CHAPTER NINE.
Who shall tell, or who shall understand, the thoughts of Richard Rosco,the ex-pirate, as he wandered, lost yet regardless, in that dismalswamp?
The human spirit is essentially galvanic. It jumps like a grasshopper,bounds like a kangaroo. The greatest of men can only restrain it in aslight degree. The small men either have exasperating trouble with it,or make no attempt to curb it at all. It is a rebellious spirit. Thebest of books tells us that, "Greater is he that ruleth it, than he thattaketh a city."
Think of that, youngster, whoever you are, who readeth this. Think ofthe conquerors of the world. Think of the "Great" Alexander, whosemight was so tremendous that he subjugated kingdoms and spent his lifein doing little else. Think of Napoleon "the Great," whose armiesravaged Europe from the Atlantic to Asia: who even began--though hefailed to finish--the conquest of Africa; who made kings as you mightmake pasteboard men, and filled the civilised world with fear, as wellas with blood and graves--all for his own glorification! Think of theseand other "great" men, and reflect that it is written, "He who rules hisown spirit" is _greater_ than they.
Yes, the human spirit is difficult to deal with, and uncomfortablyexplosive. At least so Richard Rosco found it when, towards the closeof the day on which his enemy chased him into the dismal swamp, he satdown on a gnarled root and began to reflect.
His spirit jumped almost out of him with contempt, when he thought thatfor the first time in his life, he had fled in abject terror from theface of man! He could not conceal that from himself, despite the excusesuggested by pride--that he had half believed Zeppa to be an apparition.What even if that were true? Had he not boastfully said more than oncethat he would defy the foul fiend himself if he should attempt to thwarthim? Then his spirit bounded into a region of disappointed rage when hethought of the lost opportunity of stabbing his enemy to the heart.After that, unbidden, and in spite of him, it dropped into an abyss ofsomething like fierce despair when he recalled the past surveyed thepresent, and forecast the future. Truly, if hell ever does begin to menon earth, it began that day to the pirate, as he sat in the twilight onthe gnarled root, with one of his feet dangling in the slimy water, hishands clasped so tight that the knuckles stood out white, and his eyesgazing upwards with an expression that seemed the very embodiment ofwoe.
Then his spirit lost its spring, and he began to crawl, in memory, onthe shores of "other days." He thought of the days when, comparativelyinnocent he rambled on the sunny hills of old England; played and didmischief with comrades; formed friendships and fought battles, and knewwhat it was to experience good impulses; understood the joy of givingway to these, as well as the depression consequent on resisting them;and recalled the time when he regarded his mother as the supreme judgein every case of difficulty--the only comforter in every time of sorrow.
At this point his spirit grovelled like a crushed worm in the stagnantpool of his despair, for he had no hope. He had sinned everyopportunity away. He had defied God and man, and nothing was left tohim, apparently, save "a fearful looking-for of judgment."
As he bent over the pool he saw his own distorted visage dimly reflectedtherein, and the thought occurred,--"Why not end it all at once? Fiveminutes at the utmost and all will be over!" The pirate was aphysically brave man beyond his fellows. He had courage to carry theidea into effect but--"after death the judgment!" Where had he heardthese words? They were strange to him, but they were not new. Thosewho are trained in the knowledge of God's Word are not as a generalrule, moved in an extraordinary degree by quotations from it. It isoften otherwise with those who have had little of it instilled into themin youth and none in later years. That which may seem to a Christianbut a familiar part of the "old, old story," sometimes becomes tohundreds and thousands of human beings a startling revelation. It wasso to the pirate on this occasion. The idea of judgment took such ahold of him that he shrank from death with far more fear than he everhad, with courage, faced it in days gone by. Trembling, terrified,abject he sat there, incapable of consecutive thought or intelligentaction.
