We left the poor madman, Antonio Zeppa, wandering aimlessly up into the mountains of Sugar-loaf Island. Whether it was the loss of his beloved Orley 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 rugged¹ defiles² of the mountain range. His mental malady³ appeared to take the form of simple indifference⁴ and inactivity. Sometimes he muttered to himself as he went slowly and wearily along, but generally he was silent with his chin sunk upon his breast as he gazed upon the ground with lack-lustre eyes.  
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 the gentle, almost childish, look which had settled down on it. But never again did he give vent⁵ to the heart-broken cries and wails⁶ which had marked the first stage of his derangement⁷.
 
The mutterings to which we have referred were seldom coherent; but the disjointed utterances⁸ sufficed to indicate the natural character of the man. As the ruling passion is said to become dominant⁹ in death, so, in this death of reason which appeared to have passed upon Zeppa, love of his wife and child and the natives of Ratinga, as well as profound reverence¹⁰ and love to his God, became conspicuous¹¹ in the broken sentences that occasionally dropped from his lips.
 
At first he had been like some grand instrument thrown wildly out of tune¹² and swept by a reckless hand. Now he resembled the same instrument with the framework shattered, the strings¹³ hanging loose, and the music of discord¹⁴ as well as harmony gone for ever.
 
Oh it was sad, inexpressibly sad, to see the grand and good man—the image of himself, yet not himself, with bowed head and bent¹⁵ form, the very personification of humility—wandering forth¹⁶ on that lonely island of the southern seas!
 
After quitting the shore he continued slowly to ascend¹⁷ 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 ascended¹⁸, the mountain sloped abruptly¹⁹ into the sea, yet its precipices²¹ were not forbidding or gloomy, for they were clothed with the luxuriant and lovely vegetation of those favoured regions.
 
The rocks were fringed with grasses and wild flowers; the cliffs were softened²² by palmated leaves and gorgeous shrubs²³. Wild fruits in 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 transparent²⁴ blue shield, on which the sun glinted in myriad²⁵ ripples²⁶ of burnished²⁷ gold. Everywhere God’s work was glorious, but God’s image in man was not there, for poor Zeppa looked upon it all with total indifference.
 
The schooner²⁸ was still visible from that lofty outlook, like a snowflake on the sea; but Zeppa 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 Zeppa looked at it without a gleam of interest, and passed it over as if it were a group of ant-hills.
 
Hunger, however, soon claimed 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 blessing²⁹ on his food in the same words and tone which he had been wont³⁰ to use when at home.
 
After his hunger was appeased³¹, he again wandered about apparently³² without aim; but as night began to descend³³, he sought and found a slightly hollowed part of a cliff with an overhanging ledge³⁴.
 
It was scarcely deep enough to be styled a cave, but appeared to be a sufficient shelter in the maniac³⁵’s eyes, for he busied himself in gathering³⁶ 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 fervent³⁷ prayer.
 
His words were now no longer incoherent and the burthen of his petition was—a blessing on 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 savages³⁸ at the other end of the island never molested⁴⁰ him, for, having no occasion to clamber 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. Wapoota, being a funny fellow, was a favourite with his chief Ongoloo, and occupied a position somewhat analogous⁴¹ to the court jester 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 pilfered⁴² something or other from Ongoloo, who finally lost patience with him, for he was an old offender⁴³.
 
Ongoloo, though neither a warlike nor ferocious⁴⁴ fellow, vowed⁴⁵ to cut out the heart and liver of Wapoota, and expose them to public gaze.
 
Disliking publicity⁴⁷ after this fashion, the thief fled, purposing to abide⁴⁸ in the mountains until his chief’s wrath⁴⁹ should have evaporated.
 
