let us return, now, to our miserable and half-hearted pirate, far out upon the raging sea.
it must not be supposed that the pacific ocean is always peaceful. no—there are days and nights when its winds howl, and its billows roar, and heave, and fume, with all the violence and fury of any other terrestrial sea.
on one such night, the pirate’s barque was tossed like a cork on the pacific’s heaving bosom, while the shrieking winds played, as it were, fiendishly with the fluttering shreds of sails which they had previously blown to ribbons.
richard rosco stood beside the weather-bulwarks holding on to one of the mizzen back-stays. his mate redford assisted the man at the wheel.
upwards of three years of rosco’s rule had subdued redford to the condition of a hypocritical and sly, but by no means a submissive, savage. one or two spurts at the commencement of their career had satisfied the mate, as well as the men, that the only way to overcome rosco was to take his life; and as redford had not sufficient courage, and the men no desire, to do that, they pursued their evil courses in comparative harmony. nevertheless, the pirate captain knew well that the savage redford was more acceptable to the pirates than himself so he determined to carry out intentions which had been simmering in his brain for some time, and rid the pirate crew of his presence.
“we will sight the island to-morrow afternoon, sir, if this holds,” said the mate.
“i know it,” answered rosco.
“there is no good anchorage around it,” continued the mate.
“so you have told me before,” returned the captain, “but it matters not; we shall not anchor.”
“not anchor!” repeated redford in surprise. “i understood that we were to land there to ship sandal-wood. the crew thought so too, and i’m quite sure—”
“well—go on—what are you sure of?”
“oh! nothing—only sure that captain rosco understands his own intentions best.”
rosco made no reply, and nothing further passed between the inharmonious pair at that time. next day the gale abated, and, as redford had predicted, sugar-loaf island was sighted in the afternoon.
running close in under the shelter of the mountain, the barque was hove-to and a boat lowered.
“the crew will take arms with them, i suppose, sir?” asked the mate.
“of course, though there will not be occasion for them, as there are no natives at this part of the island. i merely wish to ascend the hill to reconnoitre. you will go with me. put your pistols in your belt, and fetch my rifle. we may get some fresh meat among the hills.”
breech-loading rifles had just come into fashion at that time, and the pirate captain had possessed himself of a double-barrelled one, with which he became wonderfully expert. this weapon was put into the boat with a large pouch full of cartridges. no comments were made in regard to this, the pirates having been accustomed to see their commander land in various places for a day’s shooting, the result of which was usually an acceptable addition of fresh food to their larder.
“remain by the boat, lads, till we return,” said rosco, leaping out when the keel grated on the shore. “come with me, redford.”
the mate obeyed, following his commander towards the same ravine where, about four years before, they had seen poor zeppa disappear among the recesses of the mountain. redford felt a little surprise, and more than a little discomfort, at the peculiar conduct of his captain; but he comforted himself with the thought that if he should attempt any violence, there was a brace of pistols in his belt, and a cutlass at his side. he even for a moment meditated using the pistols when he looked at rosco’s broad back; but he knew that some of the men in the boat had a sort of sneaking fondness for their captain, and refrained—at least till he should get out of sight of the boat and into the shelter of the woods where his actions could not be seen, and any account of the affair might be coloured to suit his convenience.
richard rosco divined pretty well what was passing in his mate’s mind. he also knew that as long as they were in sight of the boat, his enemy would not dare to injure him; he therefore threw his rifle carelessly over his shoulder, and walked with the most easy air of nonchalance over the strip of level land that lay between the sea and the forest that fringed the mountain base.
on the instant of entering the mouth of the ravine, however, he wheeled suddenly round and said—
“now, redford, you will lead the way, and i will direct you.”
the mate was startled, and his right hand moved, as if by involuntary impulse, toward the handle of a pistol.
instantly the muzzle of the captain’s rifle was pointed at his breast.
“drop your hand!” he said sternly. “another such threat, and i will shoot you with as much indifference as i would a sneaking dog. now go on and do as i bid you.”
redford gave in at once. he was at rosco’s mercy. without a word he passed on in advance, and ascended the ravine with a quick, steady step. to say the truth, he knew well that while his commander, on the one hand, would not threaten what he did not mean to perform, on the other hand he would never shed human blood needlessly. he therefore felt less troubled than might have been expected.
they soon reached a small eminence or rocky plateau, from which was obtained a splendid view of the sea, with the barque floating like a large albatross on its surface. from that point the boat could also be clearly seen, and every step of the path by which they had reached the eminence.
