Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Madman and the Pirate
“Always returning good for evil, Zeppa,” said Rosco, in a more cheerful voice. “I think it is this tremendous weakness that crushes my spirits, but come—I’ll try to ‘cheer up,’ as you advise.”
“Dat’s right massa!” cried Ebony, in an encouraging tone; “an’ jus’ look at the glipperin’ steepil. He’ll do yous heart good—somet’ing like de fire in de wilderness to de Jipshins—”
“To the Israelites you mean,” said Orley.
“Ah, yis—de Izlrights, to be sure. I mis-remembered. Ho! look; dar’s de house-tops now; an’ the pine grove whar’ we was use to hold palaver ’bout you, Massa, arter you was lost; an’—yis—dat’s de house—yous own house. You see de wife lookin’ out o’ winder bery soon. I knows it by de pig-sty close ’longside whar’ de big grumper sow libs, dat Ziffa’s so fond o’ playin’ wid. Ho! Lippy, come here, you little naked ting,” (he caught up the child an’ sat her on his broad shoulder). “You see de small leetil house. Dat’s it. Dat’s whar’ Ziffa lubs to play, but she’ll hab you to play wid soon, an’ den she’ll forsake de ole sow. Ho! but I forgit—you no understan’ English.”
Hereupon Ebony began to translate his information as he best could into the language of the little creature, in which effort he was not very successful, being an indifferent linguist.
Meanwhile the vessel gradually neared the island, stood into the lagoon, and, finally, dropped anchor. A boat was at once lowered and made for the shore.
And oh! how intensely and intently did those in the boat and those on the shore gaze at each other as the space between them diminished!
“They not look like enemies,” said Betsy in subdued tones.
“And I don’t think they are armed,” returned Marie, with palpitating heart, “but I cannot yet make out the faces—only, they seem to be white, some of them.”
“Yis, an’ some of ’em’s brown.”
Thus—on the shore. In the boat:—
“Now den, massa, you sees her—an’ ha! ha! dar’s Betsy. I’d know her ’mong a t’ousind. You sees de bonnit—tumblin’ about like a jollyboat in a high sea; an’ Ziffa too wid de leetil bonnit, all de same shape, kin you no’ see her?”
Zeppa protested, rather anxiously, that he could not see them, and no wonder, for just then his eyes were blinded by tears which no amount of wiping sufficed to clear away.
At that moment a shriek was heard on shore, and Betsy was seen to spring, we are afraid to say how many feet, into the air.
“Dar’, she’s reco’nised us now!” exclaimed Ebony with delight; and it was evident that he was right for Betsy continued to caper upon the sands in a manner that could only be the result of joy or insanity, while the coal-scuttle beat tempestuously about her head like an enraged balloon.
Another moment and a signal from the chief brought the ambushed Christian warriors pouring down to the shore to see the long-lost and loved ones reunited, while Ebony ran about in a state of frantic excitement, weeping copiously, and embracing every one who came in his way.
But who shall describe the agony of disappointment endured by poor Betsy when she found that Waroonga was not among them? the droop of the spirits, the collapse of the coal-scuttle! Language is impotent. We leave it to imagination, merely remarking that she soon recovered on the faith of the happiness which was yet in store for her.
Chapter Fifteen
And now, once again, we find ourselves in the palm-grove of Ratinga Island. It is a fine autumn afternoon. The air is still as regards motion, but thrilling with the melody of merry human voices as the natives labour in the fields, and alive with the twittering of birds as they make love, quarrel, and make it up again in the bushes. Now and then a hilarious laugh bursts from a group of children, or a hymn rises from some grateful heart, for as yet there is no secular music in Ratinga!
In the lagoon lies a man-of-war, its sails neatly furled, and its trim rigging, dark hull, and taper spars, perfectly reproduced in the clear water.
As the sun sank lower towards the west, our friend Ebony might have been seen slowly climbing the side of one of the neighbouring hills with Richard Rosco, the ex-pirate, on his back.
