a few days after the discovery of zeppa by his son, a trading vessel chanced to touch at the island, the captain of which no sooner saw the british man-of-war than he lowered his gig, went aboard in a state of great excitement, and told how that, just two days before, he had been chased by a pirate in latitude so-and-so and longitude something else!

a messenger was immediately sent in hot haste to sugar-loaf mountain to summon orlando.

“i’m sorry to be obliged to leave you in such a hurry,” said captain fitzgerald, as they were about to part, “but duty calls, and i must obey. i promise you, however, either to return here or to send your mission-vessel for you, if it be available. rest assured that you shall not be altogether forsaken.”

having uttered these words of consolation, the captain spread his sails and departed, leaving orlando, and his father, waroonga, tomeo, buttchee, ebony, and rosco on sugar-loaf island.

several days after this, waroonga entered the hut of ongoloo and sat down. the chief was amusing himself at the time by watching his prime minister wapoota playing with little lippy, who had become a favourite at the palace since zeppa had begun to take notice of her.

“i would palaver with the chief,” said the missionary.

“let lippy be gone,” said the chief.

wapoota rolled the brown child unceremoniously out of the hut, and composed his humorous features into an expression of solemnity.

“my brother,” continued the missionary, “has agreed to become a christian and burn his idols?”

“yes,” replied ongoloo with an emphatic nod, for he was a man of decision. “i like to hear what you tell me. i feel that i am full of naughtiness. i felt that before you came here. i have done things that i knew to be wrong, because i have been miserable after doing them—yet, when in passion, i have done them again. i have wondered why i was miserable. now i know; you tell me the great father was whispering to my spirit. it must be true. i have resisted him, and he made me miserable. i deserve it. i deserve to die. when any of my men dare to resist me i kill them. i have dared to resist the great father, yet he has not killed me. why not? you tell me he is full of love and mercy even to his rebels! i believe it. you say, he sent his son jesus to die for me, and to deliver me from my sins. it is well, i accept this saviour—and all my people shall accept him.”

“my brother’s voice makes me glad,” returned waroonga; “but while you can accept this saviour for yourself, it is not possible to force other people to do so.”

“not possible!” cried the despotic chief, with vehemence. “do you not know that i can force my people to do whatever i please?—at least i can kill them if they refuse.”

“you cannot do that and, at the same time, be a christian.”

“but,” resumed ongoloo, with a look of, so to speak, fierce perplexity, “i can at all events make them burn their idols.”

“true, but that would only make them hate you in their hearts, and perhaps worship their idols more earnestly in secret. no, my brother; there is but one weapon given to christians, but that is a sharp and powerful weapon. it is called love; we must win others to christ by voice and example, we may not drive them. it is not permitted. it is not possible.”

the chief cast his frowning eyes on the ground, and so remained for some time, while the missionary silently prayed. it was a critical moment. the man so long accustomed to despotic power could not easily bring his mind to understand the process of winning men. he did, indeed, know how to win the love of his wives and children—for he was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but as to winning the obedience of warriors or slaves—the thing was preposterous! yet he had sagacity enough to perceive that while he could compel the obedience of the body—or kill it—he could not compel the obedience of the soul.

“how can i,” he said at last, with a touch of indignation still in his tone, “i, a chief and a descendant of chiefs, stoop to ask, to beg, my slaves to become christians? it may not be, i can only command them.”

“woh!” exclaimed wapoota, unable to restrain his approval of the sentiment.

“you cannot even command yourself, ongoloo, to be a christian. how, then, can you command others? it is the great father who has put it into your heart to wish to be a christian. if you will now take his plan, you will succeed. if you refuse, and try your own plan, you shall fail.”

“stay,” cried the chief, suddenly laying such a powerful grasp on waroonga’s shoulder, that he winced; “did you not say that part of his plan is the forgiveness of enemies?”

“i did.”

“must i, then, forgive the raturans if i become a christian?”

“even so.”

