been put in charge of HarryMilvaine; probably three hours had scarcely elapsed ere she and thegunboat parted company.
Knowing well that he could rely on his men, Harry retired about eleveno'clock to the beautiful saloon, and having caused Doomah, the Arabinterpreter and spy who was acting steward, to light the lamps, he threwhimself on a couch and gave way to thought. He did not feel at allinclined to sleep, and somehow or other, he, to-night, felt under theshadow of a cloud of melancholy. He could not account for it, he wasseldom otherwise than light and bright and happy.
Being a Highlander, he was naturally somewhat superstitious.
"I would give worlds," he said to himself, "to know what is doing athome to-night, and to be sure that my dear mother and father are well.Dear old father, sitting even now, perhaps, smoking his everlastingmeerschaum behind his _Scotsman_. And mother--reading. Oh! would Icould sit beside her for a moment, and tell her how often her boy thinksof her!"
Then all the events of his young days rose up before his mind--hisgoverness and Towsie Jock; he laughed, melancholy though he was, when hethought of that night in the tree--his garden, his summer-house, andpets, and his dear friend Andrew.
He touched a gong and Doomah appeared.
"Are you sleepy?"
"No, sir, I not sleepy."
"Then come and tell me a story--the story of your life."
"Ah! dat is not mooch, sir. Plenty time I be in action. I have manywounds from Arab guns."
"Because you're a spy, you know."
"A spy, sir! Not I, sir. No, I am interpreter; I fight in de interestsof de Breetish Queen of England."
"Well, well, have it so."
"Pah! I no care dat mooch for de Arabs. Pah! When dey catch me dendey kill me. What matter? Some day all die. I am happy, I have one,two, tree wife, and dey all love Doomah, ebery one mooch more dan deoder. And when I go home I shall marry Number 4. Ha! ha!"
Doomah kept talking to Harry till all his melancholy had almost if notquite gone.
It was now about four bells in the middle watch, and Harry was thinkingof sleep, when the curtain was drawn aside and Nicholls the bo's'nentered. He was Harry's lieutenant.
"Sorry to say, sir, the ship is leaking like a sieve, sir."
"That is bad news, Nicholls," said Harry, starting up.
"It be, sir; but what makes matters worse is that I believe she isscuttled."
"But there were no signs of leakage before we parted with the_Bunting_."
"No, indeed, sir, these rascally slaver Arabs know what they are about.The scuttling was filled up with paper, sure to come out after she had afew hours of way on her."
"This is serious indeed. Think you--can we keep her afloat till wereach Zanzibar?"
"If we could pump, yes."
"Well, rig the pump."
"_It is gone, sir. Doubtless_ thrown overboard."
"That is indeed serious, Mr Nicholls."
By daybreak the breeze had freshened considerably, but veered a bit, andwas now dead ahead. The water had gained so much that the slaves hadall to be taken on deck. Bailing was kept up, but seemed to docomparatively little good.
Harry walked up and down the deck for some time in deep thought. Atlast he called Mr Nicholls.
"Put her about," he said, "she'll make less water, then we will try torun for Magadoxa. We know the Parsee merchant there. And the Somalisare civil."
"As civil," said Nicholls, "as Somalis can be, when you are not standingunder the lee of British bayonets. Trust a Somali and make friends witha fiend."
The dhow went round with terrible flapping of her enormous sails, andmuch creaking of blocks, her great wings almost dragging the vessel onher beam ends.
But she went fast enough now. Dhows do fly before the wind, and,water-logged though this vessel was, her speed was marvellous.
She was far out at sea, however, and soon had to be hauled closer to thewind in order to gain the shore.
By midday they were about fifteen miles south of Brava, but the wind wasfalling, and the dhow now fast filling. They staggered past the ancientlittle town, but all hopes of reaching Magadoxa soon fled, and it becameevident to every one that they must soon beach her or sink.
The coast here is most dangerous, owing to the number of sunken rocks,and to the long stretches of shallow water--water on which the breakerssometimes run mountains high, as the saying is, but where between thewaves the bottom was everywhere close to the surface. Only the nativesurf-boats could get over shoals like these.
Looking for a place on a lee-shore on which to beach a vessel is sadwork, and trying to the nerves; you may pass a fairly good spot,thinking to come to a better; you may go farther and fare worse.
Harry's, however, was a decided character, and when he came, some tenmiles to the north of Brava, to a spot where the breakers did not seemto run extremely high--
"Here it must be, Nicholls. Stand by to lower both our boats."
"Starboard, as hard as she'll go."
Up went the tiller, round came her head, and a minute afterwards shestruck with such fearful violence on a coral rock, that her masts, noneof the strongest, went thundering over the side.
"We must try to save the slaves first, Nicholls."
"That will we, sir. Never a white man should cease to work until thesepoor abject creatures are safely on shore."
"Bravo! Nicholls. Well spoken, my brave man! I will not forget youwhen opportunity offers."