At last the gloom which had been slowly deepening over the swamp sankinto absolute blackness, and the chills of night, which wereparticularly sharp in such places, began to tell upon him. But he didnot dare to move, lest he should fall into the swamp. Slowly heextended himself on the root; wound his arms and fingers convulsivelyamong leaves and branches, and held on like a drowning man. An ague-fitseemed to have seized him, for he trembled violently in every limb; andas his exhausted spirit was about to lose itself in sleep, or, as itseemed to him, in death, he gave vent to a subdued cry, "God be mercifulto me a sinner!"
Rest, such as it was, refreshed the pirate, and when the grey dawn,struggling through the dense foliage, awoke him, he rose up with afeeling of submissiveness which seemed, somehow, to restore his energy.
He was without purpose, however, for he knew nothing of hissurroundings, and, of course, could form no idea of what was best to bedone. In these circumstances he rose with a strange sensation ofhelplessness, and wandered straight before him.
And oh! how beautiful were the scenes presented to his vision!Everything in this world is relative. That which is hideous at one timeis lovely at another. In the night the evening, or at the grey dawn,the swamp was indeed dismal in the extreme; but when the morningadvanced towards noon all that was changed, as if magically, by theaction of the sun. Black, repulsive waters reflected patches of thebright blue sky, and every leaf, and spray, and parasite, and tendril,that grew in the world above was faithfully mirrored in the world below.Vistas of gnarled roots and graceful stems and drooping boughs wereseen on right and left, before and behind, extending as if into infinitespace, while innumerable insects, engaged in the business of their briefexistence, were filling the region with miniature melodies.
But Richard Rosco saw it not. At least it made no sensible impressionon him. His mental retina was capable of receiving only two pictures:the concentrated accumulation of past sin--the terrible anticipation offuture retribution. Between these two, present danger and sufferingwere well-nigh forgotten.
Towards noon, however, the sense of hunger began to oppress him. Heallayed it with a few wild berries. Then fatigue began to tell, forwalking from root to root sometimes on short stretches of solid land,sometimes over soft mud, often knee-deep in water, was very exhausting.At last he came to what appeared to be the end of the swamp, and here hediscovered a small patch of cultivated ground.
The discovery awoke him to the necessity of caution, but he was awakenedtoo late, for already had one of the Raturan natives observed himadvancing out of the swamp. Instantly he gave the alarm that a "whiteface" was approaching. Of course the appearance of one suggested ascout, and the speedy approach of a host. Horrified to see a supposedenemy come from a region which they had hitherto deemed their surerefuge, the few natives who dwelt there flew to arms, and ran to meetthe advancing foe.
The pirate was not just then in a mood to resist. He had no weapon, andno spirit left. He therefore suffered himself to be taken prisonerwithout a struggle, satisfied apparently to know that the madman was notone of those into whose hands he had fallen.
Great was the rejoicing among the Raturans when the prisoner was broughtin, for they were still smarting under the humiliation of their defeat,and knew well that their discomfiture had been largely owing to theinfluence of "white faces." True, they did not fall into the mistake ofsupposing that Rosco was the awful giant who had chased and belabouredthem so unmercifully with a long stake, but they at once concluded thathe was a comrade of Zeppa--perhaps one of a band who had joined theirfoes. Besides, whether he were a comrade or not was a matter of smallmoment. Sufficient for them that his face was white, that he belongedto a race which, in the person of Zeppa, had wrought them evil, and thathe was now in their power.
Of course, the Raturans had not during all these years, remained inignorance of the existence of Zeppa. They had heard of his dwelling i
nthe mountain soon after he had visited the village of their enemies, andhad also become aware of the fact that the white man was a madman and agiant, but more than this they did not know, because of their feudpreventing interchange of visits or of news between the tribes. Theirimaginations, therefore, having full swing, had clothed Zeppa in some ofthe supposed attributes of a demigod. These attributes, however, thesame imaginations quickly exchanged for those of a demi-devil, when atlast they saw Zeppa in the flesh, and were put to flight by him. Hissize, indeed, had rather fallen short of their expectation, for sixtyfeet had been the average estimate, but his fury and aspect had comequite up to the mark, and the fact that not a man of the tribe had daredto stand before him, was sufficient to convince a set of superstitioussavages that he was a real devil in human guise. To have secured one ofhis minor comrades, therefore, was a splendid and unlooked-for piece ofgood fortune, which they resolved to make the most of by burning thepirate alive.