“then it is impossible. what! forgive the men whose forefathers have tried to rob my forefathers of their mountain since our nation first sprang into being! forgive the men who have for ages fought with our fathers, and tried to make slaves of our women and children—though they always failed because they are cowardly dogs! forgive the raturans? never! impossible!”

“with man this is impossible. with the great father all things are possible. leave your heart in his hands, ongoloo; don’t refuse his offer to save you from an unforgiving spirit, as well as from other sins, and that which to you seems impossible will soon become easy.”

“no—never!” reiterated the chief with decision, as he cut further conversation short by rising and stalking out of the hut, closely followed by the sympathetic wapoota.

waroonga was not much depressed by this failure. he knew that truth would prevail in time, and did not expect that the natural enmity of man would be overcome at the very first sound of the gospel. he was therefore agreeably surprised when, on the afternoon of that same day, ongoloo entered the hut which had been set apart for him and the two ratinga chiefs, and said—

“come, brother, i have called a council of my warriors. come, you shall see the working of the great father.”

the missionary rose at once and went after the chief with much curiosity, accompanied by tomeo and buttchee: zeppa and his son, with ebony and the pirate, being still in the mountains.

ongoloo led them to the top of a small hill on which a sacred hut or temple stood. here the prisoners of war used to be slaughtered, and here the orgies of heathen worship were wont to be practised. an immense crowd of natives—indeed the entire tribe except the sick and infirm—crowned the hill. this, however, was no new sight to the missionary, and conveyed no hint of what was pending.

the crowd stood in two orderly circles—the inner one consisting of the warriors, the outer of the women and children. both fell back to let the chief and his party pass.

as the temple-hut was open at one side, its interior, with the horrible instruments of execution and torture, as well as skulls, bones, and other ghastly evidences of former murder, was exposed to view. on the centre of the floor lay a little pile of rudely carved pieces of timber, with some loose cocoa-nut fibre beneath them. a small fire burned on something that resembled an altar in front of the hut.

the chief, standing close to this fire, cleared his throat and began an address with the words, “men, warriors, women and children, listen!” and they did listen with such rapt attention that it seemed as if not only ears, but eyes, mouths, limbs, and muscles were engaged in the listening act, for this mode of address—condescending as it did to women and children—was quite new to them, and portended something unusual.

“since these men came here,” continued the chief, pointing to waroonga and his friends, “we have heard many wonderful things that have made us think. before they came we heard some of the same wonderful things from the great white man, whose head is light but whose heart is wise and good. i have made up my mind, now, to become a christian. my warriors, my women, my children need not be told what that is. they have all got ears and have heard. i have assembled you here to see my gods burned (he pointed to the pile in the temple), and i ask all who are willing, to join me in making this fire a big one. i cannot compel your souls. i could compel your bodies, but i will not!”

he looked round very fiercely as he said this, as though he still had half a mind to kill one or two men to prove his point, and those who stood nearest to him moved uneasily, as though they more than half expected him to do some mischief, but the fierce look quickly passed away, and he went on in gentle, measured tones—

“waroonga tells me that the book of the great father says, those who become christians must love each other: therefore we must no more hate, or quarrel, or fight, or kill—not even our enemies.”

there was evident surprise on every face, and a good deal of decided shaking of heads, as if such demands were outrageous.

“moreover, it is expected of christians that they shall not revenge themselves, but suffer wrong patiently.”

the eyebrows rose higher at this.

“still more; it is demanded that we shall forgive our enemies. if we become christians, we must open our arms wide, and take the raturans to our hearts!”

this was a climax, as ongoloo evidently intended, for he paused a long time, while loud expressions of dissent and defiance were heard on all sides, though it was not easy to see who uttered them.

“now, warriors, women and children, here i am—a christian—who will join me?”

“i will!” exclaimed wapoota, stepping forward with several idols in his arms, which he tossed contemptuously into the temple.

there was a general smile of incredulity among the warriors, for wapoota was well known to be a time-server: nevertheless they were mistaken, for the jester was in earnest this time.

immediately after that, an old, white-headed warrior, bent nearly double with infirmity and years, came forward and acted as wapoota had done. then, turning to the people, he addressed them in a weak, trembling voice. there was a great silence, for this was the patriarch of the tribe; had been a lion-like man in his youth, and was greatly respected.

