The Madman and the Pirate by Robert Michael Ballantyne (books to read for 12 year olds .txt) 📖

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