1. A beautiful island, lying like a gem on the breast of the Great Pacific, a coral reef surrounding, and a calm lagoon within, on the glass-like surface of which rests a most paradical-looking schooner. Such is the scene to which we invite our reader's attention for a little while. At the time of which we write, it was an eminently peaceful scene. So still was the atmosphere, so unruffled the water, that the island and the paradical-looking schooner seemed to float in the center of a duplex world where every cloud lit in the blue above had its exact counterpart in the blue below. No sounds were heard save the dull roar of the breaker that fell at long intervals on the seaward side of the reef, and no motion was visible except the back fin of a shark as it cut a line occasionally on the sea, or the stately sweep of an albatross as it passed above the schooner's masts and cast a look of solemn inquiry upon her deck. But that schooner was not a pirate, she was an honest trader, at least so it was said. Though what she traded in we have no more notion than the albatross which gazed at her with such inquisitive sagacity. Her decks were not particularly clean, her sails by no means snow-white. She had indeed four goodly sized caronades, but these were not an extraordinary part of a peaceful trader's armament in those regions where man was, and still is, unusually savage. The familiar union-jack hung at her peak and some of her men were sedate-looking Englishmen, though others were lascars and malaise of the cutthroat type of whom any wickedness might be expected when occasion served. The crew seemed to have been overcome by the same somnolent influence that had subdued nature, for they all lay about the deck, sleeping, or dozing in various sprawling attitudes, with the exception of the captain and the mate. The former was a huge, rugged man of forbidding aspect and obviously savage temper. The latter—well, it is not easy to say what were his chief characteristics, so firmly did he control the features of a fine countenance in which the tiger-like blue eyes alone seemed untameable. He was not much above the middle height, but his compact frame was wiry and full of youthful force. "'Lower away, the dingy,' said the captain, gruffly to the mate, and let one of these lazy lubbers get into her with a box of figs. Get into her yourself, I may want you.' The mate replied with a stern, eye-icer, and rose from the gun-carriage on which he had been seated while the captain went below. In a few minutes the latter reappeared and soon the little boat with its three occupants was skimming over the lagoon towards the land. On that land a strange and interesting work was going on at the time. It was no less than the erection of a church by men who had never before placed one stone upon another, at least with a view to house-building. The tribe to which these builders belonged had at first received their missionary with yells of execration, had torn the garments from his back, had kicked him into the sea, and would infallibly have drowned him if the boat from which he had landed had not returned in haste and rescued him. Fortunately that missionary was well accustomed to a state of nudity, being himself a South Sea islander. He was also used to a pretty rough life, besides being young and strong. He therefore soon recovered from the treatment he had received, and not many weeks afterwards, determined to make another attempt to land on the island of Ratinga, as our coral gem on the ocean's breast was named. For Warunga's heart had been opened by the Holy Spirit to receive Jesus Christ, and the consequent flame of love to the souls of his countrymen burned too brightly to be quenched by a first failure. The desire to possess the little box of clothes and trifles with which he had landed on Ratinga had been the cause, he thought, of the savages attacking him.  He did so. The mission boat once again conveyed him from headquarters to the scene of his former discomfiture, and when close to the beach, where the natives awaited the landing of the party with warlike demonstrations, he slipped out of his clothes into the water and swam ashore. The Bible, in the native tongue, being tied carefully to the top of his head to keep it dry. Surprise at this mode of proceeding caused the natives to receive him with less violence than before. Their curiosity led them to listen to what he had to say. Then a chief named Tomeo took him by the shoulders, placed his nose against that of Warunga and rubbed it. This being equivalent to a friendly shake of the hand, the missionary signaled to his friends in the boat to go away, which they accordingly did, and left their courageous brother to his fate. It is not our purpose to recount the whole history of this good man's enterprise, let it suffice to say that the natives of Ratinga turned round, childlike, and they were little more than grown-up children, swallowed all he had to say and did all he bid them do, or nearly all, for of course there were a few self-willed characters among them who objected at first to the wholesale changes that Warunga introduced to their manners and customs. In the course of a few months they formally embraced Christianity, burned their idols, and solemnly promised that, if any more unfortunate ships or boats chanced to be wrecked on their shores, they would refrain from eating the mariners. Thus much accomplished, Warunga in the joy of his heart launched a canoe and with some of his converts went off to headquarters to fetch his wife.  Missionaries to the southern seas, as is well known, endeavored to impress on converts the propriety, not to say decency, of a moderate amount of clothing. Mrs. Warunga, who had been named Betsy, was therefore presented to the astonished natives of Ratinga in a short calico gown of sunflower pattern with a flounce at the bottom, a bright yellow necrochiff, and a coal-scuttle bonnet which quivered somewhat in consequence of being too large and of slender build. Decency and propriety, not being recognized, apparently among infants, the brown baby, who had been named Zarifa, at baptism, landed in what may be styled, Adamite costume. Then Warunga built himself a bamboo house and set up a school. Soon after that he induced a half-Italian, half-Spanish sailor named Antonio Zepa, who had been bred in England, to settle with his wife and son on the island and take charge of the school. For this post Zepa and his wife were well qualified, both having received an education beyond that usually given to persons in their rank of life. Besides this, Antonio Zepa had a gigantic frame, a genial disposition, and a spirit of humility, or rather child-like simplicity, which went far to ingratiate him with the savages. After several years' residence in this field of labour, Warunga conceived the grand idea of building a house of God. It was to be built of coral rock, cemented together with coral lime. Now it was while the good people of Ritinga were in the first fervour of this new enterprise that the dinghy, with its three occupants, approached their shore. At that particular point of time the walls of the new church had begun to rise above the foundations, for the chief, Tomeo, had entered into the matter with intense enthusiasm, and as Tomeo was supreme chief, everyone else felt bound to follow his example and work hard. But to do them justice they required no stimulant. The whole community entered into it with inexpressible glee. Zepa taught them everything, because no one else knew anything, except of course Warunga, who, however, was not much in advance of his native congregation, save in spiritual matters. Zepa showed them how to burn lime out of the coral rock, and they gazed with open-eyed and open-mouthed wonder at the process. Then the great chief Tomeo gave the word to burn lime, and Bucchi, the chief second in command, backed him up by kicking the native nearest to his foot and echoing the order, Go, burn lime! The entire population began to burn lime forthwith, and would have gone on burning lime enough to have built a South Sea Pyramid equal to Chiops, if they had not been checked, and their blazing energies turned into stone hewing and dressing and other channels. Thus the work went on merrily, and so engrossed were they with it that they did not at first observe the arrival of the visitors. Of course they were aware of the schooner's presence, and had been off to her the previous day before she had furled her sails to offer fruits and vegetables. But it was some time before they discovered that three strangers had landed and were gazing at them while they toiled. Zepa had a black servant, a negro whom he had induced to follow him. This man took a prominent oversight of the works. He was by nature a cook, but church-building occupied his leisure moments, and he prided himself upon being not only cleverer but considerably blacker than the islanders. Now you keep out of the road, little Zah. This was addressed to Zarifa, who by that time could not only toddle but trowel, besides being able to swim like a duck.  The negro gave vent to a yell for the accident he feared actually occurred.  It dropped on a mass of soft lime which flew up in all directions, making Zarifa pie-balled at once. And what was more serious, sending a lump straight into Tomeo's face. This was too much for the great man. He seized the culprit by the neck and thrust his brown visage down upon the lime from which he arose white, leaving a beautiful cast of his features behind him. Tomeo was pacified at once. He burst into a loud laugh while the guilty man slunk humbly away, not, however, without receiving a salute from Butchie's active foot in passing. At this moment Zepa came up, holding his son Orlando, a well-grown lad of fourteen, by the hand. He at once observed the captain of the schooner and going forward shook hands with him and the mate. He had made their acquaintance the day before when the vessel anchored in the lagoon. I have come to say good-bye, Mr. Zepa. We have finished taking in fresh water sooner than I had expected and will be ready to sail with the evening breeze. Indeed. I regret this for various reasons, replied Zepa in a soft musical voice that one scarcely expected to issue from such a capacious chest. There was about the man an air of gentle urbanity and tenderness, which might have induced a stranger to suppose him effeminate had not his manly looks and commanding stature rendered the idea absurd. In the first place, he continued, my wife and I had hoped to show you some hospitality. You know we seldom have visitors in this out-of-the-way island. Then we wanted your advice with regard to the building of our church, which you see is progressing rapidly, and last but not least, I wish to ask a favour, which it will be impossible to grant if you sail to-night. Perhaps not impossible, said Captain Daniel, whose gruff nature was irresistibly mellowed by the sweet spirit of the giant who addressed him. What do you want me to do? I meant to ask a passage in your vessel for my son and myself to the island of Otava. It is not far off, and you said yesterday that you intend to pass close to it. You see, I am something of a traitor as well as a missionary schoolmaster, but if you sail to-night, I have not time to get