Little did the wretched man think, when they conducted him to a hut inthe middle of their village and supplied him with meat and drink, thatthis was a preliminary ceremony to the terrible end they purposed tomake of him. It is true he did not feel easy in his mind, for, despitethis touch of hospitality, his captors regarded him with looks ofundisguised hatred.
There was something of the feline spirit in these Raturan savages. Asthe cat plays with the mouse before killing it, so did they amusethemselves with the pirate before putting him to the final torture whichwas to terminate his life.
And well was it for Rosco that they did so, for the delay thus causedwas the means of saving his life--though he did not come out of thedread ordeal scathless.
They began with a dance--a war-dance it is to be presumed--at all eventsit involved the flourishing of clubs and spears, the formation ofhideous faces, and the perpetration of frightful grimaces, with boundsand yells enough to warrant the conclusion that the dance was not one ofpeace. Richard Rosco formed the centre of that dance--the sun, as itwere, of the system round which the dusky host revolved. But he did notjoin in the celebration, for he was bound firmly to a stake set up inthe ground, and could not move hand or foot.
At first the warriors of the tribe moved round the pirate in a circle,stamping time slowly with their feet while the women and children stoodin a larger circle, marking time with hands and voices. Presently thedance grew more furious, and ultimately attained to a pitch of wildviolence which is quite indescribable. At the height of the paroxysm, awarrior would ever and anon dart out from the circle with whirling club,and bring it down as if on the prisoner's skull, but would turn it asideso deftly that it just grazed his ear and fell with a dull thud on theground. Other warriors made at him with their spears, which they thrustwith lightning speed at his naked breast, but checked them just as theytouched the skin.
Two or three of these last were so inexpert that they pricked the skinslightly, and blood began to trickle down, but these clumsy warriorswere instantly kicked from the circle of dancers, and compelled to taketheir place among the women and children.
When they had exhausted themselves with the dance, the warriors sat downto feast upon viands, which had, in the meanwhile, been preparing forthem, and while they feasted they taunted their prisoner with cowardice,and told him in graphic language of the horrors that yet awaited him.
Fortunately for the miserable man--who was left bound to the stakeduring the feast--he did not understand a word of what was said. He hadbeen stripped of all clothing save a pair of short breeches, reaching alittle below the knee, and his naked feet rested on a curious piece ofbasketwork. This last would have been too slight to bear his weight ifhe had not been almost suspended by the cords that bound him to thestake.
Rosco was very pale. He felt that his doom was fixed; but his nativecourage did not forsake him. He braced himself to meet his fate like aman, and resolved to shut his eyes, when next they began to dance roundhim, so that he should not shrink from the blow or thrust which, he feltsure, would ere long end his ill-spent life. But the time seemed to himterribly long, and while he hung there his mind began to recall thegloomy past. Perhaps it was a refinement of cruelty on the part of thesavages that they gave him time to think, so that his courage might bereduced or overcome.
If so, they were mistaken in their plan. The pirate showed no unusualsign of fear. Once he attempted to pray, but he found that almostimpossible.
Wearied at length with waiting, the savages arose, and began to putfagots and other combustibles under the wicker-basket on which thepirate stood. Then, indeed, was Rosco's courage tried nearly to theuttermost and when he saw the fire actually applied, he uttered a cry of"Help! help!" so loud and terrible that his enemies fell back for amoment as if appalled.
And help came from a quarter that Rosco little expected.
