We change the scene once more, and transport our readers over the ocean waves to a noble ship which is breasting those waves right gallantly1. It is H.M.S. “Furious.”
In a retired2 part of the ship’s cabin there are two savage3 nobles who do not take things quite as gallantly as the ship herself. These are our friends Tomeo and Buttchee of Ratinga. Each is seated on the cabin floor with his back against the bulkhead, an expression of woe-begone desolation on his visage, his black legs apart, and a ship’s bucket between them. It were bad taste to be too particular as to details here!
On quitting Ratinga, Tomeo and his brother chief had said that nothing would rejoice their hearts so much as to go to sea. Their wish was gratified, and, not long afterwards, they said that nothing could rejoice their hearts so much as to get back to land! Such is the contradictoriness4 of human nature.
There was a stiffish breeze blowing, as one of the man-of-war’s-men expressed it and “a nasty sea on”—he did not say on what. There must have been something nasty, also, on Tomeo’s stomach, from the violent way in which he sought to get rid of it at times—without success.
“Oh! Buttchee, my brother,” said Tomeo (of course in his native tongue), “many years have passed over my head, a few white streaks5 begin to—to—” He paused abruptly6, and eyed the bucket as if with an intention.
“To appear,” he continued with a short sigh; “also, I have seen many wars and suffered much from many wounds as you—you—ha!—you know, Buttchee, my brother, but of all the—”
He became silent again—suddenly.
“Why does my brother p–pause?” asked Buttchee, in a meek7 voice—as of one who had suffered severely8 in life’s pilgrimage.
There was no occasion for Tomeo to offer a verbal reply.
After a time Buttchee raised his head and wiped his eyes, in which were many tears—but not of sorrow.
“Tomeo,” said he, “was it worth our while to forsake9 wives and children, and church, and hymns10, and taro11 fields, and home for th–this?”
“We did not leave for this,” replied Tomeo, with some acerbity12, for he experienced a temporary sensation of feeling better at the moment; “we left all for the sake of assisting our friends in—there! it comes—it—”
He said no more, and both chiefs relapsed into silence—gazing the while at the buckets with undue13 interest.
They were interrupted by the sudden entrance of Ebony.
“Come, you yaller-cheeked chiefs; you’s die if you no make a heffort. Come on deck, breeve de fresh air. Git up a happetite. Go in for salt pork, plum duff, and lop-scouse, an’ you’ll git well ’fore you kin14 say Jack15 Rubinson.”
Tomeo and Buttchee looked up at the jovial16 negro and smiled—imbecile smiles they were.
“We cannot move,” said Tomeo and Buttchee together, “because we—w—” Together they ceased giving the reason—it was not necessary!
“Oh dear!” said Ebony, opening his great eyes to their widest. “You no kin lib long at dat rate. Better die on deck if you mus’ die; more heasy for you to breeve up dar, an’ more comf’rable to fro you overboard w’en you’s got it over.”
With this cheering remark the worthy17 negro, seizing the chiefs each by a hand, half constrained18, half assisted them to rise, and helped them to stagger to the quarter-deck, where they were greeted by Orlando, Captain Fitzgerald, Waroonga, and the missionary19.
“Come, that’s right,” cried the captain, shaking the two melancholy20 chiefs by the hand, “glad to see you plucking up courage. Tell them, Mr Zeppa, that we shall probably be at Sugar-loaf Island to-morrow, or next day.”
The two unfortunates were visibly cheered by the assurance. To do them justice, they had not quite given way to sea-sickness until then, for the weather had been moderately calm, but the nasty sea and stiff breeze had proved too much for them.
“Are you sure we shall find the island so soon?” asked Orlando of the captain in a low, earnest tone, for the poor youth’s excitement and anxiety deepened as they drew near to the place where his father might possibly be found—at the same time a strange, shrinking dread21 of what they might find made him almost wish for delay.
“I am not sure, of course,” returned the captain, “but if my information is correct, there is every probability that we shall find it to-morrow.”
“I hopes we shall,” remarked Waroonga. “It would be a grand blessing22 if the Lord will gif us the island and your father in same day.”
