The Island Queen by R. M. Ballantyne (books suggested by elon musk TXT) 📕

chart; I believe we have discovered them. There are no inhabitants to set up a counter claim; therefore, being entitled to act according to our will, our appointment of a queen to rule us—under limited powers, to be hereafter well considered and clearly written down—is a reality; not a mere play or semi-jest to be undone lightly when the fancy takes us. That being so, we must go to work with gravity and earnestness of purpose.”

Teddy Malone, who was an impressionable creature, here became so solemnised that his lengthening visage and seriously wrinkled brow rendered gravity—especially on the part of Dr Marsh—almost impossible.

Overcoming his feelings with a powerful effort the doctor assented to what Dominick said, and suggested that some mild sort of ceremonial should be devised for the coronation, in order to impress the beholders as well as to mark the event.

“That’s so,” said Teddy Malone, “somethin’ quiet an’ orderly, like an Irish wake, or—. Ah! then ye needn’t smile, doctor. It’s the quietest an’ most comfortin’ thing in life is an Irish wake whin it’s gone about properly.”

“But we don’t want comforting, Teddy,” said Dominick, “it is rather a subject for rejoicing.”

“Well, then, what’s to hinder us rejoicin’ in comfort?” returned Teddy. “At all the wakes I ivver attinded there was more rejoicin’ than comfortin’ goin’ on; but that’s a matter of taste, av coorse.”

“There’ll have to be a crown o’ some sort,” remarked Hugh Morris.

“You’re right, lad,” said Joe Binney. “It wouldn’t do to make it o’ pasteboard, would it? P’r’aps that ’ud be too like playin’ at a game, an’ tin would be little better.”

“What else can we make it of, boys?” said Malone, “we’ve got no goold here—worse luck! but maybe the carpenter cud make wan o’ wood. With a lick o’ yellow paint it would look genuine.”

“Nonsense, Teddy,” said the doctor, “don’t you see that in this life men should always be guided by circumstances, and act with propriety. Here we are on an island surrounded by coral reefs, going to elect a queen; what more appropriate than that her crown should be made of coral.”

“The very thing, doctor,” cried Malone, with emphasis, “och! it’s the genius ye have! There’s all kinds o’ coral, red and white, an’ we could mix it up wi’ some o’ that fine-coloured seaweed to make it purty.”

“It could be made pritty enough without seaweed,” said Binney, “an’ it’s my notion that the women-folk would be best at makin’ of it.”

“Right, Joe, right, so, if you have no objection, we will leave it to them,” said Dominick, “and now as to the ceremonial?”

“A pursession,” suggested Joe Binney.

“Just so,” said Hugh Morris, “the very thing as was in my mind.”

“And a throne,” cried Malone, “there couldn’t be a proper quane widout a throne, you know. The carpenter can make that, anyhow, for there’s wood galore on the island—red, black, an’ white. Yis, we must have a grand throne, cut, an’ carved, an’ mounted high, so as she’ll have two or three steps to climb up to it.”

In regard to the procession and the throne there was considerable difference of opinion, but difficulties were got over and smoothed down at last by the tact and urbanity of Dominick, to whom, finally, the whole question of the coronation was committed. Thus it frequently happens among men. In the multitude of counsellors there is wisdom enough, usually, to guide in the selection of the fittest man to take the helm in all important affairs.

And that reminds us that it is high time to terminate this long digression, and guide our readers back to the beginning of the chapter, where we stated that the important day had at last arrived.

Happily, in those highly favoured climes weather has not usually to be taken much into account. The sun arose out of the ocean’s breast with the same unclouded beauty that had marked his rise every morning for a week previously, and would probably mark it for a week to come. The sweet scents of the wooded heights floated down on the silver strand; the sharks ruffled the surface of the lagoon with their black fins, the birds hopped or flew from palm-tree to mimosa-bush, and the waterfowl went about according to taste on lazy or whistling wings, intent on daily business, much as though nothing unusual were “in the air.”

But it was otherwise with the human family on Big Island. Unwonted excitement was visible on almost every face. Bustle was in every action. Preparations were going on all round, and, as some members of the community were bent on giving other members a surprise, there was more or less of secrecy and consequent mystery in the behaviour of every one.

By breakfast-time little Mrs Nobbs, the blacksmith’s laughter-loving wife, had nearly laughed herself into fits of delight at the crown, which she assisted Mrs Welsh and the widow Lynch to fabricate. The last had devised it, Mrs Welsh had built it in the rough, and Mrs Nobbs had finished it off with the pretty little wreath of red and white branching coral that formed its apex. Apart from taste it was a stupendous erection.

“But don’t you think that it’s too big and heavy?” cried Mrs Nobbs, with a shrieking giggle and clapping of her hands, as she ran back to have a distant view of it.

“Pooh!” exclaimed Mrs Lynch contemptuously, “too heavy? No, it’s nothin’, my dear, to what the kings an’ quanes of Munster wore.”

“But Miss Pauline is neither a king nor a queen of Munster, an’ I do think it’s a bit over-heavy,” objected Mrs Welsh, as she lifted the structure with difficulty.

“Well, ye might take off the wreath,” was the widow’s reply.

