a beautiful island lying like a gem on the breast of the great pacific—a coral reef surrounding, and a calm lagoon within, on the glass-like surface of which rests a most piratical-looking schooner.

such is the scene to which we invite our reader’s attention for a little while.

at the time of which we write it was an eminently peaceful scene. so still was the atmosphere, so unruffled the water, that the island and the piratical-looking schooner seemed to float in the centre of a duplex world, where every cloudlet in the blue above had its exact counterpart in the blue below. no sounds were heard save the dull roar of the breaker that fell, at long regular intervals, on the seaward side of the reef, and no motion was visible except the back-fin of a shark as it cut a line occasionally on the sea, or the stately sweep of an albatross, as it passed above the schooner’s masts and cast a look of solemn inquiry upon her deck.

but that schooner was not a pirate. she was an honest trader—at least so it was said—though what she traded in we have no more notion than the albatross which gazed at her with such inquisitive sagacity. her decks were not particularly clean, her sails by no means snow-white. she had, indeed, four goodly-sized carronades, but these were not an extraordinary part of a peaceful trader’s armament in those regions, where man was, and still is, unusually savage. the familiar union jack hung at her peak, and some of her men were sedate-looking englishmen, though others were lascars and malays, of the cut-throat type, of whom any wickedness might be expected when occasion served.

the crew seemed to have been overcome by the same somnolent influence that had subdued nature, for they all lay about the deck sleeping or dozing in various sprawling attitudes, with the exception of the captain and the mate.

the former was a huge, rugged man of forbidding aspect, and obviously savage temper. the latter—well, it is not easy to say what were his chief characteristics, so firmly did he control the features of a fine countenance in which the tiger-like blue eyes alone seemed untamable. he was not much above the middle height; but his compact frame was wiry and full of youthful force.

“lower away the dinghy,” said the captain, gruffly, to the mate, “and let one of these lazy lubbers get into her with a box of figs. get into her yourself? i may want you.”

the mate replied with a stern “ay, ay, sir,” and rose from the gun-carriage on which he had been seated, while the captain went below.

in a few minutes the latter reappeared, and soon the little boat with its three occupants was skimming over the lagoon towards the land.

on that land a strange and interesting work was going on at the time. it was no less than the erection of a church by men who had never before placed one stone upon another—at least with a view to house-building.

the tribe to which these builders belonged had at first received their missionary with yells of execration, had torn the garments from his back, had kicked him into the sea and would infallibly have drowned him if the boat from which he landed had not returned in haste and rescued him. fortunately, that missionary was well accustomed to a state of nudity, being himself a south sea islander. he was also used to a pretty rough life, besides being young and strong. he therefore soon recovered from the treatment he had received, and, not many weeks afterwards, determined to make another attempt to land on the island of ratinga—as our coral-gem on the ocean’s breast was named.

for waroonga’s heart had been opened by the holy spirit to receive jesus christ, and the consequent flame of love to the souls of his countrymen burned too brightly to be quenched by a first failure. the desire to possess the little box of clothes and trifles with which he had landed on ratinga had been the cause, he thought, of the savages attacking him; so he resolved to divest himself totally of this world’s goods and go to his brethren with nothing but the word of god in his hand. he did so. the mission-boat once again conveyed him from headquarters to the scene of his former discomfiture, and, when close to the beach, where the natives awaited the landing of the party with warlike demonstrations, he slipped out of his clothes into the water and swam ashore—the bible, in the native tongue, being tied carefully on the top of his head to keep it dry.

surprise at this mode of proceeding caused the natives to receive him with less violence than before. their curiosity led them to listen to what he had to say. then a chief named tomeo took him by the shoulders, placed his nose against that of waroonga and rubbed it. this being equivalent to a friendly shake of the hand, the missionary signalled to his friends in the boat to go away, which they accordingly did, and left their courageous brother to his fate.

