A few days after the discovery of Zeppa by his son, a trading vessel
chanced to touch at the island, the captain of which no sooner saw the
British man-of-war than he lowered his gig, went aboard in a state of
great excitement, and told how that, just two days before, he had been
chased by a pirate in latitude so-and-so and longitude something else!
A messenger was immediately sent in hot haste to Sugar-loaf Mountain to
summon Orlando.
"I'm sorry to be obliged to leave you in such a hurry," said Captain
Fitzgerald, as they were about to part, "but duty calls, and I must
obey. I promise you, however, either to return here or to send your
mission-vessel for you, if it be available. Rest assured that you shall
not be altogether forsaken."
Having uttered these words of consolation, the captain spread his sails
and departed, leaving Orlando, and his father, Waroonga, Tomeo,
Buttchee, Ebony, and Rosco on Sugar-loaf Island.
Several days after this, Waroonga entered the hut of Ongoloo and sat
down. The chief was amusing himself at the time by watching his prime
minister Wapoota playing with little Lippy, who had become a favourite
at the palace since Zeppa had begun to take notice of her.
"I would palaver with the chief," said the missionary.
"Let Lippy be gone," said the chief.
Wapoota rolled the brown child unceremoniously out of the hut, and
composed his humorous features into an expression of solemnity.
"My brother," continued the missionary, "has agreed to become a
Christian and burn his idols?"
"Yes," replied Ongoloo with an emphatic nod, for he was a man of
decision. "I like to hear what you tell me. I feel that I am full of
naughtiness. I felt that before you came here. I have done things that
I knew to be wrong, because I have been miserable after doing them--yet,
when in passion, I have done them again. I have wondered why I was
miserable. Now I know; you tell me the Great Father was whispering to
my spirit. It must be true. I have resisted Him, and He made me
miserable. I deserve it. I deserve to die. When any of my men dare to
resist me I kill them. I have dared to resist the Great Father, yet He
has not killed me. Why not? you tell me He is full of love and mercy
even to His rebels! I believe it. You say, He sent His Son Jesus to
die for me, and to deliver me from my sins. It is well, I accept this
Saviour--and all my people shall accept Him."
"My brother's voice makes me glad," returned Waroonga; "but while you
can accept this Saviour for yourself, it is not possible to force other
people to do so."
"Not possible!" cried the despotic chief, with vehemence. "Do you not
know that I can force my people to do whatever I please?--at least I can
kill them if they refuse."
"You cannot do that and, at the same time, be a Christian."
"But," resumed Ongoloo, with a look of, so to speak, fierce perplexity,
"I can at all events make them burn their idols."
"True, but that would only make them hate you in their hearts, and
perhaps worship their idols more earnestly in secret. No, my brother;
there is but one weapon given to Christians, but that is a sharp and
powerful weapon. It is called Love; we must _win_ others to Christ by
voice and example, we may not drive them. It is not permitted. It is
not possible."
The chief cast his frowning eyes on the ground, and so remained for some
time, while the missionary silently prayed. It was a critical moment.
The man so long accustomed to despotic power could not easily bring his
mind to understand the process of _winning_ men. He did, indeed, know
how to win the love of his wives and children--for he was naturally of
an affectionate disposition, but as to _winning_ the obedience of
warriors or slaves--the thing was preposterous! Yet he had sagacity
enough to perceive that while he could compel the obedience of the
body--or kill it--he could not compel the obedience of the soul.
"How can I," he said at last, with a touch of indignation still in his
tone, "I, a chief and a descendant of chiefs, stoop to ask, to beg, my
slaves to become Christians? It may not be, I can only command them."
"Woh!" exclaimed Wapoota, unable to restrain his approval of the
sentiment.
"You cannot even command yourself, Ongoloo, to be a Christian. How,
then, can you command others? It is the Great Father who has put it
into your heart to wish to be a Christian. If you will now take His
plan, you will succeed. If you refuse, and try your own plan, you shall
fail."
"Stay," cried the chief, suddenly laying such a powerful grasp on
Waroonga's shoulder, that he winced; "did you not say that part of His
plan is the forgiveness of enemies?"
"I did."
"Must I, then, forgive the Raturans if I become a Christian?"
"Even so."
"Then it is impossible. What! forgive the men whose forefathers have
tried to rob my forefathers of their mountain since our nation first
sprang into being! Forgive the men who have for ages fought with our
fathers, and tried to make slaves of our women and children--though they
always failed because they are cowardly dogs! Forgive the Raturans?
_Never_! Impossible!"
"With man this is impossible. With the Great Father all things are
possible. Leave your heart in His hands, Ongoloo; don't refuse His
offer to save you from an unforgiving spirit, as well as from other
sins, and that which to you seems impossible will soon become easy."
"No--never!" reiterated the chief with decision, as he cut further
conversation short by rising and stalking out of the hut, closely
followed by the sympathetic Wapoota.
Waroonga was not much depressed by this failure. He knew that truth
would prevail in time, and did not expect that the natural enmity of man
would be overcome at the very first sound of the Gospel. He was
therefore agreeably surprised when, on the afternoon of that same day,
Ongoloo entered the hut which had been set apart for him and the two
Ratinga chiefs, and said--
"Come, brother, I have called a council of my warriors. Come, you shall
see the working of the Great Father."
The missionary rose at once and went after the chief with much
curiosity, accompanied by Tomeo and Buttchee: Zeppa and his son, with
Ebony and the pirate, being still in the mountains.
Ongoloo led them to the top of a small hill on which a sacred hut or
temple stood. Here the prisoners of war used to be slaughtered, and
here the orgies of heathen worship were wont to be practised. An
immense crowd of natives--indeed the entire tribe except the sick and
infirm--crowned the hill. This, however, was no new sight to the
missionary, and conveyed no hint of what was pending.
The crowd stood in two orderly circles--the inner one consisting of the
warriors, the outer of the women and children. Both fell back to let
the chief and his party pass.
As the temple-hut was open at one side, its interior, with the horrible
instruments of execution and torture, as well as skulls, bones, and
other ghastly evidences of former murder, was exposed to view. On the
centre of the floor lay a little pile of rudely carved pieces of timber,
with some loose cocoa-nut fibre beneath them. A small fire burned on
something that resembled an altar in front of the hut.
The chief, standing close to this fire, cleared his throat and began 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.