thwart
him?  Then his spirit bounded into a region of disappointed rage when he
thought of the lost opportunity of stabbing his enemy to the heart.
After that, unbidden, and in spite of him, it dropped into an abyss of
something like fierce despair when he recalled the past surveyed the
present, and forecast the future.  Truly, if hell ever does begin to men
on earth, it began that day to the pirate, as he sat in the twilight on
the gnarled root, with one of his feet dangling in the slimy water, his
hands clasped so tight that the knuckles stood out white, and his eyes
gazing upwards with an expression that seemed the very embodiment of
woe.

Then his spirit lost its spring, and he began to crawl, in memory, on
the shores of "other days."  He thought of the days when, comparatively
innocent he rambled on the sunny hills of old England; played and did
mischief with comrades; formed friendships and fought battles, and knew
what it was to experience good impulses; understood the joy of giving
way to these, as well as the depression consequent on resisting them;
and recalled the time when he regarded his mother as the supreme judge
in every case of difficulty--the only comforter in every time of sorrow.

At this point his spirit grovelled like a crushed worm in the stagnant
pool of his despair, for he had no hope.  He had sinned every
opportunity away.  He had defied God and man, and nothing was left to
him, apparently, save "a fearful looking-for of judgment."

As he bent over the pool he saw his own distorted visage dimly reflected
therein, and the thought occurred,--"Why not end it all at once?  Five
minutes at the utmost and all will be over!"  The pirate was a
physically brave man beyond his fellows.  He had courage to carry the
idea into effect but--"after death the judgment!"  Where had he heard
these words?  They were strange to him, but they were not new.  Those
who are trained in the knowledge of God's Word are not as a general
rule, moved in an extraordinary degree by quotations from it.  It is
often otherwise with those who have had little of it instilled into them
in youth and none in later years.  That which may seem to a Christian
but a familiar part of the "old, old story," sometimes becomes to
hundreds and thousands of human beings a startling revelation.  It was
so to the pirate on this occasion.  The idea of judgment took such a
hold of him that he shrank from death with far more fear than he ever
had, with courage, faced it in days gone by.  Trembling, terrified,
abject he sat there, incapable of consecutive thought or intelligent
action.

At last the gloom which had been slowly deepening over the swamp sank
into absolute blackness, and the chills of night, which were
particularly sharp in such places, began to tell upon him.  But he did
not dare to move, lest he should fall into the swamp.  Slowly he
extended himself on the root; wound his arms and fingers convulsively
among leaves and branches, and held on like a drowning man.  An ague-fit
seemed to have seized him, for he trembled violently in every limb; and
as his exhausted spirit was about to lose itself in sleep, or, as it
seemed to him, in death, he gave vent to a subdued cry, "God be merciful
to me a sinner!"

Rest, such as it was, refreshed the pirate, and when the grey dawn,
struggling through the dense foliage, awoke him, he rose up with a
feeling of submissiveness which seemed, somehow, to restore his energy.

He was without purpose, however, for he knew nothing of his
surroundings, and, of course, could form no idea of what was best to be
done.  In these circumstances he rose with a strange sensation of
helplessness, and wandered straight before him.

And oh! how beautiful were the scenes presented to his vision!
Everything in this world is relative.  That which is hideous at one time
is lovely at another.  In the night the evening, or at the grey dawn,
the swamp was indeed dismal in the extreme; but when the morning
advanced towards noon all that was changed, as if magically, by the
action of the sun.  Black, repulsive waters reflected patches of the
bright blue sky, and every leaf, and spray, and parasite, and tendril,
that grew in the world above was faithfully mirrored in the world below.
Vistas of gnarled roots and graceful stems and drooping boughs were
seen on right and left, before and behind, extending as if into infinite
space, while innumerable insects, engaged in the business of their brief
existence, were filling the region with miniature melodies.

But Richard Rosco saw it not.  At least it made no sensible impression
on him.  His mental retina was capable of receiving only two pictures:
the concentrated accumulation of past sin--the terrible anticipation of
future retribution.  Between these two, present danger and suffering
were well-nigh forgotten.

Towards noon, however, the sense of hunger began to oppress him.  He
allayed it with a few wild berries.  Then fatigue began to tell, for
walking from root to root sometimes on short stretches of solid land,
sometimes over soft mud, often knee-deep in water, was very exhausting.
At last he came to what appeared to be the end of the swamp, and here he
discovered a small patch of cultivated ground.

The discovery awoke him to the necessity of caution, but he was awakened
too late, for already had one of the Raturan natives observed him
advancing out of the swamp.  Instantly he gave the alarm that a "white
face" was approaching.  Of course the appearance of one suggested a
scout, and the speedy approach of a host.  Horrified to see a supposed
enemy come from a region which they had hitherto deemed their sure
refuge, the few natives who dwelt there flew to arms, and ran to meet
the advancing foe.

The pirate was not just then in a mood to resist.  He had no weapon, and
no spirit left.  He therefore suffered himself to be taken prisoner
without a struggle, satisfied apparently to know that the madman was not
one of those into whose hands he had fallen.

Great was the rejoicing among the Raturans when the prisoner was brought
in, for they were still smarting under the humiliation of their defeat,
and knew well that their discomfiture had been largely owing to the
influence of "white faces."  True, they did not fall into the mistake of
supposing that Rosco was the awful giant who had chased and belaboured
them so unmercifully with a long stake, but they at once concluded that
he was a comrade of Zeppa--perhaps one of a band who had joined their
foes.  Besides, whether he were a comrade or not was a matter of small
moment.  Sufficient for them that his face was white, that he belonged
to a race which, in the person of Zeppa, had wrought them evil, and that
he was now in their power.

Of course, the Raturans had not during all these years, remained in
ignorance of the existence of Zeppa.  They had heard of his dwelling in
the mountain soon after he had visited the village of their enemies, and
had also become aware of the fact that the white man was a madman and a
giant, but more than this they did not know, because of their feud
preventing interchange of visits or of news between the tribes.  Their
imaginations, therefore, having full swing, had clothed Zeppa in some of
the supposed attributes of a demigod.  These attributes, however, the
same imaginations quickly exchanged for those of a demi-devil, when at
last they saw Zeppa in the flesh, and were put to flight by him.  His
size, indeed, had rather fallen short of their expectation, for sixty
feet had been the average estimate, but his fury and aspect had come
quite up to the mark, and the fact that not a man of the tribe had dared
to stand before him, was sufficient to convince a set of superstitious
savages that he was a real devil in human guise.  To have secured one of
his minor comrades, therefore, was a splendid and unlooked-for piece of
good fortune, which they resolved to make the most of by burning the
pirate alive.

Little did the wretched man think, when they conducted him to a hut in
the middle of their village and supplied him with meat and drink, that
this was a preliminary ceremony to the terrible end they purposed to
make of him.  It is true he did not feel easy in his mind, for, despite
this touch of hospitality, his captors regarded him with looks of
undisguised hatred.

There was something of the feline spirit in these Raturan savages.  As
the cat plays with the mouse before killing it, so did they amuse
themselves with the pirate before putting him to the final torture which
was to terminate his life.

And well was it for Rosco that they did so, for the delay thus caused
was the means of saving his life--though he did not come out of the
dread ordeal scathless.

They began with a dance--a war-dance it is to be presumed--at all events
it involved the flourishing of clubs and spears, the formation of
hideous faces, and the perpetration of frightful grimaces, with bounds
and yells enough to warrant the conclusion that the dance was not one of
peace.  Richard Rosco formed the centre of that dance--the sun, as it
were, of the system round which the dusky host revolved.  But he did not
join in the celebration, for he was bound firmly to a stake set up in
the ground, and could not move hand or foot.

At first the warriors of the tribe moved round the pirate in a circle,
stamping time slowly with their feet while the women and children stood
in a larger circle, marking time with hands and voices.  Presently the
dance grew more furious, and ultimately attained to a pitch of wild
violence which is quite indescribable.  At the height of the paroxysm, a
warrior would ever and anon dart out from the circle with whirling club,
and bring it down as if on the prisoner's skull, but would turn it aside
so deftly that it just grazed his ear and fell with a dull thud on the
ground.  Other warriors made at him with their spears, which they thrust
with lightning speed at his naked breast, but checked them just as they
touched the skin.

Two or three of these last were so inexpert that they pricked the skin
slightly, and blood began to trickle down, but these clumsy warriors
were instantly kicked from the circle of dancers, and compelled to take
their place among the women and children.

When they had exhausted themselves with the dance, the warriors sat down
to feast upon viands, which had, in the meanwhile, been preparing for
them, and while they feasted they taunted their prisoner with cowardice,
and told him in graphic language of the horrors that yet awaited him.

Fortunately for the miserable man--who was left bound to the stake
during the feast--he did not understand a word of what was said.  He had
been stripped of all clothing save a pair of short breeches, reaching a
little below the knee, and his naked feet rested on a curious piece of
basketwork.  This last would have been too slight to bear his weight if
he had not been almost suspended by the cords that bound him to the
stake.

Rosco was very pale.  He felt that his doom was fixed; but his native
courage did not forsake him.  He braced himself to meet his fate like a
man, and resolved to shut his eyes, when next they began to dance round
him, so that he should not shrink from the blow or thrust which, he felt
sure, would ere long end his ill-spent life.  But the time seemed to him
terribly long, and while he hung there his mind began to recall the
gloomy past.  Perhaps it was a refinement of cruelty on the part of the
savages that they gave him time to think, so that his courage might be
reduced or overcome.

If so, they were mistaken in their plan.  The pirate showed no unusual
sign of fear.  Once he attempted to pray, but he found that almost
impossible.

Wearied at length with waiting, the savages arose, and began to put
fagots and other combustibles under the wicker-basket on which the
pirate stood.  Then, indeed, was Rosco's courage tried nearly to the
uttermost and when he saw the fire actually applied, he uttered a cry of
"Help! help!" so loud and terrible that his enemies fell back for a
moment as if appalled.

And help came from a quarter that Rosco little expected.

But to explain this we must return to Zeppa.  We have said that he gave
up the chase of the pirate under the impression that the whole affair
was a dream; but, on returning to his cave, he found that he could not
rest.  Old associations and memories had been too violently aroused,
and, after spending a sleepless night he rose up, determined to resume
the chase which he had abandoned.  He returned to the spot where he had
lost sight of his enemy in the swamp, and, after a brief examination of
the place, advanced in as straight a line as he could through the
tangled and interlacing boughs.

Naturally he followed the trail of the pirate, for the difficulties or
peculiar formations of the ground which had influenced the latter in his
course also affected Zeppa much in the same way.  Thus it came to pass
that when the Raturans were about to burn their prisoner alive, the
madman was close to their village.  But Zeppa did not think of the
Raturans.  He had never seen or heard of them, except on the occasion of
their attack on the Mountain-men.  His sole desire was to be revenged on
the slayer of his boy.  And even in this matter the poor maniac was
still greatly perplexed, for his Christian principles and his naturally
gentle spirit forbade revenge on the one hand, while, on the other, a
sense of justice told him that murder should not go unpunished, or the
murderer remain at large; so that it required the absolute sight of
Rosco before his eyes to rouse him to the pitch of fury necessary to
hold him to the execution of his purpose.

It was while he was advancing slowly, and puzzling his brain over these
considerations, that Rosco's cry for help rang out.

Zeppa recognised the voice, and a dark frown settled on his countenance
as he stopped to listen.  Then an appalling yell filled his ears.  It
was repeated again and again, as the kindling flames licked round the
pirate's naked feet, causing him to writhe in mortal agony.

Instantly Zeppa was stirred to action.  He replied with a tremendous
shout.