it is not our purpose to recount the whole history of this good man’s enterprise. let it suffice to say that the natives of ratinga turned round, childlike—and they were little more than grown up children—swallowed all he had to say and did all he bid them do—or nearly all, for of course there were a few self-willed characters among them who objected at first to the wholesale changes that waroonga introduced in their manners and customs. in the course of a few months they formally embraced christianity, burned their idols, and solemnly promised that if any more unfortunate ships or boats chanced to be wrecked on their shores they would refrain from eating the mariners. thus much accomplished, waroonga, in the joy of his heart, launched a canoe, and with some of his converts went off to headquarters to fetch his wife. he fetched her, and she fetched a fat little brown female baby along with her. missionaries to the southern seas, as is well known, endeavour to impress on converts the propriety, not to say decency, of a moderate amount of clothing. mrs waroonga—who had been named betsy—was therefore presented to the astonished natives of ratinga in a short calico gown of sunflower pattern with a flounce at the bottom, a bright yellow neckerchief, and a coal-scuttle bonnet, which quivered somewhat in consequence of being too large and of slender build. decency and propriety not being recognised, apparently, among infants, the brown baby—who had been named zariffa at baptism—landed in what may be styled adamite costume.

then waroonga built himself a bamboo house, and set up a school. soon after that he induced a half italian, half spanish sailor, named antonio zeppa, who had been bred in england, to settle with his wife and son on the island, and take charge of the school.

for this post zeppa and his wife were well qualified, both having received an education beyond that usually given to persons in their rank of life. besides this, antonio zeppa had a gigantic frame, a genial disposition, and a spirit of humility, or rather childlike simplicity, which went far to ingratiate him with the savages.

after several years’ residence in this field of labour, waroonga conceived the grand idea of building a house of god. it was to be built of coral-rock, cemented together with coral-lime!

now, it was while the good people of ratinga were in the first fervour of this new enterprise, that the dinghy with its three occupants approached their shore.

at that particular point of time the walls of the new church had begun to rise above the foundations, for the chief, tomeo, had entered into the matter with intense enthusiasm, and as tomeo was supreme chief, every one else felt bound to follow his example and work hard; but, to do them justice, they required no stimulant; the whole community entered into it with inexpressible glee.

zeppa taught them everything, because no one else knew anything, except of course waroonga, who, however, was not much in advance of his native congregation save in spiritual matters. zeppa showed them how to burn lime out of the coral-rock, and they gazed with open-eyed—and open-mouthed wonder at the process. then the great chief tomeo gave the word to burn lime, and buttchee, the chief second in command, backed him up by kicking the native nearest to his foot and echoing the order, “go, burn lime!” the entire population began to burn lime forthwith, and would have gone on burning lime enough to have built a south sea pyramid equal to cheops, if they had not been checked and their blazing energies turned into stone-hewing and dressing, and other channels.

thus the work went on merrily, and so engrossed were they with it that they did not at first observe the arrival of the visitors. of course they were aware of the schooner’s presence, and had been off to her the previous day, before she had furled her sails, to offer fruits and vegetables; but it was some time before they discovered that three strangers had landed and were gazing at them while they toiled.

zeppa had a black servant, a negro, whom he had induced to follow him. this man took a prominent oversight of the works. he was by nature a cook, but church-building occupied his leisure moments, and he prided himself upon being not only cleverer, but considerably blacker, than the islanders.

“now you keep out ob de road, leetil za.” this was addressed to zariffa, who, by that time, could not only toddle but trowel, besides being able to swim like a duck. “take care, missy za, dat clumsy feller wid the big stone—let him fall, and—oh!”

the negro gave vent to a yell, for the accident he feared actually occurred. the clumsy native let a huge piece of coral-rock fall from his shoulder, which just missed crushing the brown little girl. it dropped on a mass of soft lime, which flew up in all directions, making zariffa piebald at once, and, what was more serious, sending a lump straight into tomeo’s face. this was too much for the great man. he seized the culprit by the neck, and thrust his brown visage down upon the lime, from which he arose white, leaving a beautiful cast of his features behind him.

tomeo was pacified at once. he burst into a loud laugh, while the guilty man slunk humbly away, not, however, without receiving a salute from buttchee’s active foot in passing.

at this moment zeppa came up, holding his son orlando, a well-grown lad of fourteen, by the hand. he at once observed the captain of the schooner, and, going forward, shook hands with him and the mate. he had made their acquaintance the day before, when the vessel anchored in the lagoon.

