ship,then a strange commotion was seen near him, and the wretch threw up hisarms and disappeared.
He had been dragged under by the sharks.
It is through no love of the sensational I pen these lines, reader, nordescribe the capture of this blood-stained dhow. The story is almostfrom the life, and I deem it not wrong that my young readers should knowsomething of the horrors of the slave trade.
Two hundred living slaves were found in the hold of the dhow, many deadwere among the living, and many dying. And it will never be known inthis world how many poor creatures were butchered or thrown overboard tolighten the ship.
The vessel was condemned at Zanzibar, and taken away out to sea and seton fire. Nothing was taken out of her except a few shields and spearsthat the men got by way of curios. She was simply burned, and sankhissing and flaming beneath the waves.
The slaves were liberated. Well, even their liberty was something. Butthat would not restore them their far-off happy homes amid the wild andbeautiful scenery in the African interior: no, nor restore them theirfriends and kindred. Henceforward they must languish in a foreign land.
"What became of the captain of the dhow?" I fancy I hear some of myreaders ask. Have I not, I reply, given you horrors enough in thischapter? But, nevertheless, I will tell you. He and five others werehanged. This end was at all events less revolting than an Arabexecution as sometimes carried out. Fancy five political offenders tiedhand and foot, and placed on their backs all in a row in the prisonyard, an Arab executioner with a sharp sword leisurely stepping from oneto another and half-beheading them!
It was a very lovely morning. Harry came on the quarter-deck just as agreat gun was fired from the bows of the _Bunting_; making every windowin the front part of the town rattle, and multiplying its echo among thedistant coral islands. That gun told the condemned men that their dayhad come.
"What a lovely morning!" said Harry to Mavers, who was leaning over thebows, looking seaward and eastward where the sun was silvering a broadbelt of long rippling wavelets.
"Charming," replied Mavers; "but bother it all, Milvaine, old man, Ifell asleep last night thinking about those poor beggars that have todie this morning."
"So did I," said Harry, "and I dreamt about them."
"You see," continued Mavers, "it is one thing dying sword in hand on abattle-deck, and another being coolly hanged. But notwithstanding,Milvaine, don't let us fall into the blues over the matter; the villainsrichly deserve their fate."
"Yes," he added, after a pause, "it is a lovely morning. What abeautiful world it would be if there was neither sin nor sorrow in it!"
The doctor joined them. He was a young man of a somewhat poeticaltemperament, curiously blended with an intense love for anatomy andpost-mortems, and a very good fellow on the whole.
"Talking about the condemned criminals? Eh?" he said. Then he laughedsuch a happy laugh.
"I'm going to post-mortem them. Will you come and see the operation?"
"Horrible--no!"
"Oh, it is all for the good of science. Shall I describe it?"
"No, no, no?" cried Harry.
"Then come below to breakfast, boys."
"Why," said Mavers, "you've almost taken away my appetite."
"And mine too," said Harry Milvaine.
"Stay," exclaimed the doctor, "I will restore it. Listen."
He threw himself into an attitude as he spoke.
"Sweetly, oh, sweetly the morning breaks With roseate streaks, Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks. Alas! that ever so fair a sun As that which its course has now begun Should gild with rays, so light and free, That dismal dark-frowning gallows-tree."
"I'm not sure," said Mavers, laughing, "that you haven't made mattersworse. But come along, we'll go below, anyhow."
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The _Bunting_, as her name implies, was only a little bit of a gunboat,but to the slave-dealing dhows she became the scourge of the seas in theIndian Ocean, all the way south from Delagoa Bay, to Brava and Magadoxain the north.
She was always appearing where least expected, sometimes far out at sea,at other times inland on rivers or wooded creeks. She could sail aswell as any dhow, and that is saying a good deal, and she could steamwell also.
Many a prize fell to her lot, many a cutting-out expedition the boatshad, and right bravely they did their work. So the prize money thatwould fall to the share of even the ordinary seamen when the commissionwas completed, would be rather more than a trifle.
On Saturday nights, when, after dancing for a time to the merry tunesthe doctor played on his fiddle, the sailors would assemble round thefo'c's'le to smoke their pipes and quaff the modest drop of rum they hadsaved to toast their sweethearts and wives in, they might be heardbuilding castles in the air as to what they would do with their prizemoney.
Perhaps the conversation would be somewhat as follows:--
"I'm going to pour all my prize money into my old mother's lap straightaway as soon as I gets it."
"Ah! well, Jack, you _have_ a mother, I hain't, but I'll give mine to mySoosie. My eye! maties, but she's a slick fine lass. Talk about afigure! Soosie's is the finest ever you saw. Blow'd if two arms wouldmeet round her waist, fact I tells ye, mates. I've seen arye-nosser-oss with not 'arf so fine a figure as Soosie's got."
"But," another would say, "I'm going to keep all my prize money in thebank till I serves my time out in the service; then I'll take apublic-house."
"That's my ambition too, Bill."
"Yes, and ain't it a proper ambition too?"
"That it be."
"And if ever any of you old chums drops round to see Jack behind his barcounter--ahem! my eye! maties, won't I be glad to see you just! Won't Iget out the longest clay pipe in the shanty, and the best nigger head!And won't I draw ye a drop o' summut as will make all the 'air on your'eads stand straight up like a frightful porkeypine's! And maybe therewon't be much to pay for it either?"
It will be noted from the above conversation that the aims in life ofthe British man-o'-war sailor are seldom of a very exalted character.
But even in the little ward-room prize money was not altogether left outof count in conversation on Saturday nights.
"I believe," said the doctor once, "I shall have over a thousand poundswhen I get home. I think I'll cut the service, buy a shore practice,and settle down."
"Bah!" cried Mavers, "you're too old a sailor for that, Mr Sawbones.Don't talk twaddle. Take out your old fiddle and give us a tune."
The worthy medico never required two biddings to make him obey a behestlike this.
Out would come the violin, and his messmates would speedily be indreamland as they listened; for the doctor played well on that king ofinstruments.
Songs were sure to follow, during which very often the door would open,and there would be seen standing smiling the captain himself.
You may be sure that room was speedily made for him, and so these happyevenings would pass away till eight bells (twelve o'clock) rang outDing-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding--that is the way they went,and this warned every one it was time to turn in.
The _Bunting_ could not be said to be a very well-found ship, as far asthe officers' mess was concerned. There is as much difference usuallybetween the mess in a gunboat and a flagship as between that of a humblecottage and a lord mayor's mansion.
So the _Buntings_, as the other ships called them, roughed it rather.They _could_ have bought nice things about big towns like the city ofthe Cape, or even at Zanzibar, but they had only the ship's cook, andthe steward was a half-caste Portuguese, whose only strong point was anexcellent curry, into which, however, he often slipped more garlic thatwas palatable to English tastes.
For three more years the _Bunting_ carried it with a high hand among theslavers on the Eastern coast. Even Harry himself now began to long forhome, and to see his dear mother and father again.
/> Letters came but about once in three months, and the mail never failedto bring Harry a bundle that kept him reading for a week, because heread them all over and over again, put them aside for days, took themout once more, and again read them.
His old friend Andrew's letters were always comical, and hisgood-natured, simple face invariably rose up before our hero's mind'seye as he perused them.
Even his old dominie did not forget Harry. By almost every mail now the_Buntings_ expected a letter from their lordships ordering them home.
It came at last, and, strange to say, it came on. Captain Wayland'sbirthday.
"Putting both events together,
Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy Page 18