Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

and hardly visible, because over all is animmense flowing toga of camel's hair of some dark colour. This is alsoworn open.

  On the head is a gigantic turban, gilded or even jewelled, and the nakedfeet are placed in beautiful sandals.

  He is very tall, lithe, wiry, and stately, and his face is goodly tobehold, his nose being well chiselled, and mouth not large.

  His colour is usually white or brown, though sometimes black, and darkhair in beautiful ringlets, escaping from under the turban, flows downnearly to the waist.

  In his hand he bears a tall spear, on which he leans or touches theground withal when walking, as a Highland mountaineer does with his longcrook.

  The carriage and walk of this Arab is grace itself, and gives theindividual a noble and majestic appearance, which it is difficult todescribe.

  Except the Scottish costume, I know of no dress half so picturesque asthat of the gentleman Arab and slave-owner.

  But here is an old gentleman. Is he bent and decrepit? Nay, but sturdyand stately as his son, he walks with the same bold grace, is dressed inthe same fashion, keeps quite as firm a hold of his spear, and coulddraw his powerful sword and wield it with equal if not greater skill andagility.

  But his long beard and moustache are as white as the paper on which I amwriting. His brow is wrinkled, and the eyes that glint and glare frombeneath the bushy eye-brows are as quick and fierce as those of a goldeneagle.

  Those Arabs hate the English with a deadly hatred. Even the sight of ablue-jacket makes them scowl. I have passed--more than once--a doorwayin Zanzibar, in which one of these men stood, and I have seen him gnashhis teeth at the sight of my uniform, and finger his sword or knife,nervously, restlessly, as if he hardly could keep from plucking it outand plunging it into my heart.

  It was in pursuit of one of the dhows manned by such gentleman Arabsthat the _Bunting_ had been all the previous afternoon.

  Had the wind fallen earlier, this dhow would soon have been a prize; butas it did not, she had shown them a clean pair of heels, and might nowbe anywhere.

  That she was a slaver without papers there was not a doubt, and wellladen too, for she was deep in the water.

  I am going to make a terrible statement, but it is a true one, and if itonly has the effect of causing even one of my readers to hate slaveryhalf as much as I do, it will not be made in vain.

  Just then, as American traders in crossing the Atlantic, when adangerous gale comes on, lighten the ship by throwing the cattleoverboard, so, at times, do these gentleman Arabs lighten their dhowswhen chased.

  It is a terrible sight to see poor oxen hoisted up in straps with blockand tackle and whirled into the storm-lashed ocean. O God, howmournfully they moan, how they seem to plead for mercy! That moan onceheard can never, never be forgotten.

  The loading of a slave-ship is a terrible sight, but ah! the ruthlesscruelty of lightening a dhow of slaves. They are got up one by one ortwo by two. Children, poor young girls and boys, are pitched screaminginto the sea, probably to be devoured by sharks next moment. And sharksspeedily come to a feast of blood of this kind.

  But whether men or women--if they struggle, and sometimes whether theystruggle or not--they are ruthlessly slain on the deck before beingthrown overboard. The knife across the neck is used for this terriblebutchery. I have been told by eye-witnesses, themselves prisoners, andexpecting every minute that their turn would come, that the victims arehanded on deck to those who do the work, and that these latter thinkless about it than a farm servant does of killing a fowl, sometimeslaughing and joking with their companions the while; and if telling astory of any kind, they do not even permit the murder they arecommitting from interrupting their discourse for a single moment.

  It is far more unpleasant for me to write these lines than it canpossibly be for any one to read them.

  "I think," said Mr Dewar, the navigating sub-lieutenant, as he enteredthe captain's cabin after a preliminary service tap at the door--"Ithink I've done all for the best, and done right, sir."

  "Well?" replied Captain Wayland--captain by courtesy, remember, for hereally was but a first lieutenant by rank, though in command of the boldand saucy _Bunting_. He was seated now in his beautiful little saloon,which was situated right aft, right abaft the gun-room or ward-room--the_Bunting_ had, of course, only one living deck, under that being theholds, and above it the main or upper deck, with no other coveringexcept the sky, and now and then a sun awning. This last was not only aluxury but a positive necessity in these seas, where the sun blistersthe paint, causes the pitch in the seams to bubble and boil, and takesthe skin as effectually off one's face as if a red-hot iron were passedover it.