ready. If that's all your difficulty, returned the Captain, I'll delay till to-morrow night. A day won't make much difference. I'll let Mr. Roscoe." He said, turning to the mate. You know best, replied the mate somewhat sharply. I don't command the schooner. The Captain looked at the officer with an angry frown, and then, turning quickly to Zepa, said, Well, if that time will do, it is settled. You and your son may go with me. And, see here, I've brought a box of figs for your wife, since you won't take anything for the help you gave me this morning. You shall present it yourself, said Zepa with a pleased smile. Hi, Ebony! Hailing the negro, tell Marie to come here. She is in the palm grove. Ebony found his mistress and delivered his message. Madame Zepa was a pretty little fair woman of French extraction. She had been a lady's maid, and having been born and brought up chiefly in England, spoke English fluently, though with a slightly foreign accent derived from her mother. Mrs., said the negro in a low voice and with a mysterious look as he followed her out of the palm grove, Massahim wants to go with schooner. Don't let him go. Why not, Ebony? Because I know Lixon. You don't like the schooner? No, the Captain, the schooner. He was a bad man for certain. Please don't let Massa go. You know I never give Master his orders, returned Madame with a light laugh. Better if you did now and then, muttered the negro in a tone, however, which rendered the advice not very distinct. The fair little woman received the box of figs graciously. The Captain and mate were invited to the abode of Zepa, where they met the native missionary, and soon after returned to their vessel to make preparations for departure. Marie, said Zepa that night as they with their boy, sat down to rest after the labours of the day. I expect to be away about three weeks. With anything of a wind the schooner will land us on Otava in two or three days.  It is the first time I shall have left you for so long since our wedding. You won't be anxious, little woman. I would not be anxious if I were sure you went with good people, returned Marie with a slightly troubled look. But are you sure of the Captain? I am sure of nobody except you, Marie, returned her husband with a smile that contained a dash of amusement in it. And me, Father, said Orlando, assuming an injured look.  That spice of mischief in your composition shakes me at times. However, we will leave that question to another time. Meanwhile, what makes you doubt the Captain, Marie? Ebony seems to doubt him, and I had great faith in Ebony's judgment. So have I, but he is not infallible. We should never get on in life if we gave way to groundless fears, dear wife. Besides, have we not the promise? Lo, I am with you all way. On the following afternoon a fresh breeze sprang up and the peratical-looking schooner, bowing gracefully before it, sailed across the now ruffled lagoon and stood out to sea, while Marie, with the missionary and his wife, and a crowd of natives, stood at the end of the coral wharf, waving farewell to Zepa and his son as long as their figures could be distinguished. After that they continued to gaze at the diminishing vessel until it melted like a little speck at the meeting place of sea and sky. That night an event which had been long-pending was precipitated. Captain Daniel had given way to his fierce temper so often during the voyage and had behaved with such cruel tyranny to his crew that they had resolved to stand it no longer. His harsh conduct to the mate, in particular, who was a favourite with the men, had fostered the spirit of indignation and the mate himself, being a man of no fixed principles, although good-natured enough when not roused, had at last determined to side with the men. He was a man of fierce passions and had been roused by his superior's tyranny and insolence to almost uncontrollable fury, but he had not, at that time, been guilty of absolute insubordination. When the vessel's course had been laid that night, which chanced to be a Friday as some of the crew afterwards remembered, and the cabin lamp had been lighted, the captain sent for the mate who saw by his looks that a storm was brewing. What did you mean, sir? began the captain at once by that insolent reply you made to me on shore yesterday. The young man might have answered temperately if they had been alone, but Zepa was lying on a locker reading and his son was also present and Roscoe knew that the captain meant to put him to shame before them. His spirit fired. Scoundrel, he cried, the measure of your iniquity is filled, you shall no longer command this schooner. Thus far he got when the captain, livid with rage, sprang up to rush at him. Zepa also leaped up to aid in putting down what he clearly perceived was premeditated mutiny, but the mate sprang out of the cabin and shutting the door with a bang locked it. At the same instant the man at the wheel, knowing what had occurred, closed and fastened the cabin skylight. The captain threw himself several times with all his weight against the door, but it opened inwards and could not be forced. There were two square windows in the stern of the schooner, one of which was open. Orlando perceived this, sprang up, clambered through it, gained the deck unperceived and, running down the companion stair, passed all the man, rushed against the cabin door and burst it open. Zepa was endeavouring at the moment to wrench off the lock and was nearly thrown back, recovering he struck fiercely out at those who thronged the dark passage. Oh, father, groaned Orlando as he fell before the blow.  He was felled with a hand-spike as he did so. The crew then rushed into the cabin and the captain was overpowered and bound. Overboard with them all! shouted one of the men. There were some among these villains who, having once given the reins to their rage, were capable of anything. These, ready to act on the diabolical suggestion, attempted to drag Zepa and the captain up the companion ladder, but their great size and weight rendered the effort difficult. Besides, Zepa's consciousness was returning and he struggled powerfully. It was otherwise with poor Orlando. One of the Ruffians easily raised the lad's light frame and bore him to the deck. Next moment a sharp cry and splash were heard. Zepa understood it, for he had seen his son carried away. With a wild shout he burst from those who held him and would certainly have gained the deck and leaped overboard had not a mutineer from behind felled him a second time. When Roscoe heard what had been done he ran furiously on deck, but one glance at the dark sea as the schooner rushed swiftly over it, sufficed to show him that the poor boy's case was hopeless. But Orly's case was not as hopeless as it seemed. The plunge revived him, accustomed to swim for hours at a time in these warm waters he found no difficulty in supporting himself. Of course his progress was aimless, for he could not see any distance around him, but a friend had been raised up for him in that desperate hour. At the moment he had been tossed overboard a sailor with a touch of pity left in his breast had seized a life-boy and thrown it after him. Orlando, after swimming about for a few minutes, struck against this boy by chance, if we may venture to use that word in the circumstances. Seizing the life-preserver with an earnest thank God in his heart, if not on his lips, he clung to it and looked anxiously around. The sight was sufficiently appalling. Thick darkness still brooded on the deep, and nothing was visible save now and then the crest of a breaking wave as it passed close to him or rolling under him deluged his face with spray. CHAPTER II When Antonia Zepa recovered consciousness he found himself lying on a mattress in the schooner's hold, bound, bleeding, and with a dull and dreadful sense of pain at his breast, which at first he could not account for. Air-long, the sudden plush of a wave on the vessel's side, recalled his mind to his bereavement, and a cry, loud, long and terrible, arose from the vessel's hold, which caused even the stoutest and most reckless heart on board to quell. Richard Roscoe, now a pirate-captain, heard it as he sat alone in his cabin, his elbows resting on the table, and his white face buried in his hands. He did not repent, he could not repent, at least, so he said to himself, while the fires, kindled by a first great crime, consumed him. Men do not reach the profoundest depths of wickedness at one bound. The descent is always graduated, for there are successive rounds to the latter of sin. But it is sometimes awfully sudden. When young Roscoe left England he had committed only deeds which men are apt, likely to name the follies of youth. These follies, however, had proved to be terrible leaks through which the streams of corruption had flowed in upon his soul. Still, he had no thought of becoming a reckless or heartless man, and would have laughed to scorn anyone who should have hinted that he would ever become an outlaw and a pirate. But oppression bore heavily on his hasty, ill-disciplined temper, and now the lowest round of the latter had been reached. Even in this extremity he did not utterly give way. He would not become an out-and-out pirate. He would merely go forth as a plunderer to revenge himself on the world which had used him so ill. He would rob, but he would not kill, except of course in self-defense, or when men refused to give up what he demanded. He would temper retributive justice with mercy, and would not suffer injury to women or children. In short he would become a semi-honorable, high-minded sort of pirate, pursuing wealth without bloodshed. True, in the sad case of poor Orlando he had not managed to steer clear of murder. But that deed was done without his orders or knowledge. If his comrades in crime had agreed he would have preferred some sort of smuggling career. But they would not listen to that, so he had at last consented to hoist the black flag. While the wretched youth was endeavouring to delude himself and gather crumbs of comfort from such thoughts as these, the awful cry from the ship's hold again rang out, and as his thoughts reverted to the bereaved father and the fair, light-hearted little mother on Ratinga Island, the deadly pallor that overspread his countenance was intensified. Rising hastily, with what intent he himself hardly knew, he proceeded to the hold. It was broad day at the time, and sufficient light penetrated the place to reveal the figure of Antonia Zepa, approaching on his mattress, with his chin upon his knees, his handsome face disfigured with the blood that had dried upon it, and a wild, fierce light gleaming in his eyes. He did not speak or move when Roscoe entered, and sat down on the head of a cask near him. Zepa, he said, with intense earnestness, as God shall be my judge I did not mean to throw. To do this to your boy it was done without my knowledge. Ha! burst from this stricken father, but nothing more, while he continued to gaze in the pirate captain's face. Indeed it is true, continued Roscoe hurriedly, I had no intention of letting murder be done. I would not even slay the captain, who has used me so ill. I would give my life if I could alter it now, but I cannot. Ha! gasped Zepa again, still keeping his eyes