The Madman and the Pirate

by R. M. Ballantyne

Nevertheless, unmoved by its influences—except in so far as it suited their dark designs—the Raturans chose it for the fell purpose of invading their neighbours’ lands, and exterminating their ancient foes; for, driven to desperation by the taunts and scorn of the Mountain-men, they felt that nothing short of extermination would suffice. And they were right. Extermination of the sinners, or the sins, was indeed their only chance of peace! Not knowing the Gospel method of blotting out the latter, their one resource lay in obliterating the former.

In the dead of night—that darkest hour when deeds of villainy and violence are usually done—the Raturan chief once more assembled his men from all quarters of the rolling plains and the dismal swamps, until the entire force of the tribe was under his command.

Leaving the aged men and boys to protect the women and children, those dark-skinned warriors marched away to battle—not with the flaunting banners and martial music of civilised man, but with the profound silence and the stealthy tread of the savage. Though the work in hand was the same, the means to the end were different; we will therefore describe them.

Had it been a daylight battle to which they went forth, their women and boys would have followed with reserve ammunition in the shape of baskets full of stones, and spare javelins; but, being a night attack, the fighting men went alone—each armed with a heavy club, a light spear, and a stone knife or hatchet.

Arrived at the pass where they had met with such a singular repulse on a former occasion, the main body was halted, and scouts were sent out in advance to see that all was clear. Then the plan of attack was formed. One detachment was to approach the enemy’s village on the right; another was to go round to the left; while the main body was to advance in front.

There is a proverb relating to the plans of men as well as mice, which receives verification in every land and time. Its truth received corroboration at this time on Sugar-loaf Island. On that same night it chanced that the chief Ongoloo was unable to sleep. He sent for his prime-ministerial-jester and one of his chiefs, to whom he proposed a ramble. The chief and jester professed themselves charmed with the proposal, although each had been roused from a pleasant slumber.

In the course of the ramble they came unexpectedly on one of the Raturan scouts, whom they temporarily extinguished with a club. Ongoloo became at once alive to the situation, and took instant action.

“Wapoota!” he said in an excited whisper, “run to the rear of the foe. Go swiftly, like the sea bird. When you get there, yell, shriek—like—like—you know how! As you did last time! Change your ground at each yell—so they will think you a host. Fear not to be captured. Your death is nothing. Away!”

A kick facilitated Wapoota’s flight, and the two chiefs returned at speed to rouse the sleeping camp.

Wapoota performed his part nobly—and without being captured, for he did not agree with Ongoloo as to the unimportance of his own death! At the unexpected outcry in the rear the Raturans halted, and held a hasty council of war.