The Madman and the Pirate Part 17

"I hope not. I pray not; but I fear that he--"

"Hims got leettle out ob sorts," said the sympathetic Ebony, suggesting a milder state of things.

As Orlando did not appear to derive much consolation from the suggestion, Ebony held his tongue for a few minutes.

Presently his attention was attracted to a sound in the underwood near them.

"Hist! Ma.s.sa Orley. I hear somet'ing."

"So do I, Ebony," said the youth, pausing for a moment to listen; "it must be some sort of bird, for there can be no wild animals left by the natives in so small an island."

As he spoke something like a low moan was heard. The negro's mouth opened, and the whites of his great eyes seemed to dilate.

"If it _am_ a bird, ma.s.sa, hims got a mos' awful voice. Mus' have cotched a drefful cold!"

The groan was repeated as he spoke, and immediately after they observed a large, sluggish-looking animal, advancing through the underwood.

"What a pity we's not got a gun!" whispered Ebony. "If we's only had a spear or a pitchfork, it's besser than nuffin."

"Lucky that you have nothing of the sort, else you'd commit murder,"

said Orlando, advancing. "Don't you see--it is a man!"

The supposed animal started as the youth spoke, and rose on his knees with a terribly haggard and anxious look.

"Richard Rosco!" exclaimed Orley, who recognised the pirate at the first glance.

But Rosco did not reply. He, too, had recognised Orley, despite the change in his size and appearance, and believed him to be a visitant from the other world, an idea which was fostered by the further supposition that Ebony was the devil keeping him company.

Orlando soon relieved him, however. The aspect of the pirate, so haggard and worn out, as he crawled on his hands and knees, was so dreadful that a flood of pity rushed into his bosom.

"My poor fellow," he said, going forward and laying his hand gently on his shoulder, "this is indeed a most unexpected, most amazing sight.

How came you here?"

"Then you were not drowned?" gasped the pirate, instead of answering the question.

"No, thank G.o.d. I was not drowned," said Orley, with a sad smile. "But again I ask, How came you here?"

"Never mind me," said Rosco hurriedly, "but go to your father."

"My father! Do you know, then, where he is?" cried Orlando, with sudden excitement.

"Yes. He is up there--not far off. I have just escaped from him. He is bent on taking my life. He saved me from the savages. He is mad-- with fever--and stands terribly in need of help."

Bewildered beyond expression by these contradictory statements, Orlando made no attempt to understand, but exclaimed--

"Can you guide us to him?"

"You see," returned the pirate sadly, "I cannot even rise to my feet.

The savages were burning me alive when your father came to my rescue.

The flesh is dropping from the bones. I cannot help you."

"Kin you git on my back?" asked Ebony. "You's a good lift, but I's awful strong."

"I will try," returned Rosco, "but you will have to protect me from Zeppa if he sees me, for he is bent on taking my life. He thinks that you were drowned--as, indeed, so did I--the time that you were thrown overboard without my knowledge--mind that, _without my knowledge_--and your father in his madness thinks he is commissioned by G.o.d to avenge your death. Perhaps, when he sees you alive, he may change his mind, but there is no depending on one who is delirious with fever. He will probably still be in the cave when we reach it."

"We will protect you. Get up quickly, and show us the way to the cave."

In a moment the stout negro had the pirate on his broad shoulders, and, under his guidance, mounted the slightly-marked path that led to Zeppa's retreat.

No words were spoken by the way. Orlando was too full of anxious antic.i.p.ation to speak. The negro was too heavily weighted to care about conversation just then, and Rosco suffered so severely from the rough motions of his black steed that he was fain to purse his lips tightly to prevent a cry of pain.

On reaching the neighbourhood of the cave the pirate whispered to Ebony to set him down.

"You will come in sight of the place the moment you turn round yonder cliff. It is better that I should remain here till the meeting is over.

I hear no sound, but doubtless Zeppa is lying down by this time."

The negro set his burden on the ground, and Rosco crept slowly into the bush to hide, while the others hurried forward in the direction pointed out to them.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

No sooner had Orlando and the negro pa.s.sed round the cliff to which Rosco had directed them, than they beheld a sight which was well calculated to fill them with anxiety and alarm, for there stood Zeppa, panting and wrestling with one of the fiends that were in the habit of a.s.sailing him.

The fiend, on this occasion, was familiar enough to him--the stout branch of a tree which overhung his cave, but which his delirious brain had transformed into a living foe. No shout or cry issued from the poor man's compressed lips. He engaged in the deadly struggle with that silent resolve of purpose which was natural to him. The disease under which he laboured had probably reached its climax, for he swayed to and fro, in his futile efforts to wrench off the limb, with a degree of energy that seemed more than human. His partially naked limbs showed the knotted muscles standing out rigidly; his teeth were clenched and exposed; his blood-shot eyes glared; the long, curling and matted hair of his head and beard was flying about in wild disorder; and his labouring chest heaved as he fiercely, silently, and hopelessly struggled.

Oh! it was a terrible picture to be presented thus suddenly to the gaze of a loving son.

"Stay where you are, Ebony. I must meet him alone," whispered Orlando.

Then, hastening forward with outstretched arms, he exclaimed--

"Father!"

Instantly Zeppa let go his supposed enemy and turned round. The change in his aspect was as wonderful as it was sudden. The old, loving, gentle expression overspread his features, and the wild fire seemed to die out of his eyes as he held out both hands.

"Ah! once more, my son!" he said, in the tenderest of tones. "Come to me. This is kind of you, Orley, to return so soon again; I had not expected you for a long time. Sit down beside me, and lay your head upon my knee--so--I like to have you that way, for I see you better."

"Oh, father--dear father!" said Orlando, but the words were choked in his throat, and tears welled from his eyes.

"Yes, Orley?" said Zeppa, with a startled look of joyful surprise, while he turned his head a little to one side, as if listening in expectancy; "speak again, dear boy; speak again. I have often seen you since you went to the spirit-land, but have never heard you speak till to-day.

Speak once more, dear boy!"

But Orley could not speak. He could only hide his face in his father's bosom and sob aloud.

"Nay, don't cry, lad; you never did that before! What do you mean?

That is unmanly. Not like what my courageous boy was wont to be. And you have grown so much since last I saw you. Why, you've even got a beard! Who ever heard of a bearded man sobbing like a child? And now I look at you closely I see that you have grown wonderfully tall. It is very strange--but all things seem strange since I came here. Only, in all the many visits you have paid me, I have never seen you changed till to-day. You have always come to me in the old boyish form. Very, _very_ strange! But, Orley, my boy" (and here Zeppa's voice became intensely earnest and pleading), "you won't leave me again, will you?

Surely they can well spare you from the spirit-world for a time--just a little while. It would fill my heart with such joy and grat.i.tude. And I'm your father, Orley, surely I have a right to you--more right than the angels have--haven't I? and then it would give such joy, if you came back, to your dear mother, whom I have not seen for so long--so very long!"