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 heart-broken cries and wails which had marked the first stage of his
derangement.
The mutterings to which we have referred were seldom coherent; but the
disjointed utterances sufficed to indicate the natural character of the
man. As the ruling passion is said to become dominant in death, so, in
this death of reason which appeared to have passed upon Zeppa, love of
his wife and child and the natives of Ratinga, as well as profound
reverence and love to his God, became conspicuous in the broken
sentences that occasionally dropped from his lips.
At first he had been like some grand instrument thrown wildly out of
tune and swept by a reckless hand. Now he resembled the same instrument
with the framework shattered, the strings hanging loose, and the music
of discord as well as harmony gone for ever.
Oh it was sad, inexpressibly sad, to see the grand and good man--the
image of himself, yet not himself, with bowed head and bent form, the
very personification of humility--wandering forth on that lonely island
of the southern seas!
After quitting the shore he continued slowly to ascend the mountain
until he gained the summit. Here, seating himself on a rock, he lifted
his eyes and looked slowly around him.
It was a glorious sight that met his unintelligent gaze. On the side
which he had ascended, the mountain sloped abruptly into the sea, yet
its precipices were not forbidding or gloomy, for they were clothed with
the luxuriant and lovely vegetation of those favoured regions.
The rocks were fringed with grasses and wild flowers; the cliffs were
softened by palmated leaves and gorgeous shrubs. Wild fruits in
abundance grew on every side; in short, the land presented the
appearance of a terrestrial paradise.
On the other side of the range similar, but softer, scenery rolled away
for several miles in easy slopes, until it terminated in a plain, the
farther end of which was bounded by the white sands of the shore.
Around all lay the great sea, like a transparent blue shield, on which
the sun glinted in myriad ripples of burnished gold. Everywhere God's
work was glorious, but God's image in man was not there, for poor Zeppa
looked upon it all with total indifference.
The schooner was still visible from that lofty outlook, like a snowflake
on the sea; but Zeppa saw it, or regarded it, not. On the shore of the
island furthest from the mountain, the clustering huts of a native
village could be seen; but Zeppa looked at it without a gleam of
interest, and passed it over as if it were a group of ant-hills.
Hunger, however, soon claimed attention. After remaining motionless for
more than an hour, he arose and plucked some fruit from a neighbouring
tree.
"God is good--has always been good to me and mine," he murmured, as he
placed the fruit on the grass and sat down beside it.
Then, clasping his hands and closing his eyes, he asked a blessing on
his food in the same words and tone which he had been wont to use when
at home.
After his hunger was appeased, he again wandered about apparently
without aim; but as night began to descend, he sought and found a
slightly hollowed part of a cliff with an overhanging ledge.
It was scarcely deep enough to be styled a cave, but appeared to be a
sufficient shelter in the maniac's eyes, for he busied himself in
gathering ferns and dried grass, until he had made himself a comfortable
couch at the inner end of it.
Before lying down he knelt, clasped his hands, and poured out his soul
in fervent prayer.
His words were now no longer incoherent and the burthen of his petition
was--a blessing on the dear ones at home, and forgiveness of all his
sins through Jesus Christ. It seemed evident judging by his words, that
he had forgotten the recent past, and imagined that Orlando was still
alive.
Then he lay down and fell asleep.
Thus days and weeks and months rolled on, and still the madman wandered
aimlessly among the mountain peaks.
The savages at the other end of the island never molested him, for,
having no occasion to clamber up these rocky heights, they did not
become aware of his existence until a considerable time had elapsed.
His discovery at last was the result of a crime.
One of the savages committed a theft in the native village, and fled for
refuge to the mountains. Wapoota, being a funny fellow, was a favourite
with his chief Ongoloo, and occupied a position somewhat analogous to
the court jester of old. Moreover, he was often consulted in serious
matters by his chief--in short, was a sort of humorous prime minister.
But he could not resist the tendency to steal, and one day pilfered
something or other from Ongoloo, who finally lost patience with him, for
he was an old offender.
Ongoloo, though neither a warlike nor ferocious fellow, vowed to cut out
the heart and liver of Wapoota, and expose them to public gaze.
Disliking publicity after this fashion, the thief fled, purposing to
abide in the mountains until his chief's wrath should have evaporated.
Rambling one day in his mountain refuge, the dishonest savage turned a
jutting point of rock, and suddenly stood face to face with Zeppa. His
jaw dropped, his eyes glared, his knees smote together, and lemon-yellow
took the place of brown-ochre on his cheeks. It was an awkward place of
meeting, for the path, if we may so style it, was a mere ledge, with a
perpendicular cliff on one side, a precipice on the other.
And well might the savage by overcome with fear, on such a spot with
such a man before him, for, in addition to his commanding stature, Zeppa
had now the wild appearance resulting from long untrimmed locks and a
shaggy beard.