“now, redford,” said rosco, throwing his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, so as to bring the muzzle full on the mate’s chest, while, with the forefinger of his right hand, he lightly touched the triggers, “draw your pistols from your belt, and be very careful how you do it—very careful—for if, even by chance, you touch hammer or trigger, you are a dead man.”
there was something of banter in rosco’s manner, yet this was associated with an air and tone of such calm decision that the mate felt curiously uncomfortable. he obeyed orders, however, promptly, and stood with a pistol in each hand. it must have been a tantalising position, for, had they been cocked, he could have blown out rosco’s brains in a moment. indeed, he was sorely tempted to break the half-cock catch on the chance of one or both going off, but his commander’s eye and muzzle forbade it.
“drop them,” said rosco, suddenly.
if they had been red-hot irons, the mate could scarcely have let them go more quickly. it almost seemed as if his guilty desire had passed into the weapons and intensified the laws of gravitation—they came to the rock with such a clatter.
“that will do. now, two paces step—back, march! splendid. why, redford, i had no idea you were so well up in your drill,” said rosco, stepping to the spot beside the pistols, which the mate had just vacated. “you are fit to act fugleman to the british army. now, clasp your hands behind your back, and don’t unclasp them till i give you leave. it’s a new piece of drill but not difficult to learn.”
the cowed pirate was too much alarmed to be amused by this last sally. he stood, sulkily it is true, but anxiously, awaiting further orders.
“look here, redford,” continued the pirate captain. “i want to prove to you that the distance from this spot to the boat is about five hundred yards. you see that gull on the water? it is about the same distance off as the boat—well—”
he sighted his rifle for five hundred yards, took a rapid aim, fired, and the gull, leaping its own height out of the water, fell back dead.
“oh! don’t start my fine fellow, you forget the other barrel!”
the reminder was in time to check an unwise impulse on the mate’s part.
“now,” continued rosco, assuming a more serious tone, “i have brought you here for a last conversation. you have long desired to command that vessel, and i have long desired to resign the command. we shall both have our desires gratified this day. i intend to take up my abode here; you are free to go where you please—but not to come here again. lay my words to heart, now, and let me advise you to impress them on your crew. if you ever venture to come to this island again, i promise you to shoot every man that puts his foot upon the shore, and to shoot all that follow, as long as my ammunition lasts. and, you see, i have brought a pretty large bag of it on shore, which i do not mean to waste on gulls, or anything else. i mean to keep it entirely for your benefit, my worthy friend—so, after this warning, you will please yourself, and take your own course. now, go down to the boat; row straight back to your ship, tell your crew whatever you choose as to our interview, and go where you please. but bear in mind that my rifle will cover you during every step that you take from this spot down to the beach, ay, and after you have left the beach too, until you are safe on board. remember, also, that the rifle is sighted for one thousand yards, and that the barque is not much farther off than that. go!”
the last word was uttered in such a tone, that redford instantly turned, and, without even a word of reply, retraced his steps to the shore. then he promptly embarked, and the men promptly shoved off while rosco sat on the rocky eminence, quietly watching them.
no words did redford speak to his wondering men, except such as were needed to direct the boat. on gaining the vessel, he sprang up the side, ordered all sail to be set and the guns to be loaded. when the vessel had increased her distance a few hundred yards from the shore, he brought her broadside to bear on the land, and then, having carefully laid the guns, gave the word to fire.
the hull of the pirate vessel was instantly enveloped in a snowy curtain of smoke, and, next moment, the echoes of the hills were rudely startled by a thunderous crash, while a dozen or more iron balls burst like bomb-shells on the cliffs immediately above the spot where rosco sat, sending showers of rock in all direction; and driving the sea-mews in shrieking terror from their nests.
“a mere waste of ammunition,” murmured rosco, with a contemptuous curl of his lip, as he rose. “but the next may be better aimed, so i’ll bid you good-bye, redford!”
descending into the ravine, he was soon safe from the iron messengers of death, of which the enraged redford sent another group ashore before finally bidding the island farewell.
now, it so happened that zeppa was ascending the sugar-loaf mountain on its other side, when all this cannonading was going on. he was naturally surprised at such unwonted sounds, and, remembering that cannon implied ships, and that ships were necessary to deliverance from his enforced exile, he naturally hastened his steps, and experienced an unusual degree of excitement.
when he reached his favourite outlook—a ledge of flat land on the southern face of the hill, partially covered with bushes—he saw the pirate vessel sailing away from the island, and the smoke of her two broadsides rising like two snowy cloudlets into the blue sky. at first an expression of disappointment flitted across zeppa’s countenance, but it quickly passed, leaving the usual air of childlike submission behind. he sat down on a ledge of rock, and gazed long and wistfully at the retreating vessel. then, casting his eyes upwards to the blue vault, he gave way to an impulse which had been growing upon him for some time—he began to pray aloud.
it was while he was engaged in this act of devotion that richard rosco came upon the scene.
at the first sound of the madman’s deep voice, the pirate stopped and listened with a feeling of superstitious dread which seemed to check the very action of his heart—for, at the moment, a few bushes concealed his old enemy from his sight. stepping cautiously forward, he could see through the interlacing boughs without himself being seen; and then the blood forsook his visage, and his limbs trembled as if he had been a paralysed old man.