“Set me down now, my friend,” said Rosco, “you are far too good to me; and let me know what it is you have to say to me. You have quite roused my curiosity by your nods and mysterious manner. Out with it now, whatever it is.”
The negro had placed Rosco in such a position on a ledge of rock that he could see the lagoon and the ship at anchor.
The ex-pirate had by that time recovered some of his former strength, and, although there rested on his countenance an air of profound sadness, there mingled with it a hue of returning health, which none who saw him land had expected to see again. But the care of gentle hands and the power of gladsome emotions had wrought miraculously on the man, body and soul.
“I’s heerd massa an’ Cappin Fizzroy talkin’ about you,” said the negro, crossing his arms on his chest and regarding his questioner with a somewhat quizzical expression.
“Ha! I thought so. I am wanted, eh?”
“Well, yis, you’s wanted, but you’s not getted yet—so far as I knows.”
“Ah! Ebony,” returned Rosco, shaking his head, “I have long expected it, and now I am prepared to meet my deserved fate like a man—I may humbly say, a Christian man, thanks to God the Saviour and Zeppa the instrument. But, tell me, what did the commander of the man-of-war say?”
“What did he say? Well, I’s tell you. Fust he hoed into massa’s house an’ shook hands with missis, also wid Missis Waroonga wot happined to be wid her, an’ hims so frindly dat he nigh shookt de bonnit off her head. Den dey talk ’bout good many t’ings, an’ after a while de cappin turn full on massa, an say,—
“‘I’s told Missr Zeppa dat you’s got dat willain Rosco de pirit here.’
“Ho! you should hab see poor massa’s face how it grow long, I most t’ink it also grow a leetil pale, an’ missis she give a squeak what she couldn’t help, an’ Betsy she giv’ a groan an’ jump up, slap on hers bonnit, back to de front, an’ begin to clar out, but de cappin jump up an’ stop her. ‘Many apologies,’ ses de hipperkrit ‘for stoppin’ a lady, but I don’t want any alarm given. You know dat de pirit’s life am forfitid to his country, so ob course you’ll gib him up.’”
“And what said Zeppa to that?” asked Rosco eagerly.
“I’s just a-goin’ to tell you, massa. You see I’s in de back kishen at de time an’ hear ebery word. ‘Well,’ ses massa, awful slow an’ unwillin’ like, ‘I cannot deny that Rosco is in the island, but I do assure you, sir, that he is quite unable to do any furder mischief to any one, for—an massa stop all of a suddint.’
“‘Well,’ ses de cappin, ‘why you not go on?’
“‘Has you a description of him?’ he asked.
“‘Oh! yes,’ ses de cappin, drawin’ out a paper an’ readin’ it. De bery ting, as like you it was as two pease, even to de small mole on side ob you’s nose, but it say not’ing ’bout you’s feet. Clarly he nebber heerd ob dat an’ massa he notice dat, seems to me, for he ses, ‘Well, Cappin Fizzerald, it may be your duty to seize dis pirit and deliber him up to justice, but it’s no duty ob mine to help you.’
“‘Oh! as to dat,’ ses de cappin, ‘I’ll easily find him widout your assistance. I have a party of men with me, and no one knows or even suspects de reason ob my visit. But all of you who now hear me mus’ promise not to say a word about this matter till my search is over. I believe you to be an honourable Christian man, Zeppa, who cannot break his word; may these ladies be relied on?’
“‘Dey may,’ ses massa, in a voice ob woe dat a’most made me cry. So w’en I hear dat I tink’s to myself, ‘oh! you British hipperkrit, you’s not so clebber as you t’inks, for Ebony’s got to wind’ard ob you,’ an’ wid dat I slips out ob do back winder an’ run to you’s cottage, an’ ask if you’d like to have a ride on my back as usual, an’ you say yis, an’—now you’s here, an’ I dessay de cappin’s lookin’ for you.”
“It is very kind of you, Ebony,” said Rosco, with a deep sigh and a shake of the head, “very kind, both of you and Zeppa, but your efforts cannot now avail me. Just consider. If the description of me possessed by Captain Fitzgerald is as faithful and minute as you say, the mere absence of my feet could not deceive him. Besides, when I am found, if the commander of the man-of-war asks me my name I will not deny it, I will give myself up.”
