Shows how the Queen Conducted herself in Trying Circumstances, and was Finally Dethroned.
“Now, darlin’,” said Mrs Lynch to Queen Pauline, as she sat on the side of her bed looking contemplatively at the floor, “thim rascals’ll be in the Hall in two minits, so take me advice and give them more nor they’ve got.”
“But my object in sending for them is not to add to their punishment,” said the queen.
“More’s the pity, for they need it, an’ the Coort was too tinder wi’ them intirely. Two weeks! why, two months would do them more good. Anyhow, see that ye give them a fearful blowin’ up.”
“I’ll do what I can for them,” returned Pina, with a pleasant laugh, as she rose and passed into the Audience Hall, where the prisoners and as many of the settlers as could find room were already gathered.
Here a slight change of feeling seemed to have taken place in the people. Perhaps the sight of Hugh and Malines—two men who had, up till that time, carried matters with rather a high hand—bound, humbled, helpless, and with bits of straw which had been given them as bedding sticking to their garments, induced a touch of pity. At all events, there was none of that riotous demand for vengeance which had characterised them when under the influence of excitement at the trial. Evidently a slight reaction in favour of the culprits had set in, and the entrance of the queen, therefore, took place in solemn silence, no one knowing why she had sent for the men or what were her intentions. Poor Pauline was much embarrassed by the silence and by the situation in which she found herself. Being a girl of mind, and not a mere human machine made and content to run always on beaten paths, she had resolved to try an experiment, and braced herself to the duty.
It was by no means a new experiment; on the contrary, it was older than this world’s history, though new to Pauline in the particular circumstances—being an application of the law of mercy.
“My friends,” said Pina, in a somewhat tremulous voice, which however became firmer as she proceeded, “this is the first trial that has taken place in our little colony, and as crime must be firmly repressed—”
(“Punished, my dear—putt it stronger!” came in a whisper from the side door, where widow Lynch was listening; but, fortunately, none of the audience heard her.)
“I feel,” continued Pauline, taking no notice of the advice, “that it becomes me, as your chosen queen, to do what I think will be best for the interests of the community.”
“Hear, hear!” exclaimed some of the audience; but they gave no further expression to their feelings, being still uncertain as to the queen’s leanings.
“No doubt,” continued Pina, trying, not quite successfully, to swallow the lump in her throat, “the punishment which you have awarded these men is in strict accordance with your ideas of justice, and, being utterly ignorant of law, I will not presume to doubt the wisdom of your decision; nor would I interfere, either by increasing or decreasing the punishment, did I not feel that this case is peculiar, very peculiar. It is, as I have said, the beginning of crime in our kingdom, and little beginnings, you all know, often lead to great results. A small leak may sink a ship. Then, in the second place, this is the first offence committed by these men, and first offences require peculiar treatment—”
(“That’s so, my dear—powerful treatment. Give it ’em hot!” inaudibly whispered the widow.)
“Turning to that Book,” continued Pauline, “which shall be my guide in every act of life, I find that God ‘delighteth in mercy.’ Can I go wrong in following humbly in His footsteps? I think not. Therefore, I venture to exercise the privilege of my position, and extend mercy to these men. The law has been vindicated by their trial and condemnation. I now, in accordance with constitutional right, bestow on them a free pardon.”
This, being rapidly uttered, quite took the people by surprise, and caused them to burst into a ringing cheer, above which the no longer inaudible voice of the widow was heard to exclaim—
“Free parding, indeed!” in tones of indignant contempt, as she shut the door with a bang and retired in disgust from the scene.
“I do not know,” said the queen, when silence was restored, “on what particular officer of my household,” (a confused little smile and blush here), “falls the duty of setting crim— I mean forgiven men free, so I now order the prime minister to cut their bonds.”
