We change the scene once more, and transport our readers over the ocean
waves to a noble ship which is breasting those waves right gallantly.
It is H.M.S. "Furious."
In a retired part of the ship's cabin there are two savage nobles who do
not take things quite as gallantly as the ship herself. These are our
friends Tomeo and Buttchee of Ratinga. Each is seated on the cabin
floor with his back against the bulkhead, an expression of woe-begone
desolation on his visage, his black legs apart, and a ship's bucket
between them. It were bad taste to be too particular as to details
here!
On quitting Ratinga, Tomeo and his brother chief had said that nothing
would rejoice their hearts so much as to go to sea. Their wish was
gratified, and, not long afterwards, they said that nothing could
rejoice their hearts so much as to get back to land! Such is the
contradictoriness of human nature.
There was a stiffish breeze blowing, as one of the man-of-war's-men
expressed it and "a nasty sea on"--he did not say on what. There must
have been something nasty, also, on Tomeo's stomach, from the violent
way in which he sought to get rid of it at times--without success.
"Oh! Buttchee, my brother," said Tomeo (of course in his native
tongue), "many years have passed over my head, a few white streaks begin
to--to--" He paused abruptly, and eyed the bucket as if with an
intention.
"To appear," he continued with a short sigh; "also, I have seen many
wars and suffered much from many wounds as you--you--ha!--you know,
Buttchee, my brother, but of all the--"
He became silent again--suddenly.
"Why does my brother p-pause?" asked Buttchee, in a meek voice--as of
one who had suffered severely in life's pilgrimage.
There was no occasion for Tomeo to offer a verbal reply.
After a time Buttchee raised his head and wiped his eyes, in which were
many tears--but not of sorrow.
"Tomeo," said he, "was it worth our while to forsake wives and children,
and church, and hymns, and taro fields, and home for th-this?"
"We did not leave for this," replied Tomeo, with some acerbity, for he
experienced a temporary sensation of feeling better at the moment; "we
left all for the sake of assisting our friends in--there! it comes--
it--"
He said no more, and both chiefs relapsed into silence--gazing the while
at the buckets with undue interest.
They were interrupted by the sudden entrance of Ebony.
"Come, you yaller-cheeked chiefs; you's die if you no make a heffort.
Come on deck, breeve de fresh air. Git up a happetite. Go in for salt
pork, plum duff, and lop-scouse, an' you'll git well 'fore you kin say
Jack Rubinson."
Tomeo and Buttchee looked up at the jovial negro and smiled--imbecile
smiles they were.
"We cannot move," said Tomeo and Buttchee together, "because we--w--"
Together they ceased giving the reason--it was not necessary!
"Oh dear!" said Ebony, opening his great eyes to their widest. "You no
kin lib long at dat rate. Better die on deck if you _mus'_ die; more
heasy for you to breeve up dar, an' more comf'rable to fro you overboard
w'en you's got it over."
With this cheering remark the worthy negro, seizing the chiefs each by a
hand, half constrained, half assisted them to rise, and helped them to
stagger to the quarter-deck, where they were greeted by Orlando, Captain
Fitzgerald, Waroonga, and the missionary.
"Come, that's right," cried the captain, shaking the two melancholy
chiefs by the hand, "glad to see you plucking up courage. Tell them,
Mr Zeppa, that we shall probably be at Sugar-loaf Island to-morrow, or
next day."
The two unfortunates were visibly cheered by the assurance. To do them
justice, they had not quite given way to sea-sickness until then, for
the weather had been moderately calm, but the nasty sea and stiff breeze
had proved too much for them.
"Are you sure we shall find the island so soon?" asked Orlando of the
captain in a low, earnest tone, for the poor youth's excitement and
anxiety deepened as they drew near to the place where his father might
possibly be found--at the same time a strange, shrinking dread of what
they might find made him almost wish for delay.
"I am not sure, of course," returned the captain, "but if my information
is correct, there is every probability that we shall find it to-morrow."
"I hopes we shall," remarked Waroonga. "It would be a grand blessing if
the Lord will gif us the island and your father in same day."
"Mos' too good to be true," observed Ebony, who was a privileged
individual on board, owing very much to his good-humoured eccentricity.
"But surely you not spec's de niggers to tumbil down at yous feet all at
wance, Massa Waroonga?"
"Oh no, not at once. The day of miracle have pass," returned the
missionary. "We mus' use the means, and then, has we not the promise
that our work shall not be in vain?"
Next day about noon the Sugar-loaf mountain rose out of the sea like a
great pillar of hope to Orlando, as well as to the missionary. Captain
Fitzgerald sailed close in, sweeping the mountain side with his
telescope as he advanced until close under the cliffs, when he lay-to
and held a consultation with his passengers.
"I see no habitations of any kind," he said, "nor any sign of the
presence of man, but I have heard that the native villages lie at the
lower side of the island. Now, the question is, whether would it suit
your purposes best to land an armed party here, and cross over to the
villages, or to sail round the island, drop anchor in the most
convenient bay, and land a party there?"
Orlando, to whom this was more directly addressed, turned to the
missionary.
"What think you, Waroonga? You know native thought and feeling best."
"I would not land armed party at all," answered Waroonga. "But Cappin
Fitzgald know his own business most. What he thinks?"
"My business and yours are so mingled," returned the captain, "that I
look to you for advice. My chief duty is to obtain information as to
the whereabouts of the pirate vessel, and I expect that such information
will be got more readily through you, Waroonga, than any one else, for,
besides being able to speak the native language, you can probably
approach the savages more easily than I can."
"They are not savages," returned Waroonga quietly, "they are God's
ignorant children. I have seen worse men than South sea islanders with
white faces an' soft clothin' who had not the excuse of ignorance."
"Nay, my good sir," said the captain, "we will not quarrel about terms.
Whatever else these `ignorant children' may be, I know that they are
brave and warlike, and I shall gladly listen to your advice as to
landing."
"If you wish to go to them in peace, do not go to them with arms," said
Waroonga.
"Surely you would not advise me to send an unarmed party among armed
sav--children?" returned the captain, with a look of surprise, while
Orlando regarded his friend with mingled amusement and curiosity.
"No. You best send no party at all. Jis' go round the island, put down
angker, an' leave the rest to me."
"But what do you propose to do?" asked the captain.
"Swum to shore with Bibil."
Orlando laughed, for he now understood the missionary's plan, and in a
few words described the method by which Waroonga had subdued the natives
of Ratinga.
"You see, by this plan," he continued, "nothing is presented to the
natives which they will be tempted to steal, and if they are very
warlike or fierce, Waroonga's refusal to fight reduces them to a state
of quiet readiness to hear, which is all that we want. Waroonga's
tongue does the rest."
"With God's Holy Spirit and the Word," interposed the missionary.
"True, that is understood," said Orlando.
"That is not _always_ understood," 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.