“Mos’ too good to be true,” observed Ebony, who was a privileged individual on board, owing very much to his good-humoured eccentricity23. “But surely you not spec’s de niggers to tumbil down at yous feet all at wance, Massa Waroonga?”
“Oh no, not at once. The day of miracle have pass,” returned the missionary. “We mus’ use the means, and then, has we not the promise that our work shall not be in vain?”
Next day about noon the Sugar-loaf mountain rose out of the sea like a great pillar of hope to Orlando, as well as to the missionary. Captain Fitzgerald sailed close in, sweeping24 the mountain side with his telescope as he advanced until close under the cliffs, when he lay-to and held a consultation25 with his passengers.
“I see no habitations of any kind,” he said, “nor any sign of the presence of man, but I have heard that the native villages lie at the lower side of the island. Now, the question is, whether would it suit your purposes best to land an armed party here, and cross over to the villages, or to sail round the island, drop anchor in the most convenient bay, and land a party there?”
Orlando, to whom this was more directly addressed, turned to the missionary.
“What think you, Waroonga? You know native thought and feeling best.”
“I would not land armed party at all,” answered Waroonga. “But Cappin Fitzgald know his own business most. What he thinks?”
“My business and yours are so mingled26,” returned the captain, “that I look to you for advice. My chief duty is to obtain information as to the whereabouts of the pirate vessel27, and I expect that such information will be got more readily through you, Waroonga, than any one else, for, besides being able to speak the native language, you can probably approach the savages28 more easily than I can.”
“They are not savages,” returned Waroonga quietly, “they are God’s ignorant children. I have seen worse men than South sea islanders with white faces an’ soft clothin’ who had not the excuse of ignorance.”
“Nay, my good sir,” said the captain, “we will not quarrel about terms. Whatever else these ‘ignorant children’ may be, I know that they are brave and warlike, and I shall gladly listen to your advice as to landing.”
“If you wish to go to them in peace, do not go to them with arms,” said Waroonga.
“Surely you would not advise me to send an unarmed party among armed sav—children?” returned the captain, with a look of surprise, while Orlando regarded his friend with mingled amusement and curiosity.
“No. You best send no party at all. Jis’ go round the island, put down angker, an’ leave the rest to me.”
“But what do you propose to do?” asked the captain.
“Swum to shore with Bibil.”
Orlando laughed, for he now understood the missionary’s plan, and in a few words described the method by which Waroonga had subdued29 the natives of Ratinga.
“You see, by this plan,” he continued, “nothing is presented to the natives which they will be tempted30 to steal, and if they are very warlike or fierce, Waroonga’s refusal to fight reduces them to a state of quiet readiness to hear, which is all that we want. Waroonga’s tongue does the rest.”
“With God’s Holy Spirit and the Word,” interposed the missionary.
“True, that is understood,” said Orlando.
“That is not always understood,” returned Waroonga.
“The plan does not seem to me a very good one,” said Captain Fitzgerald thoughtfully. “I can have no doubt that it has succeeded in time past, and may probably succeed again, but you cannot expect that the natives, even if disposed to be peaceful, will accept your message at once. It may take weeks, perhaps months, before you get them to believe the gospel, so as to permit of my men going ashore31 unarmed, and in the meantime, while you are engaged in this effort, what am I to be doing?”
“Wait God’s time,” answered Waroonga simply. “But time presses. The pirate vessel, where-ever it may be, is escaping me,” said the captain, unable to repress a smile. “However, I will at all events let you make the trial and await the result; reminding you, however, that you will run considerable risk, and that you must be prepared to accept the consequences of your rather reckless proceedings32.”
“I hope, Waroonga,” said Orlando, when the captain left them to give orders as to the course of the ship, “that you will let me share this risk with you?”
“It will be wiser not. You are a strong man, an’ sometimes fierce to behold33. They will want to fight you; then up go your blood, an’ you will want to fight them.”
“No, indeed, I won’t,” said Orlando earnestly.
“I will promise to go in the spirit of a missionary. You know how anxious I am t............