“But if you do dey will hang you!” said Ebony in a somewhat exasperated tone.
“Even so. It is my fate—and deserved.”
“But it would be murder to hang a innercent man what’s bin reformed, an’ don’t mean for to do no more mischief—not on’y so, but can’t!”
“I fear you won’t get the broken law to look at it in that light, Ebony.”
“Broken law! what does I care for de broken law? But tell me, massa, hab you make up you’s mind to gib youself up?”
“I have,” returned Rosco sadly.
“Quite sure an’ sartin’?”
“Quite,” returned Rosco, with a faint smile at the poor negro’s persistency.
“Well, den, you come an’ hab a last ride on my back. Surely you no kin refuse so small a favour to dis yar black hoss w’ats carried you so of in, afore you die!”
“Of course not, my poor fellow! but to what purpose—of what use will it be to delay matters? It will only prolong the captain’s search needlessly.”
“Oh! nebber mind. Der’s good lot o’ huts in de place to keep de hipperkrit goin’. Plenty ob time for a last leetil ride. Besides, I want you to see a place I diskiver not long ago—most koorious place—you nebber see.”
“Come along, then,” said Rosco, thinking it right to humour one who had been more like a brother than a servant to him during his long illness, “stoop down. Now, then, heave!”
In a twinkling Rosco was on the back of his “black horse,” which carried him a considerable distance in among the hills.
“Ah! Ebony,” said the rider at last, “I feel sure you are deceiving me—that you hope to conceal me here, but it is of no use, I tell you, for I won’t remain concealed.”
“No, massa, I not deceive you. I bring you here to show you de stronary place I hab diskiver, an ax you what you t’ink ob him.”
“Well, show it me quickly, and then let us hasten home.”
Without replying, the negro clambered up a somewhat steep and rugged path which brought them to the base of a low precipice which was partially fringed with bushes. Pushing one of these aside, he entered a small cavern not much larger than a sentry-box, which seemed to have no outlet; but Ebony, placing his right foot on a projection of rock just large enough to receive it, raised himself upwards so as to place his left foot on another projection, which enabled him to get on what appeared to be a shelf of rock. Rising up, he entered another cavern.
“A strange place truly, but very dark,” said Rosco; “does it extend far?”
“You’ll see, jus’ now,” muttered the negro, obtaining a light by means of flint and steel, with which he kindled a torch. “You see I’s bin ’splorin’ here before an’ got t’ings ready.”
So saying, he carried Rosco through several winding passages until he gained a cavern so large and high, that the torch was unable to reveal either its extent or its roof.
“Wonderful! why did you not tell us of this place before, Ebony?”
“’Cause I on’y just diskiver him, ’bout a week past. I t’ink him splendid place for hide our wimen an childers in, if we’s iver ’tacked by savages. See, I even make some few preparations—got straw in de corner for lie on—soon git meat an’ drink if him’s required.”
“Very suitable indeed, but if you have brought me here to hide, as I still suspect, my poor fellow, you have troubled yourself in vain, for my mind is made up.”
“Dat’s berry sad, massa, berry sad,” returned Ebony, with a deep sigh, “but you no object sit on de straw for a bit an’ let me rest. Dere now. You’s growin’ heavier every day, massa. I stick de torch here for light. Look, here you see I hab a few t’ings. Dis is one bit ob rope wid a loop on him.”
“And what may that be for?” asked Rosco, with some curiosity.
“For tie up our enemies when we’s catch dem. Dis way, you understan’.”
As he spoke, Ebony passed the loop over Rosco’s shoulders and drew it tight so as to render his arms powerless, and before the latter realised what he was about his legs were also securely bound.
“Surely you do not mean to keep me here by force!” cried Rosco angrily.
“I’s much afraid, massa, dat’s zactly what I mean!”
“Come, come, Ebony, you have carried this jest far enough. Unbind me!”