fixed on Roscoe's face. Don't look at me that way, pleaded the pirate, as if I had done the deed. You know I didn't, I swear I didn't. If I had been there I would have saved Orlando at the cost of— He was interrupted at this point by the repetition of the cry which had before reached him in the cabin. But how much more awful did that despairing cry sound near at hand, as it issued full, deep tone and strong, from the chest of the Herculean man? There was a difference in it also this time. It terminated in a wild, fiendish fit of laughter, which caused Roscoe to shrink back, appalled. For now he knew that he confronted a maniac. For some minutes the madman and the pirate stopped gazing at each other in silent horror. Then the latter rose hastily, and turned to leave the hold. As he did so, the madman sprang towards him. But he was checked by the chains which browned him, and fell heavily on the deck. Returning to the cabin, Roscoe went to a locker and took out a case bottle, from which he poured half a tumbler of brandy and drank it. Then he summoned the man who had been appointed his second in command. Redford! he said, assuming by a mighty effort of self-restraint, a calm tone and manner, you'd told me once of a solitary island, lying a long way to the south of the Fiji group. Do you think you could lay our course for it? I'm sure I could, sir. But it is very much out of the way of commerce, and... There's much sandalwood on it, is there not? Ask Roscoe, interrupting him. Aye, sir, plenty of that, and plenty of fierce natives, too. Who will give us a warm reception? I would... So much so better, return the captain, with a cynical smile, again interrupting. We may be able to obtain a load of valuable wood for nothing, and get rid of our cowards at the same time. Go, lay our course for... What's the island's name? I don't know its right name, sir, but we all call it Sugarloaf Island, from the shape of one end of it. That'll do. And hark, ye friend, when I give orders or ask questions in future, don't venture to offer advice or raise objections. Let the crew understand that we must be able to pass for lawful traders, and that a load of sandalwood will answer our purpose well enough. It will be your wisdom also to bear in mind that discipline is as useful on board a free rover as on board a man of war, and there is only one way to maintain it. The pirate captain pointed to a brace of pistols that lay on the table beside him, and said, Go! Redford went, without uttering another word. He was one of those coarse natures which are ever ready to presume and take advantage when there is laxity in discipline, but which are not difficult to subdue by a superior will. He forthwith spread the report that the new captain was a stiffen, a fact which nearly all the men were rather glad than otherwise to hear. For some days after leaving Ratinga a stiff breeze enabled the schooner, which had been renamed by its crew the free rover, to proceed southward rapidly. Then a profound calm succeeded, and for a couple of days the vessel lay almost motionless on the sea. During all this time the poor maniac in her hold lay upon his blood-stained couch, for no one dared, at least no one cared, to approach him. At mealtimes the cook pushed a plate of food within his reach. He usually took no notice of this, until hunger constrained him to devour a little, almost savagely. No word would he speak, but moaned continually without intermission. Save when, in a burst of uncontrollable anguish, he gave vent to the terrible cry which so weighed on the spirits of the men, that they suggested to each other the propriety of throwing the father overboard after the sun. Redford's report of his interview with the Captain, however, prevented the suggestion being acted on. It is possible that the two tremendous blows which Zepa had received during the mutiny may have had something to do with his madness. There can be no doubt that the intense mutual affection which had subsisted between him and his only child, and the sudden and awful manner of that child's end, were of themselves sufficient to account for it. For Orlando had been all that a father could wish—loving, gentle, tender, yet lion-like, and courageous in action, with a powerful frame like that of his father, and a modest, cheerful spirit like that of his mother. No wonder that both parents doded on him as their noblest terrestrial gift from God. And now, thought the crushed man as he crouched on his mattress in the hold, he is gone, snatched away before my eyes, suddenly and forever. It was when this thought recurred again and again that the cry of agony burst from him. But it was invariably succeeded by the thought, no, not forever. Orlando is with the Lord, we shall see him again, Marie and I, when we reach the better land. And then Zepa would laugh lightly, but the laugh would merge again into the bitter cry, as the thought would recur, persistently, gone, gone, forever. Oh, it was pitiful to see this strong man thus reduced, and reasoned dethroned, and terrible were the pangs endured by the pirate chief as he heard and saw. But he had now schooled himself to accept what he called his fate, and was able to maintain a calm, indifferent demeanor before his men. Of course he never for a moment, during all that time, thought of crying to God for mercy, for as long as a man continues to ascribe his sins, and the consequences to fate, he is a rampant and willful, besides being an unphilosophical, rebel against his maker. At last, one afternoon, the peak of Sugarloaf Island was described on the horizon, close to where the sun was descending amid a world of golden clouds. Which side is the best for landing on? asked the captain of his mate. The southern end, sir, which is steep and uninhabited, said Redford. In half an hour they were under the shelter of the cliffs close to a creek, at the inner end of which there was a morsel of flat beach. Beyond this lay a richly wooded piece of land, which seemed to be connected with a gorge among the hills. Lower the boat, said Roscoe, have three men ready, and when I call send them to the hold. He descended as he spoke, and approached Zepa, who looked at him with unmistakable ferocity. You are going on shore, he said, to the poor madman, who seemed neither to comprehend nor care for what he said. Once again, continued Roscoe, after a pause, I tell you that I had no hand in the death of your son. My men, if they had their way, would soon treat you as they treated him. They want to get rid of you.  It is an island, inhabited. I hope the natives will prove friendly to you. I hope you will get well in time. Do you understand what I say? Zepa neither spoke nor moved, but continued to glare at the man whom he evidently regarded as his deadliest foe. A touch of pity seemed to influence the pirate captain, for he added in a softer tone, I would have taken you with me, if it had been possible, and landed you on Ratinga. Perhaps that may yet be done. At any rate I will return to this island. We shall meet again. At last the madman spoke, in a harsh, grating tone.  I will do my best to avoid that fate. Returned Roscoe with a touch of sarcasm. Oh, lads, come down! Three powerful seamen, who had stood at the hatchway, awaiting the summons, descended, and at once laid hold of Zepa. To their surprise he made no resistance. To every one but the captain he behaved like a lamb. Having been placed in the bottom of the boat, alongside, his hands still bound, they shoved off, and Roscoe, taking the tiller, steered for the little creek. The instant the keel touched the land, two of the men jumped out, and hauled the boat ashore. The others assisted Zepa to land. They led him to a grassy bank, and bade him sit down. He obeyed meekly, and sat there gazing at the ground, as if unable to comprehend what was being done. Roscoe remained in the boat while a small box of biscuit was conveyed to the spot and left at the side of Zepa. Then, removing his bonds, the men re-emparked and returned to the schooner, which soon left that part of the island, far astern. While it receded, the pirate captain kept his glass fixed on the wretched man whom he had thus forsaken. He saw that Zepa never once turned his head seaward. But after gazing in a state of abstraction at the ground for some time, Rose ensauntered slowly inland. He did not appear to observe the small supply of provisions left for his use. With his chin sunk upon his breast and his hands clasped behind him, he appeared to wander aimlessly forward until his tall figure was lost to view among the palm groves that fringe the bottom of the mountain. Leaving him there, we shall now turn to poor Orlando, who had been tossed so unceremoniously into the sea. Probably the reader is aware that the water of the southern seas is in many parts so much warmer than that of our northern climates, that people may remain in it for hours without being chilled. Hence, natives of the coral islands are almost amphibious, and our young hero, having spent much of his life among these islands, could swim for the greater part of a day without becoming exhausted. When, therefore, he got hold of the life-preserver, as stated in the last chapter, he clung to it with some degree of confidence. But by degrees the depressing influence of continued darkness began to tell upon him, and he became less and less hopeful of deliverance. He bethought him of the great distance they had sailed from Matinga before the mutiny broke out, and the utter impossibility of his being able to swim back. Then he thought of sharks, and a nervous tendency to drop his legs and yell out affected him. But the thought of his father, and of the probable fate that awaited him, at length overbore all other considerations, and threw the poor boy into such a state of despair that he clung to the life-preserver for a long time in a state of semi-stupor. At last the day dawned faintly in the east, and the glorious sun rose, and Orly's heart was cheered. From early infancy he had been taught to pray, so you may be sure he did not fail at this crisis in his young life. But no answer was returned to his prayer until a great part of the weary day had passed, and he had begun to look forward with dread to the approaching night. As evening advanced exhaustion began to creep over him, and more than once he felt himself slipping from his support under the influence of sleep. This struggle to retain consciousness now became terrible. He fought the battle in many ways. Sometimes he tried to shake himself up by shouting. Then he again had recourse to pray in a loud voice. Once he even attempted to sing, but his heart failed him, and at last he could do nothing but grasp the life-boy, and cling with all the tenacity of despair.  It seemed as if every loving act and look of hers was recalled to his mind. How he longed to clasp her once more in his arms, and kiss her before he died. While these thoughts were gradually taken the form of a hazy dream, he was rudely aroused by someone grasping his hair. Sharks, of course, leapt to his mind, and he struggled round with a wild gurgling shriek, for the grasp partially sank him.  Then was Orly's cry of fear turned into a shout of joy, for in that dark countenance he recognized the face of a friend.  