Harry cast his eyes shorewards, the breakers were thundering on thebeach, but no one was visible except a solitary armed Arab.
"Lower away the boats. Gently."
The dhow was already bumping fearfully on the reef and rapidly going topieces.
To stand on deck without clinging to bulwarks or rigging was impossible.The condition of the slaves was now pitiable in the extreme. They werehuddled together, buried together, one might say, in one long cluster,dying, smothering each other, and drowning in the lee scuppers, for thesea was breaking clean over the wrecked and dismasted dhow.
Our fellows--bold blue-jackets--took them one by one as they came; theyhad almost to lift them down into the boats, so utterly prostrated withfear were they.
At last a boat got clear away.
Hardly had they left the dhow's side, when high over the moaning andcries of the poor negroes, high over the sound of roaring tumbling wavesand broken hissing water, arose a shout of triumph, and looking in thedirection from which it proceeded, Harry could see the previously allbut deserted beach swarming with armed and naked Indians.
The boat rode in on the top of a breaker, and was speedily seized andhauled up high and dry. The men were roped and thrown on their backs,and the slaves placed in a corner among rocks and guarded by spear-armedSomalis.
Then surf-boats were launched, and speedily got alongside the dhow.
Thinking nothing about his own safety, Harry was nevertheless glad tosee that the slaves were being taken off, and saved from a watery grave,whatever their ultimate fate might be.
His men and himself were rowed on shore in the last boat that left thatdoomed slave dhow.
In this boat sat that grim dark Arab I have introduced to the reader atthe commencement of this chapter.
For some time he sat sternly regarding Harry. The young Highlanderreturned the gaze with interest.
"Would you not like," he said at last, "to know your fate?"
"No. And if it be death, I know how to face it."
"It _is_ death. It _is_ justice, not revenge. I am Suliemon. I wascaptain of that dhow. Now you know all and can prepare."
Like his poor men, Harry was bound hands and feet and placed by theirside, fully exposed to the fierce glare of the tropical sun.
How very long the day seemed! But the evening came at last. Then greatfires were lighted on the beach, the flare falling far athwart thewaves, and giving the breaking waters the appearance of newly drawnblood.
The scene was wild in the extreme; only the pen of
a Dickens and thepencil of a Rembrandt could have done justice to it. The tremblinggroup of slaves--the waves had sadly thinned their ranks--lying,squatting, or standing on the sands, the poor white men, with pained,sad faces, the rude cords cutting into ankles and wrists, the wildgesticulating armed Indians, and the tall figure in white gliding,ghostlike, here, there, and everywhere.
One of the boats belonging to the _Bunting_ was now carried to the rear,and on his back across the thwarts, still bound, Harry was placed. Drywood was piled beneath him. Dry wood was piled all round the boat.
He shut his eyes and commended himself to Heaven. Even then he thoughtof his poor father and mother far away in their bonnie Highland home,and he prayed that they might never know the fate that had befallen him.
The Indians formed themselves into a fiendish circle, and danced,yelling, around him, brandishing sword and spear.
But the dark Arab commanded silence.
"Your hour has come," he said, solemnly.
"This," he added, "_is_ justice, not revenge."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. What is called sherbet on the Eastern shore of Africa is afruit syrup of most delicious flavour and odour. It is mixed with waterand drunk as a beverage. Certainly a great improvement on the _eausucre_ of our ancestors.
Book 3--CHAPTER TWO.
HARRY IS MADE A SLAVE--THE JOURNEY INLAND--ESCAPE.
As he spoke these dread words the dark-skinned Arab seized a lightedtorch from an Indian, and was about to apply it to the pyre, when hisarm was struck upwards, and the torch alighted harmlessly on the softsand.
It was Mahmoud who had struck the blow.
For a moment the two men stood confronting each other. Even Mahmoud nowhad a drawn sword in his hand.
"For his worthless life," cried the latter, "I care not, but for youreternal welfare, brother, I do. I have saved you from a deadly sin.Take not thus rashly away the life you cannot give."
"Back!" he shouted to the Somali Indians, and they shrank cowering andsilent before the wrath of this strange being whom they called aprophet.
With a sharp knife he now severed Harry's cords, and bade him stand up.
"You are my prisoner," said Mahmoud in good English; "you are _myslave_. If you make no attempt to escape, you shall be comparativelyfree; attempt to fly, and--"
He tapped the hilt of his sword as he spoke, and Harry knew only toowell what was meant.
He passed a sleepless night until within an hour or two of morning, whenhe dozed off into a pained and dreamful slumber, from which he wasroused at daybreak by Mahmoud himself. To his great surprise and grief,the beach was almost deserted. Some armed Indians still lay near thewhite ashes of the dead fires, but his men, the other Arab, and all therest of the Somalis were gone.
"Eat," said Mahmoud, "you have far to go." He placed a dish of fragrantcurry before him as he spoke, and Harry partook of it mechanically.
"Where am I to be taken to?" he inquired of this warlike priest.