“Berry sorry to disoblige you, massa, but dat’s impossible just now.”
“I command you, sir, to undo this rope!” cried Rosco fiercely.
“Dere’s a good deal ob de ole ring about dat, sar, but you’s not a pirit cappen now, an’ I ain’t one ob de pirit crew.”
Rosco saw at once the absurdity of giving way to anger, and restrained himself.
“But you cannot restrain my voice, Ebony,” he continued, “and I promise you that I will shout till I am heard.”
“Shout away, massa, much as you please. Bu’st you’s lungs if you like, for you’s in de bow’ls ob de hill here.”
Rosco felt that he was in the negro’s powers and remained silent.
“I’s berry sorry to leave you tied up,” said Ebony, rising to quit the place, “but when men is foolish like leetil boys, dey must be treat de same. De straw will keep you comf’rable. I daren’t leave de torch, but I’ll soon send you food by a sure messenger, and come back myself soon as iver I can.”
“Stay, Ebony, I’m at your mercy, and as no good can come of my remaining bound, I must give in. Will you unbind me if I promise to remain quiet?”
“Wid pleasure,” said the negro cheerfully, as his glistening teeth showed themselves. “You promise to wait here till I come for you?”
“I promise.”
“An’ you promise not to shout?”
“I do.”
In a moment the rope was cast off, and Rosco was free. Then Ebony, bidding him keep up his heart, glided out of the cavern and left him in profound darkness.
Captain Fitzgerald searched the island high and low, far and wide, without success, being guided during the search chiefly by Ebony.
That wily negro, on returning to the village, found that the search had already begun. The captain had taken care that no one, save those to whom he had already spoken, should know what or who he was searching for, so that the pirate might not be prematurely alarmed. Great, therefore, was his surprise when he was accosted by the negro, and asked in a mysterious manner to step aside with him out of ear-shot of the sailors who assisted him.
“What have you got to say to me, my man?” he asked, when they had gone a few yards into the palm-grove.
“You’s lookin’ for the pirit!” said Ebony in a hoarse whisper, and with a superhumanly intelligent gaze.
“Why, how came you to know that?” asked the captain, somewhat perplexed and thrown off his guard.
“Ho! ho!” laughed Ebony in a subdued voice, “how I comes to know dat, eh? I come to knows many t’ings by putting dis an’ dat togider. You’s cappen ob man-ob-war. Well, you no comes here for notting. Well, Rosco de pirit, de horroble scoundril, hims lib here. Ob course you come for look for him. Hofficers ob de Brish navy got notting else to do but kotch an’ hang sitch varmints. Eh? I’s right?”
“Well, no,” returned Captain Fitzgerald, laughing, “not altogether right as to the duties of officers of the British navy. However, you’re right as to my object, and I see that this pirate is no friend of yours.”
“No friend, oh! no—not at all. Him’s far more nor dat. I lub him as a brudder,” said the negro with intense energy.
Captain Fitzgerald laughed again, for he supposed that the negro spoke ironically, and Ebony extended his thick lips from ear to ear because he foresaw and intended that the captain would fall into that mistake.
“Now you lose no time in sarch for him,” said Ebony, “an’ dis yar nigger will show you de way.”
“Do, my fine fellow, and when we find him, I’ll not forget your services.”
“You’s berry good, a’most too good,” said Ebony, with an affectionate look at his new employer.
So, as we have said, the village and island were searched high and low without success. At last, while the searching party was standing, baffled, on the shore farthest from the village, Captain Fitzgerald stopped abruptly, and looking Zeppa in the face, exclaimed, “Strange, is it not? and the island so small, comparatively.”
“Quite unaccountable,” answered Zeppa, who, with his son, had at last joined in the search out of sheer anxiety as to Rosco’s fate.
“Most perplexing!” said Orlando.
“Most amazin’!” murmured Ebony, with a look of disappointment that baffles description.
Suddenly the negro pointed to the beach, exclaiming, “Oh! I knows it now! Look dare. You see two small canoes? Dere wor tree canoes dare yisterday. De t’ird wan am dare now. Look!”