They had been absent on an expedition, and were alike ignorant of the visit of the free rover and the departure of Antonio Zepa. Their astonishment at finding Orlando in such a plight was only equaled by the curiosity to know how he had come there. But they were compelled to exercise patience, for the poor boy, overcome by mingled joy and exhaustion, fell back in a swoon almost as soon as he was hauled out of the water. Need we describe the state into which poor Madame Zepa was thrown when Orlando returned to her, the strange mingling of grief and terrible anxiety about her husband's fate, with grateful joy at the restoration of her son, we think not. Ebony, the faithful and sable servitor of the family, got hold of Orlando as soon as his poor mother would let him go, and hurried him off to a certain nook in the neighbouring palm grove, where he was want to retire at times for meditation. You's quite sure you's fodder was not shooted, he began, in gasping anxiety, when he had forced the boy down on a grassy bank. I think not, replied Orly, with a faint smile, at the negro's eagerness. But you must remember that I was almost unconscious from the blow I received, and scarce knew what was done. But you know here no shooting? persisted Ebony. No, and if any shots had been fired, I feel certain I should have heard and remembered them. Good, then there's a chance you's fodder's alive, for if they know have shooted him at first, they know have to hurt to shoot him afterwards. No, he'd smile away, dare wickedness, they couldn't do it. Orlando was unable to derive much comfort from this sanguine view of the influence of his father's smile. Bright and sweet, though he knew it to be, yet, with the energy of youth, he grasped at any straw of hope, held out to him. All the more that Ebony's views were emphatically backed up by the chiefs Tomeo and Bucci, both of whom asserted that Zepa had never failed in anything he had ever undertaken, and that it was impossible he should fail now. Thus encouraged Orlando returned home to comfort his mother.  What she had heard or read of pirates induced her to believe that mercy must necessarily be entirely banished from their hearts, and her husband, she knew full well, would sooner die than join them. Therefore she argued in her despair, Antonio must have perished. But mother, said Orly, in a soothing tone, you must remember that Roscoe and his men are not regular pirates. I only heard them shout, Hoist the black flag, when they seized me. But that does not prove that they did hoist it, or that Roscoe agreed to do so. They were only mutineers, you see, and not hardened villains.  True, but that was in the hurry of the rising, and without orders from Roscoe, as far as I know. Besides, mother, have you not often told me that God will never forsake his own children? Surely, then, he will not forsake father. No, oh no! The good Lord will never forsake him. He will certainly deliver his soul from sin and death.  It may be so now. Yes, mother, but also it may not be so now. Let us take a hopeful view, and do what we can to find out, to find—to— Poor Orlando broke down here, laid his head on his little mother's shoulder, and wept for his mind had suddenly run itself blank. What was there to find out? What could they do? Nothing. Only nothing, except pray, and they did that fervently. Then Orly went out to consult again with his friends. Alas, there was no other outlet for their grief, save prayer and consultation, for action was, in the circumstances, impossible.  Couldn't sleep a wink, said Ebony one day, some weeks after the return of Orlando, when, according to custom, he and the native missionary and his wife, with the chiefs Tomeo and Bucci, assembled for a consultation in the palm grove. What have you been thinking about? asked Orly. Use fodder, Obe-Course. Of course, repeated the boy, but what have you been thinking about him? Anything new? Not exactly new, returned the negro with a very earnest look, but old thoughts turn to a new direction. Sit down, Tomeo, and I will tell you, and try to forget you's hat, if possible. It's extraordinary good-lookin', almost as much good-lookin' as yourself, so you've got no occasion to be always thinkin' about it. We may remark here that both Tomeo and Bucci understood a little of Ebony's English, though they could not speak a word. The reader will understand, therefore, that when we put words in their mouths we only give a free translation of their language. In like manner Ebony understood a little of the Ratinga-Tongue, but could not speak much of it, and Warunga, who himself spoke uncommonly bad, though fluent English, interpreted when necessary. Well, you must know, said Ebony, that just before our ghost bed last night I heat a little too much supper. You do's that every night, interrupted Bucci with a grin. Ebony ignored the interruption, and continued, So you see, I dream very bad, most dreffled dreams. Yes, well, what I dream was this. I see Massa Zappa, forced by the pirates to walk the plank. What's that? asked Tomeo. Warunga looked at Ebony for an explanation, and then translated. When pirates want to kill people they sometimes tie up their eyes, and bind their hands, and make them walk along a plank sticking over the ship's side, till they fall off the end of it into the sea, where they are left to drown. Tomeo looked at Bucci with a grin and nodded, as though he thought the mode of execution rather a good one. Then, recollecting suddenly, that any mode of slaying innocent men was inconsistent with his character as a convert to Christianity, he cast a glance of awful solemnity at Warunga, and tried to look penitent. Well, hymns walked the plank like a man, continued Ebony. Hymns do'd everything like a man, and wean hymns topple into the sea, hymns give Sitcha, most awful wriggle, that his barns busted. But hymns bury sly was Massa Zappa, amazing sly. I talked him, hymns back, ziff him be dead. Just move a little to look like drowning, and wean hy long way astern, hy slew round, off with Dehenki from his eyes, and larved to himself like one o'clock. Then hy swum to an island, and get ashore, and climb up de rocks, and sit down, and that's all. What? Be that all? asked Warunga. That's all, repeated the negro. I know dream no more art or dat, because I was worked by a fly that had hosed up my nose, and kept bubbling in it, like steam inside of a kittle. Well, Ebony, asked Orlando, what conclusions do you draw from that dream? I didn't draw no conclusions from it, because I don't know what they are. Never have nothing to do with what I don't understand. But what I was tink was dis. In the days of old, some time after Adam and Eve was born, a certain king called Pharaoh, or some sitch name, Warunga there knows all about him, had a dream that Siv and Swine came up. Kine, Ebony, not Swine, interrupted the missionary with a good humor to smile, which is all the same as cows. Well, then, Siv and Fat cows come up out Bubba River, and hold slap at Siv and Thin cows, miserable skinny critters that. All wrong, Ebony, again interrupted Warunga. It's just the other way. The skinny ones went at the fat cows. Well, of course you must be right, returned the negro humbly, though I'd have suspected it was the other way. But I suppose the skinny ones was so hungry that the fat ones hadn't a chance with them. However, it don't matter. What I was going to say was that a good man called Joseph went to Pharaoh and explained all his dream to him. Now, if Joseph could do that, why shouldn't Warunga explain my dream to me? Because I'm not Joseph, Ebony, and you're not Pharaoh, returned Warunga promptly. Tamao and Bucci turned looks of inquiry on Ebony, as if to say, What do you say to that, you nigger?  He seemed not to have viewed the matter in that light. Well, I don't know, he said at last with a deep sigh. I thought I'd get hold of something when I could hold that dream. But I do believe myself that part of it means that Zepa, him's get on an island anyhow. If my dear father got upon anything, it must have been an island, said Orlando sadly. That's true, remarked Mrs. Warunga.  She referred to her brown baby, which she placed with some violence on her knee. It is well to remark here that little Zarifa had been supplied with a coal-scuttle bonnet proportioned to her size, made by her mother out of native straw, and that she did not wear anything else in the way of costume. After Ebony's dream had been thoroughly discussed in all its bearings, and viewed in every possible point of relation to their great sorrow, the council adjourned, as usual, to various duties about the flourishing little village, and Orlando went to lay the result before his mother, who, although she could not believe these deliberations would end in anything practical, found it impossible, nevertheless, to resist the influence of so much faith and strong hopefulness, so that she was somewhat comforted as it were in spite of herself. Time flew by, and upwards of three years elapsed without anything happening at Ratinga Island to throw a single ray of light on the fate of the lost man. During that period, however, much that was interesting and encouraging occurred to comfort the heart of the native missionary and the sorrowing Marie Zepa. In the first place, they received several visits from the mission vessel, with small supplies of such luxuries as sugar, tea, and coffee for the body, and, for the spirit, a few bundles of tracts and books printed in the native tongue, among which, you may be sure, were many copies of the Book of Books, the Blessed Bible. Carpenters and Smith's tools were also brought to them, so that they not only carried on their house building and other operations with greater ease than here too for, but even essayed the building of small boats with considerable success. On the occasion of these visits, supplies of clothing were also left for the use of those converts who could be persuaded to put them on. But in these matters of taste, Warango was not so successful as he had been in spiritual things. After his first disastrous landing, he had found no difficulty in persuading the natives to burn their false gods, and put away their two numerous wives, reserving only one to each man. But when it was suggested that the usual bit of cloth round the loins was not quite sufficient for Christians, and that additional clothing was desirable, they betrayed decided symptoms of a tendency to rebel. Savages in all parts of the world are usually much influenced for good or evil by the example of their chiefs. Those of Ratinga were no exception to the general rule, and the chiefs Tumeo and Bucci did not encourage the putting on of clothes. In the matter of headdress they had indeed given in. But when one day Warango presented Tumeo with a pair of what he called slop-made trousers, and advised him to put them on, slapping his own at the same time, and asserting, we trust truthfully, that they were comfortable, Tumeo looked at them with an air of contempt, and Bucci, who was irreverent, laughed. After much persuasion, however, and being good-natured, he consented to try. He got one leg in easily enough, but when he attempted to put in the other, not being accustomed to the feet, he staggered and had to let the leg down. Raising at a second time he made a