Both locks and beard had also changed from black to iron-grey during
these months of lonely wandering. His dress, too, had become much
disordered and ragged, so that altogether his appearance and fierce
aspect were eminently fitted to strike terror to the heart of a more
courageous man than Wapoota, who happened to be rather mild in
disposition.
After the first stare of astonishment he sank on his knees and held up
his hands as if supplicating mercy. But he had nothing to fear from the
maniac.
"My poor fellow," said Zeppa, in English, laying his hand on the
native's head and patting it, "do not fear. I will not harm you."
Of course Wapoota did not understand the words but he fully appreciated
the action, and the lemon-yellow began to fade while the brown-ochre
returned.
Without uttering another word, Zeppa took Wapoota by the hand and led
him to his cave, where he set before him such fruits as remained over
from his last meal, and then, sitting down, gazed abstractedly on the
ground. Wapoota ate from fear of offending his host, rather than
hunger.
When he had finished, Zeppa rose, pointed to his couch at the inner part
of the cave, nodded to him with a kindly smile, and left him.
At first the savage seemed disposed to make off when Zeppa's back was
turned, but when he saw him slowly ascend the hill with his head bowed
down he changed his mind, made some significant grimaces--which we will
not attempt to explain--and lay down to sleep.
On his return, Wapoota tried to enter into conversation with his host
but Zeppa only smiled, patted him gently on the head and shoulder, and
paid no further attention to him. The savage was somewhat overawed by
such treatment.
Observing his host more closely, it soon began to dawn upon him that he
was in the power of a madman, and some tinges of the lemon-yellow
reappeared; but when he perceived that Zeppa was not merely a harmless
but an exceedingly gentle madman, his confidence and the brown-ochre
reasserted themselves.
Thus, for several days, the madman and the savage dwelt amicably
together, and slept side by side during the night; but Zeppa made it
very apparent that he did not wish for his visitor's society during the
day-time, and the visitor had the sense to let him wander forth alone.
Wapoota was mistaken when he calculated on the cooling of Ongoloo's
wrath. That angry chief, bent on the fulfilment of his anatomical vow,
set forth with a small party of picked men to explore the Sugar-loaf in
quest of the runaway. He found him one day gathering fruits for Zeppa's
supper--for Wapoota had already become a sort of attached Friday to this
unfortunate Crusoe.
On beholding his countrymen, the thief's visage underwent a series of
remarkable changes, for he knew that escape was impossible, and the
expression of his chief's face forbade him to hope for mercy.
"I have found you, mine enemy," growled Ongoloo--of course in the native
tongue.
"Mercy!" exclaimed Wapoota, in a piteous tone. "Mercy no longer dwells
in my breast," returned the chief.
In proof of the truth of this assertion he ordered his men to seize and
bind Wapoota, and proceed at once with the execution of his cruel
purpose.
The unfortunate wretch, unable to face the appalling prospect gave vent
to a series of terrible shrieks, and struggled fiercely while they bound
him. But in vain would he have struggled if his cries for mercy had not
reached other ears than those of his countrymen.
Not far from the spot where the thief had been captured, Zeppa chanced
to be sitting, idly toying with the branch of a tree which he had
fashioned into a rude staff wherewith to climb the mountain more easily.
When the first shriek ran among the cliffs, it seemed to startle the
maniac out of the depressing lethargy under which he had laboured so
long. He sprang up and listened, with dilated eyes and partly open
mouth.
Again and again the shrieks rang out, and were echoed from cliff to
cliff.
As a tigress bounds to the rescue of her young, so sprang Zeppa down the
hillside in the direction of the cries. He came suddenly to the edge of
a cliff which overlooked the scene, and beheld a savage just about to
plunge a knife into Wapoota's breast.
Zeppa gave vent to a tremendous roar, which terminated in a wild laugh.
Then he wrenched a mass of rock from the cliffs and hurled it down.
The height was greater than any sane man would have ventured to leap
even to save his life; but the maniac gave no time to thought.
He followed the mass of rock with another wild laugh, and next moment
stood in the midst of the savage group.
These men were no cowards. They were Ongoloo's picked warriors, and
would have scorned to fly before a single foe, however large or fierce.
But when they saw plainly that Zeppa was a white man and a maniac, they
turned, with one consent, and fled as if a visitant from the nether
realms had assailed them.
Zeppa did not follow. All his sudden wrath vanished with the enemy. He
turned calmly to the prostrate man, cut his bonds, and set him free.
Then, without saying a word, he patted him on the shoulder, and wandered
listlessly away with his head dropped as of old.
You may be sure that Wapoota did not hesitate to make good use of his
freedom. He fled on the wings--or legs--of fear to the most
inaccessible recesses of the mountains, from which he did not emerge
till night had enshrouded land and sea. Then he crept stealthily back
to Zeppa's cave, and laid himself quietly down beside his friend.
The inherent tendency of Zeppa's nature was towards peace and goodwill.
Even in his madness and misery his spirit trickled, if it did not run,
in the customary direction. His dethroned reason began, occasionally,
to make fitful efforts after some plan which it sought to evolve. But
before the plan could be arranged, much less carried out, the dull sense
of a leaden grief overwhelmed it again, and he relapsed into the old
condition of quiet apathy.
