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

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