O'er Many Lands, on Many Seas

by Gordon Stables

to describe thelatter, a man would need to be a prophet in reality. How is it then, itmay be asked, that I, Niobe Radnor, am able with truthfulness andaccuracy to give an account of the occurrences that were taking placearound me when I first made my appearance on "the stage of life." Forthe ability to do so, I am indebted to the only father I ever knew, mytrue and trusty old friend Captain (formerly boatswain) Ben Roberts, whosupplies me with the facts.

  Yonder he is, sitting out on the rose lawn there, as I write, book inhand, his white beard glittering in the spring sunshine, and his jollyold round red face surmounted by an immensity of straw hat--just as if_his_ complexion _could_ be spoiled, just as if a complexion that hasborne the brunt of a thousand storms, been scathed and scarred inbattle, blistered by many a fierce and scorching summer sun, andreddened by the snows of many a hard and stormy winter, _could_ bespoiled.

  Ah! dear old Ben! he is getting old, wearing up towards the threescoreyears and ten--

  "--That form That short allotted span. That binds the few and weary years Of pilgrimage to man."

  Yes, Ben is getting old. As oaks get old, so is my faithful friendgetting old. As oaks in age are hard and tough, and defiant of thegales that rage through the forest, uprooting mighty trees, so is Ben myfriend; and for all the storms he has weathered, I trust I shall havehim by me yet for years and years to come. Ben is so buoyant and fresh,it always instils new blood into my veins merely to talk to him. "Ben,my boy," I often say, "you are, by your own confession, some twentyyears my senior, and yet I believe you feel as young and even youngerthan I do."

  "Well, Nie," he replies, "I believe it's the heart that does it, youknow.

  "For old as I am, and old as I seem, My heart is full of youth.

  "Eye hath not seen, tongue hath not told, And ear hath not heard it sung, How buoyant and bold, though it seem to grow old, Is the heart for ever young.

  "For ever young--though life's old age Hath every nerve unstrung; The heart, the heart, is a heritage That keeps the old man young."

  He always calls me "Nie" for short, "because," he added once, by way ofexplanation, "your name is a heathenish kind of one at best, but aperson is bound to make the most of it."

  I cannot deny that Ben is right; my name is a heathenish one. How did Icome by it? I will tell you. I was born, as you know, at sea, in theIndian Ocean, in the _Niobe_, whilst she was cruising in that region inthe search of slavers--born not long before the appearance of thatterrible gale of wind described in the first chapter of this story, whenthe tempest was at its fiercest, and the stormy waves were doing theirworst; born on board a vessel which seemed doomed to certaindestruction. And it is the custom of the service to call a child by thename of the ship in which he first sees the light of day.

  I never knew a father's love or a mother's tender care, for the gentlelady who gave me birth lived but a little after that event; but shebequeathed me all she had--her blessing--and died. In a glade in thegloomy depths of an African forest my mother is sleeping, in the shadeof a banian tree. I stood by that lonely grave one morning not manyyears ago. The ground, I remember, was all chequered with sunshine andwith shade from the tree above; little star-like primulas grew here andthere. Among these and the fallen leaves sea-green lizards werecreeping; high overhead bright-winged birds sang soft lullabies, andevery time the wind moved the boughs a whole shower of sparkling dropsfell down, like tears.

  And my father? He never seemed to rally after my mother's death untilone hour before his own, just a fortnight and a day from that on whichhe had followed her to her grave in the forest like one dazed. He didnot appear in his mess-place after this. He took no food, he spoke tono one, he spent his time mostly within the screen by the empty cotwhere my mother had been--in grief.

  About the tenth day he suffered my friend Roberts (the boatswain) tolead him like a child to the spare cabin where his baby boy wassleeping; and in a daze he had seen her loved remains laid to restbeneath the tree. He bent over the grave for a moment, and then for thefirst time he burst into tears.

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  The _Niobe_ remained for ten days where she had cast anchor, in order tomake good repairs.

  It was a very quiet spot in which she lay, a kind of bay or bight, asthe sailors called it, with mangrove trees growing all around it closedown to the water's edge, except at the one side where the great riverstole silently away seaward, its current seeming hardly to affect in anydegree the waters in the bay itself.