successful plunge, got the foot in, lost his balance, made a frantic effort to disengage his foot, and fell to the ground. "'Sit down, my friend, and try it again,' said Warango, encouragingly. Our missionary was of a gentle, loving disposition. His successes were in every case the result of persuasion. He never sought to coerce men. Tumeo, with childlike simplicity, rebuked his own awkwardness, and humbly seated his huge body on a bank for another effort. In this position he got his legs easily into the trousers and drew them on. But when he stood up to complete the operation, it was found that they were very much too small for him, besides which he had put them on with the back to the front. "'Ah, my friend, they do not fit,' said Warango, thinking it unnecessary to refer to the error. I will find a larger pair for you in the store. But try this coat. It is the kind worn by the white men when he goes to see his friends. It will be much easier to put on, I think.' So saying, Warango produced a blouse or two with bright brass buttons. "'No,' said Tumeo, drawing himself up with dignity and putting the garment aside. I do not require it. Has not a coat of skin been given to me? I want no other.' And truly the dark brown skin which fitted so perfectly to his muscular frame, tattooed as it was with many elegant devices, seemed to warrant his rejection of the ill-made surtu. But in Ratinga as elsewhere tastes differ. Bucci's fancy was caught by the brass buttons and he volunteered to put on the coat, although he had looked with scorn on the trousers. Like his brother-chief, however, he experienced considerable difficulty, especially in distinguishing the difference between the left arm-hole and the breast pocket, despite the able assistance of Warango.  Then he stood with arms awkwardly curved and extended, uncertain what to do next. He was by no means properly into the garment and his look of solemn inquiry said as much to the missionary. "'Try another heave, my friend,' said Warango, in a tone of encouragement. Bucci tried, with the result of a mysterious and incomprehensible noise at his back. "'What is that?' he said quickly, with looks of alarm as he endeavored to glance over his shoulder. "'I fear,' replied Warango with some hesitation, that the coat has burst. "'There could be no doubt whatever about it, for a long strip of the chief's back was visible as if a gusset of brown leather had been introduced into the blue coat from the waist to the collar. For a considerable time after this both chiefs declined further experiments in the clothing way, but ultimately Tomeo was induced to wear a striped flannel jersey, and Bucci of his own accord adopted a scarlet flannel petticoat that had been given to his wife. Thus was the ice of conservatism broken in the island of Ratinga, and liberal views prevailed thenceforward in the matter of costume, whether to the advancement of taste and decency remains to this day an open question, as all liberal and conservative questions will probably remain till the crack of doom.' One day to the inexpressible surprise and joy of the islanders a large vessel was seen to pass through the narrow opening in the coral reef and cast anchor in the lagoon. The excitement on Ratinga was great, for vessels rarely had occasion to visit the island, although some of them, probably South Sea whalers, were seen to pass it on the horizon two or three times a year.  But on reaching her they were sternly told to keep off, and the order was silently enforced by the protruding muzzle of a caronade and the forbidding aspect of several armed men who looked over the side. We are men of peace, said Waranga, who is in the foremost canoe, and come as Christian friends. We are men of war, growled one of the men, and don't want no friends Christian or otherwise. We came to offer you hospitality, returned the missionary in a remonstrative tone, and we came to take all the hospitality we want of you without waiting for the offer, retorted the sailor, so you would better go back to where you came from and keep yourselves quiet if you don't want to be blowed out of the water. This was sufficient. With disappointed looks the natives turned their canoes shoreward and slowly paddled home. Depend upon it. This is another pirate, said Orlando, when Waranga reported to him the result of his visit. What would you advise us to do? asked Waranga. Lest the reader should be surprised at this question, we must remind him that Orlando had in the course of his three years grown up almost to manhood, the southern blood in his veins and the nature of the climate in which he had been born and brought up may have had something to do with his early development. But whatever the cause he had at the early age of eighteen become as tall and nearly as powerful as his father had been and so like to him in aspect and manner that the natives began to regard him with much of that respect and love which they had formerly entertained towards Antonio. Of course Orlando had not the sprinkling of gray in his short black curly hair which had characterized the elder Zepa, but he possessed enough of the black beard and moustache in a soft rudimental form to render the resemblance to what his sire had been very ring-markable.  Tomeo and Bucci also had begun to regard him as his father's successor. I would advise you to do nothing, said Orly, in reply to Waranga's question, beyond having all the fighting men of the village prepared for action and being ready at a moment's notice to receive the strangers as friends if they choose to come as such. Well then, Orly, I will be ready for them, as you tell to me, if they come in peace. If not, you must go and carry out your own advice, for you as manager of all secular affairs here.  Evidently the object of the visit was to procure fresh water. Having posted his men in ambush, with orders to act in strict accordance with his signals, Orlando sauntered down alone and unarmed to the place where the cellars were filling their water-casks. Is your captain here? he asked quietly. The men who were seemingly a band of thorough ruffians looked at him in surprise, but went on filling their casks. I am the captain, said one, stepping up to the youth with an insolent air. Indeed, said Orlando, with a look of surprise. Yes, indeed. Let me tell you that we have no time to trouble ourselves with you or yours, but since you've put yourself in our power we make you stay here till we've done watering. I have no intention of leaving you, replied Orly, seating himself on a rock with a pleasant smile. What do you say to kidnap the young buck? suggested one of the men. He might be useful. Perhaps he might be troublesome, remarked Orlando, but I would advise you to finish your work here in peace, for I have a band of three hundred men up in the bush there, not ordinary savages, let me tell you, but men with the fear of God in their hearts and the courage of lions in their breasts, who would think it an easy matter to sweep you all off the face of the earth, they are ready to act at my signal, or at my fall, so it will be your wisdom to behave yourselves. The quiet, almost gentle manner in which this was said, had a powerful effect on the men. Without more words they completed the filling of the casks and then re-embarking pushed off. It was obvious that they acted in haste. When they had gone about a couple of boat lengths from the beach, one of the men rose up with a musket and Orlando distinctly heard him say, Shall I send a bullet into him? If you do the captain will skin you alive, was the reply from one of the other men. The alternative did not seem agreeable to the first speaker, for he laid down his musket and resumed his oar. Soon after the boat reached her the sails of the stranger were spread and she glided slowly out of the lagoon. CHAPTER IV Let us waft ourselves away now over the sea in pursuit of the strange bark which had treated the good people of Ratinga so cavalierly. Richard Roscoe sits in the cabin of the vessel, for it is he who commands her. He has taken her as a prize, and, finding her a good vessel in all respects, had adopted her in preference to the old, paradical-looking schooner. A seaman stands before him. It is impossible, I tell you, says Roscoe, while a troubled expression crosses his features, which have not improved since we saw him upwards of three years ago. The distance between the two islands is so great that it is not probable he traversed it in a canoe, especially when we consider that he did not know the island's name or position, and was raving mad when I put him ashore. That may be so, captain, says the sailor. Nevertheless I see him with my own eyes, and no mistake. Didn't you say he was a man that nobody could mistake? Tall, broad, powerful, handsome, black curly hair, short beard and mustache, with sharp eyes and a pleasant smile? The same, in every particular, and just bordering on middle age, answers the perplexed pirate. Well, as to age I can't say much about that, returns the seaman. He seemed to me more like a young man than a middle-aged one, but he had coolness and cheek enough for a hundred and fifty, or any age you like. Strange, muttered Roscoe to himself, paying no regard to the last observation. I wish that I or Mr. Redford had gone with you, or someone who had seen him the last time we were here, but I didn't want to be recognized. Then checking himself, well, you may go, and send Mr. Redford to me. I cannot account for Zepa turning up in this way, he said, when the mate entered. No more can I, sir. Do all the men agree in saying that he seems to be quite sane? All. Indeed, most of them seem surprised when I ask the question. You see, what with death by sword, shot, and sickness, there's not a man in the ship who ever saw him, except yourself and me. The last of the old hands, you know, went with Captain Daniel when you sent him and the unwilling man away in the old schooner. I have no doubt myself, from what they say, that Zepa has got well again and managed to return home as sound and sane as you or I. If you and I were sane, we should not be here, thought the pirate captain. But he did not give expression to the thought, saved by a contemptuous curl of his lip. While Redford, he said, after a few seconds pause, my chief reason for going to Sugarloaf Island is removed. Nevertheless we shall still go there for a fresh load of sandalwood and other things that will fetch a good price. I fear, sir, return the mate after some hesitation, that the crew will be apt to mutiny if you insist on going there. They are tired of this mixture of trade with free roving, and are anxious to sail in seas where we shall be more likely to fall in with something worth picking up. Stop, Redford. I want to hear no more. The crew shall go where I please, as long as I command them, and you may add that I will guarantee they are being pleased with my present plan. There, don't refer to this subject again. Where did you say the British cruiser was last seen? Bering nor east, sir, haul down on our starboard quarter. I called you at once, but she had changed her course to northwest and we lost sight of her. That will just suit us, said Roscoe, going into his private cabin and shutting the door. Well might the pirate captain be perplexed at that