The Madman and the Pirate Part 19

"How can _I_ tell? What do _I_ know about eternal life!"

"Then you are not prepared to die; and let me earnestly a.s.sure you that there _is_ something well worth living for, though at present you do not--you _cannot_ know it."

"Enough. Let it be as the doctor advises," said the pirate in a tone of resignation.

That night the operation was successfully performed, and the unfortunate man was afterwards carefully tended by Ebony.

Next day Tomeo and b.u.t.tchee were told that their old friend Zeppa could not yet be seen, but that he required many little comforts from the "Furious," which must be brought up with as little delay as possible.

That was sufficient. Forgetting themselves in their anxiety to aid their friend, these affectionate warriors went off on their mission, and were soon out of sight.

When Zeppa awoke at last with a deep sigh, it was still dark. This was fortunate, for he could not see whose hand administered the physic, and was too listless and weak to inquire. It was bright day when he awoke the second time and looked up inquiringly in his son's face.

"What, are you still there, Orley?" he said faintly, while the habitual sweet expression stole over his pale features, though it was quickly followed by the perplexed look. "But how comes this change? You look so much older than you are, dear boy. Would G.o.d that I could cease this dreaming!"

"You are not dreaming _now_, father. I am indeed Orley. You have been ill and delirious, but, thanks be to G.o.d, are getting well again."

"What?" exclaimed the invalid; "has it been all a dream, then? Were you _not_ thrown into the sea by mutineers, and have I _not_ been wandering for months or years on a desert island? But then, if these things be all dreams," he added, opening his eyes wide and fixing them intently on Orlando's face, "how comes it that I still dream the change in _you_?

You are Orley, yet not Orley! How is that?"

"Yes, all that is true, dear, _dear_ father," said the youth, gently clasping one of the helpless hands that lay crossed on Zeppa's broad chest; "I _was_ thrown overboard by the mutineers years ago, but, thank G.o.d, I was not drowned; and you have been wandering here in--in--very ill, for years; but, thank G.o.d again, you are better, and I have been mercifully sent to deliver you."

"I can't believe it, Orley, for I have so often seen you, and you have so often given me the slip--yet there does seem something very real about you just now--very real, though so changed--yet it is the same voice, and you never _spoke_ to me before in my dreams--except once.

Yes, I think it was once, that you spoke. I remember it well, for the sound sent such a thrill to my heart. Oh! G.o.d forbid that it should again fade away as it has done so often!"

"It will not fade, father. The time you speak of was only yesterday, when I found you. You have been sleeping since, and a doctor is attending you."

"A doctor! where did _he_ come from?"

At that moment Ebony approached with some food in a tin pan. The invalid observed him at once.

"Ebony! can that be you? Why--when--oh! my poor brain feels so light-- it seems as if a puff of wind would blow it away. I must have been very ill." Zeppa spoke feebly, and closed his eyes, from which one or two tears issued--blessed tears!--the first he had shed for many a day.

"His reason is restored," whispered the doctor in Orlando's ear, "but he must be left to rest."

Orlando's heart was too full to find relief through the lips.

"I cannot understand it at all," resumed Zeppa, reopening his eyes; "least of all can I understand _you_, Orley, but my hope is in G.o.d. I would sleep now, but you must not let go my hand." (Orlando held it tighter.) "One word more. Your dear mother?"

"Is well--and longs to see you."

A profound, long-drawn sigh followed, as if an insupportable burden had been removed from the wearied soul, and Zeppa sank into a sleep so peaceful that it seemed as if the spirit had forsaken the worn out frame. But a steady, gentle heaving of the chest told that life was still there. During the hours that followed, Orlando sat quite motionless, like a statue, firmly grasping his father's hand.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A few days after the discovery of Zeppa by his son, a trading vessel chanced to touch at the island, the captain of which no sooner saw the British man-of-war than he lowered his gig, went aboard in a state of great excitement, and told how that, just two days before, he had been chased by a pirate in lat.i.tude so-and-so and longitude something else!

A messenger was immediately sent in hot haste to Sugar-loaf Mountain to summon Orlando.