“i have come to say good-bye, mr zeppa. we have finished taking in fresh water sooner than i had expected, and will be ready to sail with the evening breeze.”

“indeed? i regret this for various reasons” replied zeppa, in a soft musical voice, that one scarcely expected to issue from such a capacious chest. there was about the man an air of gentle urbanity and tenderness which might have induced a stranger to suppose him effeminate, had not his manly looks and commanding stature rendered the idea absurd. “in the first place,” he continued, “my wife and i had hoped to show you some hospitality. you know we seldom have visitors to this out-of-the-way island. then we wanted your advice with regard to the building of our church, which, you see, is progressing rapidly; and last, but not least, i wished to ask a favour, which it will be impossible to grant if you sail to-night.”

“perhaps not impossible,” said captain daniel, whose gruff nature was irresistibly mellowed by the sweet spirit of the giant who addressed him. “what d’ye want me to do?”

“i meant to ask a passage in your vessel for my son and myself to the island of otava. it is not far off, and you said yesterday that you intend to pass close to it. you see, i am something of a trader, as well as a missionary-schoolmaster; but if you sail to-night i have not time to get ready.”

“if that’s all your difficulty,” returned the captain, “i’ll delay till to-morrow night. a day won’t make much difference—will it, mr rosco?” he said, turning to the mate.

“you know best” replied the mate somewhat sharply, “i don’t command the schooner.”

the captain looked at the officer with an angry frown, and then, turning quickly to zeppa, said—

“well, if that time will do, it is settled. you and your son may go with me. and, see here, i’ve brought a box of figs for your wife, since you won’t take anything for the help you gave me this morning.”

“you shall present it yourself,” said zeppa, with a pleased smile.

“hi! ebony,” hailing the negro, “tell marie to come here. she is in the palm-grove.”

ebony found his mistress and delivered his message.

madame zeppa was a pretty little fair woman, of french extraction. she had been a lady’s-maid, and, having been born and brought up chiefly in england, spoke english fluently, though with a slightly foreign accent derived from her mother.

“missis,” said the negro, in a low voice, and with a mysterious look, as he followed her out of the palm-grove, “massa him wants to go wid schooner. don’ let him go.”

“why not, ebony?”

“kase i no likes him.”

“you don’t like the schooner?”

“no, de cappin ob de skooner. hims bad man for certin. please don’ let massa go.”

“you know i never give master his orders,” returned madame, with a light laugh.

“better if you did, now an’ den,” muttered the negro, in a tone, however, which rendered the advice not very distinct.

the fair little woman received the box of figs graciously; the captain and mate were invited to the abode of zeppa, where they met the native missionary, and soon after returned to their vessel to make preparations for departure.

“marie,” said zeppa that night as they, with their boy, sat down to rest after the labours of the day, “i expect to be away about three weeks. with anything of a wind the schooner will land us on otava in two or three days. business won’t detain me long, and a large canoe, well manned, will bring orlando and me back to you in a week or so. it is the first time i shall have left you for so long since our wedding. you won’t be anxious, little woman?”

“i would not be anxious if i were sure you went with good people,” returned marie, with a slightly troubled look; “but are you sure of the captain?”

“i am sure of nobody except you, marie,” returned her husband, with a smile that contained a dash of amusement in it.

“and me, father,” said orlando, assuming an injured look.

“well, orley, i can’t say that i am quite sure of you, you rascal,” returned his father playfully. “that spice of mischief in your composition shakes me at times. however, we will leave that question to another time. meanwhile, what makes you doubt the captain, marie?”

“ebony seems to doubt him; and i have great faith in ebony’s judgment.”