But to explain this we must return to Zeppa. We have said that he gaveup the chase of the pirate under the impression that the whole affairwas a dream; but, on returning to his cave, he found that he could notrest. Old associations and memories had been too violently aroused,and, after spending a sleepless night he rose up, determined to resumethe chase which he had abandoned. He returned to the spot where he hadlost sight of his enemy in the swamp, and, after a brief examination ofthe place, advanced in as straight a line as he could through thetangled and interlacing boughs.
Naturally he followed the trail of the pirate, for the difficulties orpeculiar formations of the ground which had influenced the latter in hiscourse also affected Zeppa much in the same way. Thus it came to passthat when the Raturans were about to burn their prisoner alive, themadman was close to their village. But Zeppa did not think of theRaturans. He had never seen or heard of them, except on the occasion oftheir attack on the Mountain-men. His sole desire was to be revenged onthe slayer of his boy. And even in this matter the poor maniac wasstill greatly perplexed, for his Christian principles and his naturallygentle spirit forbade revenge on the one hand, while, on the other, asense of justice told him that murder should not go unpunished, or themurderer remain at large; so that it required the absolute sight ofRosco before his eyes to rouse him to the pitch of fury necessary tohold him to the execution of his purpose.
It was while he was advancing slowly, and puzzling his brain over theseconsiderations, that Rosco's cry for help rang out.
Zeppa recognised the voice, and a dark frown settled on his countenanceas he stopped to listen. Then an appalling yell filled his ears. Itwas repeated again and again, as the kindling flames licked round thepirate's naked feet, causing him to writhe in mortal agony.
Instantly Zeppa was stirred to action. He replied with a tremendousshout.
Well did the Raturans know that shout. With caught breath and blanchedfaces they turned towards the direction whence it came, and they saw themadman bounding towards them with streaming locks and glaring eyes. Asingle look sufficed. The entire population of the village turned andfled!
Next moment Zeppa rushed up to the stake, and kicked the fire-brandsfrom beneath the poor victim, who was by that time almost insensiblefrom agony and smoke. Drawing his knife, Zeppa cut the cords, and,lifting the pirate in his arms, laid him on the ground.
The madman was terribly excited. He had been drenched from frequentimmersions in the swamp, besides being much exhausted by his long anddifficult walk, or rather, scramble, after a sleepless night; and thissudden meeting with his worst enemy in such awful circumstances seemedto have produced an access of insanity, so that the pirate feltuncertain whether he had not been delivered from a horrible fate to fallinto one perhaps not less terrible.
As he lay there on his back, scorched, tormented with thirst andhelpless, he watched with fearful anxiety each motion of the madman.For some moments Zeppa seemed undecided. He stood with heaving chestexpanding nostrils, and flashing eyes, gazing after the flying crew ofnatives. Then he turned sharply on the unhappy man who lay at his feet.
"Get up!" he said fiercely, "and follow me."
/> "I cannot get up, Zeppa," replied the pirate in a faint voice. "Don'tyou see my feet are burnt? God help me!"
He ended with a deep groan, and the ferocity at once left Zeppa'scountenance, but the wild light did not leave his eyes, nor did hebecome less excited in his actions.
"Come, I will carry you," he said.
Stooping down quickly, he raised the pirate in his arms as if he hadbeen a child, and bore him away.
Avoiding the swamp, he proceeded in the direction of the mountain byanother route--a route which ran so near to Ongoloo's village, that theRaturans never ventured to use it.
He passed the village without having been observed, and began to toilslowly up the steep ascent panting as he went, for his mighty strengthhad been overtaxed, and his helpless burden was heavy.
"Lay me down and rest yourself," said Rosco, with a groan that he couldnot suppress, for his scorched lower limbs caused him unutterableanguish, and beads of perspiration stood upon his brow, while a deadlypallor overspread his face.
Zeppa spoke no word in reply. He did, indeed, look at the speaker once,uneasily, but took no notice of his request. Thus, clasping his enemyto his breast he ascended the steep hill, struggling and stumblingupwards, as if with some fixed and stern purpose in view, until at lasthe gained the shelter of his mountain cave.
The Madman and the Pirate Page 9