“i join the christians,” he said, slowly. “have i not lived and fought for long—very long?”

“yes, yes,” from many voices.

“and what good has come of it?” demanded the patriarch. “have not the men of the mountain fought with the men of the swamp since

the mountain and the swamp came from the hand of the great father?” (a pause, and again, “yes, yes,” from many voices.) “and what good has come of it? here is the mountain; yonder is the swamp, as they were from the beginning; and what the better are we that the swamp has been flooded and the mountain drenched with the blood of our fathers? hatred has been tried from the beginning of time, and has failed. let us now, my children, try love, as the great father counsels us to do.”

a murmur of decided applause followed the old man’s speech, and ongoloo, seizing him by both shoulders, gazed earnestly into his withered face. had they been frenchmen, these two would no doubt have kissed each other’s cheeks; if englishmen, they might have shaken hands warmly; being polynesian savages, they rubbed noses.

under the influence of this affectionate act, a number of the warriors ran off, fetched their gods, and threw them on the temple floor. then ongoloo, seizing a brand from the fire, thrust it into the loose cocoa-nut fibre, and set the pile in a blaze. quickly the flames leaped into the temple thatch, and set the whole structure on fire. as the fire roared and leaped, waroonga, with tomeo and buttchee, started a hymn. it chanced to be one which zeppa had already taught the people, who at once took it up, and sent forth such a shout of praise as had never before echoed among the palm-groves of that island. it confirmed the waverers, and thus, under the influence of sympathy, the whole tribe came that day to be of one mind!

the sweet strains, rolling over the plains and uplands, reached the cliffs at last, and struck faintly on the ears of a small group assembled in a mountain cave. the group consisted of zeppa and his son, ebony and the pirate.

“it sounds marvellously like a hymn,” said orlando, listening.

“ah! dear boy, it is one i taught the natives when i stayed with them,” said zeppa; “but it never reached so far as this before.”

poor zeppa was in his right mind again, but oh! how weak and wan and thin the raging fever had left him!

rosco, who was also reduced to a mere shadow of his former self, listened to the faint sound with a troubled expression, for it carried him back to the days of innocence, when he sang it at his mother’s knee.

“dat’s oncommon strange,” said ebony. “nebber heard de sound come so far before. hope de scoundrils no got hold ob grog.”

“shame on you, ebony, to suspect such a thing!” said orlando. “you would be better employed getting things ready for to-morrow’s journey than casting imputations on our hospitable friends.”

“dar’s not’ing to git ready, massa,” returned the negro. “eberyting’s prepared to start arter breakfust.”

“that’s well, and i am sure the change to the seashore will do you good, father, as well as rosco. you’ve both been too long here. the cave is not as dry as one could wish—and, then, you’ll be cheered by the sound of children playing round you.”

“yes, it will be pleasant to have lippy running out and in again,” said zeppa.

they did not converse much, for the strength of both zeppa and rosco had been so reduced that they could not even sit up long without exhaustion, but orlando kept up their spirits by prattling away on every subject that came into his mind—and especially of the island of ratinga.

while they were thus engaged they heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and next moment tomeo and buttchee bounded over the bushes, glaring and panting from the rate at which they had raced up the hill to tell the wonderful news!

“eberyting bu’nt?” exclaimed ebony, whose eyes and teeth showed so much white that his face seemed absolutely to sparkle.

“everything. idols and temple!” repeated the two chiefs, in the ratinga tongue, and in the same breath.

“an’ nebber gwine to fight no more?” asked ebony, with a grin, that might be more correctly described as a split, from ear to ear.

“never more!” replied the chiefs.

next morning the two invalids were tenderly conveyed on litters down the mountain side and over the plain, and before the afternoon had passed away, they found a pleasant temporary resting-place in the now christian village.

该作者的其它作品

《the world of ice》

《the young fur traders》

《under the waves》

《up in the clouds》