The Island Queen

They steered for a different part of the reef, so as to avoid being seen by the conspirators. On landing they passed through the old burial-ground and made for the Golden Cave. This place had, since the settlement on Big Island, been given over entirely to Pauline’s use, and being styled the Queen’s seaside palace, no one ever thought of entering it without permission. Hence the party of observation knew that it would be a secure place of ambush.

When safe inside, Dominick and Otto were deputed to go out as quietly as possible, note what Morris and his men were doing, and bring back a report.

“For,” said the doctor, “if we interrupt them too soon they may pretend that this is one of their ordinary visits to the ship for supplies, and if we are too late they may get clear away in spite of us. We must strike when the iron is hot.”

“Yes,” said Otto, looking back as he followed his brother, “we’ll look well to the heating process and let you know when they’re white hot, so have your revolvers ready, my braves!”

“Och! shut your tatie-trap,” cried Malone, but Otto, having shut the door, lost the advice.

The night was neither decidedly light nor dark. There might, indeed, to have been moonlight, but clouds veiled the light though they could not altogether obscure it; thus there was just enough to render objects dimly visible.

“All the better,” whispered Dominick, as they turned the point of rock that hid the wreck from view. “We’ll go down by the thicket. Keep close to my heels, boy, and drop on your hands and knees when you see me do so.”

“All right, captain.”

Gliding cautiously down in the direction indicated, they came at length to the seaward edge of the thicket, where the bushes, being less dense, permitted them to partially see the wreck. Here Dominick went on all-fours, appearing, as he crept slowly forward, like some sort of huge bear with no tail, and its hind feet turned the wrong way. Otto followed like a little bear with similar undignified peculiarities. Having advanced far enough to obtain a clear view of the wreck, the spies sank into the grass and crept forward a little way. Then they lay still a few moments and listened. They then raised their heads cautiously and looked. What they heard and saw puzzled them not a little.

First, they noted that the wreck did not seem to lie in the position with which they had been so long familiar. Then, as their eyes became accustomed to the faint light, they observed that a small boat was moving busily about the vessel’s bow, and that a group of dark scarce-distinguishable forms of men was standing on the shore. Presently there was heard a low, yet not unfamiliar growl. This was followed by a high yet not unfamiliar shriek, accompanied by a grating sound.

“Lions and cockatoos!” whispered Otto, who had crept up alongside of his brother by that time, “what can they be about?”

“Is that a line I see athwart the sky?” asked Dominick, “look—just between the wreck and the big ledge there.”

Said Otto, “It’s more than a line. I see it. Half a dozen lines at least, and something like a round lump in the middle of ’em. Don’t you see it?—against the sky like a black moon—”

“Hush! boy—the growl again!”

“Ay, man, also the cockatoo.”

“Oh! I have it now,” whispered Dominick, with a low laugh; “they’ve rove blocks and tackle from the ship to the rocks, and are working them softly. Evildoers fear to be overheard, even when there’s no chance of being so! Your lion, Otto, is the subdued yo-heave-ho of the men.”

“I see,” said Otto, with a grin so broad that his white teeth glistened even in the dark, “and my cockatoo is the unsubdued screeching of the block-sheaves! They must be trying to get the ship off the reef.”

A heavy plunge at that moment told that the conspirators were not only trying but had succeeded, for the plunge was followed by an irresistible though powerfully suppressed cheer.

“We have not a moment to lose, Otto,” whispered Dominick. “The ship is free, and they will only take time to carry the tackle aboard before embarking. Do you run back and bring the squad down at the double. I will keep our friends here in play till they come.”

Not a word did Otto reply. He had acquired that first of requisites in a soldier or servant—the habit of prompt obedience. Somewhat like a North American savage, he sank into the grass and wriggled from the scene. A few moments later Dominick rose, and walked down towards the conspirators with the easy off-hand manner of a man who saunters forth to enjoy the night air. So busy were they getting the tackle into the boat that he was not observed until quite close to them.

“You seem busy to-night, friends,” he said, in his usual pleasant tones, as he took his stand close beside Hugh Morris, who was near the bow of the boat.

“Mr Rigonda!” exclaimed Malines in great surprise, coming forward at the moment.

“Why are you surprised? It is not unusual for me to take a row on a fine night.”

This reply seeming to imply that Dominick had come to the reef alone—perhaps in the dinghy—emboldened the men; some of them laughed.

