Then, for the first time, he seemed to have difficulty in deciding what to do. Now, at last, the pirate was in his power—he could do to him what he pleased! As he thought thus he turned a look of fierce indignation upon him. But, even as he gazed, the look faded, and was replaced by one of pity, for he could not help seeing that the wretched man was suffering intolerable anguish2, though no murmur3 escaped from his tightly-compressed lips.
“Slay4 me, in God’s name, kill me at once, Zeppa,” he gasped5, “and put me out of torment6.”
“Poor man! poor Rosco!” returned the madman in a gentle voice, “I thought to have punished thee, but God wills it otherwise.”
He said no more, but rose hastily and went into the bush. Returning in a few moments with a bundle of herbs, he gathered some sticks and kindled7 a fire. A large earthenware8 pot stood close to the side of the cave’s entrance—a clumsy thing, made by himself of some sort of clay. This he filled with water, put the herbs in, and set it on the fire. Soon he had a poultice spread on a broad leaf which, when it was cold, he applied9 to one of the pirate’s dreadfully burnt feet. Then he spread another poultice, with which he treated the other foot.
What the remedy was that Zeppa made use of on this occasion is best known to himself; we can throw no light on the subject. Neither can we say whether the application was or was not in accordance with the practice of the faculty10, but certain it is that Rosco’s sufferings were immediately assuaged11, and he soon fell into a tranquil12 sleep.
Not so the madman, who sat watching by his couch. Poor Zeppa’s physical sufferings and exertion13 had proved too much for him; the strain on his shattered nerves had been too severe, and a burning fever was now raging within him, so that the delirium14 consequent on disease began to mingle15, so to speak, with his insanity16.
He felt that something unusual was going on within him. He tried to restrain himself, and chain down his wandering, surging thoughts, but the more he sought to hold himself down, the more did a demon—who seemed to have been especially appointed for the purpose—cast his mental fastenings adrift.
At last he took it into his head that the slumbering18 pirate had bewitched him. As this idea gained ground and the internal fires increased, the old ideas of revenge returned, and he drew the knife which hung at his belt, gazing furtively19 at the sleeper20 as he did so.
But the better nature within the man maintained a fierce conflict with the worse.
“He murdered my son—my darling Orley!” murmured the madman, as he felt the keen edge and point of his knife, and crept towards the sleeper, while a fitful flicker21 of the dying fire betrayed the awful light that seemed to blaze in his eyes. “He carried me from my home! He left Marie to die in hopeless grief! Ha! ha! ha! Oh God! keep me back—back from this.”
The noise awoke Rosco, who sat up and gazed at Zeppa in horror, for he saw at a glance that a fit of his madness must have seized him.
“Zeppa!” he exclaimed, raising himself with difficulty on both hands, and gazing sternly in the madman’s face.
“Ha!” exclaimed the latter, suddenly throwing his knife on the ground within Rosco’s reach, “see, I scorn to take advantage of your unarmed condition. Take that and defend yourself. I will content myself with this.”
He caught up the heavy staff which he was in the habit of carrying with him in his mountain rambles22. At the same instant Rosco seized the knife and flung it far into the bush.
“See! I am still unarmed,” he said.
“True, but you are not the less guilty, Rosco, and you must die. It is my duty to kill you.”
He advanced with the staff up-raised.
“Stay! Let us consider before you strike. Are you not a self-appointed executioner?”
The question was well put. The madman lowered the staff to consider. Instantly the pirate made a plunge23 at and caught it. Zeppa strove to wrench24 it from his grasp, but the pirate felt that his life might depend on his retaining hold, and, in his extremity25, was endued26 with almost supernatural strength. In the fierce struggles that ensued, the embers of the fire were scattered27, and the spot reduced to almost total darkness. During the unequal conflict, the pirate, who could only get upon his knees, was swept and hurled28 from side to side, but still he grasped the staff with vice-like power to his breast. Even in that fearful moment the idea, which had already occurred to him, of humouring his antagonist29 gained force. He suddenly loosed his hold. Zeppa staggered backward, recovered himself, sprang forward, and aimed a fearful blow at his adversary30, who suddenly fell flat down. The staff passed harmlessly over him and was shattered to pieces on the side of the cave.
“Ha! ha!” laughed the pirate lightly, as he sat up again, “you see, Zeppa, that Providence31 is against you. How else could I, a helpless cripple, have held my own against you? And see, the very weapon you meant to use is broken to pieces. Come now, delay this execution for a little, and let us talk together about this death which you think is due. There is much to be said about death, you know, and I should like to get to understand it better before I experience it.”
“There is reason in that, Rosco,” said Zeppa, sitting down on the ground by the side of the pirate, and leaning his back against the rock. “You have much need to consider death, for after death comes the judgment32, and none of us can escape that.”
“True, Zeppa, and I should not like to face that just now, for I am not fit to die, although, as you truly say, I deserve death. I have no hesitation33 in admitting that,” returned the pirate, with some bitterness; “I deserve to die, body and soul, and, after all, I don’t see why I should seek so earnestly to delay the righteous doom34.”
“Right, Rosco, right; you talk sense now, the doom is well deserved. Why, then, try to prevent me any longer from inflicting35 it when you know it is my duty to do so?”
“Because,” continued the pirate, who felt that to maintain the conflict even with words was too much for his exhausted strength, “because I have heard that God is merciful.”
“Merciful!” echoed Zeppa. “Of course He is. Have you not heard that His mercy is so great that He has provided a way of escape for sinners—through faith in His own dear Son?”
“It does not, however, seem to be a way of escape for me,” said the pirate, letting himself sink back on his couch with a weary sigh.
“Yes, it is! yes, it is!” exclaimed Zeppa eagerly, as he got upon the familiar theme; “the offer is to the chief of sinners, ‘Whosoever will,’ ‘Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?’”
“Tell me about it” said Rosco faintly, as the other paused.
Zeppa had delayed a moment in order to think for his disordered mind had been turned into a much-loved channel, that of preaching the Gospel to inquiring sinners. For many years he had been training himself in the knowledge of the Scriptures36, and, being possessed37 of a good memory, he had got large portions of it by heart. Gathering38 together the embers of the scattered fire, he sat down again, and, gazing thoughtfully at the flickering39 flames, began to point out the way of salvation40 to the pirate.
Sleep—irresistible sleep—gradually overcame the latter; still the former went on repeating long passages of God’s word. At last he put a question, and, not receiving an answer, looked earnestly into the face of his enemy.
“Ah! poor man. He sleeps. God cannot wish me to slay him until I have made him understand the gospel. I will delay—till to-morrow.”
Before the morrow came Zeppa had wandered forth41 among the cliffs and gorges42 of his wild home, with the ever-increasing fires of fever raging in his veins43.
Sometimes his madness took the form of wildest fury, and, grasping some bush or sapling that might chance to be near, he would struggle with it as with a fiend until utter exhaustion44 caused him to fall prostrate45 on the ground, where he would lie until partial rest and internal fire gave him strength again to rise. At other times he would run up and down the bills like a greyhound, bounding from rock to rock, and across
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