time, for he was surrounded by difficulties, not the least of which was that his men were thoroughly dissatisfied with him, and he with them. He did not find his crew sufficiently ready to go in for lucrative kidnapping of natives when the chance offered, and they did not find their captain sufficiently ferocious and bloodthirsty when prizes came in their way. Nevertheless, through the influence of utter recklessness, gross disregard of death, and an indomitable will, backed by wonderful capacity and aptitude in the use of fist, sword, and pistol, he had up to this time held them in complete subjection. In his heart Roscoe had resolved to quit his comrades at the first favorable opportunity, and, with his intent, had been making for one of the most out-of-the-way islands in the Pacific, there to go and live among the natives, and never more to see the faces of civilized men against whom he had sinned so grievously. His intentions were hastened by the fact that a British man of war on the Vancouver station, hearing of his exploits, had resolved to search for him, and this cruiser did in fact come across his track and gave chase, but being a poor sailor was left behind just before the pirate had reached Ratinga, where, as we have seen, she put in for water. The discovery there made, as he supposed, that Antonia Zepa had recovered his reason and returned home, not only amazed and puzzled Roscoe, but disconcerted part of his plan, which was to find Zepa, whose image had never ceased to trouble his conscience, and, if possible, convey him to the neighborhood of some port whence he could easily return to Ratinga. It now struck him that, since Zepa was no longer on Sugarloaf Island, that spot would be as favorable of one as could be found for his purpose, being far removed from the usual tracks of commerce. He would go there, take to the mountains, as Zepa had done before him, leave his dissatisfied comrades to follow their own devices, and, crossing over to the other side of the island, ingratiate himself as well as he could with the natives, grow beard and mustache, which he had hitherto shaved, and pass himself off as a shipwrecked sailor, should any vessel or cruiser touch there. And shipwrecked I am, body, soul, and spirit, he muttered bitterly, as he sat in his cabin, brooding over the past and future. Leaving him there, and thus we will return to Ratinga, the peaceful inhabitants of which were destined at this time to be tickled with several little shocks of more or less agreeable surprise. One of these shocks was the sudden disappearance of Zarifa, the native missionary's brown baby. It was an insignificant event in itself, and is only mentioned because of its having led indirectly to events of greater importance. Zarifa had by that time passed out of the condition of brown babyhood. She had, to her own intense delight, been promoted to the condition of a decently clad little savage. In addition to the scuttle bonnet, which was not quite so tremulous as that of her mother, she now sported a blue flannel petticoat. This was deemed sufficient for her, the climate being warm. Zarifa was still, however, too young to take care of herself. Right, therefore, was Betty Barunga's alarm when she missed her one day from her little bed where she should have been sleeping. Eboni cried Betsy, turning sharply round and glaring. Zarifa's gone. Quite dead, exclaimed the negro aghast. Not at all dead, said Betsy, but gone, gone out of her bed. That no great misfortune misses, returned Eboni with a sigh of relief.  Zarifa never disbade me in her's life. She's lost. We must seek, seek quick. The sympathetic negro became again anxious, and looked hastily under the chairs and tables for the lost one, while her mother opened and searched a corner cupboard that could not have held a child half her size. Then the pair became more and more distracted as each excited the other, and ran to the various outhouses, turning Zarifa, anxiously and treatingly, despairing. They gathered natives as they ran, hither and thither, searching every nook and corner, and burst at last in an excited crowd into the presence of Wabrunga himself, who was in the act of detailing the history of Joseph to a select class of scholars, varying from seven to seventeen years of age. Oh, Massa, Zarifa's lost, cried Eboni. Wabrunga glanced quickly at his wife. The excessive agitation of her bonnet told its own tale. The missionary threw Joseph overboard directly, proclaimed a holiday, and rushed out of the schoolhouse. No use to go home, Massa, cried Eboni. We search everywhere, Dar, no finder. Has you been to the Piggory? demanded the anxious father, who was well aware of his child's fondness for little squeakers. Oh, yes, Bindao, I roasted out the old sow, for to make sure Zarifa 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 wanted energy. We must organize 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 a minute, though hurry, to 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 Barunga to keep his mother company, as women could not be of much use in such work. No, said Mrs. Barunga, with decision, we will go home and pray. Right, that will be better, said Orlando. You go back with her, Ebony, and fetch my gun. I left it in Barunga'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.  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 Zarifa, safe and well, though somewhat confused by her rude awaking and her mother's weight. You keep apart, Mrs. said, the sympathetic Ebony, looking hastily into the room and passing. We sought him 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, in so much that Betsy's remonstrances were quite unheard. Oh, Mrs. he exclaimed at last, wiping his eyes, I's a gonna bust! Yes, and I'll help you 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 along, you noisy fella, and tell Burunga 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. Oh, when you tink he said, that you hold down to Seyo's prayers on the very top of the baby. 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 his 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'm 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've 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'll take your ship round there you'll 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 around. On the way the captain, Fitzgerald, asked if any suspicious craft had been seen lately, and on hearing that a bark, flying British colours, had put in there only a day or two before, said that he had been sent out in chase of that bark, as she was commanded by a celebrated and rather eccentric pirate named Roscoe. I know him well, said Orlando quickly. He was made 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 two good reasons to remember it. He then related the visit of the paradical-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 Roscoe 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, 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 Roscoe 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 has been seen by one of the mutineers on one of his early voyages, and named Sugarloaf Island from its shape. Well, after leaving the island Roscoe attacked and easily captured a large merchantman, finding it both good and new, he's trans-shipped all that was worth retaining, including arms and guns, into this bark 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 Roscoe and his bark, 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 Sugarloaf 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, return to the Captain.  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 for my mother, but she must not know till we return. That night there was great rejoicing in Ratinga, because of the recovery, if we may so call it, of Zarifa, and the visit of the British man of war.  Well you may, Ebony, if the Captain will let you. He has already agreed to take the missionary and the chief's Tomeo and Bucci, but mind not a whisper of our secret hope to any one. Thus with the approval of Madame Zepa and Betsy Burunga, these five representatives of Ratinga embarked on board the British man of war, and left the island. We left the poor madman, Antonio Zepa, wandering aimlessly up into the mountains of Sugarloaf Island. Whether it was the loss of his beloved Orly 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.  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 to the gentle, almost childish look which had settled down on it. But never again did he give vent to the heartbroken 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 Zepa, love of his wife and child, and the natives of Vertinga, 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 widely out of tune, and swept by 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 forever. 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 fringe with grasses and wild flowers, the cliffs were softened by palmaded leaves and gorgeous shrubs. Wild fruits and 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. There God's work was glorious, but God's image in man was not there, for poor Zepa looked upon it all with total indifference. The schooner was still visible from that lofty outlook, like a snowflake on the sea, but Zepa 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 Zepa looked at it without a gleam of interest, and passed it over, as if it were a group of anthills. Hunger, however, soon claimed his 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 want 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 birthing of his petition was a blessing for 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 clamour 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. Waputa, being a funny fellow, was a favourite with his chief, Angolo, and occupied a position somewhat analogous to the court gesture 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 Angolo, who finally lost patience with him, for he was an old offender. Angolo, though neither a warlike nor ferocious fellow, vowed to cut out the heart and liver of Waputa, and expose them to public a gaze. Disliking publicity after this fashion, the thief fled, proposing 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 Zepa. 