Rambling⁵⁰ one day in his mountain refuge, the dishonest savage³⁹ turned a jutting⁵¹ point of rock, and suddenly stood face to face with Zeppa. His jaw⁵² dropped, his eyes glared, his knees smote⁵³ 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 mere⁵⁴ ledge, with a perpendicular⁵⁵ cliff on one side, a precipice²⁰ 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 stature⁵⁶, Zeppa 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-grey during these months of lonely wandering. His dress, too, had become much disordered and ragged⁵⁷, so that altogether his appearance and fierce aspect were eminently⁵⁸ fitted to strike terror to the heart of a more courageous⁵⁹ man than Wapoota, who happened to be rather mild in disposition⁶⁰.
 
After the first stare of astonishment⁶¹ he sank on his knees and held up his hands as if supplicating⁶² mercy. But he had nothing to fear from the maniac.
 
“My poor fellow,” said Zeppa, in English, laying his hand on the native’s head and patting it, “do not fear. I will not harm you.”
 
Of course Wapoota did not understand the words but he fully⁶³ appreciated the action, and the lemon-yellow began to fade while the brown-ochre returned.
 
Without uttering another word, Zeppa took Wapoota 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. Wapoota ate from fear of offending his host, rather than hunger.
 
When he had finished, Zeppa rose, pointed⁶⁴ to his couch at the inner part of the cave, nodded to him with a kindly⁶⁵ smile, and left him.
 
At first the savage seemed disposed to make off when Zeppa’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, Wapoota tried to enter into conversation with his host but Zeppa 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 tinges⁶⁶ of the lemon-yellow reappeared; but when he perceived that Zeppa 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 amicably⁶⁷ together, and slept side by side during the night; but Zeppa made it very apparent that he did not wish for his visitor’s society during the day-time, and the visitor had the sense to let him wander forth alone.
 
Wapoota was mistaken when he calculated on the cooling of Ongoloo’s wrath. That angry chief, bent on the fulfilment of his anatomical vow⁴⁶, set forth with a small party of picked men to explore the Sugar-loaf in quest of the runaway⁶⁸. He found him one day gathering fruits for Zeppa’s supper—for Wapoota had already become a sort of attached Friday to this unfortunate Crusoe.
 
On beholding⁶⁹ his countrymen, the thief’s visage underwent a series of remarkable⁷⁰ 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, mine enemy,” growled⁷¹ Ongoloo—of course in the native tongue.
 
“Mercy!” exclaimed Wapoota, in a piteous tone. “Mercy no longer dwells in my breast,” returned the chief.
 
In proof of the truth of this assertion he ordered his men to seize and bind⁷² Wapoota, and proceed at once with the execution of his cruel purpose.
 
The unfortunate wretch⁷³, unable to face the appalling⁷⁴ prospect⁷⁵ gave vent to a series of terrible shrieks⁷⁷, 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, Zeppa 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 shriek⁷⁶ ran among the cliffs, it seemed to startle the maniac out of the depressing lethargy under which he had laboured so long. He sprang up and listened, with dilated⁷⁸ eyes and partly open mouth.
 
Again and again the shrieks rang out, and were echoed from cliff to cliff.
 
As a tigress bounds to the rescue of her young, so sprang Zeppa down the hillside in the direction of the cries. He came suddenly to the edge of a cliff which overlooked the scene, and beheld⁷⁹ a savage just about to plunge⁸⁰ a knife into Wapoota’s breast.
 
Zeppa gave vent to a tremendous roar, which terminated in a wild laugh. Then he wrenched⁸¹ a mass of rock from the cliffs and hurled⁸² it down.
 
The height was greater than any sane⁸³ man would have ventured to leap even to save his life; but the maniac gave no time to thought.
 
He followed the mass of rock with another wild laugh, and next moment stood in the midst of the savage group.
 
These men were no cowards. They were Ongoloo’s picked warriors⁸⁴, and would have scorned to fly before a single foe⁸⁵, however large or fierce.
 
But when they saw plainly that Zeppa was a white man and a maniac, they turned, with one consent, and fled as if a visitant from the nether⁸⁶ realms had assailed⁸⁷ them.
 
Zeppa did not follow. All his sudden wrath vanished with the enemy. He turned calmly to the prostrate⁸⁸ man, cut his bonds, and set him free. Then, without saying a word, he patted him on the shoulder, and wandered listlessly away with his head dropped as of old.
 