Well did the Raturans know that shout.  With caught breath and blanched
faces they turned towards the direction whence it came, and they saw the
madman bounding towards them with streaming locks and glaring eyes.  A
single look sufficed.  The entire population of the village turned and
fled!

Next moment Zeppa rushed up to the stake, and kicked the fire-brands
from beneath the poor victim, who was by that time almost insensible
from agony and smoke.  Drawing his knife, Zeppa cut the cords, and,
lifting the pirate in his arms, laid him on the ground.

The madman was terribly excited.  He had been drenched from frequent
immersions in the swamp, besides being much exhausted by his long and
difficult walk, or rather, scramble, after a sleepless night; and this
sudden meeting with his worst enemy in such awful circumstances seemed
to have produced an access of insanity, so that the pirate felt
uncertain whether he had not been delivered from a horrible fate to fall
into one perhaps not less terrible.

As he lay there on his back, scorched, tormented with thirst and
helpless, he watched with fearful anxiety each motion of the madman.
For some moments Zeppa seemed undecided.  He stood with heaving chest
expanding nostrils, and flashing eyes, gazing after the flying crew of
natives.  Then he turned sharply on the unhappy man who lay at his feet.

"Get up!" he said fiercely, "and follow me."

"I cannot get up, Zeppa," replied the pirate in a faint voice.  "Don't
you see my feet are burnt?  God help me!"

He ended with a deep groan, and the ferocity at once left Zeppa's
countenance, but the wild light did not leave his eyes, nor did he
become less excited in his actions.

"Come, I will carry you," he said.

Stooping down quickly, he raised the pirate in his arms as if he had
been a child, and bore him away.

Avoiding the swamp, he proceeded in the direction of the mountain by
another route--a route which ran so near to Ongoloo's village, that the
Raturans never ventured to use it.

He passed the village without having been observed, and began to toil
slowly up the steep ascent panting as he went, for his mighty strength
had been overtaxed, and his helpless burden was heavy.

"Lay me down and rest yourself," said Rosco, with a groan that he could
not suppress, for his scorched lower limbs caused him unutterable
anguish, and beads of perspiration stood upon his brow, while a deadly
pallor overspread his face.

Zeppa spoke no word in reply.  He did, indeed, look at the speaker once,
uneasily, but took no notice of his request.  Thus, clasping his enemy
to his breast he ascended the steep hill, struggling and stumbling
upwards, as if with some fixed and stern purpose in view, until at last
he gained the shelter of his mountain cave.

CHAPTER TEN.

We change the scene once more, and transport our readers over the ocean
waves to a noble ship which is breasting those waves right gallantly.
It is H.M.S. "Furious."

In a retired part of the ship's cabin there are two savage nobles who do
not take things quite as gallantly as the ship herself.  These are our
friends Tomeo and Buttchee of Ratinga.  Each is seated on the cabin
floor with his back against the bulkhead, an expression of woe-begone
desolation on his visage, his black legs apart, and a ship's bucket
between them.  It were bad taste to be too particular as to details
here!

On quitting Ratinga, Tomeo and his brother chief had said that nothing
would rejoice their hearts so much as to go to sea.  Their wish was
gratified, and, not long afterwards, they said that nothing could
rejoice their hearts so much as to get back to land!  Such is the
contradictoriness of human nature.

There was a stiffish breeze blowing, as one of the man-of-war's-men
expressed it and "a nasty sea on"--he did not say on what.  There must
have been something nasty, also, on Tomeo's stomach, from the violent
way in which he sought to get rid of it at times--without success.

"Oh!  Buttchee, my brother," said Tomeo (of course in his native
tongue), "many years have passed over my head, a few white streaks begin
to--to--" He paused abruptly, and eyed the bucket as if with an
intention.

"To appear," he continued with a short sigh; "also, I have seen many
wars and suffered much from many wounds as you--you--ha!--you know,
Buttchee, my brother, but of all the--"

He became silent again--suddenly.

"Why does my brother p-pause?" asked Buttchee, in a meek voice--as of
one who had suffered severely in life's pilgrimage.

There was no occasion for Tomeo to offer a verbal reply.

After a time Buttchee raised his head and wiped his eyes, in which were
many tears--but not of sorrow.

"Tomeo," said he, "was it worth our while to forsake wives and children,
and church, and hymns, and taro fields, and home for th-this?"

"We did not leave for this," replied Tomeo, with some acerbity, for he
experienced a temporary sensation of feeling better at the moment; "we
left all for the sake of assisting our friends in--there! it comes--
it--"

He said no more, and both chiefs relapsed into silence--gazing the while
at the buckets with undue interest.

They were interrupted by the sudden entrance of Ebony.

"Come, you yaller-cheeked chiefs; you's die if you no make a heffort.
Come on deck, breeve de fresh air.  Git up a happetite.  Go in for salt
pork, plum duff, and lop-scouse, an' you'll git well 'fore you kin say
Jack Rubinson."

Tomeo and Buttchee looked up at the jovial negro and smiled--imbecile
smiles they were.

"We cannot move," said Tomeo and Buttchee together, "because we--w--"
Together they ceased giving the reason--it was not necessary!

"Oh dear!" said Ebony, opening his great eyes to their widest.  "You no
kin lib long at dat rate.  Better die on deck if you _mus'_ die; more
heasy for you to breeve up dar, an' more comf'rable to fro you overboard
w'en you's got it over."

With this cheering remark the worthy negro, seizing the chiefs each by a
hand, half constrained, half assisted them to rise, and helped them to
stagger to the quarter-deck, where they were greeted by Orlando, Captain
Fitzgerald, Waroonga, and the missionary.

"Come, that's right," cried the captain, shaking the two melancholy
chiefs by the hand, "glad to see you plucking up courage.  Tell them,
Mr Zeppa, that we shall probably be at Sugar-loaf Island to-morrow, or
next day."

The two unfortunates were visibly cheered by the assurance.  To do them
justice, they had not quite given way to sea-sickness until then, for
the weather had been moderately calm, but the nasty sea and stiff breeze
had proved too much for them.

"Are you sure we shall find the island so soon?" asked Orlando of the
captain in a low, earnest tone, for the poor youth's excitement and
anxiety deepened as they drew near to the place where his father might
possibly be found--at the same time a strange, shrinking dread of what
they might find made him almost wish for delay.

"I am not sure, of course," returned the captain, "but if my information
is correct, there is every probability that we shall find it to-morrow."

"I hopes we shall," remarked Waroonga.  "It would be a grand blessing if
the Lord will gif us the island and your father in same day."

"Mos' too good to be true," observed Ebony, who was a privileged
individual on board, owing very much to his good-humoured eccentricity.
"But surely you not spec's de niggers to tumbil down at yous feet all at
wance, Massa Waroonga?"

"Oh no, not at once.  The day of miracle have pass," returned the
missionary.  "We mus' use the means, and then, has we not the promise
that our work shall not be in vain?"

Next day about noon the Sugar-loaf mountain rose out of the sea like a
great pillar of hope to Orlando, as well as to the missionary.  Captain
Fitzgerald sailed close in, sweeping the mountain side with his
telescope as he advanced until close under the cliffs, when he lay-to
and held a consultation with his passengers.

"I see no habitations of any kind," he said, "nor any sign of the
presence of man, but I have heard that the native villages lie at the
lower side of the island.  Now, the question is, whether would it suit
your purposes best to land an armed party here, and cross over to the
villages, or to sail round the island, drop anchor in the most
convenient bay, and land a party there?"

Orlando, to whom this was more directly addressed, turned to the
missionary.

"What think you, Waroonga?  You know native thought and feeling best."

"I would not land armed party at all," answered Waroonga.  "But Cappin
Fitzgald know his own business most.  What he thinks?"

"My business and yours are so mingled," returned the captain, "that I
look to you for advice.  My chief duty is to obtain information as to
the whereabouts of the pirate vessel, and I expect that such information
will be got more readily through you, Waroonga, than any one else, for,
besides being able to speak the native language, you can probably
approach the savages more easily than I can."

"They are not savages," returned Waroonga quietly, "they are God's
ignorant children.  I have seen worse men than South sea islanders with
white faces an' soft clothin' who had not the excuse of ignorance."

"Nay, my good sir," said the captain, "we will not quarrel about terms.
Whatever else these `ignorant children' may be, I know that they are
brave and warlike, and I shall gladly listen to your advice as to
landing."

"If you wish to go to them in peace, do not go to them with arms," said
Waroonga.

"Surely you would not advise me to send an unarmed party among armed
sav--children?" returned the captain, with a look of surprise, while
Orlando regarded his friend with mingled amusement and curiosity.

"No.  You best send no party at all.  Jis' go round the island, put down
angker, an' leave the rest to me."

"But what do you propose to do?" asked the captain.

"Swum to shore with Bibil."

Orlando laughed, for he now understood the missionary's plan, and in a
few words described the method by which Waroonga had subdued the natives
of Ratinga.

"You see, by this plan," he continued, "nothing is presented to the
natives which they will be tempted to steal, and if they are very
warlike or fierce, Waroonga's refusal to fight reduces them to a state
of quiet readiness to hear, which is all that we want.  Waroonga's
tongue does the rest."

"With God's Holy Spirit and the Word," interposed the missionary.

"True, that is understood," said Orlando.

"That is not _always_ understood," returned Waroonga.

"The plan does not seem to me a very good one," said Captain Fitzgerald
thoughtfully.  "I can have no doubt that it has succeeded in time past,
and may probably succeed again, but you cannot expect that the natives,
even if disposed to be peaceful, will accept your message at once.  It
may take weeks, perhaps months, before you get them to believe the
gospel, so as to permit of my men going ashore unarmed, and in the
meantime, while you are engaged in this effort, what am I to be doing?"

"Wait God's time," answered Waroonga simply.  "But time presses.  The
pirate vessel, where-ever it may be, is escaping me," said the captain,
unable to repress a smile.  "However, I will at all events let you make
the trial and await the result; reminding you, however, that you will
run considerable risk, and that you must be prepared to accept the
consequences of your rather reckless proceedings."

"I hope, Waroonga," said Orlando, when the captain left them to give
orders as to the course of the ship, "that you will let me share this
risk with you?"

"It will be wiser not.  You are a strong man, an' sometimes fierce to
behold.  They will want to fight you; then up go your blood, an' you
will want to fight them."

"No, indeed, I won't," said Orlando earnestly.

"I will promise to go in the spirit of a missionary.  You know how
anxious I am to get news of my dear father.  How could you expect me to
remain idle on board this vessel, when my soul is so troubled?  You may
depend on me, Waroonga.  I will do exactly as you bid me, and will place
myself peaceably in the power of natives--leaving the result, as you
advise, to God."

The young man's tone was so earnest, and withal so humble, that Waroonga
could not help acceding to his request.

"Well, well," said Captain Fitzgerald, when he heard of it; "you seem
both to be bent on making martyrs of yourselves, but I will offer no
opposition.  All I can say is that I shall have my guns in readiness,
and if I see anything like foul play, I'll bombard the place, and land
an armed force to do what I can for you."

Soon the frigate came in sight of Ongoloo's village, ran close in,
brought up in a sheltered bay, and lowered a boat while the natives
crowded the beach in vast numbers, uttering fierce cries, brandishing
clubs and spears, and making other warlike demonstrations--for these
poor people had been more than once visited by so-called merchant
ships--the crews of which had carried off some of them by force.

"We will not let a living man touch our shore," said Ongoloo to Wapoota,
who chanced to be near his leader, when he marshalled his men.

"Oh! yes, we will, chief," replied the brown humorist.  "We will let
some of them touch it, and then we will take them up carefully, and have
them baked.  A long-pig supper will do us good.  The rest of them we
will drive back to their big canoe."

By the term "long-pig" Wapoota referred to the resemblance that a naked
white man when prepared for roasting bears to an ordinary pig.