They all looked eagerly at the horizon, where a tiny speck was seen. It might have been a gull or an albatross.
“Impossible,” said Zeppa. “Where could he hope to escape to in that direction—no island within a thousand miles?”
“A desprit man doos anyt’ing, massa.”
“Well. I shall soon find out, for the wind blows in that direction,” said the captain, wheeling about and returning to his ship.
Soon the sails were spread, the anchor weighed, the coral reef passed, and the good ship was leaping merrily over the sea in pursuit of the pirate, while Ebony was seated on the straw beside Rosco, expanding his mouth to an extent that it had never reached before, and causing the cavern to ring with uproarious laughter.
Chapter Sixteen
It need scarcely be said that the man-of-war did not overtake the pirate’s canoe!
She cruised about for some days in the hope of falling in with it. Then her course was altered, and she was steered once more for Ratinga. But the elements seemed to league with Ebony in this matter, for, ere she sighted the island, there burst upon her one of those tremendous hurricanes with which the southern seas are at times disturbed. So fierce was the tempest that the good ship was obliged to present her stern to the howling blast, and scud before it under bare poles.
When the wind abated, Captain Fitzgerald found himself so far from the scene of his recent visit, and so pressed for time, as well as with the claims of other duties—possibly, according to Ebony, the capturing and hanging of other pirates—that he resolved to postpone his visit until a more convenient season. The convenient season never came. Captain Fitzgerald returned home to die, and with him died the memory of Rosco the pirate—at least as far as public interest in his capture and punishment was concerned—for some of the captain’s papers were mislaid and lost and among them the personal description of the pirate, and the account of his various misdeeds.
But Rosco himself did not die. He lived to prove the genuine nature of his conversion, and to assist Waroonga in his good work. As it is just possible that some reader may doubt the probability—perhaps even the possibility—of such a change, we recommend him to meditate on the fact that Saul of Tarsus, the persecutor, became Paul, the loving Apostle of the Lord.
One morning, not long after the events just narrated, Zeppa came to Rosco’s hut with a bundle under his arm. He was followed by Marie, Betsy, Zariffa, and Lippy with her mother. By that time Lippy had been provided with a bonnet similar to that of her friend Ziffa, and her mother had been induced to mount a flannel petticoat, which she wore tied round her neck or her waist, as her fancy or her forgetfulness inclined her. The party had accompanied Zeppa to observe the effect of this bundle on Rosco.
That worthy was seated on a low couch constructed specially for him by Ebony. He was busy reading.
“Welcome, friends all,” he said, with a look of surprise at the deputation-like visit.
“We have come to present you with a little gift, Rosco,” said Zeppa, unrolling the bundle and holding up to view a couple of curious machines.
“Wooden legs!” exclaimed Rosco with something between a gasp and a laugh.
“That’s what they are, Rosco. We have been grieved to see you creeping about in such a helpless fashion, and dependent on Ebony, or some other strong-backed fellow, when you wanted to go any distance, so Orlando and I have put our heads together, and produced a pair of legs.”
While he was speaking the on-lookers gazed in open-eyed-and-mouthed expectancy, for they did not feel quite sure how their footless friend would receive the gift.
“It is kind, very kind of you,” he said, on recovering from his surprise; “but how am I to fix them on? there’s no hole to shove the ends of my poor legs into.”
“Oh! you don’t shove your legs into them at all,” said Zeppa; “you’ve only got to go on your knees into them—see, this part will fit your knees pretty well—then you strap them on, make them fast, and away you go. Let’s try them.”
To the delight of the women and children, Rosco was quite as eager to try on the legs as they were to see him do it. The bare idea of being once more able to walk quite excited the poor man, and his hands trembled as he tried to assist his friend in fixing them.
“Keep your hands away altogether,” said Zeppa; “you only delay me. There now, they’re as tight as two masts. Hold on to me while I raise you up.”
At that moment Tomeo, Buttchee, Ebony, Ongoloo, Wapoota, and Orlando came upon the scene.