You may be sure that Wapoota did not hesitate to make good use of his freedom. He fled on the wings—or legs—of fear to the most inaccessible⁸⁹ recesses⁹⁰ of the mountains, from which he did not emerge till night had enshrouded land and sea. Then he crept stealthily back to Zeppa’s cave, and laid himself quietly down beside his friend.
 
The inherent tendency of Zeppa’s nature was towards peace and goodwill⁹¹. Even in his madness and misery⁹² his spirit trickled⁹³, 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 leaden grief overwhelmed it again, and he relapsed into the old condition of quiet apathy⁹⁴.
 
Chance, however, brought about that which the enfeebled intellect could not compass.
 
One day—whether inadvertently or not we cannot tell—Zeppa wandered down in the direction of the native settlement. That same day Ongoloo 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, sooth to say, there was no thought of escape in the breast of either. Ongoloo, being a brave savage, was ashamed of having given way 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 Zeppa, 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 countenance⁹⁵, while Ongoloo assumed an attitude of defence.
 
Suddenly a beaming smile overspread Zeppa’s face. We have already said that his smile had fascination⁹⁶ in it. The effect on the savage was to paralyse him for the moment. Zeppa advanced, took Ongoloo’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 Sea Islanders.
 
Ongoloo returned the rub, and dropped his club. He was obviously glad of this peaceful termination to the rencontre.
 
Then, for the first time, it occurred to Zeppa to use the language of Ratinga. The chief evidently understood it.
 
“God is love,” said Zeppa solemnly, pointing upward with his finger. “God forgives. You will forgive, and so be like God.”
 
The chief was completely overawed by Zeppa’s grandeur⁹⁷ and gentleness. He had never before seen the two qualities combined.
 
Zeppa took him by the hand, as he had previously⁹⁸ taken Wapoota, and led him up into the mountains. The chief submitted meekly⁹⁹, as if he thought a being from the better world were guiding him. On reaching the cave they found Wapoota 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 Wapoota was transfixed, or petrified¹⁰⁰, on beholding Ongoloo, 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 supplanted¹⁰¹ 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 Ongoloo and Wapoota were thrown when Zeppa, having brought them close to each other, grasped them firmly by their necks and rubbed their noses forcibly together. There was no resisting the smile with which this was dune¹⁰². 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 Ongoloo was not sorry for the reconciliation¹⁰³, because Wapoota had become necessary to him both in council and during relaxation¹⁰⁴, and of late he had come to feel low-spirited for want of his humourist.
 
But both of them were much concerned to observe that after this reconciliation, the reconciler relapsed into his pensive¹⁰⁵ 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. Next day Ongoloo took occasion to give him the slip, and returned to his village.
 
Zeppa cared nothing for that. He did not even ask Wapoota what had become of him.
 
At this time a new idea occurred to Wapoota, who had been ordered by his chief to induce Zeppa to visit the native village. It struck him that as he had been led, so he might lead. Therefore one morning he waited until Zeppa had finished breakfast, and when he rose, as was his wont, to go off for the day, Wapoota took him gently by the hand and led him forth. To his surprise—and comfort, for he had had strong misgivings—Zeppa submitted. He did not seem to think that the act was peculiar¹⁰⁶.
 
Wapoota led him quietly and slowly down the mountain side, and so, by degrees, right into the native village, where Ongoloo was, of course, prepared to meet and welcome him.
 
He was received by the head men of the tribe with deep respect and conducted to a tent which had been prepared for him, where Wapoota, who had constituted himself his servant—or lieutenant—made him comfortable for the night.
 
Zeppa 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 Sugar-loaf Island, there was a tribe that had, for years past, been at war with the tribe into whose hands Zeppa had thus fallen, and, not long after the events just narrated¹⁰⁷, it chanced that the Ratura tribe, as it was named, resolved to have another brush with their old enemies, the subjects of Ongoloo. What they did, and how they did it, shall be seen in another chapter.