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 the 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, Zepa 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 gray 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 Waputa, 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 perfallow said Zepa in English, laying his hand on the native's head and patting it. Do not fear, I will not harm you. Of course Waputa 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, Zepa took Waputa 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. Waputa ate from fear of offending his host rather than hunger. When he had finished, Zepa 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 Zepa'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 Waputa tried to enter into conversation with his host, but Zepa 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 Zepa 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 Zepa made it very apparent that he did not wish for his visitor's society during the daytime, and the visitor had the sense to let him wander forth alone. Waputa was mistaken when he calculated on the cooling of Angulus' wrath. That angry chief, bent on the fulfilment of his anatomical vow, set forth with a small party of picked men to explore the sugarloaf in quest of the runaway. He found him one day gathering fruits for Zepa's supper, for Waputa had already become a sort of attached Friday to this unfortunate crucible. Unbeholding 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, my enemy, growled on Golu, of course in the native tongue. Mercy exclaimed Waputa, in piteous tone, mercy no longer dwells in my breast, returned the chief. Improved of the truth of this assertion, he ordered his men to seize and bind Waputa, 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, Zepa 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 rang among the cliffs, it seemed to startle the maniac out of the depressing lethargy under which he had labored so long. He sprang up and listened, with dilated eyes and partly opened mouth. Again and again the shrieks rang out, and were echoed from cliff to cliff. As a tiger spounced to the rescue of her young, so sprang Zepa 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 Waputa's breast. Zepa gave vent to a tremendous roar, which terminated in a wild laugh. Then he wrenched a massive 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 massive rock with another wild laugh and next moment stood in the midst of the savage group. These men were no cowards. They were on gulus, picked warriors, and would have scorned to fly before a single foe, however large or fierce. But when they saw plainly that Zepa was a white man and a maniac, they turned, with one consent, and fled as a visitant from the nether realms had assailed them. Zepa 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 lissously away with his head drooped as of old. You may be sure that Waputa 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 Zepa's cave and laid himself quietly down beside his friend. The inherent tendency of Zepa'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 leadened 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, Zepa wandered down in the direction of the native settlement. That same day, on Gulu, 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 soothed to say, there was no thought of escape in the breast of either. On Gulu, being a brave savage, was ashamed of having given away 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 Zepa, 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 on Gulu assumed an attitude of defense. Suddenly a beaming smile overspread Zepa's face. We have already said that his smile had fascination in it. The effect on the savage was to paralyze him for the moment. Zepa advanced, took on Gulu'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 Seath islanders. On Gulu returned the rub, and dropped his club. He was obviously glad of this peaceful termination to the recontra. Then for the first time it occurred to Zepa to use the language of Ratinga. The chief evidently understood it. "'God is love,' said Zepa solemnly, pointing upward with his finger. "'God forgives. You will forgive, and so be like God.' The chief was completely overawed by Zepa's grandeur and gentleness. He had never before seen the two qualities combined. Zepa took him by the hand, as he had previously taken Waputa, 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 Waputa 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 Waputa was transfixed, or petrified, on beholding Angulu, 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 Angulu and Waputa were thrown when Zepa, having brought them close to each other, grasped them firmly by their necks and rubbed their noses forcibly together. There was no resisting the smah with which this was done. 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 Angulu was not sorry for the reconciliation, because Waputa had become necessary to him both in counsel and during relaxation, and of late he had come to feel low spirited for want of his humorist. 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. This day Angulu took occasion to give him the slip and return to his village. Zepa cared nothing for that. He did not even ask Waputa what had become of him. At this time a new idea occurred to Waputa, who had been ordered by his chief to induce Zepa to visit the native village. It struck him that as he had been led so he might lead. Therefore one morning he waited until Zepa had finished breakfast, and when he rose, as was his want, to go off for the day, Waputa took him gently by the hand and led him forth. To his surprise and comfort, for he had strong misgivings, Zepa submitted. He did not seem to think that the act was peculiar. Waputa let him quietly and slowly down the mountain side, and so by degrees right into the native village, where Angulu was, of course, prepared to meet and welcome him. He was received by the headman of the tribe with deep respect and conducted to a tent which had been prepared for him, where Waputa, who had constituted himself his servant or lieutenant, made him comfortable for the night. Zepa 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 Sugarloaf Island there was a tribe that had, for years past, been at war with the tribe into whose hands Zepa had thus fallen, and not long after the events just narrated, it chanced that the Ritura tribe, as it was named, resolved to have another brush with their old enemies, the subjects of Angulu. What they did, and how they did it, shall be seen in another chapter. Chapter 6 of The Madman and the Pirate by R. M. Ballantyne After Zepa had remained a short time in his new quarters, he began to take an interest in the children of his savage friends. At first the mothers of the village were alarmed when they saw their little ones in his strong arms, playing with his beard, which had by that time grew long and shaggy, as well as gray, like his curly locks. But soon perceiving that the children had nothing to fear from the strange white man, they gave themselves no further concern on the subject. If Zepa had been in his right mind when the savages first found him, it is probable that they would have hunted him down and slain him without remorse, for it is well known that many of the South Sea Islanders regard shipwrecked persons as victims who have no claim on their hospitality, but are a sort of windfall to be killed and devoured. Their treatment of Zepa, therefore, must have been owing to some feeling of respect or awe inspired by his obvious insanity, coupled no doubt with his commanding size and presence, as well as his singular conduct on the occasion of their first meeting. Whatever the reason, it is certain that the natives amongst whom the poor madman slot had thus been cast, treated him in an exceptional manner, and with an amount of respect that almost amounted to reverence. At first Angalu made a slight attempt to ascertain where his guest had come from, at what was his previous history. But as Zepa always met such inquiries with one of his sweetest smiles, and with no verbal reply whatever, the chief felt unusually perplexed, dropped a subject, and began to regard the madman as a species of demigod. Of course, no one else dared to question him, so that ever afterwards he remained in the eyes of his entertainers a great mystery. By degrees, Zepa became intimately acquainted with the little boys and girls of the village, and took much pleasure in watching them at play. They soon found out that he was fond of them, and might have become rather troublesome in their attentions to him if he had been a busy man. But as he had nothing whatever to do except follow his own inclinations, and as his inclinations led him to sympathize with childhood, he was never ruffled by their familiarities or by their world doings around his tent. He even suffered a very few of the smallest of the brown troop to take liberties with him and pull his beard. One brown might in particular, a female baby of the smallest conceivable dimensions and the wildest possible spirit, became an immense favorite with him. Her name was Lippi, or some sound which that combination of letters produces. Lippi's mother, a large-eyed, good-looking young woman with insufficient clothing, at least in the estimate of a ratting guide, was transfixed the first time she saw her little one practice her familiarities on their demigod.  She sprang just as her mother cut sight of her and was on his broad chest in a moment. The mother was, as we have said, transfixed with alarm. The human kitten seized Zepa by the beard and laughed immoderately. Zepa replied with a gentle smile. He never laughed out now and remained quite still. Having finished her laugh, Lippi drew herself forward until she was close to her human dog's chin. At this point, her mother would have rushed to the rescue, but she was still paralyzed. Having reached the chin, Lippi became more audacious, stretched forth one of her little hands, and seized Zepa's nose. Still he did not move, but when the little brown kitten proceeded to thrust a thumb into one of his eyes, he roused himself, seized the child in his powerful hands, and raised her high above his head, then lowering her until her little mouth was within reach, he kissed her. This sufficed to relieve the mother's fears, so she retired quietly from the scene. She was not so easily quieted, however, some weeks later, when she beheld Zepa after amusing himself one day with Lippi for half an hour, start up, place her on his shoulder, and stalk off towards the mountains. He absented himself for three days on that occasion. Lippi's mother at first became anxious, then terrified, then desperate. She roused Angalu to such a pitch that he at last called to counsel of war. Some of the head men were for immediate pursuit of the madman. Others were of opinion that the little brat was not worth so much trouble. A few wretches even expressed the opinion that they were well rid of her, there being already too many female babies in the community. While the conflict of opinions was at its fiercest, Zepa, stalked into the middle of them with Lippi on his shoulder, poked around with a benign expression of countenance, delivered the child to her mother, and went off to his hut without uttering a word. The council immediately dissolved itself and retired, humiliated. It was during one of Zepa's occasional absences that the Rattara tribe of natives, as before mentioned, decided to have another brush with the mountain men as they styled their foes. We are not sure that the word used in the Rattara language was the exact counterpart of the words brush and scrimmage in ours, but meant the same thing, namely the cutting of a number of throats, or the battering in of a number of human skulls unnecessarily. Of course, there was a kasus beli. There always is among savage, as well as civilized nations, and it is a curious coincidence that the reasons given for the necessity of war are about as comprehensible among the civilized as the savage. Of course, among civilized nations, these reasons for war are said to be always good. Christians, you know, could not kill each other without good reasons, but is it not strange that among educated people the reasons given for going