“so have i; but he is not infallible. we should never get on in life if we gave way to groundless fears, dear wife. besides, have we not the promise, ‘lo, i am with you alway?’”

on the following afternoon a fresh breeze sprang up and the piratical-looking schooner, bowing gracefully before it, sailed across the now ruffled lagoon and stood out to sea, while marie with the missionary and his wife, and a crowd of natives, stood at the end of the coral wharf, waving farewell to zeppa and his son as long as their figures could be distinguished. after that, they continued to gaze at the diminishing vessel until it melted like a little speck at the meeting-place of sea and sky.

that night an event which had been long pending was precipitated.

captain daniel had given way to his fierce temper so often during the voyage, and had behaved with such cruel tyranny to his crew, that they had resolved to stand it no longer. his harsh conduct to the mate, in particular, who was a favourite with the men, had fostered the spirit of indignation, and the mate himself, being a man of no fixed principles, although good-natured enough when not roused, had at last determined to side with the men. he was a man of fierce passions, and had been roused by his superior’s tyranny and insolence to almost uncontrollable fury; but he had not at that time been guilty of absolute insubordination.

when the vessel’s course had been laid that night—which chanced to be a friday, as some of the crew afterwards remembered—and the cabin lamp had been lighted, the captain sent for the mate, who saw by his looks that a storm was brewing.

“what did you mean, sir,” began the captain at once, “by that insolent reply you made to me on shore yesterday?”

the young man might have answered temperately if they had been alone, but zeppa was lying on a locker reading, and his son was also present, and rosco knew that the captain meant to put him to shame before them. his spirit fired.

“scoundrel!” he cried, “the measure of your iniquity is filled. you shall no longer command this schooner—”

thus far he got when the captain, livid with rage, sprang up to rush at him. zeppa also leaped up to aid in putting down what he clearly perceived was premeditated mutiny, but the mate sprang out of the cabin, and, shutting the door with a bang, locked it. at the same instant the man at the wheel—knowing what had occurred—closed and fastened the cabin sky-light. the captain threw himself several times with all his weight against the door, but it opened inwards and could not be forced.

there were two square windows in the stern of the schooner, one of which was open. orlando perceived this, sprang up, clambered through it, gained the deck unperceived, and, running down the companion stair, past all the men, rushed against the cabin door, and burst it open.

zeppa was endeavouring at the moment to wrench off the lock and was nearly thrown back. recovering, he struck fiercely out at those who thronged the dark passage.

“oh! father,” groaned orlando, as he fell before the blow.

with a terrible cry of consternation zeppa stooped to pick up his child. he was felled with a handspike as he did so; the crew then rushed into the cabin and the captain was overpowered and bound.

“overboard wi’ them all!” shouted one of the men.

there were some among these villains who, having once given the reins to their rage, were capable of anything. these, ready to act on the diabolical suggestion, attempted to drag zeppa and the captain up the companion ladder, but their great size and weight rendered the effort difficult. besides, zeppa’s consciousness was returning, and he struggled powerfully. it was otherwise with poor orlando. one of the ruffians easily raised the lad’s light frame and bore him to the deck. next moment a sharp cry and splash were heard. zeppa understood it, for he had seen his son carried away. with a wild shout he burst from those who held him, and would certainly have gained the deck and leaped overboard had not a mutineer from behind felled him a second time.

when rosco heard what had been done he ran furiously on deck, but one glance at the dark sea, as the schooner rushed swiftly over it sufficed to show him that the poor boy’s case was hopeless.

but orley’s case was not as hopeless as it seemed. the plunge revived him. accustomed to swim for hours at a time in these warm waters, he found no difficulty in supporting himself. of course his progress was aimless, for he could not see any distance around him, but a friend had been raised up for him in that desperate hour. at the moment he had been tossed overboard, a sailor, with a touch of pity left in his breast had seized a life-buoy and thrown it after him. orlando, after swimming about for a few minutes, struck against this buoy by chance—if we may venture to use that word in the circumstances.

seizing the life-preserver with an earnest “thank god” in his heart if not on his lips, he clung to it and looked anxiously around.

the sight was sufficiently appalling. thick darkness still brooded on the deep, and nothing was visible save, now and then, the crest of a breaking wave as it passed close to him, or, rolling under him, deluged his face with spray.

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