A grim smile lit up Ongoloo's swarthy visage as he replied--

"Yes, we will permit a few fat ones to land.  The rest shall die, for
white men are thieves.  They deceived us last time.  They shall never
deceive us again."

As this remark might have been meant for a covert reference to his own
thievish tendencies, Wapoota restrained his somewhat ghastly humour,
while the chief continued his arrangements for repelling the invaders.

Meanwhile, these invaders were getting into the boat.

"What! you's not goin' widout me?" exclaimed Ebony, as one of the
sailors thrust him aside from the gangway.

"I fear we are," said Orlando, as he was about to descend the vessel's
side.  "It was as much as I could do to get Waroonga to agree to let me
go with him."

"But dis yar nigger kin die in a good cause as well as you, massa," said
Ebony, in a tone of entreaty so earnest that the men standing near could
not help laughing.

"Now then, make haste," sang out the officer in charge of the boat.

Orlando descended, and the negro, turning away with a deeply injured
expression, walked majestically to the stern to watch the boat.

Waroonga had prepared himself for the enterprise by stripping off every
article of clothing save a linen cloth round his loins, and he carried
nothing whatever with him except a small copy of God's Word printed in
the language of the islanders.  This, as the boat drew near to shore, he
fastened on his head, among the bushy curls of his crisp black hair, as
in a nest.

Orlando had clothed himself in a pair of patched old canvas trousers,
and a much worn unattractive cotton shirt.

"Stop now," said the missionary, when the boat was about five or six
hundred yards from the beach.  "Are you ready?"

"Ready," said Orlando.

"Then come."

He dropped quietly over the side and swam towards the shore.  Orlando,
following his example, was alongside of him in a few seconds.

Both men were expert and rapid swimmers.  The natives watched them in
absolute silence and open-mouthed surprise.

A few minutes sufficed to carry the swimmers to the beach.

"Have your rifles handy, lads," said the officer in charge of the boat
to his men.

"Stand by," said the captain of the "Furious" to the men at the guns.

But these precautions were unnecessary, for when the swimmers landed and
walked up the beach they were seen by the man-of-war's-men to shake
hands with the chief of the savages, and, after what appeared to be a
brief palaver, to rub noses with him.  Then the entire host turned and
led the visitors towards the village.

With a heart almost bursting from the combined effects of
disappointment, humiliation, and grief, poor Ebony stood at the stern of
the man-of-war, his arms crossed upon his brawny chest, and his great
eyes swimming in irrepressible tears, a monstrous bead of which would
every now and then overflow its banks and roll down his sable cheek.

Suddenly the heart-stricken negro clasped his hands together, bowed his
head, and dropped into the sea!

The captain, who had seen him take the plunge, leaped to the stern, and
saw him rise from the water, blow like a grampus, and strike out for
land with the steady vigour of a gigantic frog.

"Pick him up!" shouted the captain to the boat, which was by that time
returning to the ship.

"Ay, ay, sir," was the prompt reply.

The boat was making straight for the negro and he for it.  Neither
diverged from the straight course.

"Two of you in the bow, there, get ready to haul him in," said the
officer.

Two sturdy sailors drew in their oars, got up, and leaned over the bow
with outstretched arms.  Ebony looked at them, bestowed on them a
tremendous grin, and went down with the oily ease of a northern seal!

When next seen he was full a hundred yards astern of the boat, still
heading steadily for the shore.

"Let him go!" shouted the captain.

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the obedient officer.

And Ebony went!

Meanwhile our missionary, having told the wondering savages that he
brought them _good news_, was conducted with his companion to Ongoloo's
hut.  But it was plain that the good news referred to, and even Waroonga
himself, had not nearly so great an effect on them as the sight of
Orlando, at whom they gazed with an expression half of fear and half of
awe which surprised him exceedingly.

"Your story is not new to us," said Ongoloo, addressing the missionary,
but gazing at Orlando, "it comes to us like an old song."

"How so?" exclaimed Waroonga, "has any one been here before with the
grand and sweet story of Jesus and His love."

The reply of the savage chief was strangely anticipated and checked at
that moment by a burst of childish voices singing one of the beautiful
hymns with which the inhabitants of Ratinga had long been familiar.  As
the voices swelled in a chorus, which distance softened into fairy-like
strains, the missionary and his companion sat entranced and bewildered,
while the natives looked pleased, and appeared to enjoy their
perplexity.

"Our little ones," said Ongoloo, after a few minutes' pause, "are
amusing themselves with singing.  They often do that."

As he spoke the party were startled and surprised by the sudden
appearance of Ebony, who quietly stalked into the circle and seated
himself beside the missionary with the guilty yet defiant air of a man
who knows that he has done wrong, but is resolved at all hazards to have
his way.  Considering the turn that affairs had taken, neither Orlando
nor Waroonga were sorry to see him.

"This is a friend," said the latter in explanation, laying his hand on
the negro's shoulder.  "But tell me, chief, we are impatient for to
know, where learned you that song?"

"From one who is mad," replied the chief still gazing earnestly at
Orlando.

"Mad!" repeated the youth, starting up and trembling with
excitement--"how know you that?  Who--where is he?  Ask him, Waroonga."

The explanation that followed left no doubt on Orlando's mind that his
father was bereft of reason, and wandering in the neighbouring mountain.

If there had been any doubt, it would have been swept away by the chief,
who quietly said, "the madman is _your father_!"

"How does he know that Waroonga?"

"I know, because there is no difference between you, except years--
and--"

He did not finish the sentence, but touched his forehead solemnly with
his finger.

"Does he dwell alone in the mountains?" asked Orlando.

"Yes, alone.  He lets no one approach him," answered Ongoloo.

"Now, Waroonga," said Orlando, "our prayers have been heard, and--at
least partly--answered.  But we must proceed with caution.  You must
return on board and tell Captain Fitzgerald that I go to search for my
father _alone_."

"Wid the help ob dis yar nigger," interposed Ebony.

"Tell him on no account to send men in search of me," continued Orlando,
paying no attention to the interruption; "and in the meantime, you know
how to explain my purpose to the natives.  Adieu."

Rising quickly, he left the assembly and, followed modestly but closely
by the unconquerable negro, set off with rapid strides towards the
mountains.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

When Zeppa, as related in a previous chapter, staggered up the mountain
side with Richard Rosco in his arms, his great strength was all but
exhausted, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he succeeded at
last, before night-fall, in laying his burden on the couch in his cave.

Then, for the first time, he seemed to have difficulty in deciding what
to do.  Now, at last, the pirate was in his power--he could do to him
what he pleased!  As he thought thus he turned a look of fierce
indignation upon him.  But, even as he gazed, the look faded, and was
replaced by one of pity, for he could not help seeing that the wretched
man was suffering intolerable anguish, though no murmur escaped from his
tightly-compressed lips.

"Slay me, in God's name, kill me at once, Zeppa," he gasped, "and put me
out of torment."

"Poor man! poor Rosco!" returned the madman in a gentle voice, "I
thought to have punished thee, but God wills it otherwise."

He said no more, but rose hastily and went into the bush.  Returning in
a few moments with a bundle of herbs, he gathered some sticks and
kindled a fire.  A large earthenware pot stood close to the side of the
cave's entrance--a clumsy thing, made by himself of some sort of clay.
This he filled with water, put the herbs in, and set it on the fire.
Soon he had a poultice spread on a broad leaf which, when it was cold,
he applied to one of the pirate's dreadfully burnt feet.  Then he spread
another poultice, with which he treated the other foot.

What the remedy was that Zeppa made use of on this occasion is best
known to himself; we can throw no light on the subject.  Neither can we
say whether the application was or was not in accordance with the
practice of the faculty, but certain it is that Rosco's sufferings were
immediately assuaged, and he soon fell into a tranquil sleep.

Not so the madman, who sat watching by his couch.  Poor Zeppa's physical
sufferings and exertion had proved too much for him; the strain on his
shattered nerves had been too severe, and a burning fever was now raging
within him, so that the delirium consequent on disease began to mingle,
so to speak, with his insanity.

He felt that something unusual was going on within him.  He tried to
restrain himself, and chain down his wandering, surging thoughts, but
the more he sought to hold himself down, the more did a demon--who
seemed to have been especially appointed for the purpose--cast his
mental fastenings adrift.

At last he took it into his head that the slumbering pirate had
bewitched him.  As this idea gained ground and the internal fires
increased, the old ideas of revenge returned, and he drew the knife
which hung at his belt, gazing furtively at the sleeper as he did so.

But the better nature within the man maintained a fierce conflict with
the worse.

"He murdered my son--my darling Orley!" murmured the madman, as he felt
the keen edge and point of his knife, and crept towards the sleeper,
while a fitful flicker of the dying fire betrayed the awful light that
seemed to blaze in his eyes.  "He carried me from my home!  He left
Marie to die in hopeless grief!  Ha! ha! ha!  Oh God! keep me back--back
from _this_."

The noise awoke Rosco, who sat up and gazed at Zeppa in horror, for he
saw at a glance that a fit of his madness must have seized him.

"Zeppa!" he exclaimed, raising himself with difficulty on both hands,
and gazing sternly in the madman's face.

"Ha!" exclaimed the latter, suddenly throwing his knife on the ground
within Rosco's reach, "see, I scorn to take advantage of your unarmed
condition.  Take that and defend yourself.  I will content myself with
this."

He caught up the heavy staff which he was in the habit of carrying with
him in his mountain rambles.  At the same instant Rosco seized the knife
and flung it far into the bush.

"See!  I am still unarmed," he said.

"True, but you are not the less guilty, Rosco, and you must die.  It is
my duty to kill you."

He advanced with the staff up-raised.

"Stay!  Let us consider before you strike.  Are you not a self-appointed
executioner?"

The question was well put.  The madman lowered the staff to consider.
Instantly the pirate made a plunge at and caught it.  Zeppa strove to
wrench it from his grasp, but the pirate felt that his life might depend
on his retaining hold, and, in his extremity, was endued with almost
supernatural strength.  In the fierce struggles that ensued, the embers
of the fire were scattered, and the spot reduced to almost total
darkness.  During the unequal conflict, the pirate, who could only get
upon his knees, was swept and hurled from side to side, but still he
grasped the staff with vice-like power to his breast.  Even in that
fearful moment the idea, which had already occurred to him, of humouring
his antagonist gained force.  He suddenly loosed his hold.  Zeppa
staggered backward, recovered himself, sprang forward, and aimed a
fearful blow at his adversary, who suddenly fell flat down.  The staff
passed harmlessly over him and was shattered to pieces on the side of
the cave.

"Ha! ha!" laughed the pirate lightly, as he sat up again, "you see,
Zeppa, that Providence is against you.  How else could I, a helpless
cripple, have held my own against you?  And see, the very weapon you
meant to use is broken to pieces.  Come now, delay this execution for a
little, and let us talk together about this death which you think is
due.  There is much to be said about death, you know, and I should like
to get to understand it better before I experience it."

"There is reason in that, Rosco," said Zeppa, sitting down on the ground
by the side of the pirate, and leaning his back against the rock.  "You
have much need to consider death, for after death comes the judgment,
and none of us can escape _that_."

"True, Zeppa, and I should not like to face that just now, for I am not
fit to die, although, as you truly say, I deserve death.  I have no
hesitation in admitting that," returned the pirate, with some
bitterness; "I deserve to die, body and soul, and, after all, I don't
see why I should seek so earnestly to delay the righteous doom."

"Right, Rosco, right; you talk sense now, the doom is well deserved.
Why, then, try to prevent me any longer from inflicting it when you know
it is my duty to do so?"

"Because," continued the pirate, who felt that to maintain the conflict
even with words was too much for his exhausted strength, "because I have
heard that God is merciful."