Chance, however, brought about that which the enfeebled intellect could
not compass.
One day--whether inadvertently or not we cannot tell--Zeppa wandered
down in the direction of the native settlement. That same day Ongoloo
wandered towards the mountain, and the two men suddenly met so close to
each other that there was no possibility of escape to either.
But, sooth to say, there was no thought of escape in the breast of
either. Ongoloo, being a brave savage, was ashamed of having given way
to panic at his first meeting with the madman. Besides, he carried his
huge war-club, while his opponent was absolutely unarmed--having
forgotten to take his usual staff with him that day.
As for Zeppa, he had never at any time feared the face of man, and, in
his then condition, would have faced man or fiend with equal
indifference. But the sight of the savage chief seemed to recall
something to his mind. He stood with his arms crossed, and an
expression of perplexity on his countenance, while Ongoloo assumed an
attitude of defence.
Suddenly a beaming smile overspread Zeppa's face. We have already said
that his smile had fascination in it. The effect on the savage was to
paralyse him for the moment. Zeppa advanced, took Ongoloo's face
between both hands, and, placing his nose against that of the chief,
gently rubbed it.
For the benefit of the ignorant, we may explain that this is the usual
salutation of friendship among some of the South Sea Islanders.
Ongoloo returned the rub, and dropped his club. He was obviously glad
of this peaceful termination to the rencontre.
Then, for the first time, it occurred to Zeppa to use the language of
Ratinga. The chief evidently understood it.
"God is love," said Zeppa solemnly, pointing upward with his finger.
"God forgives. You will forgive, and so be like God."
The chief was completely overawed by Zeppa's grandeur and gentleness.
He had never before seen the two qualities combined.
Zeppa took him by the hand, as he had previously taken Wapoota, and led
him up into the mountains. The chief submitted meekly, as if he thought
a being from the better world were guiding him. On reaching the cave
they found Wapoota arranging the supper-table--if we may so express it--
for he had been in the habit of doing this for some time past, about
sunset, at which time his protector had invariably returned home--alas!
it was a poor home!
To say that Wapoota was transfixed, or petrified, on beholding Ongoloo,
would not convey the full idea of his condition. It is useless to say
that he glared; that his knees smote, or that lemon-yellow supplanted
brown-ochre on his visage. Words can do much, but they cannot describe
the state of that savage on that occasion. The reader's imagination is
much more likely to do justice to the situation. To that we leave it.
But who, or what language, shall describe the state of mind into which
both Ongoloo and Wapoota were thrown when Zeppa, having brought them
close to each other, grasped them firmly by their necks and rubbed their
noses forcibly together. There was no resisting the smile with which
this was dune. The chief and the thief first glanced at each other,
then at their captor, and then they laughed--absolutely roared--after
which they rubbed noses of their own accord, and "made it up."
We may remark, in passing, that Ongoloo was not sorry for the
reconciliation, because Wapoota had become necessary to him both in
council and during relaxation, and of late he had come to feel
low-spirited for want of his humourist.
But both of them were much concerned to observe that after this
reconciliation, the reconciler relapsed into his pensive mood and
refused to be interested in anything.
They tried in vain to rouse him from his strange apathy--which neither
of them could at all understand. Next day Ongoloo took occasion to give
him the slip, and returned to his village.
Zeppa cared nothing for that. He did not even ask Wapoota what had
become of him.
At this time a new idea occurred to Wapoota, who had been ordered by his
chief to induce Zeppa to visit the native village. It struck him that
as he had been led, so he might lead. Therefore one morning he waited
until Zeppa had finished breakfast, and when he rose, as was his wont,
to go off for the day, Wapoota took him gently by the hand and led him
forth. To his surprise--and comfort, for he had had strong misgivings--
Zeppa submitted. He did not seem to think that the act was peculiar.
Wapoota led him quietly and slowly down the mountain side, and so, by
degrees, right into the native village, where Ongoloo was, of course,
prepared to meet and welcome him.
He was received by the head men of the tribe with deep respect and
conducted to a tent which had been prepared for him, where Wapoota, who
had constituted himself his servant--or lieutenant--made him comfortable
for the night.
Zeppa at first expressed some surprise at all the fuss that was made
regarding him, but soon ceased to trouble himself about the matter, and
gradually relapsed into his old condition. He was content to remain
with the natives, though he did not cease his lonely wanderings among
the hills, absenting himself for days at a time, but always returning,
sooner or later, to the tent that had been provided for him in the
village.
Now, in Sugar-loaf Island, there was a tribe that had, for years past,
been at war with the tribe into whose hands Zeppa had thus fallen, and,
not long after the events just narrated, it chanced that the Ratura
tribe, as it was named, resolved to have another brush with their old
enemies, the subjects of Ongoloo. What they did, and how they did it,
shall be seen in another chapter.