"I'm sorry to be obliged to leave you in such a hurry," said Captain Fitzgerald, as they were about to part, "but duty calls, and I must obey. I promise you, however, either to return here or to send your mission-vessel for you, if it be available. Rest a.s.sured that you shall not be altogether forsaken."

Having uttered these words of consolation, the captain spread his sails and departed, leaving Orlando, and his father, Waroonga, Tomeo, b.u.t.tchee, Ebony, and Rosco on Sugar-loaf Island.

Several days after this, Waroonga entered the hut of Ongoloo and sat down. The chief was amusing himself at the time by watching his prime minister Wapoota playing with little Lippy, who had become a favourite at the palace since Zeppa had begun to take notice of her.

"I would palaver with the chief," said the missionary.

"Let Lippy be gone," said the chief.

Wapoota rolled the brown child unceremoniously out of the hut, and composed his humorous features into an expression of solemnity.

"My brother," continued the missionary, "has agreed to become a Christian and burn his idols?"

"Yes," replied Ongoloo with an emphatic nod, for he was a man of decision. "I like to hear what you tell me. I feel that I am full of naughtiness. I felt that before you came here. I have done things that I knew to be wrong, because I have been miserable after doing them--yet, when in pa.s.sion, I have done them again. I have wondered why I was miserable. Now I know; you tell me the Great Father was whispering to my spirit. It must be true. I have resisted Him, and He made me miserable. I deserve it. I deserve to die. When any of my men dare to resist me I kill them. I have dared to resist the Great Father, yet He has not killed me. Why not? you tell me He is full of love and mercy even to His rebels! I believe it. You say, He sent His Son Jesus to die for me, and to deliver me from my sins. It is well, I accept this Saviour--and all my people shall accept Him."

"My brother's voice makes me glad," returned Waroonga; "but while you can accept this Saviour for yourself, it is not possible to force other people to do so."

"Not possible!" cried the despotic chief, with vehemence. "Do you not know that I can force my people to do whatever I please?--at least I can kill them if they refuse."

"You cannot do that and, at the same time, be a Christian."

"But," resumed Ongoloo, with a look of, so to speak, fierce perplexity, "I can at all events make them burn their idols."

"True, but that would only make them hate you in their hearts, and perhaps wors.h.i.+p their idols more earnestly in secret. No, my brother; there is but one weapon given to Christians, but that is a sharp and powerful weapon. It is called Love; we must _win_ others to Christ by voice and example, we may not drive them. It is not permitted. It is not possible."

The chief cast his frowning eyes on the ground, and so remained for some time, while the missionary silently prayed. It was a critical moment.

The man so long accustomed to despotic power could not easily bring his mind to understand the process of _winning_ men. He did, indeed, know how to win the love of his wives and children--for he was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but as to _winning_ the obedience of warriors or slaves--the thing was preposterous! Yet he had sagacity enough to perceive that while he could compel the obedience of the body--or kill it--he could not compel the obedience of the soul.

"How can I," he said at last, with a touch of indignation still in his tone, "I, a chief and a descendant of chiefs, stoop to ask, to beg, my slaves to become Christians? It may not be, I can only command them."

"Woh!" exclaimed Wapoota, unable to restrain his approval of the sentiment.

"You cannot even command yourself, Ongoloo, to be a Christian. How, then, can you command others? It is the Great Father who has put it into your heart to wish to be a Christian. If you will now take His plan, you will succeed. If you refuse, and try your own plan, you shall fail."

"Stay," cried the chief, suddenly laying such a powerful grasp on Waroonga's shoulder, that he winced; "did you not say that part of His plan is the forgiveness of enemies?"

"I did."

"Must I, then, forgive the Raturans if I become a Christian?"

"Even so."

"Then it is impossible. What! forgive the men whose forefathers have tried to rob my forefathers of their mountain since our nation first sprang into being! Forgive the men who have for ages fought with our fathers, and tried to make slaves of our women and children--though they always failed because they are cowardly dogs! Forgive the Raturans?

_Never_! Impossible!"

"With man this is impossible. With the Great Father all things are possible. Leave your heart in His hands, Ongoloo; don't refuse His offer to save you from an unforgiving spirit, as well as from other sins, and that which to you seems impossible will soon become easy."