"Merciful!" echoed Zeppa.  "Of course He is.  Have you not heard that
His mercy is so great that He has provided a way of escape for sinners--
through faith in His own dear Son?"

"It does not, however, seem to be a way of escape for _me_," said the
pirate, letting himself sink back on his couch with a weary sigh.

"Yes, it is! yes, it is!" exclaimed Zeppa eagerly, as he got upon the
familiar theme; "the offer is to the chief of sinners, `Whosoever will,'
`Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?'"

"Tell me about it" said Rosco faintly, as the other paused.

Zeppa had delayed a moment in order to think for his disordered mind had
been turned into a much-loved channel, that of preaching the Gospel to
inquiring sinners.  For many years he had been training himself in the
knowledge of the Scriptures, and, being possessed of a good memory, he
had got large portions of it by heart.  Gathering together the embers of
the scattered fire, he sat down again, and, gazing thoughtfully at the
flickering flames, began to point out the way of salvation to the
pirate.

Sleep--irresistible sleep--gradually overcame the latter; still the
former went on repeating long passages of God's word.  At last he put a
question, and, not receiving an answer, looked earnestly into the face
of his enemy.

"Ah! poor man.  He sleeps.  God cannot wish me to slay him until I have
made him understand the gospel.  I will delay--till to-morrow."

Before the morrow came Zeppa had wandered forth among the cliffs and
gorges of his wild home, with the ever-increasing fires of fever raging
in his veins.

Sometimes his madness took the form of wildest fury, and, grasping some
bush or sapling that might chance to be near, he would struggle with it
as with a fiend until utter exhaustion caused him to fall prostrate on
the ground, where he would lie until partial rest and internal fire gave
him strength again to rise.  At other times he would run up and down the
bills like a greyhound, bounding from rock to rock, and across chasms
where one false step would have sent him headlong to destruction.

Frequently he ran down to the beach and plunged into the sea, where he
would swim about aimlessly until exhaustion sent him to the shore, where
he would fall down, as at other times, and rest--if such repose could be
so styled.

Thus he continued fighting for his life for several days.

During that time Richard Rosco lay in the cave almost starving.

At first he had found several cocoa-nuts, the hard shells of which had
been broken by Zeppa, and appeased his hunger with these, but when they
were consumed, he sought about the cave for food in vain.  Fortunately
he found a large earthenware pot--evidently a home-made one--nearly full
of water, so that he was spared the agony of thirst as well as hunger.

When he had scraped the shells of the cocoa-nuts perfectly clean, the
pirate tried to crawl forth on hands and knees, to search for food, his
feet being in such a state that it was not possible for him to stand,
much less to walk.  But Zeppa had long ago cleared away all the wild
fruits that grew in the neighbourhood of his cave, so that he found
nothing save a few wild berries.  Still, in his condition, even these
were of the utmost value: they helped to keep him alive.  Another night
passed, and the day came.  He crept forth once more, but was so weakened
by suffering and want that he could not extend his explorations so far
as before, and was compelled to return without having tasted a mouthful.
Taking a long draught of water, he lay down, as he firmly believed, to
die.

And as he lay there his life rose up before him as an avenging angel,
and the image of his dead mother returned with a reproachful yet an
appealing look in her eyes.  He tried to banish the one and to turn his
thoughts from the other, but failed, and at last in an agony of remorse,
shouted the single word "Guilty!"

It seemed as if the cry had called Zeppa from the world of spirits--to
which Rosco believed he had fled--for a few minutes afterwards the
madman approached his mountain-home, with the blood still boiling in his
veins.  Apparently he had forgotten all about the pirate, for he was
startled on beholding him.

"What! still there?  I thought I had killed you."

"I wish you had, Zeppa.  It would have been more merciful than leaving
me to die of hunger here."

"Are you prepared to die now?"

"Yes, but for God's sake give me something to eat first.  After that I
care not what you do to me."

"Miserable man, death is sufficient for you.  I have neither command nor
desire to torture.  You shall have food immediately."

So saying, Zeppa re-entered the bush.  In less than half-an-hour he
returned with several cocoa-nuts and other fruits, of which Rosco
partook with an avidity that told its own tale.

"Now," said Zeppa, rising, when Rosco had finished, "have you had
enough?"

"No," said the pirate, quickly, "not half enough.  Go, like a good
fellow, and fetch me more."

Zeppa rose at once and went away.  While he was gone the fear of being
murdered again took possession of Rosco.  He felt that his last hour was
approaching, and, in order to avoid his doom if possible, crawled away
among the bushes and tried to hide himself.  He was terribly weak,
however, and had not got fifty yards away when he fell down utterly
exhausted.

He heard Zeppa return to the cave, and listened with beating heart.

"Hallo! where are you?" cried the madman.

Then, receiving no answer, he burst into a long, loud fit of laughter,
which seemed to freeze the very marrow in the pirate's bones.

"Ha! ha!" he shouted, again and again, "I knew you were a dream, I felt
sure of it--ha! ha! and now this proves it.  And I'm glad you were a
dream, for I did not want to kill you, Rosco, though I thought it my
duty to do so.  It was a dream--thank God, it was all a dream!"

Zeppa did not end again with wild laughter, but betook himself to
earnest importunate prayer, during which Rosco crept, by slow degrees,
farther and farther away, until he could no longer hear the sound of his
enemy's voice.

Now, it was while this latter scene had been enacting, that Orlando and
the faithful negro set out on their search into the mountain.

At first they did not speak, and Ebony, not feeling sure how his young
master relished his company, kept discreetly a pace or two in rear.
After they had crossed the plain, however, and begun to scale the steep
sides of the hills, his tendency towards conversation could not be
restrained.

"Does you t'ink, Massa Orley, that hims be you fadder?"

"I think so, Ebony, indeed I feel almost sure of it."

Thus encouraged, the negro ranged up alongside.

"An' does you t'ink hims mad?"

"I hope not.  I pray not; but I fear that he--"

"Hims got leettle out ob sorts," said the sympathetic Ebony, suggesting
a milder state of things.

As Orlando did not appear to derive much consolation from the
suggestion, Ebony held his tongue for a few minutes.

Presently his attention was attracted to a sound in the underwood near
them.

"Hist!  Massa Orley.  I hear somet'ing."

"So do I, Ebony," said the youth, pausing for a moment to listen; "it
must be some sort of bird, for there can be no wild animals left by the
natives in so small an island."

As he spoke something like a low moan was heard.  The negro's mouth
opened, and the whites of his great eyes seemed to dilate.

"If it _am_ a bird, massa, hims got a mos' awful voice.  Mus' have
cotched a drefful cold!"

The groan was repeated as he spoke, and immediately after they observed
a large, sluggish-looking animal, advancing through the underwood.

"What a pity we's not got a gun!" whispered Ebony.  "If we's only had a
spear or a pitchfork, it's besser than nuffin."

"Lucky that you have nothing of the sort, else you'd commit murder,"
said Orlando, advancing.  "Don't you see--it is a man!"

The supposed animal started as the youth spoke, and rose on his knees
with a terribly haggard and anxious look.

"Richard Rosco!" exclaimed Orley, who recognised the pirate at the first
glance.

But Rosco did not reply.  He, too, had recognised Orley, despite the
change in his size and appearance, and believed him to be a visitant
from the other world, an idea which was fostered by the further
supposition that Ebony was the devil keeping him company.

Orlando soon relieved him, however.  The aspect of the pirate, so
haggard and worn out, as he crawled on his hands and knees, was so
dreadful that a flood of pity rushed into his bosom.

"My poor fellow," he said, going forward and laying his hand gently on
his shoulder, "this is indeed a most unexpected, most amazing sight.
How came you here?"

"Then you were not drowned?" gasped the pirate, instead of answering the
question.

"No, thank God.  I was not drowned," said Orley, with a sad smile.  "But
again I ask, How came you here?"

"Never mind me," said Rosco hurriedly, "but go to your father."

"My father!  Do you know, then, where he is?" cried Orlando, with sudden
excitement.

"Yes.  He is up there--not far off.  I have just escaped from him.  He
is bent on taking my life.  He saved me from the savages.  He is mad--
with fever--and stands terribly in need of help."

Bewildered beyond expression by these contradictory statements, Orlando
made no attempt to understand, but exclaimed--

"Can you guide us to him?"

"You see," returned the pirate sadly, "I cannot even rise to my feet.
The savages were burning me alive when your father came to my rescue.
The flesh is dropping from the bones.  I cannot help you."

"Kin you git on my back?" asked Ebony.  "You's a good lift, but I's
awful strong."

"I will try," returned Rosco, "but you will have to protect me from
Zeppa if he sees me, for he is bent on taking my life.  He thinks that
you were drowned--as, indeed, so did I--the time that you were thrown
overboard without my knowledge--mind that, _without my knowledge_--and
your father in his madness thinks he is commissioned by God to avenge
your death.  Perhaps, when he sees you alive, he may change his mind,
but there is no depending on one who is delirious with fever.  He will
probably still be in the cave when we reach it."

"We will protect you.  Get up quickly, and show us the way to the cave."

In a moment the stout negro had the pirate on his broad shoulders, and,
under his guidance, mounted the slightly-marked path that led to Zeppa's
retreat.

No words were spoken by the way.  Orlando was too full of anxious
anticipation to speak.  The negro was too heavily weighted to care about
conversation just then, and Rosco suffered so severely from the rough
motions of his black steed that he was fain to purse his lips tightly to
prevent a cry of pain.

On reaching the neighbourhood of the cave the pirate whispered to Ebony
to set him down.

"You will come in sight of the place the moment you turn round yonder
cliff.  It is better that I should remain here till the meeting is over.
I hear no sound, but doubtless Zeppa is lying down by this time."

The negro set his burden on the ground, and Rosco crept slowly into the
bush to hide, while the others hurried forward in the direction pointed
out to them.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

No sooner had Orlando and the negro passed round the cliff to which
Rosco had directed them, than they beheld a sight which was well
calculated to fill them with anxiety and alarm, for there stood Zeppa,
panting and wrestling with one of the fiends that were in the habit of
assailing him.

The fiend, on this occasion, was familiar enough to him--the stout
branch of a tree which overhung his cave, but which his delirious brain
had transformed into a living foe.  No shout or cry issued from the poor
man's compressed lips.  He engaged in the deadly struggle with that
silent resolve of purpose which was natural to him.  The disease under
which he laboured had probably reached its climax, for he swayed to and
fro, in his futile efforts to wrench off the limb, with a degree of
energy that seemed more than human.  His partially naked limbs showed
the knotted muscles standing out rigidly; his teeth were clenched and
exposed; his blood-shot eyes glared; the long, curling and matted hair
of his head and beard was flying about in wild disorder; and his
labouring chest heaved as he fiercely, silently, and hopelessly
struggled.

Oh! it was a terrible picture to be presented thus suddenly to the gaze
of a loving son.

"Stay where you are, Ebony.  I must meet him alone," whispered Orlando.

Then, hastening forward with outstretched arms, he exclaimed--

"Father!"

Instantly Zeppa let go his supposed enemy and turned round.  The change
in his aspect was as wonderful as it was sudden.  The old, loving,
gentle expression overspread his features, and the wild fire seemed to
die out of his eyes as he held out both hands.

"Ah! once more, my son!" he said, in the tenderest of tones.  "Come to
me.  This is kind of you, Orley, to return so soon again; I had not
expected you for a long time.  Sit down beside me, and lay your head
upon my knee--so--I like to have you that way, for I see you better."

"Oh, father--dear father!" said Orlando, but the words were choked in
his throat, and tears welled from his eyes.