“What a shame, father,” cried the latter, “to begin without letting us know!”
“Ah! Orley, I’m sorry you have found us at it. Marie and I had planned giving you a surprise by making Rosco walk up to you.”
“Never mind,” cried Rosco impatiently; “just set me on my pins, and I’ll soon walk into him. Now then, hoist away!”
Orley and his father each seized an arm, and next moment Rosco stood up.
“Now den, don’ hurry him—hurrah!” cried Ebony, giving a cheer of encouragement.
“Have a care, friends; don’t let me go,” said Rosco anxiously, clutching his supporters’ necks with a convulsive grasp. “I’ll never do it, Zeppa. I feel that if you quit me for an instant, I shall go down like a shot.”
“No fear. Here, cut him a staff, Ebony,” said Zeppa; “that’ll be equal to three legs, you know, and even a stool can stand alone with three legs.”
The staff was cut and handed to the learner, who, planting it firmly on the ground before him, leaned on it, and exclaimed, “Let go!” in tones which instantly suggested “the anchor” to his friends.
The order was obeyed, and the ex-pirate stood swaying to and fro, and smiling with almost childlike delight. Presently he became solemn, lifted one leg, and set it down again with marvellous rapidity. Then he lifted the other leg with the same result. Then he lifted the staff, but had to replace it smartly to prevent falling forward.
“I fear I can only do duty as a motionless tripod,” he said rather anxiously.
“Nebber fear, massa—oh! Look out!”
The latter exclamation was caused by Rosco falling backwards; to prevent which catastrophe he made a wild flourish with his arms, and a sweep with his staff, which just grazed the negro’s cheek. Zeppa, however, caught him in his arms, and set him up again.
“Now then, try once more,” he said encouragingly.
Rosco tried, and in the course of half-an-hour managed, with many a stagger and upheaval of the arms and staff to advance about eight or ten yards. At this point, however, he chanced to place the end of the right leg on a soft spot of ground. Down it went instantly to the knee, and over went the learner on his side, snapping the leg short off in the fall!
It would be difficult to paint the general disappointment at this sudden collapse of the experiment. A united groan burst from the party, including the patient, for it at once became apparent that a man with a wooden leg—to say nothing of two—could only walk on a hard beaten path, and as there were few such in the island, Rosco’s chance of a long ramble seemed to vanish. But Zeppa and his son were not men to be easily beaten. They set to work to construct feet for the legs, which should be broad enough to support their friend on softish ground, and these were so arranged with a sort of ball-and-socket joint, that the feet could be moved up and down. In theory this worked admirably; in practice it failed, for after a staggering step or two, the toes having been once raised refused to go down, and thus was produced the curious effect of a man stumping about on his heels! To overcome this difficulty the heels of the feet were made to project almost as much behind as the toes did in front somewhat after the pattern of Ebony’s pedal arrangements, as Rosco remarked when they were being fitted on for another trial. At last, by dint of perseverance, the wooden legs were perfected, and Rosco re-acquired the art of walking to such perfection, that he was to be seen, almost at all times and in all weathers, stumping about the village, his chief difficulty being that when he chanced to fall, which he often did, he was obliged either to get some one to help him up, or to crawl home; for, being unable to get his knees to the ground when the legs were on, he was obliged to unstrap them if no one was within hail.
Now, during all this time, Betsy Waroonga remained quite inconsolable about her husband.
“But my dear, you know he is quite safe,” her friend Marie Zeppa would say to her, “for he is doing the Master’s work among Christian men.”
“I knows that,” Betsy would reply, “an’ I’m comforted a leetle when I think so; but what for not Zeppa git a canoe ready an’ take me to him? A missionary not worth nothing without hees wife.”
Marie sympathised heartily with this sentiment, but pointed out that it was too long and dangerous a voyage to be undertaken in a canoe, and that it was probable the mission ship would revisit Ratinga ere long, in which case the voyage could be undertaken in comfort and safety.
