The Madman and the Pirate by Robert Michael Ballantyne (each kindness read aloud TXT) 📕

of the school-house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ebony strove to calm himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


CHAPTER FIVE.

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

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