The Madman and the Pirate

by R. M. Ballantyne

And oh! how beautiful were the scenes presented to his vision! Everything in this world is relative. That which is hideous at one time is lovely at another. In the night the evening, or at the grey dawn, the swamp was indeed dismal in the extreme; but when the morning advanced towards noon all that was changed, as if magically, by the action of the sun. Black, repulsive waters reflected patches of the bright 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 were seen on right and left, before and behind, extending as if into infinite space, while innumerable insects, engaged in the business of their brief existence, were filling the region with miniature melodies.

But Richard Rosco saw it not. At least it made no sensible impression on him. His mental retina was capable of receiving only two pictures: the concentrated accumulation of past sin—the terrible anticipation of future retribution. Between these two, present danger and suffering were well-nigh forgotten.

Towards noon, however, the sense of hunger began to oppress him. He allayed it with a few wild berries. Then fatigue began to tell, for walking 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 he discovered a small patch of cultivated ground.

The discovery awoke him to the necessity of caution, but he was awakened too late, for already had one of the Raturan natives observed him advancing out of the swamp. Instantly he gave the alarm that a “white face” was approaching. Of course the appearance of one suggested a scout, and the speedy approach of a host. Horrified to see a supposed enemy come from a region which they had hitherto deemed their sure refuge, the few natives who dwelt there flew to arms, and ran to meet the advancing foe.

The pirate was not just then in a mood to resist. He had no weapon, and no spirit left. He therefore suffered himself to be taken prisoner without a struggle, satisfied apparently to know that the madman was not one of those into whose hands he had fallen.

Great was the rejoicing among the Raturans when the prisoner was brought in, for they were still smarting under the humiliation of their defeat, and knew well that their discomfiture had been largely owing to the influence of “white faces.” True, they did not fall into the mistake of supposing that Rosco was the awful giant who had chased and belaboured them so unmercifully with a long stake, but they at once concluded that he was a comrade of Zeppa—perhaps one of a band who had joined their foes. Besides, whether he were a comrade or not was a matter of small moment. Sufficient for them that his face was white, that he belonged to a race which, in the person of Zeppa, had wrought them evil, and that he was now in their power.

Of course, the Raturans had not during all these years, remained in ignorance of the existence of Zeppa. They had heard of his dwelling in the mountain soon after he had visited the village of their enemies, and had also become aware of the fact that the white man was a madman and a giant, but more than this they did not know, because of their feud preventing interchange of visits or of news between the tribes. Their imaginations, therefore, having full swing, had clothed Zeppa in some of the supposed attributes of a demigod. These attributes, however, the same imaginations quickly exchanged for those of a demi-devil, when at last they saw Zeppa in the flesh, and were put to flight by him. His size, indeed, had rather fallen short of their expectation, for sixty feet had been the average estimate, but his fury and aspect had come quite up to the mark, and the fact that not a man of the tribe had dared to stand before him, was sufficient to convince a set of superstitious savages that he was a real devil in human guise. To have secured one of his minor comrades, therefore, was a splendid and unlooked-for piece of good fortune, which they resolved to make the most of by burning the pirate alive.

Little did the wretched man think, when they conducted him to a hut in the middle of their village and supplied him with meat and drink, that this was a preliminary ceremony to the terrible end they purposed to make of him. It is true he did not feel easy in his mind, for, despite this touch of hospitality, his captors regarded him with looks of undisguised hatred.

There was something of the feline spirit in these Raturan savages. As the cat plays with the mouse before killing it, so did they amuse themselves with the pirate before putting him to the final torture which was to terminate his life.

And well was it for Rosco that they did so, for the delay thus caused was the means of saving his life—though he did not come out of the dread ordeal scathless.