Amid some laughter, Joe readily drew forth an enormous clasp-knife and obeyed this command. Then the queen, stepping forward, held out her hand with a bright smile to Hugh Morris. None but an utterly abandoned wretch could have resisted that. Hugh gave in at once—seized the hand, and not only shook it, but kissed it heartily. So did Malines, and so did the others, and then they all dispersed—Teddy Malone signalling his exit with a cheer and a shout to the following effect—
“Hooroo! boys—she’s ivvery inch a quane, an’ two or three eighths over—cut an’ dry, ready-made, hot off the irons! We’re in luck—eh! boys, aren’t we?”
The latter remark was made, with a hearty slap on the back, to little Buxley, who, turning at once and grasping Malone in his arms, went in for a vigorous wrestle by way of relieving his feelings.
Whatever may be thought of this matter by men deep in the learning of human law, we feel bound to put on record that this plan of Queen Pauline the First proved a great success, for, from that day forward, Malines and Morris and all the other conspirators became excellent members of the community—gave up all ideas of piracy on the high seas, set to work like men to fence in their properties, cultivate their farms, prosecute their fisheries, and otherwise to make themselves useful. Another result was that Silver Bay Settlement began to flourish.
Similar results usually happen when men give up quarrelling and take to working. The schoolroom was soon finished. The queen had her Bible classes—plenty of Bibles having been found in the ship—and Dominick even went the length of venturing to conduct special services on Sundays.
But, strange to say, the more things prospered on the island, the more pensive became the queen, as well as Otto and his brother. It was not so with Dr Marsh, however. Some unknown influence seemed to keep him always in a hearty frame of mind.
“I can’t help it, Dom,” said the queen, as she walked on the white shore of Silver Bay one evening while the sun was descending in a golden blaze, “I can’t bear to think of them.”
Poor Pauline’s mind was running on a cheery bald little old gentleman in Java, and a mild little spectacled old lady, with knitting proclivities, in England, whose chief solace, in a humble way, was an elderly female cat.
“Am I never to see them again?” she added, as she sat down on a coral rock, buried her fair face in her hands, and wept.
Dominick tried to comfort her, but in vain.
“It’s all very well what you say, Dom, but here we are settling down as if we meant to stay for ever. Even Otto talks less than he used to about Robinson Crusoe, and no ships ever come near us, and the sailors don’t want to quit the islands, so we can’t even use the ship we have got, and—and—O darling mother! and dear, dear papa!”
If Queen Pina, who broke down at this point, had only known that, about the time she was speaking, the dear papa was running for his life, covered with mud from head to foot, in the midst of thunder and fire and smoke, she might have mingled horror with loving emphasis as she mentioned his name.
At the time of which we write, the island of Java, in the Malay Archipelago, was convulsed by one of those tremendous earthquakes which have at irregular intervals, from time immemorial, shattered its mountains, overwhelmed some of its fairest lands, and killed thousands of its inhabitants. It is not our intention, however, to touch on this subject more than will suffice to elucidate our tale.
Deeply interesting is it, at times, to note the intimate connection that sometimes exists between places and events which seem exceedingly remote. One would imagine that the eruption of a volcanic mountain in Java could not have much influence on the life or fortunes of people living on an island nearly a thousand miles distant from the same. Yet so it was, in a double sense, too, as we shall see.
The great shock in Java, which overturned the bald little old gentleman’s chair, causing him to spring up and exclaim to his partner, “Hallo, Brooks!” passed through the intervening earth, losing much of its power on the way, caused Refuge Islands to tremble, and Pauline to look up suddenly with the exclamation—
“What’s that Dom?”
“It is marvellously like an earthquake, Pina.”
Strange to say, Brooks in Java made precisely the same remark, at about the same moment, to his senior partner.
Thereafter old Mr Rigonda, who didn’t like earthquakes, said to Brooks—who didn’t mind earthquakes, being used to them—
“I’ll start off for England immediately.”
He did start off, even more immediately than he had intended, for the neighbouring volcano, as if angered by his remark, sent up a shock that shook the surrounding houses to their foundations. The senior partner rushed out in terror, and was just in time to receive a shower of mud and ashes while he fled away through fire and smoke, as already mentioned.