"Yes, Orley?" said Zeppa, with a startled look of joyful surprise, while
he turned his head a little to one side, as if listening in expectancy;
"speak again, dear boy; speak again.  I have often seen you since you
went to the spirit-land, but have never heard you speak till to-day.
Speak once more, dear boy!"

But Orley could not speak.  He could only hide his face in his father's
bosom and sob aloud.

"Nay, don't cry, lad; you never did that before!  What do you mean?
That is unmanly.  Not like what my courageous boy was wont to be.  And
you have grown so much since last I saw you.  Why, you've even got a
beard!  Who ever heard of a bearded man sobbing like a child?  And now I
look at you closely I see that you have grown wonderfully tall.  It is
very strange--but all things seem strange since I came here.  Only, in
all the many visits you have paid me, I have never seen you changed till
to-day.  You have always come to me in the old boyish form.  Very,
_very_ strange!  But, Orley, my boy" (and here Zeppa's voice became
intensely earnest and pleading), "you won't leave me again, will you?
Surely they can well spare you from the spirit-world for a time--just a
little while.  It would fill my heart with such joy and gratitude.  And
I'm your father, Orley, surely I have a right to you--more right than
the angels have--haven't I? and then it would give such joy, if you came
back, to your dear mother, whom I have not seen for so long--so very
long!"

"I will _never_ leave you, father, _never_!" cried Orlando, throwing his
arms round Zeppa's neck and embracing him passionately.

"Nay, then, you _are_ going to leave me," cried Zeppa, with sudden
alarm, as he clasped Orlando to him with an iron grip.  "You always
embrace me when you are about to vanish out of my sight.  But you shall
not escape me _this_ time.  I have got you tighter than I ever had you
before, and no fiend shall separate us now.  No fiend!" he repeated in a
shout, glaring at a spot in the bushes where Ebony, unable to restrain
his feelings, had unwittingly come into sight.

Suddenly changing his purpose, Zeppa let go his son and sprang like a
tiger on the supposed fiend.  Ebony went down before him like a bulrush
before the hurricane, but, unlike it, he did not rise again.  The madman
had pinned him to the earth and was compressing his throat with both
hands.  It required all the united strength of his son and the negro to
loosen his grasp, and even that would not have sufficed had not the
terrible flame which had burned so long died out.  It seemed to have
been suddenly extinguished by this last burst of fury, for Zeppa fell
back as helpless as an infant in their hands.  Indeed he lay so still
with his eyes closed that Orlando trembled with fear lest he should be
dying.

"Now, Ebony," said he, taking the negro apart, when they had made the
exhausted man as comfortable as possible on his rude couch in the cave;
"you run down to the ship and fetch the doctor here without delay.  I
will be able to manage him easily when alone.  Run as you never ran
before.  Don't let any soul come here except the doctor and yourself.
Tell the captain I have found him--through God's mercy--but that he is
very ill and must be carefully kept from excitement and that in the
meantime nobody is to disturb us.  The doctor will of course fetch
physic; and tell him to bring his surgical instruments also, for, if I
mistake not, poor Rosco needs his attention.  Do you bring up as much in
the way of provisions as you can carry, and one or two blankets.  And,
harkee, make no mention of the pirate to any one.  Away!"

During the delivery of this message, the negro listened eagerly, and
stood quite motionless, like a black statue, with the exception of his
glittering eyes.

"Yes, massa," he said at its conclusion, and almost literally vanished
from the scene.

Orlando then turned to his father.  The worn out man still lay perfectly
quiet, with closed eyes, and countenance so pale that the dread of
approaching death again seized on the son.  The breathing was, however,
slow and regular, and what appeared to be a slight degree of moisture
lay on the brow.  The fact that the sick man slept soon became apparent,
and when Orlando had assured himself of this he arose, left the cave
with careful tread, and glided, rather than walked, back to the place
where the pirate had been left.  There he still lay, apparently much
exhausted.

"We have found him, thank God," said Orlando, seating himself on a bank;
"and I would fain hope that the worst is over, for he sleeps.  But, poor
fellow, you seem to be in a bad case.  Can I do aught to relieve you?"

"Nothing," replied Rosco, with a weary sigh.

"I have sent for a surgeon--"

"A surgeon!" repeated the pirate, with a startled look; "then there must
be a man-of-war off the coast for South sea traders are not used to
carry surgeons."

"Ah!  I forgot.  You naturally don't wish to see any one connected with
a man-of-war.  Yes, there is one here.  I came in her.  But you can see
this surgeon without his knowing who or what you are.  It will be
sufficient for him to know that you are an unfortunate sailor who had
fallen into the hands of the savages."

"Yes," exclaimed Rosco, grasping eagerly at the idea; "and that's just
what I am.  Moreover, I ran away from my ship!  But--but--do _you_ not
feel it your duty to give me up?"

"What I shall feel it my duty to do ultimately is not a matter for
present consideration.  Just now you require surgical assistance.  But
how did you come here? and what do you mean by saying that you ran away
from your ship?"

Rosco in reply gave a brief but connected narrative of his career during
the past three years, in which he made no attempt to exculpate himself,
but, on the contrary, confessed his guilt and admitted his desert of
death.

"Yet I shrink from death," he said in conclusion.  "Is it not strange
that I, who have faced death so often with perfect indifference, should
draw back from it now with something like fear?"

"A great writer," replied Orlando, "whom my father used to read to me at
home, says that `conscience makes cowards of us all.'  And a still
greater authority says that `the wicked flee when no man pursueth.'  You
are safe here, Rosco--at all events for the present.  But you must not
go near the cave again.  Rest where you are and I will search for some
place where you may remain concealed till you are well.  I shall return
quickly."

Leaving the pirate where he lay, Orlando returned to his father, and,
finding that he still slept, went off to search for a cave.

He soon found a small one in the cliffs, suitable for his purpose.
Thither he carried the pirate, laid him tenderly on a couch of branches
and leaves, put food and water within his reach, and left him with a
feeling of comfort and of contentment at heart that he had not
experienced for many years.

That night the surgeon of the "Furious" ascended to the mountain cave.
His approach was made known to Orlando, as he watched at the sick man's
side, by the appearance of Ebony's great eyes glittering at him over the
bushes that encircled the cave's mouth.  No wonder that poor Zeppa had
mistaken him for a demon!  Holding up a finger of caution, Orlando
glided towards him, seized his arm, and, after leading him to a safe
distance, asked in a low voice--

"Well, have you brought the doctor?"

"Ho, yis, massa, an' I bring Tomeo and Buttchee too."

"Didn't I tell you to let no one else come near us?" said Orlando in a
tone of vexation.

"Dat's true, massa, but I no kin stop dem.  So soon as dey hear dat
Antonio Zeppa am found, sick in de mountains, dey swore dey mus' go see
him.  I say dat you say no!  Dey say dey not care.  I say me knock 'em
bofe down.  Dey say dey turn me hinside hout if I don't ole my tongue.
What could dis yar nigger do?  Dey's too much for me.  So dey follered,
and here dey am wid de doctor, waiting about two hun'rd yards down dere
for leave to come.  But, I say, massa, dey's good sort o' fellers after
all--do whatever you tells 'em.  Good for go messages, p'raps, an save
dis yar nigger's poor legs."

Ebony made the latter suggestion with a grin so broad that in the
darkness his face became almost luminous with teeth and gums.

"Well, I suppose we must make the most of the circumstances," said
Orlando.  "Come, lead me to them."

It was found that though the strong affection of the two chiefs for
Zeppa had made them rebellious in the matter of visiting the spot, the
same affection, and their regard for Orlando, rendered them submissive
as lambs, and willing to do absolutely whatever they were told.

Orlando, therefore, had no difficulty in prevailing on them to delay
their visit to his father till the following day.  Meanwhile, he caused
them to encamp in a narrow pass close at hand, and, the better to
reconcile them to their lot, imposed upon them the duty of mounting
guard each alternate couple of hours during the night.

"He will do well," said the doctor, after examining the patient.  "This
sleep is life to him.  I will give him something when he awakes, but the
awaking must be left to nature.  Whether he recovers his reason after
what he has passed through remains to be seen.  You say he has been
wandering for some time here in a state of insanity?  How came that
about?"

"It is a long and sad story, doctor," said Orlando, evading the
question, "and I have not time to tell it now, for I want you to visit
another patient."

"Another patient?" repeated the surgeon, in surprise; "ah! one of the
natives, I suppose?"

"No, a white man.  He is a sailor who ran away from his ship, and was
caught by the natives and tortured."

"Come, then, let us go and see the poor fellow at once.  Does he live
far from here?"

"Close at hand," answered Orlando, as he led the way; "and perhaps,
doctor, it would be well not to question the poor man at present as to
his being here and in such a plight.  He seems very weak and ill."

When the surgeon had examined Rosco's feet he led Orlando aside.

"It is a bad case," he said; "both legs must be amputated below the knee
if the man's life is to be saved."

"Must it be done now?"

"Immediately.  Can you assist me?"

"I have assisted at amateur operations before now," said Orlando, "and
at all events you can count on the firmness of my nerves and on blind
obedience.  But stay--I must speak to him first, alone."

"Rosco," said the youth, as he knelt by the pirate's couch, "your sins
have been severely punished, and your endurance sorely tried--"

"Not more than I deserve, Orlando."

"But I grieve to tell you that your courage must be still further tried.
The doctor says that both feet must be amputated."

A frown gathered on the pirate's face, and he compressed his lips for a
few moments.

"And the alternative?" he asked.

"Is death."

Again there was a brief pause.  Then he said slowly, almost bitterly--

"Oh, death! you have hovered over my head pretty steadily of late!  It
is a question whether I had not better let you come on and end these
weary struggles, rather than become a hopeless cripple in the prime of
life!  Why should I fear death now more than before?"

"Have you any hope of eternal life, Rosco?"

"How can _I_ tell?  What do _I_ know about eternal life!"

"Then you are not prepared to die; and let me earnestly assure you that
there _is_ something well worth living for, though at present you do
not--you _cannot_ know it."

"Enough.  Let it be as the doctor advises," said the pirate in a tone of
resignation.

That night the operation was successfully performed, and the unfortunate
man was afterwards carefully tended by Ebony.

Next day Tomeo and Buttchee were told that their old friend Zeppa could
not yet be seen, but that he required many little comforts from the
"Furious," which must be brought up with as little delay as possible.
That was sufficient.  Forgetting themselves in their anxiety to aid
their friend, these affectionate warriors went off on their mission, and
were soon out of sight.

When Zeppa awoke at last with a deep sigh, it was still dark.  This was
fortunate, for he could not see whose hand administered the physic, and
was too listless and weak to inquire.  It was bright day when he awoke
the second time and looked up inquiringly in his son's face.

"What, are you still there, Orley?" he said faintly, while the habitual
sweet expression stole over his pale features, though it was quickly
followed by the perplexed look.  "But how comes this change?  You look
so much older than you are, dear boy.  Would God that I could cease this
dreaming!"

"You are not dreaming _now_, father.  I am indeed Orley.  You have been
ill and delirious, but, thanks be to God, are getting well again."

"What?" exclaimed the invalid; "has it been all a dream, then?  Were you
_not_ thrown into the sea by mutineers, and have I _not_ been wandering
for months or years on a desert island?  But then, if these things be
all dreams," he added, opening his eyes wide and fixing them intently on
Orlando's face, "how comes it that I still dream the change in _you_?
You are Orley, yet not Orley!  How is that?"

"Yes, all that is true, dear, _dear_ father," said the youth, gently
clasping one of the helpless hands that lay crossed on Zeppa's broad
chest; "I _was_ thrown overboard by the mutineers years ago, but, thank
God, I was not drowned; and you have been wandering here in--in--very
ill, for years; but, thank God again, you are better, and I have been
mercifully sent to deliver you."