“Well, I confess to being a little surprised, sir,” replied the mate, “for it so happened that we were preparing something in the nature of a surprise for you and the rest of the settlers.”

“Yes, I see,” returned Dominick, in the same pleasant tone. “You’ve managed to get the ship off the ledge in a very creditable manner, and you mean to take her into the lagoon and cast anchor off the settlement?”

Again the men laughed lightly.

“No, sir, we don’t,” broke in Hugh Morris at this point, “we intend to take her in quite the opposite direction, and clear off to sea with her.”

“Oh no, you don’t, Hugh,” returned Dominick, with an agreeable smile, which was a little perplexing as well as exasperating. “You are going into the lagoon; you know you are, and I have come to help you.”

“But I say we are not!” retorted Morris, in rising wrath, “and what’s more, you’ll have to go along with us, now that you’ve had the ill-luck to fall in with us.”

“Quite right, Hugh; didn’t I say that I came off on purpose to go along with you?”

As he spoke there was heard a rushing sound of feet and a number of dark forms were seen approaching from the bushes.

“Betrayed!” shouted Malines. “Jump in, lads, and shove off!”

He sprang forward, but was instantly arrested by the muzzle of a revolver within a foot of his head.

“It’s of no use, boys,” said Dominick, laying his hand on the bow of the boat. “You’ll have to enter it as dead men if you do so without my permission.”

Had the men been armed it might have gone hard with Dominick at that moment, but so sure had they been of accomplishing their purpose unmolested, that the idea of arming had never crossed their minds. Before they could recover from the surprise or decide what to do, the armed squad was upon them.

“Halt! boys,” cried Joe Binney, when close to the boat. “Now, look ’ee here. It warn’t o’ my seekin’ that I was made prime minister, but now that it’s bin done I’ll stick to it an’ do my duty. If ye knock under like good boys I’ll recommend ye to the queen’s marcy. If not I’ll have ’ee strung up, every man jack of ’ee. Moreover, the first man as disobeys my orders I’ll blow his brains out. Now, jump aboard, boys (turning to his own men), an’ keep your revolvers handy. You lads as wanted to run away will follow.”

The mixture of humour and resolution in Joe’s manner, coupled with his well-known decision of character and his commanding size, had its effect. The squad instantly jumped into the boat, and the conspirators meekly followed without a word. They saw—as Hugh afterwards expressed it—that the game was up, and made up their minds to submit to the inevitable.

The conspirators were ordered to take the oars. Afterwards they were made to work the ship round into the channel leading to the lagoon, while their armed friends mounted guard over them.

It was daybreak when the ship sailed calmly over the lagoon towards Silver Bay.

“Och! man,” said Teddy Malone, in a low voice, to Jabez Jenkins, who stood near him, “why did ye want to run away wid the owld ship? It wor a sneakin’ sort o’ thing, warn’t it, seein’ that the poor little childers an’ the women depind so much on what’s inside of her?”

“To tell ’ee the truth, Teddy,” replied the man, an improved expression coming suddenly over his face, “I ain’t sorry that we’ve bin stopped in this business, and, wot’s more, I believe that most of us ain’t sorry. We was more than half led into it, d’ee see, by lies as to what the leaders was goin’ to do, an’ arterwards we didn’t like to draw back.”

“I’m sorry for yez,” returned Malone, “for I’m afeared we’ll have to skrag the wan half of ye to keep the other half in order. In a spik an’ span noo settlement, where ivvery wan thinks he may do as he likes, the laws has to be pritty stiff. We’ve wan comfort, howivver—the quane is marciful.”

The Irishman was right in both his views on this subject, as the sequel will show.

Great was the surprise and joy among the settlers that morning when the fine ship in which they had traversed the ocean sailed grandly over the lagoon, and let go her anchor in Silver Bay. Some viewed her as a means of continuing the voyage and escaping from a secluded life of which they were beginning to tire. Others thought of her as a means of reopening intercourse with home, while not a few thought only of the convenience of having her and her useful cargo so near to them.

But great was their surprise when Malines, Morris, Jabez, and the rest of them were landed with their hands bound behind their backs; and still greater was that surprise when, in open court, that is, in the midst of the entire colony in the open air, these men were charged with their crime.

A regular criminal court was instituted on the spot, as regular, at least, as was possible, considering the almost total ignorance of all concerned in regard to matters of law. Queen Pauline appointed Dr Marsh to be judge, he being supposed to be the best acquainted with, or least ignorant of, legal matters and forms. A jury of twelve men were selected by lot, and little Buxley was appointed public prosecutor. In justice to the prisoners it was thought that they ought to have an advocate to defend them, but as no one would undertake the duty, that also was settled by lot, and the lot fell upon Redding, who, being a gentle and meek man, was perhaps best suited for it.

