The Island Queen

“Am I never to see them again?” she added, as she sat down on a coral rock, buried her fair face in her hands, and wept.

Dominick tried to comfort her, but in vain.

“It’s all very well what you say, Dom, but here we are settling down as if we meant to stay for ever. Even Otto talks less than he used to about Robinson Crusoe, and no ships ever come near us, and the sailors don’t want to quit the islands, so we can’t even use the ship we have got, and—and—O darling mother! and dear, dear papa!”

If Queen Pina, who broke down at this point, had only known that, about the time she was speaking, the dear papa was running for his life, covered with mud from head to foot, in the midst of thunder and fire and smoke, she might have mingled horror with loving emphasis as she mentioned his name.

At the time of which we write, the island of Java, in the Malay Archipelago, was convulsed by one of those tremendous earthquakes which have at irregular intervals, from time immemorial, shattered its mountains, overwhelmed some of its fairest lands, and killed thousands of its inhabitants. It is not our intention, however, to touch on this subject more than will suffice to elucidate our tale.

Deeply interesting is it, at times, to note the intimate connection that sometimes exists between places and events which seem exceedingly remote. One would imagine that the eruption of a volcanic mountain in Java could not have much influence on the life or fortunes of people living on an island nearly a thousand miles distant from the same. Yet so it was, in a double sense, too, as we shall see.

The great shock in Java, which overturned the bald little old gentleman’s chair, causing him to spring up and exclaim to his partner, “Hallo, Brooks!” passed through the intervening earth, losing much of its power on the way, caused Refuge Islands to tremble, and Pauline to look up suddenly with the exclamation—

“What’s that Dom?”

“It is marvellously like an earthquake, Pina.”

Strange to say, Brooks in Java made precisely the same remark, at about the same moment, to his senior partner.

Thereafter old Mr Rigonda, who didn’t like earthquakes, said to Brooks—who didn’t mind earthquakes, being used to them—

“I’ll start off for England immediately.”

He did start off, even more immediately than he had intended, for the neighbouring volcano, as if angered by his remark, sent up a shock that shook the surrounding houses to their foundations. The senior partner rushed out in terror, and was just in time to receive a shower of mud and ashes while he fled away through fire and smoke, as already mentioned.

The volcano went to sleep again for a short time after that little indication of its power, and you may be sure that old Rigonda did not wait for its reawakening. One of his own ships was on the point of sailing that very day. He went on board—after cleaning himself—got Brooks to wind up their business relations in the cabin, and left for England with a fair wind.

And well was it for the bald little old gentleman that he did so, for, a few days later, strange sounds and appearances were in the air and on the sea. Fine ashes filled the sky, so that noon became like midnight, and everything betokened that something unusually violent must have occurred in the land which they had left. Nothing more serious, however, befell our voyager. In due course he reached England, hastened home, and, without warning, burst in upon his wife while that dear little old lady was in the act of remarking to the middle-aged cat, in a very dolorous tone, that she feared something must have happened to the ship, for her darlings could never have been so long of writing if all had gone well.

It was while the cat gazed contemplatively at the everlasting socks, as if meditating a reply, that old Rigonda burst in.

Starting up with amazing activity and a cry of joy, the old lady swept her feline friend from the table—inadvertently, of course—and rushed into her husband’s arms, while the outraged animal sought refuge on top of the bookcase, whence it glared at the happy meeting with feelings that may be more easily understood than described. Of course the old man’s joy was turned into grief and anxiety when he heard of the departure of his children and was told of their prolonged silence; but with that we have nothing to do at present.

We return to Silver Bay, where a sense of insecurity had been aroused in the community ever since the tremors of the earth to which we have just referred.

With the slumbering of the Javanese mountains, however, these tremors and the consequent fears subsided, and were almost forgotten in another source of anxiety.

One morning, while Teddy Malone was walking on the beach of Silver Bay, he observed a small object running and stumbling towards him, as if in great haste or fear. Hurrying forward to meet this object he soon perceived that it was little Brown-eyes, of whom he was very fond.

“What’s wrong, me darlint?” he asked, catching the child up and kissing her.

“Oh, such funny tings me sawd—oder side de rocks,” replied Brown-eyes, panting; “come wid me an’ see dem. Come kik!”

“Funny things, eh, mavourneen, what sort of things?”

“Oh, like beasts. Come kik!”

“They wasn’t sarpints, was they?” said Malone, seating the child on his shoulder and hastening towards the rocky point which separated Silver Bay from the land beyond.

“No, no—not saa’pints. Long beasts, like mans, only hims not stand and walk, but lie down and crawl.”

Much impressed with the child’s eager manner, the Irishman hurried towards the point of rocks, filled with curiosity as to what the creatures could be.

“What sort o’ hids have they, darlint?” he asked, as he neared the point.

“Hids same as mans, and faces like you, but more uglier, all scratched over, an’ dey try to catch me, but me runned away.”