"I can't believe it, Orley, for I have so often seen you, and you have
so often given me the slip--yet there does seem something very real
about you just now--very real, though so changed--yet it is the same
voice, and you never _spoke_ to me before in my dreams--except once.
Yes, I think it was once, that you spoke.  I remember it well, for the
sound sent such a thrill to my heart.  Oh!  God forbid that it should
again fade away as it has done so often!"

"It will not fade, father.  The time you speak of was only yesterday,
when I found you.  You have been sleeping since, and a doctor is
attending you."

"A doctor! where did _he_ come from?"

At that moment Ebony approached with some food in a tin pan.  The
invalid observed him at once.

"Ebony! can that be you?  Why--when--oh! my poor brain feels so light--
it seems as if a puff of wind would blow it away.  I must have been very
ill."  Zeppa spoke feebly, and closed his eyes, from which one or two
tears issued--blessed tears!--the first he had shed for many a day.

"His reason is restored," whispered the doctor in Orlando's ear, "but he
must be left to rest."

Orlando's heart was too full to find relief through the lips.

"I cannot understand it at all," resumed Zeppa, reopening his eyes;
"least of all can I understand _you_, Orley, but my hope is in God.  I
would sleep now, but you must not let go my hand."  (Orlando held it
tighter.) "One word more.  Your dear mother?"

"Is well--and longs to see you."

A profound, long-drawn sigh followed, as if an insupportable burden had
been removed from the wearied soul, and Zeppa sank into a sleep so
peaceful that it seemed as if the spirit had forsaken the worn out
frame.  But a steady, gentle heaving of the chest told that life was
still there.  During the hours that followed, Orlando sat quite
motionless, like a statue, firmly grasping his father's hand.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A few days after the discovery of Zeppa by his son, a trading vessel
chanced to touch at the island, the captain of which no sooner saw the
British man-of-war than he lowered his gig, went aboard in a state of
great excitement, and told how that, just two days before, he had been
chased by a pirate in latitude so-and-so and longitude something else!

A messenger was immediately sent in hot haste to Sugar-loaf Mountain to
summon Orlando.

"I'm sorry to be obliged to leave you in such a hurry," said Captain
Fitzgerald, as they were about to part, "but duty calls, and I must
obey.  I promise you, however, either to return here or to send your
mission-vessel for you, if it be available.  Rest assured that you shall
not be altogether forsaken."

Having uttered these words of consolation, the captain spread his sails
and departed, leaving Orlando, and his father, Waroonga, Tomeo,
Buttchee, Ebony, and Rosco on Sugar-loaf Island.

Several days after this, Waroonga entered the hut of Ongoloo and sat
down.  The chief was amusing himself at the time by watching his prime
minister Wapoota playing with little Lippy, who had become a favourite
at the palace since Zeppa had begun to take notice of her.

"I would palaver with the chief," said the missionary.

"Let Lippy be gone," said the chief.

Wapoota rolled the brown child unceremoniously out of the hut, and
composed his humorous features into an expression of solemnity.

"My brother," continued the missionary, "has agreed to become a
Christian and burn his idols?"

"Yes," replied Ongoloo with an emphatic nod, for he was a man of
decision.  "I like to hear what you tell me.  I feel that I am full of
naughtiness.  I felt that before you came here.  I have done things that
I knew to be wrong, because I have been miserable after doing them--yet,
when in passion, I have done them again.  I have wondered why I was
miserable.  Now I know; you tell me the Great Father was whispering to
my spirit.  It must be true.  I have resisted Him, and He made me
miserable.  I deserve it.  I deserve to die.  When any of my men dare to
resist me I kill them.  I have dared to resist the Great Father, yet He
has not killed me.  Why not? you tell me He is full of love and mercy
even to His rebels!  I believe it.  You say, He sent His Son Jesus to
die for me, and to deliver me from my sins.  It is well, I accept this
Saviour--and all my people shall accept Him."

"My brother's voice makes me glad," returned Waroonga; "but while you
can accept this Saviour for yourself, it is not possible to force other
people to do so."

"Not possible!" cried the despotic chief, with vehemence.  "Do you not
know that I can force my people to do whatever I please?--at least I can
kill them if they refuse."

"You cannot do that and, at the same time, be a Christian."

"But," resumed Ongoloo, with a look of, so to speak, fierce perplexity,
"I can at all events make them burn their idols."

"True, but that would only make them hate you in their hearts, and
perhaps worship their idols more earnestly in secret.  No, my brother;
there is but one weapon given to Christians, but that is a sharp and
powerful weapon.  It is called Love; we must _win_ others to Christ by
voice and example, we may not drive them.  It is not permitted.  It is
not possible."

The chief cast his frowning eyes on the ground, and so remained for some
time, while the missionary silently prayed.  It was a critical moment.
The man so long accustomed to despotic power could not easily bring his
mind to understand the process of _winning_ men.  He did, indeed, know
how to win the love of his wives and children--for he was naturally of
an affectionate disposition, but as to _winning_ the obedience of
warriors or slaves--the thing was preposterous!  Yet he had sagacity
enough to perceive that while he could compel the obedience of the
body--or kill it--he could not compel the obedience of the soul.

"How can I," he said at last, with a touch of indignation still in his
tone, "I, a chief and a descendant of chiefs, stoop to ask, to beg, my
slaves to become Christians?  It may not be, I can only command them."

"Woh!" exclaimed Wapoota, unable to restrain his approval of the
sentiment.

"You cannot even command yourself, Ongoloo, to be a Christian.  How,
then, can you command others?  It is the Great Father who has put it
into your heart to wish to be a Christian.  If you will now take His
plan, you will succeed.  If you refuse, and try your own plan, you shall
fail."

"Stay," cried the chief, suddenly laying such a powerful grasp on
Waroonga's shoulder, that he winced; "did you not say that part of His
plan is the forgiveness of enemies?"

"I did."

"Must I, then, forgive the Raturans if I become a Christian?"

"Even so."

"Then it is impossible.  What! forgive the men whose forefathers have
tried to rob my forefathers of their mountain since our nation first
sprang into being!  Forgive the men who have for ages fought with our
fathers, and tried to make slaves of our women and children--though they
always failed because they are cowardly dogs!  Forgive the Raturans?
_Never_!  Impossible!"

"With man this is impossible.  With the Great Father all things are
possible.  Leave your heart in His hands, Ongoloo; don't refuse His
offer to save you from an unforgiving spirit, as well as from other
sins, and that which to you seems impossible will soon become easy."

"No--never!" reiterated the chief with decision, as he cut further
conversation short by rising and stalking out of the hut, closely
followed by the sympathetic Wapoota.

Waroonga was not much depressed by this failure.  He knew that truth
would prevail in time, and did not expect that the natural enmity of man
would be overcome at the very first sound of the Gospel.  He was
therefore agreeably surprised when, on the afternoon of that same day,
Ongoloo entered the hut which had been set apart for him and the two
Ratinga chiefs, and said--

"Come, brother, I have called a council of my warriors.  Come, you shall
see the working of the Great Father."

The missionary rose at once and went after the chief with much
curiosity, accompanied by Tomeo and Buttchee: Zeppa and his son, with
Ebony and the pirate, being still in the mountains.

Ongoloo led them to the top of a small hill on which a sacred hut or
temple stood.  Here the prisoners of war used to be slaughtered, and
here the orgies of heathen worship were wont to be practised.  An
immense crowd of natives--indeed the entire tribe except the sick and
infirm--crowned the hill.  This, however, was no new sight to the
missionary, and conveyed no hint of what was pending.

The crowd stood in two orderly circles--the inner one consisting of the
warriors, the outer of the women and children.  Both fell back to let
the chief and his party pass.

As the temple-hut was open at one side, its interior, with the horrible
instruments of execution and torture, as well as skulls, bones, and
other ghastly evidences of former murder, was exposed to view.  On the
centre of the floor lay a little pile of rudely carved pieces of timber,
with some loose cocoa-nut fibre beneath them.  A small fire burned on
something that resembled an altar in front of the hut.

The chief, standing close to this fire, cleared his throat and began an
address with the words, "Men, warriors, women and children, listen!"
And they did listen with such rapt attention that it seemed as if not
only ears, but eyes, mouths, limbs, and muscles were engaged in the
listening act, for this mode of address--condescending as it did to
women and children--was quite new to them, and portended something
unusual.

"Since these men came here," continued the chief, pointing to Waroonga
and his friends, "we have heard many wonderful things that have made us
think.  Before they came we heard some of the same wonderful things from
the great white man, whose head is light but whose heart is wise and
good.  I have made up my mind, now, to become a Christian.  My warriors,
my women, my children need not be told what that is.  They have all got
ears and have heard.  I have assembled you here to see my gods burned
(he pointed to the pile in the temple), and I ask all who are willing,
to join me in making this fire a big one.  I cannot compel your souls.
I _could_ compel your bodies, but I _will_ not!"

He looked round very fiercely as he said this, as though he still had
half a mind to kill one or two men to prove his point, and those who
stood nearest to him moved uneasily, as though they more than half
expected him to do some mischief, but the fierce look quickly passed
away, and he went on in gentle, measured tones--

"Waroonga tells me that the Book of the Great Father says, those who
become Christians must love each other: therefore we must no more hate,
or quarrel, or fight, or kill--not even our enemies."

There was evident surprise on every face, and a good deal of decided
shaking of heads, as if such demands were outrageous.

"Moreover, it is expected of Christians that they shall not revenge
themselves, but suffer wrong patiently."

The eyebrows rose higher at this.

"Still more; it is demanded that we shall _forgive_ our enemies.  If we
become Christians, we must open our arms wide, and take the Raturans to
our hearts!"

This was a climax, as Ongoloo evidently intended, for he paused a long
time, while loud expressions of dissent and defiance were heard on all
sides, though it was not easy to see who uttered them.

"Now, warriors, women and children, here I am--a Christian--who will
join me?"

"I will!" exclaimed Wapoota, stepping forward with several idols in his
arms, which he tossed contemptuously into the temple.

There was a general smile of incredulity among the warriors, for Wapoota
was well known to be a time-server: nevertheless they were mistaken, for
the jester was in earnest this time.

Immediately after that, an old, white-headed warrior, bent nearly double
with infirmity and years, came forward and acted as Wapoota had done.
Then, turning to the people, he addressed them in a weak, trembling
voice.  There was a great silence, for this was the patriarch of the
tribe; had been a lion-like man in his youth, and was greatly respected.

"I join the Christians," he said, slowly.  "Have I not lived and fought
for long--very long?"

"Yes, yes," from many voices.

"And what good has come of it?" demanded the patriarch.  "Have not the
men of the Mountain fought with the men of the Swamp since the Mountain
and the Swamp came from the hand of the Great Father?"  (A pause, and
again, "Yes, yes," from many voices.) "And what good has come of it?
Here is the Mountain; yonder is the Swamp, as they were from the
beginning; and what the better are we that the swamp has been flooded
and the mountain drenched with the blood of our fathers?  Hatred has
been tried from the beginning of time, and has failed.  Let us now, my
children, try Love, as the Great Father counsels us to do."

A murmur of decided applause followed the old man's speech, and Ongoloo,
seizing him by both shoulders, gazed earnestly into his withered face.
Had they been Frenchmen, these two would no doubt have kissed each
other's cheeks; if Englishmen, they might have shaken hands warmly;
being Polynesian savages, they rubbed noses.