could the man before him, in tattered garments, with the dishevelled mass of flowing, curly, iron-grey hair, with the long, heavy beard and moustache, the hollow cheeks, and the wonderfully solemn eyes—could that be zeppa? it seemed impossible, yet there was no mistaking the well known and still handsome features, or the massive, sinewy frame—still less was it possible to doubt the deep, sonorous voice. but then—zeppa had been seen on ratinga island, and the description given of him by those who had seen him had been so exact that rosco had never doubted his return home and recovery of reason.
whatever he thought or felt, however, the pirate’s whole being was soon absorbed in the madman’s prayer. it was simple, like himself. he asked for permission to return home, and made a humble confession of sin. from the tenor of it, there could be no doubt that poor zeppa had come to regard his exile as a direct punishment from god. then the prayer changed to a petition for blessings on his wife and son and the deep voice became deeper and full of tenderness.
the pirate experienced a shock of surprise—was the son, then, still alive? and, if so, how came zeppa to know? he could not know it! the man before him must either be the creature of his own disordered fancy, or a real visitant from the world of spirits!
as these thoughts coursed like lightning through the pirate’s brain, he was suddenly startled by the sound of his own name.
“and rosco,” said the madman, still looking steadily up into the sky, while a dark frown slowly gathered on his brow—“oh! god, curse—no—no, no. forgive me, lord, and forgive him, and save him from his sins.” he stopped abruptly here, and looked confused.
the mention of the pirate and his sins seemed to remind the poor father that his son had been murdered, and yet, somehow, he had fancied him alive, and had been praying for him! he could not understand it at all. the old look of mingled perplexity and patient submission was beginning again to steal over his face, and his hand was in the familiar act of passing over the troubled brow, when zeppa’s eyes alighted on rosco’s countenance.
it would be difficult to say which, at that moment, most resembled a maniac. the sight of his enemy did more, perhaps, to restore zeppa to a spurious kind of sanity than anything that had occurred since the fatal day of his bereavement, and called up an expression of fierce indignation to his countenance. all memory of his previous prayer vanished, and he glared for a moment at the pirate with intense fury.
at the same time rosco stood with blanched cheeks, intense horror in his eyes, his lower jaw dropped, and his whole frame, as it were, transfixed.
the inaction of both was, however, but momentary. the madman sprang up, clutched the heavy staff he was wont to use in climbing the hills, and rushed impetuously but without word or cry at his foe. the pirate, brave though he undoubtedly was, lost all self-control, and fled in abject terror. fortunately, the first part of the descent from the spot was unobstructed; for, in the then condition of their feelings, both men would probably have flung themselves over any precipice that had lain in their way. a few moments, however, sufficed to restore enough of self-possession to the pirate to enable him to direct his course with some intelligence. he naturally followed the path by which he had ascended, and soon gained the beach, closely followed by zeppa.
in speed the two men were at the time well matched, for any advantage that zeppa had in point of size and strength was counterbalanced by the youth and superstitious terror of rosco. at first, indeed, the madman gained on his foe, but as the impetuosity of his first dash abated, the pirate’s courage returned, and, warming to the race, he held his ground.
like hare and greyhound they coursed along the level patch of ground that lay on that side of the island, until they came in sight of the swampy land, covered with low but dense wood which bounded the lands of the raturans. dismay overwhelmed the pirate at first sight of it. then hope rebounded into his soul, and he put on a spurt which carried him considerably ahead of his pursuer. he reached the edge of the swamp-land, and dashed into its dark recesses. he had barely entered it a few yards when he plunged into water up to the neck. the heavy root of a tree chanced to hang over him. drawing himself close beneath it, he remained quite still. it was his best—indeed his only—chance.
next moment zeppa plunged headlong into another part of the same half-hidden pool. arising, like some shaggy monster of the swamp, with weeds and slimy plants trailing from his locks, he paused a moment, as if to make sure of his direction before resuming the chase. at that moment he was completely in the power of the pirate, for his broad back was not more than a few feet from the screen of roots and tendrils by which rosco was partially hidden. the temptation was strong. the pirate drew the keen knife that always hung at his girdle, but a feeling of pity induced him to hesitate. the delay sufficed to save zeppa’s life. next moment he seized an overhanging branch, drew himself out of the swamp, and sped on his way; but, having lost sight of his enemy, he soon paused and looked round with indecision.
“it must have been a dream,” he muttered, and began to retrace his steps with an air of humiliation, as if half ashamed of having given way to such excitement. from his hiding-place the pirate saw him pass, and watched him out of sight. then, clambering quickly out of the stagnant pool, he pushed deeper and deeper into the recesses of the morass, regardless of every danger, except that of falling into the madman’s hands.
