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- sunset, for a time, he might have been seen wending his way among the
riven mountains, there to secrete himself till dawn in some sulphurous
pitfall, undiscoverable to his gang; but finding this at last too
troublesome, he now each evening tied his slaves hand and foot, hid the
cutlasses, and thrusting them into his barracks, shut to the door, and
lying down before it, beneath a rude shed lately added, slept out the
night, blunderbuss in hand.
It is supposed that not content with daily parading over a cindery
solitude at the head of his fine army, Oberlus now meditated the most
active mischief; his probable object being to surprise some passing
ship touching at his dominions, massacre the crew, and run away with
her to parts unknown. While these plans were simmering in his head, two
ships touch in company at the isle, on the opposite side to his; when
his designs undergo a sudden change.
The ships are in want of vegetables, which Oberlus promises in great
abundance, provided they send their boats round to his landing, so that
the crews may bring the vegetables from his garden; informing the two
captains, at the same time, that his rascals—slaves and soldiers—had
become so abominably lazy and good-for-nothing of late, that he could
not make them work by ordinary inducements, and did not have the heart
to be severe with them.
The arrangement was agreed to, and the boats were sent and hauled upon
the beach. The crews went to the lava hut; but to their surprise nobody
was there. After waiting till their patience was exhausted, they
returned to the shore, when lo, some stranger—not the Good Samaritan
either—seems to have very recently passed that way. Three of the boats
were broken in a thousand pieces, and the fourth was missing. By hard
toil over the mountains and through the clinkers, some of the strangers
succeeded in returning to that side of the isle where the ships lay,
when fresh boats are sent to the relief of the rest of the hapless
party.
However amazed at the treachery of Oberlus, the two captains, afraid of
new and still more mysterious atrocities—and indeed, half imputing such
strange events to the enchantments associated with these isles—perceive
no security but in instant flight; leaving Oberlus and his army in
quiet possession of the stolen boat.
On the eve of sailing they put a letter in a keg, giving the Pacific
Ocean intelligence of the affair, and moored the keg in the bay. Some
time subsequent, the keg was opened by another captain chancing to
anchor there, but not until after he had dispatched a boat round to
Oberlus’s Landing. As may be readily surmised, he felt no little
inquietude till the boat’s return: when another letter was handed him,
giving Oberlus’s version of the affair. This precious document had been
found pinned half-mildewed to the clinker wall of the sulphurous and
deserted hut. It ran as follows: showing that Oberlus was at least an
accomplished writer, and no mere boor; and what is more, was capable of
the most tristful eloquence.
“Sir: I am the most unfortunate ill-treated gentleman that lives. I am
a patriot, exiled from my country by the cruel hand of tyranny.
“Banished to these Enchanted Isles, I have again and again besought
captains of ships to sell me a boat, but always have been refused,
though I offered the handsomest prices in Mexican dollars. At length an
opportunity presented of possessing myself of one, and I did not let it
slip.
“I have been long endeavoring, by hard labor and much solitary
suffering, to accumulate something to make myself comfortable in a
virtuous though unhappy old age; but at various times have been robbed
and beaten by men professing to be Christians.
“To-day I sail from the Enchanted group in the good boat Charity bound
to the Feejee Isles.
“FATHERLESS OBERLUS.
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