  At last all repairs were finished, and the "clang, clang, clang" of thecarpenters' hammers, that had been till now incessant all day long, andfar into the night, was hushed, sails were shaken half loose, and the_Niobe_ only waited for a breeze to bear her down the river and acrossthe great and dreaded bar, where, even in the calmest weather, thebreakers rolled and tumbled mountains high.

  But the breeze seemed in no hurry to come. During the day those dulldreamy woods and forests lay asleep in the sunshine, and stirred notleaf or twig, and the creatures that dwelt therein were as silent as thewoods around them. Had you landed on that still shore, and wanderedinland through the trees, you would have seen great lizards enjoyingthemselves in patches of sunlight, an occasional monkey enjoying a napat a tree foot or squatting on a bough blinking at the birds that--open-beaked as if gasping for more air--sat among the branches toolanguid to hop or fly. But except a startled cry at your presenceemitted by some of these, hardly any other sound would have fallen onyour ears.

  The only creatures that seemed to be busy were the beetles on the groundand the bees, the latter long, dark, dangerous-looking hornets that flewin clouds about the lime and orange-trees, and behaved as if all theforest belonged to them, the former of all shapes and sizes, and ofcolours more brilliant than the rainbow. No doubt they knew exactlywhat they were about and had their ideas carefully arranged, but whattheir business was in particular would have puzzled any human being totell--why they dug pits and rolled little pieces of stones down them, orwhy they pulled pieces of sticks along bigger than themselves, droppedthem, apparently without reason, and went in search of others. Therewas, one would have thought, no method in the madness of these strangebut lovely creatures: it looked as though they were doomed to keepmoving, doomed to keep on working, and doing something, no matter what.

  In the great river itself sometimes small herds of hippopotami wouldappear, especially in parts where the water was shallow. They came butto enjoy a sunshine bath and siesta.

  But at night both forest and river seemed to awaken from their slumbers.

  The river cows now came on shore to feed, and their grunting andbellowing, that often ended in a kind of shriek, mingled [Two pagesmissing here].

  "Well, my friend, how much for your bananas, and that bottle of honey,and those eggs, and fowls? Come, I'll buy the lot," said the boatswain.

  "De Arab chief come in big ship, two three week ago. De ship he hide inde bush. He come to-night when de moon am shine. He come on board youbig ship, plenty knife, plenty spear, plenty gun, killee you all fortrue. Den he take all de money and all de chow-chow. Plenty muchbobbery he makee, plenty much blood he spillee, plenty much murder.Sweeba tell you for true."

  While this conversation was going on the fruit, eggs, and fowls werebeing handed on board and money thrown into the boat, which was quicklyconcealed by the natives in their cummerbunds.

  They found themselves richer than they had ever been before in theirlives.

  "But why do you come and tell us?" then inquired Roberts. (Roberts, bythe way, was the only one the native would converse with. He hadeagerly requested the captain and officers to keep away, for fear ofexciting the suspicion of those who he averred were lurking in theforest.)

  "What for I come and tellee you?" he replied. "English have been goodto me many time 'fore now. Arab chief he bad man. He come to my house,he tie me to a tree by de neck. He think I dead. Den he takee my poorwife away, and a
ll de poor piccaninnies. My poor ole mudder she berrybad. She not fit to trabbel away to de bush, so he cut her head off,and trow her in de blaze. He burn all my hut, all my house. I not lubdat Arab chief berry berry much."

  "I shouldn't think you did," was the reply; "but now, my friend, if allgoes well come back to-morrow, and we will reward you."

  About eight o'clock that same night, the full moon rose slowly up overthe woods, bathing the trees in a soft blue haze, but changing theriver, 'twixt the ship and the distant shore, into a broad pathway oflight that shimmered and shone like molten gold. There was hardly acloud in the heaven's dark blue, and the stars shone with unusualbrilliancy.

  No one was visible on the _Niobe's_ decks, and never a light burnedaloft, but, nevertheless, sentinels were watching the water on allsides, and down below the crew,