But Betsy did not believe in the danger of a canoe voyage, nor in the speedy arrival of the mission ship. In fact she believed in nothing at that time, save in her own grief and the hardness of her case. She shook her head, and the effect on the coal-scuttle, which had now become quite palsied with age and hard service, was something amazing, insomuch that Marie’s sympathy merged irresistibly into mirth.
The good woman’s want of faith, however, received a rebuke not many weeks later.
She was hastening, one afternoon, to an outlying field to gather vegetables in company with Zariffa, who had by that time grown into a goodly-sized girl.
The pace induced silence, also considerable agitation in both bonnets. When they had cleared the village, and reached Rosco’s hut near the entrance to the palm-grove, they went up to the open door and looked in, but no one was there.
“He’s hoed out to walk,” observed Zariffa with a light laugh; “awful fond o’ walkin’ since he got the ’ooden legs!”
“What was you want with him?” asked Betsy, as they resumed their walk.
“Want to ask ’bout the Bibil lesson for to-morrow. Some things me no can understan’, an’ Rosco great at the Bibil now.”
“Yes,” murmured Betsy with a nod, “there’s many things in the Bibil not easy to understand. Takes a deal o’ study, Ziffa, to make him out. Your father always say that. But Rosco’s fuss-rate at ’splainin’ of ’em. Fuss-rate—so your father say. Him was born for a mis’nary.”
At that moment a cry was heard in the distance. They had been ascending a winding path leading to the field to which they were bound.
“Sounds like man in distress,” said Betsy, breaking into a run with that eager alacrity which usually characterises the sympathetic.
Zariffa replied not, but followed her mother. The cry was repeated, and at once recognised as being uttered by the man who was “born for a mis’nary,” but had mistaken his profession when he became a pirate! When they reached the spot whence it had apparently issued, the mis’nary, or ex-pirate, was nowhere to be seen.
“Hooroo! whar’ is you?” shouted Betsy, looking round.
“Here!” cried a half-smothered voice from somewhere in the earth.
“Oh! look!” exclaimed Zariffa in a sort of squeal as she ran towards a spot where two strange plants seemed to have sprung up.
“Rosco’s legs!” said Betsy, aghast.
And she was right. The venturesome man had, with his accustomed hardihood, attempted that day to scale the mountain side, and had fallen into a hole by the side of the track, from which he could by no means extricate himself, because of its being a tightish fit, his head being down and his legs were in the air.
“Oh, Betsy, pull me out lass! I’m half-choked already,” gasped the unfortunate man.
But Betsy could not move him, much less pull him out, although heartily assisted by her daughter.
“Run, Ziffa, run an’ fetch men!”
Ziffa ran like a hunted deer, so anxious was she for the deliverance of her Bible instructor. On turning sharp round a bend in the track, she plunged into the bosom of Ebony.
“Ho! hi! busted I am; why, what’s de matter, Ziffa? you travel like a cannon-ball!”
As he spoke, Zeppa and his son, who had been walking behind Ebony, came up. The panting child only replied, “Rosco—queek!” and ran before them to the fatal spot. Need we say that in a few moments the “born mis’nary” was drawn like a cork out of a bottle, and set down right end up? Then they carried him to a clear space, whence the sea was visible, condoling with him as they went; but here all thought of the accident and of everything else was banished, for the moment by the sight of a ship on the horizon!
It turned out to be the mission-vessel with supplies, and with a young native missionary, or Bible-reader; and thus, in a few days, not only Betsy Waroonga, but Ongoloo and Wapoota, with Lippy and her mother and Orlando, were enabled to return to Sugar-loaf Island.
The joy of the Sugarlovians at the return of their chiefs and friends is not to be described, for, despite the assurances of Waroonga, they had begun to grow uneasy. Neither is it possible to describe the condition of the coal-scuttle bonnet after it had been crushed in the reckless embrace of Betsy’s spouse, nor the delight of the uncles, aunts, brothers, cousins, nieces, and nephews of Lippy, when they got her safe back again, though awfully disguised by the miniature coal-scuttle and flaming petticoat.