Under the influence of this affectionate act, a number of the warriors
ran off, fetched their gods, and threw them on the temple floor.  Then
Ongoloo, seizing a brand from the fire, thrust it into the loose
cocoa-nut fibre, and set the pile in a blaze.  Quickly the flames leaped
into the temple thatch, and set the whole structure on fire.  As the
fire roared and leaped, Waroonga, with Tomeo and Buttchee, started a
hymn.  It chanced to be one which Zeppa had already taught the people,
who at once took it up, and sent forth such a shout of praise as had
never before echoed among the palm-groves of that island.  It confirmed
the waverers, and thus, under the influence of sympathy, the whole tribe
came that day to be of one mind!

The sweet strains, rolling over the plains and uplands, reached the
cliffs at last, and struck faintly on the ears of a small group
assembled in a mountain cave.  The group consisted of Zeppa and his son,
Ebony and the pirate.

"It sounds marvellously like a hymn," said Orlando, listening.

"Ah! dear boy, it is one I taught the natives when I stayed with them,"
said Zeppa; "but it never reached so far as this before."

Poor Zeppa was in his right mind again, but oh! how weak and wan and
thin the raging fever had left him!

Rosco, who was also reduced to a mere shadow of his former self,
listened to the faint sound with a troubled expression, for it carried
him back to the days of innocence, when he sang it at his mother's knee.

"Dat's oncommon strange," said Ebony.  "Nebber heard de sound come so
far before.  Hope de scoundrils no got hold ob grog."

"Shame on you, Ebony, to suspect such a thing!" said Orlando.  "You
would be better employed getting things ready for to-morrow's journey
than casting imputations on our hospitable friends."

"Dar's not'ing to git ready, massa," returned the negro.  "Eberyting's
prepared to start arter breakfust."

"That's well, and I am sure the change to the seashore will do you good,
father, as well as Rosco.  You've both been too long here.  The cave is
not as dry as one could wish--and, then, you'll be cheered by the sound
of children playing round you."

"Yes, it will be pleasant to have Lippy running out and in again," said
Zeppa.

They did not converse much, for the strength of both Zeppa and Rosco had
been so reduced that they could not even sit up long without exhaustion,
but Orlando kept up their spirits by prattling away on every subject
that came into his mind--and especially of the island of Ratinga.

While they were thus engaged they heard the sound of rapidly approaching
footsteps, and next moment Tomeo and Buttchee bounded over the bushes,
glaring and panting from the rate at which they had raced up the hill to
tell the wonderful news!

"Eberyting bu'nt?" exclaimed Ebony, whose eyes and teeth showed so much
white that his face seemed absolutely to sparkle.

"Everything.  Idols and temple!" repeated the two chiefs, in the Ratinga
tongue, and in the same breath.

"An' nebber gwine to fight no more?" asked Ebony, with a grin, that
might be more correctly described as a split, from ear to ear.

"Never more!" replied the chiefs.

Next morning the two invalids were tenderly conveyed on litters down the
mountain side and over the plain, and before the afternoon had passed
away, they found a pleasant temporary resting-place in the now Christian
village.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

The slopes and knolls and palm-fringed cliffs of Ratinga were tipped
with gold by the western sun one evening as he declined towards his bed
in the Pacific, when Marie Zeppa wandered with Betsy Waroonga and her
brown little daughter Zariffa towards the strip of bright sand in front
of the village.

The two matrons, besides being filled with somewhat similar anxieties as
to absent ones, were naturally sympathetic, and frequently sought each
other's company.  The lively Anglo-French woman, whose vivacity was not
altogether subdued even by the dark cloud that hung over her husband's
fate, took special pleasure in the sedate, earnest temperament of her
native missionary friend, whose difficulty in understanding a joke,
coupled with her inability to control her laughter when, after painful
explanation, she did manage to comprehend one, was a source of much
interest--an under-current, as it were, of quiet amusement.

"Betsy," said Marie, as they walked slowly along, their naked feet just
laved by the rippling sea, "why do you persist in wearing that absurd
bonnet?  If you would only let me cut four inches off the crown and six
off the front, it would be much more becoming.  Do let me, there's a
dear.  You know I was accustomed to cutting and shaping when in
England."

"But what for the use?" asked Betsy, turning her large brown eyes
solemnly on her companion.  "It no seems too big to me.  Besides, when
brudder Gubbins give him to me he--"

"Who is brudder Gubbins?" asked Marie, with a look of smiling surprise.

"Oh! _you_ know.  The min'ster--Gubbins--what come to the
mission-station just afore me an' Waroonga left for Ratinga."

"Oh!  I see; the Reverend Mr Gubbins--well, what did _he_ say about the
bonnet?"

"W'at did he say? ah! he say much mor'n I kin remember, an' he look at
the bonnet with's head a one side--so sad an' pitiful like.  `Ah!  Betsy
Waroonga,' ses he, `this just the thing for you.  Put it on an' take it
to Ratinga, it'll press the natives there.'"

"Impress them, you mean, Betsy."

"Well, p'raps it was that.  Anyhow I put it on, an' he looked at me _so_
earnest an' ses with a sigh, `Betsy,' ses he, `it minds me o' my
grandmother, an' she _was_ a good old soul--brought me up, Betsy, she
did.  Wear it for her sake an' mine.  I make a present of it to you.'"

"Ah!  Betsy," said Marie, "the Reverend Gubbins must be a wag, I
suspect."

"W'at's a wag, Marie?"

"Don't you know what a wag is?"

"Oh, yis, _I_ know.  When leetil bird sit on a stone an shake hims tail,
I've heerd you an Orley say it wag--but misser Gubbins he got no tail to
wag--so how can he wag it?"

"I didn't say he wagged it, Betsy," returned Marie, repressing a laugh,
"but--you'll never get to understand what a wag means, so I won't try to
explain.  Look!  Zariffa is venturesome.  You'd better call her back."

Zariffa was indeed venturesome.  Clad in a white flannel petticoat and a
miniature coal-scuttle, she was at that moment wading so deep into the
clear sea that she had to raise the little garment as high as her brown
bosom to keep it out of the water; and with all her efforts she was
unsuccessful, for, with that natural tendency of childhood to forget and
neglect what cannot be seen, she had allowed the rear-part of the
petticoat to drop into the sea.

This, however, occasioned little or no anxiety to Betsy Waroonga, for
she was not an anxious mother; but when, raising her eyes a little
higher, she beheld the tip of the back-fin of a shark describing lively
circles in the water as if it had scented the tender morsel and were
searching for it, her easy indifference vanished.  She gave vent to a
yell and made a bound that told eloquently of the savage beneath the
missionary, and, in another instant was up to the knees in the water
with the coal-scuttle quivering violently.  Seizing Zariffa, she
squeezed her almost to the bursting point against her palpitating
breast, while the shark headed seaward in bitter disappointment.

"Don't go so deep agin, Ziffa," said the mother, with a gasp, as she set
her little one down on the sand.

"No, musser," said the obedient child; and she kept on the landward side
of her parent thereafter with demonstrative care.

It may be remarked here that, owing to Waroonga's love for, and
admiration of, white men, Zariffa's native tongue was English--broken,
of course, to the pattern of her parents.

"It was a narrow escape, Betsy," said Marie, solemnised by the incident.

"Yes, thank the Lord," replied the other, continuing to gaze out to sea
long after the cause of her alarm had disappeared.

"Oh!  Marie," she added, with a sigh, "when will the dear men come
home?"

The question drove all the playful humour out of poor Marie, and her
eyes filled with sudden tears.

"When, indeed?  Oh!  Betsy, _my_ man will never come.  For Orley and the
others I have little fear, but my Antonio--"

Poor Marie could say no more.  Her nature was as quickly, though not as
easily, provoked to deep sorrow as to gaiety.  She covered her face with
her hands.

As she did so the eyes of Betsy, which had for some time been fixed on
the horizon, opened to their widest, and her countenance assumed a look
so deeply solemn that it might have lent a touch of dignity even to the
coal-scuttle bonnet, if it had not bordered just a little too closely on
the ridiculous.

"Ho!  Marie," she exclaimed in a whisper so deep that her friend looked
up with a startled air; "see! look--a sip."

"A ship--where?" said the other, turning her eager gaze on the horizon.
But she was not so quick-sighted as her companion, and when at length
she succeeded in fixing the object with her eyes, she pronounced it a
gull.

"No 'snot a gull--a sip," retorted Betsy.

"Ask Zariffa.  Her eyes are better than ours," suggested Marie.

"Kumeer, Ziffa!" shouted Betsy.

Zariffa came, and, at the first glance, exclaimed.  "A sip!"

The news spread in a moment for other and sharper eyes in the village
had already observed the sail, and, ere long, the beach was crowded with
natives.

By that time most of the Ratingans had adopted more or less, chiefly
less, of European costume, so that the aspect of the crowd was anything
but savage.  It is true there were large proportions of brown humanity
presented to view--such as arms, legs, necks, and chests, but these were
picturesquely interspersed with striped cotton drawers, duck trousers,
gay guernseys, red and blue flannel petticoats, numerous caps and straw
hats as well as a few coal-scuttles--though none of the latter could
match that of Betsy Waroonga for size and tremulosity.

But there were other signs of civilisation there besides costume, for,
in addition to the neat huts and gardens and whitewashed church, there
was a sound issuing from the pointed spire which was anything but
suggestive of the South sea savage.  It was the church bell--a small
one, to be sure, but sweetly toned--which was being rung violently to
call in all the fighting men from the woods and fields around, for at
that time the Ratingans had to be prepared for the reception of foes as
well as friends.

A trusty chief had been placed in charge of the village by Tomeo before
he left.  This man now disposed his warriors in commanding positions as
they came trooping in, obedient to the call, and bade them keep out of
sight and watch his signals from the beach.

But now let us see what vessel it was that caused such commotion in
Ratinga.

She was a brig, with nothing particularly striking in her rig or
appointments--a mere trading vessel.  But on her bulwarks at the bow and
on the heel of the bowsprit was gathered a group that well deserves
notice, for there, foremost of all, and towering above the others, stood
Antonio Zeppa, holding on to a forestay, and gazing with intensity and
fixedness at the speck of land which had just been sighted.  Beside him,
and not less absorbed, stood his valiant and amiable son; while around,
in various attitudes, sat or stood the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee, Rosco
and Ebony, Ongoloo and Wapoota, and little Lippy with her mother!

But the native missionary was not there.  He had positively refused to
quit the desert which had so unexpectedly and suddenly begun to blossom
as the rose, and had remained to water the ground until his friends
should send for him.

The chief and prime minister of the Mountain-men were there because,
being large-minded, they wished to travel and see the world; and Lippy
was there because Zeppa liked her; while the mother was there because
she liked Lippy and refused to be parted from her.

Great was the change which had come over Zeppa during his convalescence.
The wild locks and beard had been cut and trimmed; the ragged garments
had been replaced by a suit belonging to Orley, and the air of wild
despair, alternating with vacant simplicity, which characterised him in
his days of madness, had given place to the old, sedate, sweet look of
gentle gravity.  It is true the grey hairs had increased in number, and
there was a look, or, rather, an effect, of suffering in the fine face
which nothing could remove; but much of the muscular vigour and the
erect gait had been regained during those months when he had been so
carefully and untiringly nursed by his son on Sugar-loaf Island.

It was not so with the ex-pirate.  Poor Rosco was a broken man.  The
shock to his frame from the partial burning and the subsequent
amputation of his feet had been so great that a return to anything like
vigour seemed out of the question.  But there was that in the expression
of his faded face, and in the light of his sunken eye, which carried
home the conviction that the ruin of his body had been the saving of his
soul.

"I cannot tell you, Orley, how thankful I am," said Zeppa, "that this
trader happened to touch at the island.  As I grew stronger my anxiety
to return home became more and more intense; and to say truth, I had
begun to fear that Captain Fitzgerald had forgotten us altogether."

"No fear of that, father.  The captain is sure to keep his promise.  He
will either return, as he said, or send some vessel to look after us.
What are you gazing at, Ebony?"