Teddy Malone’s hitherto obtuse faculties were awakened. He stopped suddenly, being by that time convinced that he stood unarmed within spear-throw of savages in ambush. To advance, supposing his conjecture to be right, he knew would be certain death. To turn and fly would probably be the same, for naked savages could easily overtake him even if unburdened with Brown-eyes, whom, of course, he could not forsake, and he was too far from the settlement to shout an alarm.

Perspiration burst from poor Teddy’s brow, for even delay, he knew, would be fatal, as the savages would suspect him of having discovered them.

Suddenly he put Brown-eyes down on the sand, and, twisting his figure into a comical position, began to hop like a frog. His device had the desired effect; Brown-eyes burst into a hearty fit of laughter, forgot for the moment the “funny beasts,” and cried, “Do it agin!”

The poor man did it again, thinking intensely all the time what he should do next.

“Would you like to see me dance, darlint?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh yis!”

Thereupon Teddy Malone began to dance an Irish jig to his own whistling, although, being much agitated, he found it no easy matter to whistle in tune or time, but that was unimportant. As he danced he took care to back in a homeward direction. The child naturally followed. Thus, by slow degrees, he got beyond what he considered spear-throw, and feeling boldness return with security, he caught the child up and danced with her on his shoulder. Then he set her down, and pretended to chase her. He even went the length of chasing her a little way in the wrong direction, in order to throw the savages more completely off their guard. By degrees he got near to the settlement, and there was met by Otto.

“You seem jolly to-day, Ted,” said the boy.

“Whist, lad,” returned the other, without intermitting his exercise. “Look as if ye was admirin’ me. There’s lot of them tattooed monkeys—savages—beyant the pint. They don’t know I’ve found it out. Slink up an’ gather the boys, an’ look alive. I’ll amuse ’em here till you come back. An’ I say, don’t forgit to bring me revolver an’ cutlash.”

“All right,” was Otto’s brief reply, as he sauntered slowly up towards the bushes. No sooner was he screened by these, however, than he ran like a hare to the palace.

“Halloo! Dom, Joe, Hugh—all of you—the savages again! Arm—quick!”

It needed no urging to hasten the movements of all who heard the boy’s voice. Ever since the first appearance of the savages Dominick and the doctor had put all the men of the settlement under daily training in drill for an hour or so, that they might be better able to act promptly and in concert if occasion should again occur. The arms had been collected, and such of them as were not in use stored in a handy position, so that in two minutes an armed company was proceeding at a run towards the spot on the shore where Malone was still performing his antics, to the inexpressible delight of Brown-eyes.

“Where are the spalpeens?” asked the widow Lynch, who had followed the men.

“Beyant the rocks, mother,” answered Malone, as he received his weapons from Otto and fell into his place in the ranks; “ye’d as well take the child home, or she’ll be sure to follow—she’s nigh as wild as yerself.”

The widow was indeed fond of seeing, as she used to say, “all the fun that was goin’,” but on this occasion she consented to carry Brown-eyes out of danger while the settlers moved at a quick step towards the point.

Behind that point of rocks a band of savages lay concealed, as Malone had rightly conjectured. There were about forty of them, all armed with clubs and spears, evidently bent on attacking the settlement. Of course they meant to do it by surprise, and had concealed themselves among the bushes behind the point, where they probably would have lain till nightfall if Brown-eyes in her wanderings had not discovered them. Their chief would have instantly caught and silenced the poor child, had she not run so far clear of the point that he would infallibly have revealed himself to Teddy Malone in doing so.

When that worthy drew near to the rocks, as described, the chief got ready a spear for his reception. When Malone took to dancing, the chief condescended to smile, or grin, hideously. When he retreated out of range the chief consoled himself with the reflection that it was just as well, night being the best time for attack. When, however, he beheld a band of men moving towards him armed with the terrible things that “spouted smoke, fire, and stones,” a change came over the spirit of his dream. After a hasty consultation with his comrades, he glided off in the direction of their canoe. The rest followed, and when our settlers at last turned the point, they saw the foe paddling at full speed across the lagoon.

Firing a volley of disappointment after them, both in words and bullets, they ran to their boats and gave chase, but, as on the former occasion, the canoe proved too swift for the boats under oars, and the savages got away.

The anxiety that naturally filled the breasts of Queen Pauline and her councillors at this event was speedily forgotten in a recurrence of the earthquake which had previously alarmed them so much.

It happened on a calm, bright morning, when the widow Lynch chanced to be washing garments in the palace beside the queen. You see they had not much regard for state-ceremonial or etiquette at the court of Pauline the First even in public, much less in private, so that, while the widow was deep in the washtub at one end of the hall, the queen was busy at the other end patching Otto’s garments.

At first there occurred a slight trembling of the earth, which the widow, attributing to giddiness in her own cranium, recognised with a remonstrative “Ohone!”