We may not go into the details of this celebrated trial, which lasted the greater part of the day, and was watched with intense eagerness by the entire population, including some of the older children, who had become impressed with the delightfully-horrible idea that a hanging or shooting, if not flaying and roasting, of some of the criminals would be the certain result. Suffice it to say that there was grievous irregularity in the proceedings: the public prosecutor not only proved the guilt of the men, but in the fervour of his indignation suggested the nature of their punishment; the jury not only listened to the facts of the case, but commented on them freely throughout, and, usurping the judge’s office, pronounced sentence on the criminals three or four times over; while the judge himself had the greatest possible difficulty in keeping anything like order all round.

The only man who performed his duty calmly was Redding, who, in a speech that quite surprised and transfixed the hearers, sought to point out that the men on trial had not actually committed the crime with which they had been charged, that of seizing the ship, but had only contemplated it, as had been alleged, though even that had not been clearly proved; that, supposing the crime to have been committed, it was a first offence, and that justice should always be tempered with mercy, as was taught in that best of all law-books, the Bible.

The pleading of this man had considerable effect, but it could not turn the tide of feeling in favour of the principal prisoners for more than one reason. They had been domineering, turbulent fellows all along; they had meditated a crime which would have robbed the settlers of many of the necessaries and all the luxuries of life, and this displayed a meanness of spirit which, they thought, deserved severe punishment.

Accordingly, after they had been pronounced guilty by the unanimous voice of the jury, and after the judge had consulted earnestly with some members of the privy council, Malines and Morris were condemned to a fortnight’s imprisonment on short allowance of the poorest food, and the other criminals to the same for a week.

When Malines had been seized and bound on board the ship, he had submitted, partly from prudence, and partly from a belief that the whole affair was a sort of half joke but when he found himself rebound, after the trial, and cast with his companions into a solid wooden building with a strong door and no window, which had been erected as a sort of fortress in which to put the women and children in case of attack by the savages, and there provided with maize and water for food and straw for bed, he began to realise the fact that he had indeed fallen into the hands of resolute men and under the power of law.

“I wouldn’t mind it so much if they’d only not cut off our baccy,” he groaned, on the afternoon of the following day, after a prolonged fit of sullen silence.

“After all it sarves us right,” growled Hugh Morris.

“Speak for yourself,” said Jabez Jenkins sulkily.

“That’s just what I do,” retorted Hugh.

“Hear, hear!” from some of the others.

What this conversation might have grown to no one can tell, for it was interrupted by the opening of the prison door and the entrance of a party of armed men.

“I am directed,” said Otto, who was in command of the party, “to bring you fellows before the queen, so, come along.”

Half amused by and half contemptuous of the leader, who gave his orders as if he were a powerful giant, the prisoners rose and marched out.

While this scene was taking place in the jail, the widow Lynch was holding a private interview with the queen in the palace.

Chapter Eleven.

Shows how the Queen Conducted herself in Trying Circumstances, and was Finally Dethroned

“Now, darlin’,” said Mrs Lynch to Queen Pauline, as she sat on the side of her bed looking contemplatively at the floor, “thim rascals’ll be in the Hall in two minits, so take me advice and give them more nor they’ve got.”

“But my object in sending for them is not to add to their punishment,” said the queen.

“More’s the pity, for they need it, an’ the Coort was too tinder wi’ them intirely. Two weeks! why, two months would do them more good. Anyhow, see that ye give them a fearful blowin’ up.”

“I’ll do what I can for them,” returned Pina, with a pleasant laugh, as she rose and passed into the Audience Hall, where the prisoners and as many of the settlers as could find room were already gathered.

Here a slight change of feeling seemed to have taken place in the people. Perhaps the sight of Hugh and Malines—two men who had, up till that time, carried matters with rather a high hand—bound, humbled, helpless, and with bits of straw which had been given them as bedding sticking to their garments, induced a touch of pity. At all events, there was none of that riotous demand for vengeance which had characterised them when under the influence of excitement at the trial. Evidently a slight reaction in favour of the culprits had set in, and the entrance of the queen, therefore, took place in solemn silence, no one knowing why she had sent for the men or what were her intentions. Poor Pauline was much embarrassed by the silence and by the situation in which she found herself. Being a girl of mind, and not a mere human machine made and content to run always on beaten paths, she had resolved to try an experiment, and braced herself to the duty.