The volcano went to sleep again for a short time after that little indication of its power, and you may be sure that old Rigonda did not wait for its reawakening. One of his own ships was on the point of sailing that very day. He went on board—after cleaning himself—got Brooks to wind up their business relations in the cabin, and left for England with a fair wind.
And well was it for the bald little old gentleman that he did so, for, a few days later, strange sounds and appearances were in the air and on the sea. Fine ashes filled the sky, so that noon became like midnight, and everything betokened that something unusually violent must have occurred in the land which they had left. Nothing more serious, however, befell our voyager. In due course he reached England, hastened home, and, without warning, burst in upon his wife while that dear little old lady was in the act of remarking to the middle-aged cat, in a very dolorous tone, that she feared something must have happened to the ship, for her darlings could never have been so long of writing if all had gone well.
It was while the cat gazed contemplatively at the everlasting socks, as if meditating a reply, that old Rigonda burst in.
Starting up with amazing activity and a cry of joy, the old lady swept her feline friend from the table—inadvertently, of course—and rushed into her husband’s arms, while the outraged animal sought refuge on top of the bookcase, whence it glared at the happy meeting with feelings that may be more easily understood than described. Of course the old man’s joy was turned into grief and anxiety when he heard of the departure of his children and was told of their prolonged silence; but with that we have nothing to do at present.
We return to Silver Bay, where a sense of insecurity had been aroused in the community ever since the tremors of the earth to which we have just referred.
With the slumbering of the Javanese mountains, however, these tremors and the consequent fears subsided, and were almost forgotten in another source of anxiety.
One morning, while Teddy Malone was walking on the beach of Silver Bay, he observed a small object running and stumbling towards him, as if in great haste or fear. Hurrying forward to meet this object he soon perceived that it was little Brown-eyes, of whom he was very fond.
“What’s wrong, me darlint?” he asked, catching the child up and kissing her.
“Oh, such funny tings me sawd—oder side de rocks,” replied Brown-eyes, panting; “come wid me an’ see dem. Come kik!”
“Funny things, eh, mavourneen, what sort of things?”
“Oh, like beasts. Come kik!”
“They wasn’t sarpints, was they?” said Malone, seating the child on his shoulder and hastening towards the rocky point which separated Silver Bay from the land beyond.
“No, no—not saa’pints. Long beasts, like mans, only hims not stand and walk, but lie down and crawl.”
Much impressed with the child’s eager manner, the Irishman hurried towards the point of rocks, filled with curiosity as to what the creatures could be.
“What sort o’ hids have they, darlint?” he asked, as he neared the point.
“Hids same as mans, and faces like you, but more uglier, all scratched over, an’ dey try to catch me, but me runned away.”
Teddy Malone’s hitherto obtuse faculties were awakened. He stopped suddenly, being by that time convinced that he stood unarmed within spear-throw of savages in ambush. To advance, supposing his conjecture to be right, he knew would be certain death. To turn and fly would probably be the same, for naked savages could easily overtake him even if unburdened with Brown-eyes, whom, of course, he could not forsake, and he was too far from the settlement to shout an alarm.
Perspiration burst from poor Teddy’s brow, for even delay, he knew, would be fatal, as the savages would suspect him of having discovered them.
Suddenly he put Brown-eyes down on the sand, and, twisting his figure into a comical position, began to hop like a frog. His device had the desired effect; Brown-eyes burst into a hearty fit of laughter, forgot for the moment the “funny beasts,” and cried, “Do it agin!”
The poor man did it again, thinking intensely all the time what he should do next.
“Would you like to see me dance, darlint?” he asked suddenly.
“Oh yis!”
Thereupon Teddy Malone began to dance an Irish jig to his own whistling, although, being much agitated, he found it no easy matter to whistle in tune or time, but that was unimportant. As he danced he took care to back in a homeward direction. The child naturally followed. Thus, by slow degrees, he got beyond what he considered spear-throw, and feeling boldne............