"De steepil, massa.  Look!" cried the negro, his whole face quivering
with excitement, and the whites of his eyes unusually obtrusive as he
pointed to the ever-growing line of land on the horizon, "you see him?--
glippering like fire!"

"I do see something glittering," said Orlando, shading his eyes with his
hand; "yes, it must be the steeple of the church, father.  Look, it was
not there when you left us.  We'll soon see the houses now."

"Thank God!" murmured Zeppa, in a deep, tremulous voice.

"Can you see it, Rosco?" said Orley.

The pirate turned his eyes languidly in the direction pointed out.

"I see the land," he said faintly, "and I join your father in thanking
God for that--but--but it is not _home_ to me."

"Come, friend," said Zeppa, laying his hand gently on the poor man's
shoulder, "say not so.  It shall be home to you yet, please God.  If He
has blotted out the past in the cleansing blood of the Lamb, what is man
that he should remember it?  Cheer up, Rosco, you shall find a home and
a welcome in Ratinga."

"Always returning good for evil, Zeppa," said Rosco, in a more cheerful
voice.  "I think it is this tremendous weakness that crushes my spirits,
but come--I'll try to `cheer up,' as you advise."

"Dat's right massa!" cried Ebony, in an encouraging tone; "an' jus' look
at the glipperin' steepil.  He'll do yous heart good--somet'ing like de
fire in de wilderness to de Jipshins--"

"To the Israelites you mean," said Orley.

"Ah, yis--de Izlrights, to be sure.  I mis-remembered.  Ho! look; dar's
de house-tops now; an' the pine grove whar' we was use to hold palaver
'bout you, Massa, arter you was lost; an'--yis--dat's de house--yous own
house.  You see de wife lookin' out o' winder bery soon.  I knows it by
de pig-sty close 'longside whar' de big grumper sow libs, dat Ziffa's so
fond o' playin' wid.  Ho!  Lippy, come here, you little naked ting," (he
caught up the child an' sat her on his broad shoulder).  "You see de
small leetil house.  Dat's it.  Dat's whar' Ziffa lubs to play, but
she'll hab you to play wid soon, an' den she'll forsake de ole sow.  Ho!
but I forgit--you no understan' English."

Hereupon Ebony began to translate his information as he best could into
the language of the little creature, in which effort he was not very
successful, being an indifferent linguist.

Meanwhile the vessel gradually neared the island, stood into the lagoon,
and, finally, dropped anchor.  A boat was at once lowered and made for
the shore.

And oh! how intensely and intently did those in the boat and those on
the shore gaze at each other as the space between them diminished!

"They not look like enemies," said Betsy in subdued tones.

"And I don't think they are armed," returned Marie, with palpitating
heart, "but I cannot yet make out the faces--only, they seem to be
white, some of them."

"Yis, an' some of 'em's brown."

Thus--on the shore.  In the boat:--

"Now den, massa, you sees her--an' ha! ha! dar's Betsy.  I'd know her
'mong a t'ousind.  You sees de bonnit--tumblin' about like a jollyboat
in a high sea; an' Ziffa too wid de leetil bonnit, all de same shape,
kin you no' see her?"

Zeppa protested, rather anxiously, that he could _not_ see them, and no
wonder, for just then his eyes were blinded by tears which no amount of
wiping sufficed to clear away.

At that moment a shriek was heard on shore, and Betsy was seen to
spring, we are afraid to say how many feet, into the air.

"Dar', she's reco'nised us now!" exclaimed Ebony with delight; and it
was evident that he was right for Betsy continued to caper upon the
sands in a manner that could only be the result of joy or insanity,
while the coal-scuttle beat tempestuously about her head like an enraged
balloon.

Another moment and a signal from the chief brought the ambushed
Christian warriors pouring down to the shore to see the long-lost and
loved ones reunited, while Ebony ran about in a state of frantic
excitement, weeping copiously, and embracing every one who came in his
way.

But who shall describe the agony of disappointment endured by poor Betsy
when she found that Waroonga was _not_ among them? the droop of the
spirits, the collapse of the coal-scuttle!  Language is impotent.  We
leave it to imagination, merely remarking that she soon recovered on the
faith of the happiness which was yet in store for her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

And now, once again, we find ourselves in the palm-grove of Ratinga
Island.  It is a fine autumn afternoon.  The air is still as regards
motion, but thrilling with the melody of merry human voices as the
natives labour in the fields, and alive with the twittering of birds as
they make love, quarrel, and make it up again in the bushes.  Now and
then a hilarious laugh bursts from a group of children, or a hymn rises
from some grateful heart, for as yet there is no secular music in
Ratinga!

In the lagoon lies a man-of-war, its sails neatly furled, and its trim
rigging, dark hull, and taper spars, perfectly reproduced in the clear
water.

As the sun sank lower towards the west, our friend Ebony might have been
seen slowly climbing the side of one of the neighbouring hills with
Richard Rosco, the ex-pirate, on his back.

"Set me down now, my friend," said Rosco, "you are far too good to me;
and let me know what it is you have to say to me.  You have quite roused
my curiosity by your nods and mysterious manner.  Out with it now,
whatever it is."

The negro had placed Rosco in such a position on a ledge of rock that he
could see the lagoon and the ship at anchor.

The ex-pirate had by that time recovered some of his former strength,
and, although there rested on his countenance an air of profound
sadness, there mingled with it a hue of returning health, which none who
saw him land had expected to see again.  But the care of gentle hands
and the power of gladsome emotions had wrought miraculously on the man,
body and soul.

"I's heerd massa an' Cappin Fizzroy talkin' about you," said the negro,
crossing his arms on his chest and regarding his questioner with a
somewhat quizzical expression.

"Ha!  I thought so.  I am _wanted_, eh?"

"Well, yis, you's wanted, but you's not getted yet--so far as I knows."

"Ah!  Ebony," returned Rosco, shaking his head, "I have long expected
it, and now I am prepared to meet my deserved fate like a man--I may
humbly say, a Christian man, thanks to God the Saviour and Zeppa the
instrument.  But, tell me, what did the commander of the man-of-war
say?"

"What did he say?  Well, I's tell you.  Fust he hoed into massa's house
an' shook hands with missis, also wid Missis Waroonga wot happined to be
wid her, an' hims so frindly dat he nigh shookt de bonnit off her head.
Den dey talk 'bout good many t'ings, an' after a while de cappin turn
full on massa, an say,--

"`I's told Missr Zeppa dat you's got dat willain Rosco de pirit here.'

"Ho! you should hab see poor massa's face how it grow long, I most t'ink
it also grow a leetil pale, an' missis she give a squeak what she
couldn't help, an' Betsy she giv' a groan an' jump up, slap on hers
bonnit, back to de front, an' begin to clar out, but de cappin jump up
an' stop her.  `Many apologies,' ses de hipperkrit `for stoppin' a lady,
but I don't want any alarm given.  You know dat de pirit's life am
forfitid to his country, so ob course you'll gib him up.'"

"And what said Zeppa to that?" asked Rosco eagerly.

"I's just a-goin' to tell you, massa.  You see I's in de back kishen at
de time an' hear ebery word.  `Well,' ses massa, awful slow an'
unwillin' like, `I cannot deny that Rosco is in the island, but I do
assure you, sir, that he is quite unable to do any furder mischief to
any one, for--an massa stop all of a suddint.'

"`Well,' ses de cappin, `why you not go on?'

"`Has you a description of him?' he asked.

"`Oh! yes,' ses de cappin, drawin' out a paper an' readin' it.  De bery
ting, as like you it was as two pease, even to de small mole on side ob
you's nose, but it say not'ing 'bout you's feet.  Clarly he nebber heerd
ob dat an' massa he notice dat, seems to me, for he ses, `Well, Cappin
Fizzerald, it may be your duty to seize dis pirit and deliber him up to
justice, but it's no duty ob mine to help you.'

"`Oh! as to dat,' ses de cappin, `I'll easily find him widout your
assistance.  I have a party of men with me, and no one knows or even
suspects de reason ob my visit.  But all of you who now hear me mus'
promise not to say a word about this matter till my search is over.  I
believe you to be an honourable Christian man, Zeppa, who cannot break
his word; may these ladies be relied on?'

"`Dey may,' ses massa, in a voice ob woe dat a'most made me cry.  So
w'en I hear dat I tink's to myself, `oh! you British hipperkrit, you's
not so clebber as you t'inks, for Ebony's got to wind'ard ob you,' an'
wid dat I slips out ob do back winder an' run to you's cottage, an' ask
if you'd like to have a ride on my back as usual, an' you say yis, an'--
now you's here, an' I dessay de cappin's lookin' for you."

"It is very kind of you, Ebony," said Rosco, with a deep sigh and a
shake of the head, "very kind, both of you and Zeppa, but your efforts
cannot now avail me.  Just consider.  If the description of me possessed
by Captain Fitzgerald is as faithful and minute as you say, the mere
absence of my feet could not deceive him.  Besides, when I am found, if
the commander of the man-of-war asks me my name I will not deny it, I
will give myself up."

"But if you do dey will hang you!" said Ebony in a somewhat exasperated
tone.

"Even so.  It is my fate--and deserved."

"But it would be murder to hang a innercent man what's bin reformed, an'
don't mean for to do no more mischief--not on'y so, but _can't_!"

"I fear you won't get the broken law to look at it in that light,
Ebony."

"Broken law! what does I care for de broken law?  But tell me, massa,
hab you make up you's mind to gib youself up?"

"I have," returned Rosco sadly.

"Quite sure an' sartin'?"

"Quite," returned Rosco, with a faint smile at the poor negro's
persistency.

"Well, den, you come an' hab a last ride on my back.  Surely you no kin
refuse so small a favour to dis yar black hoss w'ats carried you so of
in, afore you die!"

"Of course not, my poor fellow! but to what purpose--of what use will it
be to delay matters?  It will only prolong the captain's search
needlessly."

"Oh! nebber mind.  Der's good lot o' huts in de place to keep de
hipperkrit goin'.  Plenty ob time for a last leetil ride.  Besides, I
want you to see a place I diskiver not long ago--most koorious place--
you nebber see."

"Come along, then," said Rosco, thinking it right to humour one who had
been more like a brother than a servant to him during his long illness,
"stoop down.  Now, then, heave!"

In a twinkling Rosco was on the back of his "black horse," which carried
him a considerable distance in among the hills.

"Ah!  Ebony," said the rider at last, "I feel sure you are deceiving
me--that you hope to conceal me here, but it is of no use, I tell you,
for I won't remain concealed."

"No, massa, I not deceive you.  I bring you here to show you de stronary
place I hab diskiver, an ax you what you t'ink ob him."

"Well, show it me quickly, and then let us hasten home."

Without replying, the negro clambered up a somewhat steep and rugged
path which brought them to the base of a low precipice which was
partially fringed with bushes.  Pushing one of these aside, he entered a
small cavern not much larger than a sentry-box, which seemed to have no
outlet; but Ebony, placing his right foot on a projection of rock just
large enough to receive it, raised himself upwards so as to place his
left foot on another projection, which enabled him to get on what
appeared to be a shelf of rock.  Rising up, he entered another cavern.

"A strange place truly, but very dark," said Rosco; "does it extend
far?"

"You'll see, jus' now," muttered the negro, obtaining a light by means
of flint and steel, with which he kindled a torch.  "You see I's bin
'splorin' here before an' got t'ings ready."

So saying, he carried Rosco through several winding passages until he
gained a cavern so large and high, that the torch was unable to reveal
either its extent or its roof.

"Wonderful! why did you not tell us of this place before, Ebony?"

"'Cause I on'y just diskiver him, 'bout a week past.  I t'ink him