Mrs Nobbs removed the only part of the erection that was really pretty, but still it was pronounced by Mrs Welsh to be too heavy, especially for the fair and delicate brows of Pauline Rigonda.

While they were thus engaged Dr Marsh entered the hut, where, for the sake of secrecy, the crown had been prepared, but Dr Marsh was a privileged man, besides he was there professionally; little Brown-eyes was sick—not seriously, but sufficiently so to warrant medical intervention.

“Well, what have we here, ladies?” said the doctor blandly, “part of the throne, eh?”

“Sure it is, in a sort of way, for it’s the crown,” answered Mrs Lynch, “an’ they think it’s over-heavy.”

“Not at all; by no means,” cried the doctor heartily. “It’s splendid. Put the wreath on—so. Nothing could be finer. Shall I carry it up for you? The coronation is fixed for noon, you know, so that we may have time to finish off with a grand feast.”

“No, no, doctor dear. Thank ’ee kindly, but we must cover it up, so’s not to let the people see it till the right time.”

“Well, see that you’re not late with it.”

Having caused Brown-eyes to put out her little tongue, and felt her pulse, and nodded his head gravely once or twice without speaking, all of which must have been highly comforting and beneficial to the child, the doctor went out.

Not long afterwards the people began to assemble round the palace, in front of which a wondrous throne had been erected. Down in a dell behind a cliff some fifty men had assembled secretly with the crown on a cushion in their midst. They were headed by Dr Marsh, who had been unanimously elected to place the crown on Pauline’s head. In the palace Pauline was being prepared by Mrs Lynch and Mrs Nobbs for the ceremony.

On the top of a mound close to the palace a band of conspirators was assembled. These conspirators were screened from view by some thick bushes. Otto Rigonda was their ringleader, Teddy Malone and little Buxley formed the rest of the band. Otto had found a dead tree. Its trunk had been hollowed by decay. He and his fellow-conspirators had sawn it off near to the ground, and close to the root they had drilled a touch-hole. This huge piece of ordnance they had loaded with a heavy charge of the ship’s gunpowder. Otto now stood ready with a piece of slow-match at the touch-hole, and another piece, lighted, in hand.

Suddenly, about the hour of noon, Abel Welsh the carpenter, and Nobbs the blacksmith, issued from the palace with two long tin implements. Secretly, for two weeks previously, had these devoted men retired every night to the opposite extremity of Big Island, and frightened into fits the birds and beasts of that region with the sounds they produced in practising on those instruments. Applying the trumpets to their lips, they sent forth a tremendous, though not uniform, blast.

The surrounding crowd, who expected something, but knew not what, replied with a cheer not unmixed with laughter, for the two trumpets, after the manner of asses, had to make some ineffectual preliminary efforts before achieving a full-toned bray. An answering note from the dell, however, repressed the laughter and awoke curiosity. Next moment the doctor appeared carrying the crown, and followed by his fifty men, armed with muskets, rifles, fowling-pieces, and revolvers. Their appearance was so realistic and impressive that the people forgot to cheer. At the same moment the palace door was thrown open, and Dominick led the youthful queen to the foot of the throne.

Poor little Pauline looked so modest and pretty, and even timid, and withal so angelically innocent in the simplicity of her attire, that the people burst into an earnestly enthusiastic shout, and began for the first time to feel that this was no game or play, but a serious reality.

Things had been so arranged that Pina and Dr Marsh reached the foot of the throne together. Then the latter took the pretty coral wreath off the huge crown, and, to widow Lynch’s felt, but not expressed, indignation, placed that on Pauline’s head.

“Pauline Rigonda,” he said in a loud voice, “I have been appointed by the people of this island to crown you, in their name and by their authority, as Queen of Refuge Islands, in the full belief that your innocence and regard for truth and righteousness will be their best guarantee that you will select as your assistants the men whom you think best suited to aid you in the promotion of good government.”

The serious tone of the doctor’s voice, and the genuine shouts of satisfaction from the people, put the poor little queen in such a flutter that nearly all her courage forsook her, and she could scarcely reply. Nevertheless, she had a mind of her own.

“Doctor Marsh, and my dear people,” she said at last, “I—I scarcely know how to reply. You overrate me altogether; but—but, if I rule at all, I will do so by the blessed truths of this book (she held up a Bible); and—and before taking a single step further I appoint as my—my Prime Minister—if I may so call him—Joe Binney.”

For one moment there was the silence of amazement, for neither Dominick nor Dr Marsh knew of Pauline’s intention. Only the widow Lynch had been aware of her resolve. Next moment a hilarious cheer burst from the crowd, and Teddy Malone, from his retreat, shouted, “God bliss the Quane!” which infused hearty laughter into the cheer, whereupon Welsh and Nobbs, thinking the right time had come, sent out of their tin tubes, after a few ineffectual blurts, two terrific brays. Fearing to be too late, one of the armed men let off his piece, which was the signal for a grand feu de joie.

“Now for it,” thought the chief conspirator in the bushes, as he applied his light to the slow-match. He thought nothing more just then, for the slow-match proved to be rather quick, fired the powder at once, and the monster cannon, bursting with a hideous roar into a thousand pieces, blew Otto through the bushes and down the mound, at the foot of which he lay as one dead.

Consternation was on every face. The queen, dropping her crown, sprang to his side, Dr