Читать книгу The Madman and the Pirate - Robert Michael Ballantyne - Страница 4

Let us waft ourselves away, now, over the sea, in pursuit of the strange barque which had treated the good people of Ratinga so cavalierly.

Richard Rosco sits in the cabin of the vessel, for it is he who commands her. He had taken her as a prize, and, finding her a good vessel in all respects, had adopted her in preference to the old piratical-looking schooner. A seaman stands before him.

“It is impossible, I tell you,” says Rosco, while a troubled expression crosses his features, which have not improved since we saw him upwards of three years ago. “The distance between the two islands is so great that it is not probable he traversed it in a canoe, especially when we consider that he did not know the island’s name or position, and was raving mad when I put him ashore.”

“That may be so, captain,” says the sailor: “nevertheless I seed him with my own eyes, an no mistake. Didn’t you say he was a man that nobody could mistake, tall, broad, powerful, handsome, black curly hair, short beard and moustache, with sharp eyes and a pleasant smile?”

“The same, in every particular—and just bordering on middle age,” answers the perplexed pirate.

“Well, as to age, I can’t say much about that,” returns the seaman; “he seemed to me more like a young man than a middle-aged one, but he had coolness and cheek enough for a hundred and fifty, or any age you like.”

“Strange,” muttered Rosco to himself, paying no regard to the last observation; “I wish that I or Mr Redford had gone with you, or some one who had seen him the last time we were here; but I didn’t want to be recognised;” then checking himself—“Well, you may go, and send Mr Redford to me.”

“I cannot account for Zeppa turning up in this way,” he said, when the mate entered.

“No more can I, sir.”

“Do all the men agree in saying that he seems to be quite sane.”

“All. Indeed most of them seemed surprised when I asked the question. You see, what with death by sword, shot, and sickness, there’s not a man in the ship who ever saw him, except yourself and me. The last of the old hands, you know, went with Captain Daniel when you sent him and the unwilling men away in the old schooner. I have no doubt, myself, from what they say, that Zeppa has got well again, and managed to return home as sound and sane as you or I.”

“If you and I were sane, we should not be here,” thought the pirate captain; but he did not give expression to the thought, save by a contemptuous curl of his lip.

“Well, Redford,” he said, after a few seconds’ pause, “my chief reason for going to Sugar-loaf Island is removed, nevertheless we shall still go there for a fresh load of sandal-wood and other things that will fetch a good price.”

“I fear, sir,” returned the mate after some hesitation, “that the crew will be apt to mutiny, if you insist on going there. They are tired of this mixture of trade with free-roving, and are anxious to sail in seas where we shall be more likely to fall in with something worth picking up.”

“Stop, Redford, I want to hear no more. The crew shall go where I please as long as I command them; and you may add that I will guarantee their being pleased with my present plan. There, don’t refer to this subject again. Where did you say the British cruiser was last seen?”

“Bearing nor’-east, sir, hull down—on our starboard quarter. I called you at once, but she had changed her course to nor’-west and we lost sight of her.”

“That will just suit us,” said Rosco, going into his private cabin and shutting the door.

Well might the pirate captain be perplexed at that time, for he was surrounded by difficulties, not the least of which was that his men were thoroughly dissatisfied with him, and he with them. He did not find his crew sufficiently ready to go in for lucrative kidnapping of natives when the chance offered, and they did not find their captain sufficiently ferocious and bloodthirsty when prizes came in their way. Nevertheless, through the influence of utter recklessness, contemptuous disregard of death, and an indomitable will, backed by wonderful capacity and aptitude in the use of fist, sword, and pistol, he had up to this time held them in complete subjection.

In his heart Rosco had resolved to quit his comrades at the first favourable opportunity, and, with this intent had been making for one of the most out-of-the-way islands in the Pacific—there to go and live among the natives, and never more to see the faces of civilised men—against whom he had sinned so grievously. His intentions were hastened by the fact that a British man-of-war on the Vancouver station, hearing of his exploits, had resolved to search for him. And this cruiser did in fact come across his track and gave chase; but being a poor sailer, was left behind just before the pirate had reached Ratinga, where, as we have seen, she put in for water.

The discovery there made, as he supposed, that Antonio Zeppa had recovered his reason and returned home, not only amazed and puzzled Rosco, but disconcerted part of his plan, which was to find Zeppa, whose image had never ceased to trouble his conscience, and, if possible, convey him to the neighbourhood of some port whence he could easily return to Ratinga. It now struck him that, since Zeppa was no longer on Sugar-loaf Island, that spot would be as favourable a one as could be found for his purpose, being far removed from the usual tracks of commerce. He would go there, take to the mountains as Zeppa had done before him, leave his dissatisfied comrades to follow their own devices, and, crossing over to the other side of the island, ingratiate himself as well as he could with the natives, grow beard and moustache, which he had hitherto shaved, and pass himself off as a shipwrecked sailor, should any vessel or cruiser touch there.

