Part 8 (2/2)

It was a complete victory. We are inclined to think that the Mountain-men called it a ”glorious” victory. Judging from the world's history they probably did, and the mountain women ever afterwards were wont to tell their little ones of the prowess of their forefathers--of the skulls battered in and other deeds of heroism done--in that just and reasonable war!

As centuries rolled on, the old story came to be repeated again, and over again, with slight variations to suit the varying ages. In particular it came to be well understood, and a.s.serted, that that unconquerable desire of the Raturans to take possession of the mountain-top was growing apace and had to be jealously watched and curbed.

In one of the centuries--we are not sure which--the Raturan savages made some advances into their swampy grounds and began to improve them. This region lay very remote from the Mountain-men's villages, but, as it approached the mountain base in a round-about manner, and as the mountain-tops could be distinctly seen from the region, although well-nigh impa.s.sable swamps still lay between the reclaimed lands and the mountain base, these advances were regarded as another _casus belli_, and another war was waged, with practically the same results-- damage to everybody concerned, and good to no one.

Thus was the game kept up until the chief Ongoloo began to strut his little hour upon the stage of time.

There are always men, savage as well as civilised, in every region and age, who march in advance of their fellows, either because of intellectual capacity or moral rect.i.tude or both. Ongoloo was one of these. He did not believe in ”war at any price.” He thought it probable that G.o.d lived in a state of peace, and argued that what was best for the Creator must naturally be best for the creature.

He therefore tried to introduce a peace-policy into Sugar-loaf Island.

His efforts were not successful. The war-party was too strong for him.

At last he felt constrained to give in to the force of public opinion and agreed to hold an unarmed palaver with the men of Ratura. The war-at-any-price party would have preferred an armed palaver, but they were overruled.

The Raturans chanced at this time to be in somewhat depressed circ.u.mstances, owing to a sickness which had carried off many of their best warriors and left their lands partly waste, so that their finances, if we may so express it were in a bad condition.

”Now is our chance--now or never,” thought the war-party, and pushed matters to extremity.

On the day appointed for the palaver, one of the most pugnacious of the Mountain-men got leave to open the deliberations.

”You're a low-minded, sneaking son of an ignorant father,” he said to the spokesman of the Raturans.

”You're another,” retorted his foe.

Having disposed of these preliminary compliments, the speakers paused, glared, and breathed hard.

Of course we give the nearest equivalent in English that we can find for the vernacular used.

”You and your greedy forefathers,” resumed the Mountain-man, ”have always kept your false eyes on our mountain-top, and you are looking at it still.”

”That's a lie,” returned the man of Ratura with savage simplicity.

Had they been armed, it is probable that the palaver would have closed abruptly at this point.

Seeing that the relations between the parties were ”strained” almost to the breaking-point, one of the less warlike among the Ratura chiefs caught his own spokesman by the nape of the neck, and hurled him back among his comrades.

”We have _not_, O valiant men of the Mountain,” he said, in a gentle tone, ”looked upon your hill-tops with desire. We only wish to improve our swamps, increase our sweet-potato grounds, and live at peace.”

”That is not true,” retorted the fiery Mountain-man, ”and we must have a promise from you that you will let the swamps alone, and not advance one step nearer to the top of our mountain.”

”But the swamps are not yours,” objected the other.

”No matter--they are not yours. They are neutral ground, and must not be touched.”

”Well, we will not touch them,” said the peaceful Raturan.

This reply disconcerted the fiery mountaineer, for he was anxious to fight.

”But that is not enough,” he resumed, as a bright idea struck him, ”you must promise not even to _look_ at our mountain.”

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