to war are often very much the reverse of clear? The origin of the war, which was about to be revived besides being involved in the mists of antiquity, was somewhat shrouded in the clouds of confusion. Cleared of these clouds and delivered from these mists, it would have been obviously a just, nay, even a holy war, so both parties said, for they both wanted to fight. Unfortunately, no living man could clear away the clouds or mists. Nevertheless, as they all saw plainly the exceeding righteousness of the war, they could not in honor, in justice, or in common sense, do otherwise than go at it. At some remote period of antiquity, probably soon after the dispersion at Babel, it was said that the mountain men had said to the Raterans that it had been reported to them that a rumor had gone abroad that they, the men of Ratera, were casting covetous eyes on the summit of their mountain. The Raterans replied that it had never entered into their heads, either to covet or to look at the summit of their mountain, but that if they had any doubts on the subject, they might send over a deputation to meet a Ratera deputation and hold a paliver to clear the matter up. The deputations were sent. They met. They palivered for about half an hour with an error of sententious sincerity. Then the leading chief of the mountaineer deputation cracked the crown of the leading chief of the Rateran deputation, and the two deputations spent the remainder of that day in fighting. Reinforcements came up on both sides. The skirmish became a pitched battle. Blood was shed lavishly. Heads were broken beyond repair, and women, coming to the aid of the men with the baskets of stones, were slain in considerable numbers, as well as little children who had an inconvenient but not uncommon habit of getting in the way of the combatants. At last the Raterans were driven into the impregnable swamps that bordered part of their country. Their villages and crops were burned, and those of their women and children who had not escaped to the swamps were carried into slavery, while the age of both sexes were slaughtered in cold blood. It was a complete victory. We are inclined to think that the mountain men called it a glorious victory, judging from the world's history they probably did, and the mountain women ever afterwards were wont to tell their little ones of the prowess of their forefathers, of the skulls battered in and other deeds of heroism done, and that just and reasonable war. As centuries rolled on, the old story came to be repeated again and over again, with slight variations to suit the varying ages. In particular, it came to be well understood and asserted that that uncomfortable desire of the Raterans to take possession of the mountaintop was growing apace, and had to be jealously watched and curbed. In one of the centuries, we are not sure which, the Rateran savages made some advances into their swampy grounds, and began to improve them. This region lay very remote from the mountain men's villages, but as it approached the mountain base in a roundabout manner, and as the mountaintops could be distinctly seen from the region, although well-nigh impassable swamps still lay between the reclaimed lands in the mountain base, these advances were regarded as another casus beli, and another war was waged with practically the same results, damaged to everybody concerned and good to no one. Thus was the game kept up until the chief Angalu began to strut his little hour upon the stage of time. There are always men, savage as well as civilized in every region and age, who march in advance of their fellows, either because of intellectual capacity or moral rectitude or both. Angalu was one of these. He did not believe in war at any price. He thought it was probable that God lived in a state of peace, and argued that what was best for the creator must naturally be best for the creature. He therefore tried to introduce a peace policy into Sugarloaf Island. His efforts were not successful. The war party was too strong for him. At last he felt constrained to give in to the force of public opinion and agreed to hold an unarmed paliver with the men of Rattera. The war at any price party would have preferred an armed paliver, but they were overruled. The Ratterans chanced at this time to be in somewhat depressed circumstances, owing to a sickness that had carried off many of their best warriors and left their lands partly waste so that their finances, if we may so express it, were in a bad condition. Now is our chance, now or never, fought for war party, and pushed matters to extremity. On the day appointed for the paliver, one of the most pugnacious of the mountain men got leave to open the deliberations.  You're another, reported his foe. Having disposed of these preliminary compliments, the speakers paused, glared, and breathed hard. You and your greedy forefathers, resumed the mountain men, have always kept your false eyes on our mountaintop, and you were looking at it still. That's a lie, returned the man of Rattera with savage simplicity. Had they been armed, it is probable the paliver would have closed abruptly at this point. Seeing that the relations between the parties were strained almost to the breaking point, one of the less warlike among the Rattera chiefs caused his own spokesmen by the nape of the neck and hurled him back among his comrades. We have not, o valiant men of the mountain, he said in a gentle tone, looked upon your hilltops with desire. We only wish to improve our swamps, increase our sweet potato grounds, and live at peace. That is not true, reported the firing mountain man, and we must have a promise from you that you will let the swamps alone, and not advance one step nearer to the top of our mountain. But the swamps are not yours, objected the other. No matter, they are not yours. They are neutral ground and must not be touched. Well, we will not touch them, said the peaceful Rattera. This reply disconcerted the firing mountaineer, for he was anxious to fight. But that is not enough, he resumed, as a bread idea struck him. You must promise not even to look at our mountain. The man of Rattera, reflecting how ill-able his tribe was to go to war just then, agreed not even to look at the mountain. More than that, resumed the mountaineer, you must not even wink at it. We will not even wink at it, replied his foe. Still further, continued the more like mountaineer in sheer desperation, you may think of it. We will not think of it, answered the accommodating man of Rattera. Bah! You may go, you peace-loving cowards, said the disappointed mountaineer, turning on his heel in bidder disappointment. Yes, you may go in peace, said Angalu with sententious gravity, waving his band grandly to the retiring man of Rattera, and walking off with an error of profound solemnity, though he could not help laughing in his arms somewhere, as he had not a chance to be in peace. They went away with bitter animosity in their hearts, and some of them resolved to have a brush with their old foes, come what might. Savages do not, as a rule, go through the formality of declaring war by withdrawing ambassadors. They are much more prone to begin war with that deceptive act styled a surprise. Smarting under the taunts of their foes, the Rattera resolved to make a match for them. Suspecting their intentions, he stalked them when the shades of evening fell, heard all their plans, while concealed among the long grass, and then, hastening home, collected his warriors. A chance that Zepa had returned from one of his rambles at the time, and was lying in his hut. Will you come out with us and fight, demanded Angalu, entering abruptly. The mention of fighting seemed to stir some chord which jarred in Zepa's mind, for he shook his head It is possible that if the savage had explained how matters stood, the poor madman might have consented, but the chief had not the time, perhaps not the will for that. Turning quickly round therefore, he went off as abruptly as he had entered. Zepa cared nothing for that. Indeed, he soon forgot the circumstance and, feeling tired, lay down to sleep. Meanwhile, Angalu marched away with the body of Pikmen to station himself in a narrow pass through which he knew that the invading foe he was hugely disgusted to be less compelled to fight after he had congratulated himself on having brought the recent paliver to so pitiful an issue. He resolved, however, only to give his enemies a serious fright, for he knew full well that if blood should flow, the old war spirit would return, and the ancient suspicion and hatred would be revived and intensified. Arranging his plans, therefore, with this end in view, he resolved to take that peaceful, though thieving, humorous Waputa into his secret councils. Summoning him, after the ambush had been properly arranged in the men-place, he said, come here, you villain. Waputa knew that Angalu was not displeased with him for the nature of his address. He therefore followed, without anxiety, to a retired spot among the bush-covered rocks. You can screech, Waputa. Yes, chief, entered the ex-thief in some surprise, I can screech like a parrot at the size of a whale. That will do. Waputa thought that this was pretty strong for a man who had just declared his hatred of bloodshed, but he said nothing. You know the rock, something in shape like your own nose at the foot of this pass, said Angalu. I know it, chief. Well, go there, hide yourself, and get ready for a screech. When you see the rock, something in shape like your own nose at the foot of this pass, said Angalu, I know it, chief. Well, go there, hide yourself, and get ready for a screech. When you see the Rattara dogs come inside, give it out, once, only once, and if you don't screech well, I'll teach you how to do it better afterwards. Wait then till you hear and see me and my men come rushing down the track, and then screech a second time. Only once, mind, but let it be long and strong.  Now away. Like a bolt he gathered himself up for a supreme effort. The head of the enemies column appeared in view. Then there burst, as if from the bosom of silent night a yell such as no earthly parrot ever uttered or wail conceived. The very blood in the veins of all stood still. Their limbs refused to move. Away over the rolling plane went the horde sound till it gained the mountain where, after being buffeted from cliff to crag, it finally died out far up A device of the Rattara dogs to frighten us growled Angalu to those nearest him come, follow me and remember not a sound till I shout. The whole party sprang up and followed their chief at full gallop down the pass. The still petrified Rattarans heard the sound of rushing feet. When Waputa saw the dark forms of his comrades appear, he filled his chest and opened his mouth and the awful squirrel arose once again as if to pollute the roared. With mingled surprise and ferocity, his men took up the strain as they rushed toward the now dimly visible foe. Savage nerves could stand no more. The Rattarans turned and fled as one man. They descended the pass as they had never before descended it. They coursed over the plains like greyhounds. They passed through their own villages like a whirlwind and drew most of the inhabitants after them like the living of their own dismal swamps.