  I have called Captain Wayland's quarters a beautiful little saloon. Soit was, but do not imagine, dear reader, that the Lords Commissioners ofthe Admiralty had anything to do with the decorating of it. No, theysupplied a table, cushioned lockers, and a few chairs, also cushioned,but so hot and clumsy that sitting on one was like sitting on a largelinseed-meal poultice.

  Captain Wayland returned them to the dockyard, and bought himself othersthat could boast of elegance and comfort; he re-painted his saloon, too,and hung a few tasteful pictures in it and no end of curtains, to saynothing of a great punkah over the table, which was waving back and forenow, the propelling power being a little curly-headed nigger-boy whosquatted in a far-off corner, string in hand.

  "Well, sir," replied Mr Dewar, in answer to the captain's single wordof inquiry, "I've douced every glim."

  "In mercy's name," cried the captain, "do speak English, Mr Dewar!"

  "Well, sir, pardon me, I quite forgot myself, but really we've got intoa slangy habit in the ward-room; the only one who does speak decentEnglish is young Milvaine, and he is a Highland Scotchman."

  "Sit down," said the captain, "and have a glass of claret. You'll findit good."

  "Raggy Muffin!" he continued, turning half round in his easy chair.

  The nigger-boy let go the punkah string and sprang to his feet.

  "Raggy Muffin stand befoh you, sah!" he said, bowing his towsie head.

  "Right, Raggy. Now bring a bottle of claret."

  "Right you are, sah. I fetchee he plenty quick."

  "And I'll bring myself to an anchor," said Mr Dewar, "and have a glassof grog with pleasure."

  Respect of person was not the crowning virtue of this warlike youth.

  The captain fidgeted uneasily.

  "Well, sir, I've douced--I mean I've put out all lights. I have men inthe chains--not that we're likely to fall in with shoal water here, youknow--"

  "Oh, bother, you're right to be safe. The _Wasp_ ran aground in aboutthis same place. Well, who's watch is it?"

  "Young Milvaine's."

  "Right, we're safe."

  Mr Dewar looked at Captain Wayland for a few moments.

  "You believe in that youngster, sir?" he asked.

  "I do. He's faithful, bold, or rather brave--"

  "Yes, sir, he's as plucky as a bantam. He thrashed big Crawford thefirst day he came on board. Crawford has been good-natured ever since.He showed fine fighting form when we brushed against those Arabs above'Mbasa, and he jumped overboard, you know, and saved Raggy's life offthe Quillimane river."

  "Raggy die some day for Massa Milvaine," put in the nigger-boy.

  "Hush, Raggy, when your betters are talking."

  "Raggy die all same, though," the boy persisted.

  "The young scamp will have the last word. Yes, Mr Dewar, youngMilvaine ought to have a medal for that; but, poor fellow, he won't,though I'm told there were sharks about by the dozen."

  "I saw it all," said young Dewar. "It was my cap that fell off, justbefore we crossed the bar. Raggy made a plunge for it, and over hewent; Milvaine threw off his coat, and over he went. The coolness ofthe beggar, too, amused me."

  "Don't say `beggar.'"

  "Well, `_fellow_.' There was a basking shark in the offing, with itsfin above the water, and a bird perching on it like
a starling on theback of a sheep. The cap--the very one I wear now, sir--was betweenthis brute and Milvaine, but no sooner had he got Raggy--cockerty-koosie, as he called it--on his shoulder, than he swam away outand seized the cap with his teeth, then handed it to Raggy. And theyoung monkey put it on, too. We picked him up just in time, for thesharks looked hungry, and angry as well."

  Mr Dewar helped himself to another half-tumbler full of claret.

  "There is a wine-glass at your elbow," said the captain, with a mildkind of a smile.

  "Bother the wine-glass!" replied the middy. "Pardon me, sir, but I'dhave to fill it so often. My dear Captain Wayland, there's no more pithand fooshion in this stuff than there is in sour buttermilk."

  The captain