“And shipwrecked I am, body, soul, and spirit,” he muttered, bitterly, as he sat in his cabin, brooding over the past and future.

Leaving him there, and thus, we will return to Ratinga, the peaceful inhabitants of which were destined at this time to be tickled with several little shocks of more or less agreeable surprise.

One of these shocks was the sudden disappearance of Zariffa, the native missionary’s brown baby. It was an insignificant event in itself, and is only mentioned because of its having led indirectly to events of greater importance.

Zariffa had, by that time, passed out of the condition of brown-babyhood. She had, to her own intense delight, been promoted to the condition of a decently-clad little savage. In addition to the scuttle bonnet which was not quite so tremulous as that of her mother, she now sported a blue flannel petticoat. This was deemed sufficient for her, the climate being warm.

Zariffa was still, however, too young to take care of herself. Great, therefore, was Betsy Waroonga’s alarm when she missed her one day from her little bed where she should have been sleeping.

“Ebony!” cried Betsy, turning sharply round and glaring, “Zariffa’s gone.”

“Quite dead,” exclaimed the negro, aghast.

“Not at all dead,” said Betsy; “but gone—gone hout of hers bed.”

“Dat no great misfortin’, missis,” returned Ebony, with a sigh of relief.

“It’s little you knows, stoopid feller,” returned the native missionary’s wife, while her coal-scuttle shook with imparted emotion; “Zariffa never dis’beyed me in hers life. She’s lost. We must seek—seek quick!”

The sympathetic negro became again anxious, and looked hastily under the chairs and tables for the lost one, while her mother opened and searched a corner cupboard that could not have held a child half her size. Then the pair became more and more distracted as each excited the other, and ran to the various outhouses shouting, “Zariffa!” anxiously, entreatingly, despairing.

They gathered natives as they ran, hither and thither, searching every nook and corner, and burst at last in an excited crowd into the presence of Waroonga himself, who was in the act of detailing the history of Joseph to a select class of scholars, varying from seven to seventeen years of age.

“Oh! massa, Zariffa’s lost!” cried Ebony.

Waroonga glanced quickly at his wife. The excessive agitation of her bonnet told its own tale. The missionary threw Joseph overboard directly, proclaimed a holiday, and rushed out of the school-house.

“No use to go home, massa,” cried Ebony; “we’s sarch eberywhere dar; no find her.”

“Has you been to the piggery?” demanded the anxious father, who was well aware of his child’s fondness for “little squeakers.”

“Oh, yes; bin dar. I rousted out de ole sow for make sure Zariffa no hides behind her.”

At this juncture Orlando came up with a sack of cocoa-nuts on his back. Hearing what had occurred he took the matter in hand with his wonted energy.

“We must organise a regular search,” he said, throwing down the sack, “and go to work at once, for the day is far advanced, and we can do little or nothing after dark.”

So saying he collected all the able men of the village, divided them into bands, gave them minute, though hurried, directions where they were to go, and what signals they were to give in the event of the child being found; and then, heading one of the bands, he joined eagerly in the search. But, before going, he advised Betsy Waroonga to keep his mother company, as women could not be of much use in such work.

“No,” said Mrs Waroonga, with decision; “we will go home an’ pray.”

“Right, that will be better,” said Orlando. “You go back with her, Ebony, and fetch my gun. I left it in Waroonga’s house when I went in for a sack to hold the cocoa-nuts. It is behind the door. You’ll find me searching in the palm-grove. Now, boys, away; we’ve no time to lose.”

Returning to her house with her sable attendant, poor Betsy rushed into her private apartment threw herself on her knees and half across her lowly bed in an agony of alarm.

She was startled and horrified by a sharp, though smothered cry, while some living creature heaved under the bed-clothes. Instantly she swept them off, and lo! there lay Zariffa safe and well, though somewhat confused by her rude awaking and her mother’s weight.

“You’s keep up heart, missis,” said the sympathetic Ebony, looking hastily into the room in passing; “we’s sartin sure to find—”

He stopped. Blazing amazement sat on his countenance for about six moments—a pause similar to that of an injured infant just preparing for a yell—then he exploded into a fit of laughter so uncontrollable that it seemed as if a hurricane had been suddenly let loose in the room, insomuch that Betsy’s remonstrances were quite unheard.

“Oh! missis,” he exclaimed at last, wiping his eyes, “I’s a-goin’ to bust.”