It was by no means a new experiment; on the contrary, it was older than this world’s history, though new to Pauline in the particular circumstances—being an application of the law of mercy.

“My friends,” said Pina, in a somewhat tremulous voice, which however became firmer as she proceeded, “this is the first trial that has taken place in our little colony, and as crime must be firmly repressed—”

(“Punished, my dear—putt it stronger!” came in a whisper from the side door, where widow Lynch was listening; but, fortunately, none of the audience heard her.)

“I feel,” continued Pauline, taking no notice of the advice, “that it becomes me, as your chosen queen, to do what I think will be best for the interests of the community.”

“Hear, hear!” exclaimed some of the audience; but they gave no further expression to their feelings, being still uncertain as to the queen’s leanings.

“No doubt,” continued Pina, trying, not quite successfully, to swallow the lump in her throat, “the punishment which you have awarded these men is in strict accordance with your ideas of justice, and, being utterly ignorant of law, I will not presume to doubt the wisdom of your decision; nor would I interfere, either by increasing or decreasing the punishment, did I not feel that this case is peculiar, very peculiar. It is, as I have said, the beginning of crime in our kingdom, and little beginnings, you all know, often lead to great results. A small leak may sink a ship. Then, in the second place, this is the first offence committed by these men, and first offences require peculiar treatment—”

(“That’s so, my dear—powerful treatment. Give it ’em hot!” inaudibly whispered the widow.)

“Turning to that Book,” continued Pauline, “which shall be my guide in every act of life, I find that God ‘delighteth in mercy.’ Can I go wrong in following humbly in His footsteps? I think not. Therefore, I venture to exercise the privilege of my position, and extend mercy to these men. The law has been vindicated by their trial and condemnation. I now, in accordance with constitutional right, bestow on them a free pardon.”

This, being rapidly uttered, quite took the people by surprise, and caused them to burst into a ringing cheer, above which the no longer inaudible voice of the widow was heard to exclaim—

“Free parding, indeed!” in tones of indignant contempt, as she shut the door with a bang and retired in disgust from the scene.

“I do not know,” said the queen, when silence was restored, “on what particular officer of my household,” (a confused little smile and blush here), “falls the duty of setting crim— I mean forgiven men free, so I now order the prime minister to cut their bonds.”

Amid some laughter, Joe readily drew forth an enormous clasp-knife and obeyed this command. Then the queen, stepping forward, held out her hand with a bright smile to Hugh Morris. None but an utterly abandoned wretch could have resisted that. Hugh gave in at once—seized the hand, and not only shook it, but kissed it heartily. So did Malines, and so did the others, and then they all dispersed—Teddy Malone signalling his exit with a cheer and a shout to the following effect—

“Hooroo! boys—she’s ivvery inch a quane, an’ two or three eighths over—cut an’ dry, ready-made, hot off the irons! We’re in luck—eh! boys, aren’t we?”

The latter remark was made, with a hearty slap on the back, to little Buxley, who, turning at once and grasping Malone in his arms, went in for a vigorous wrestle by way of relieving his feelings.

Whatever may be thought of this matter by men deep in the learning of human law, we feel bound to put on record that this plan of Queen Pauline the First proved a great success, for, from that day forward, Malines and Morris and all the other conspirators became excellent members of the community—gave up all ideas of piracy on the high seas, set to work like men to fence in their properties, cultivate their farms, prosecute their fisheries, and otherwise to make themselves useful. Another result was that Silver Bay Settlement began to flourish.

Similar results usually happen when men give up quarrelling and take to working. The schoolroom was soon finished. The queen had her Bible classes—plenty of Bibles having been found in the ship—and Dominick even went the length of venturing to conduct special services on Sundays.

But, strange to say, the more things prospered on the island, the more pensive became the queen, as well as Otto and his brother. It was not so with Dr Marsh, however. Some unknown influence seemed to keep him always in a hearty frame of mind.

“I can’t help it, Dom,” said the queen, as she walked on the white shore of Silver Bay one evening while the sun was descending in a golden blaze, “I can’t bear to think of them.”

Poor Pauline’s mind was running on a cheery bald little old gentleman in Java, and a mild little spectacled old lady, with knitting proclivities, in England, whose chief solace, in a humble way, was an elderly female cat.

“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.