"Ask nothing," was the reply. "I have saved your life, be thankful toAllah. Prepare to march."
Surrounded by armed, grinning Somalis, many bearing parcels on theirheads, with Mahmoud trudging on in front, the journey was commenced,straight away across the sandy hills, where only here and there somelittle tuft of grass or some pale green weed was growing.
At the top of the ridge Harry, in spite of his guard, paused for amoment to look back. Never, he thought, had the sea looked more lovely.Save where in whitish yellow patches the coral shoals were showing, thewhole surface, unrippled by a wavelet, was of a deep cerulean blue.Here and there a shark's fin made the water tremble, and here and therea white bird floated.
"Oh," he thought, "could he only be as free as one of those happysea-birds! But never again," he sighed; "no, never again!"
Even in the morning the sun was fiercely hot, but towards noon it becamealmost insupportable, and Harry was glad indeed when green thingsappeared at last, and the halt was made in the shade of a little forestland--a kind of oasis in a barren desert. Here was a cool spring and afew cocoanut trees.
Some of the Somalis climbed these as one climbs a ladder, holding onlike monkeys to little stirrup-like steps that ran all up one side ofthe trees. They then cut and threw down some of the greenest, andHarry, in grief though he was, was glad enough to regale himself on theproffered fruit. They were filled principally with "milk," for the nutitself was hardly yet formed, otherwise than as a transparent jelly.
It may interest some of my young readers to know how the water or milkof the cocoanut is got at, after the great nut has been thrown to theground by the monkey-like boy in the tree.
Cocoanut trees grow all over the tropical world, and their appearancemust be familiar to every one--immensely tall stems with feathery-liketops formed of great palmate leaves. The stems are hardly as thick asan ordinary larch, and they are seldom altogether straight. Close tothe tree-top, and in under the leaves, as if to hide from the blazingsun, grow the nuts. When large enough for use one or two are culled.The nut itself is covered by the thick, green husk--that which Sallyscrubs the kitchen floor with at home here in England; it is young now,however, but tough enough. The "nigger" at the tree-foot, who has beenvery careful to look after his own nut while the fruit came tumblingdown, now thrusts a stake pointed at both ends into the ground; againstthe protruding point he strikes the top of the cocoanut with all hisforce again and again till he has forced open a portion of husk. Thenhis knife comes into play, and presently he has quite cut away the topof the husk and nut as well, for the shell is still soft. Then he handsyou the cool green cup, and before drinking you look inside and see onlywater with just a little clear jelly adhering to the inside of theshell. You drink and drink and drink again--there is probably about apint and a quarter of it. Oh, how sweet, how cold--yes, _cold_--howdelicious it is! Probably after you have drunk all the water, you maycare to eat some of the jelly, which you scoop out with your knife thebest way you can. Well, you will confess when you try it that you neverreally tasted cocoanut before. Neither Christmas pudding, nor custard,nor anything ever you ate in life is anything to be compared to it.
Yes, the cocoanut tree is well suited to the climate in which it grows;it is a God-gift to the native and to travellers from foreign lands. Imay add that it is chiefly near the sea you find the cocoanut tree, forit is a thirsty soul. And no wonder. Look at those broad, green leavesexpanded to the sun, from which the sap must be constantly evaporating.
When cruising on the shores of Africa in open boats, towards evening weused to look out for a part of the coast, where we saw cocoanut treesrearing their nodding heads high in air. There we used to land, certainthat we would find native huts and human beings at the foot of them,from whom we could buy fowls to make our cock-a-leekie soup and stew,previously to pulling off from the shore and lying at anchor to wait thecoming morn.
All this is a digression, still I have no doubt it will be foundinteresting to some, and the others are welcome to skip it.
After a few hours of grateful rest, on went the caravan, Mahmoud himselfat its head, trudging steadily, sturdily along, his eyes for the mostpart cast on the ground, and leaning on his spear. He never deigned toaddress a word to Harry--not that Harry cared much for that, for hisback was turned to the sea, he was leaving all he cared for in theworld, and going into exile, going he knew not whither. His prospectswere as dreary as the scenery around him, and what is more heartless tobehold than a barren plain stretching away apparently to theillimitable, without hill and with hardly rising ground, stunted busheshere and there, and beneath one's feet the everlasting scrubby, "benty,"half-scorched grass? He thought this day would never end, that the sunwould never decline towards the hazy horizon. But it did at last. Itwent round and stared them in the face; then it seemed to sink morerapidly, and finally--all a blaze of purple red--it went down.
The short twilight was occupie
d by Mahmoud and his yellow-skinnedminions in preparing for the night's bivouac.
Wood was collected, a clearing was found on which to build a fire, andby and by supper was cooked.
Then Mahmoud retired to prayers!
He took a little carpet, and, going to a distance away, knelt down, thenthrew himself on his face in a devotion which I doubt not was sincereenough. We ought not to despise the Mahometan religion, nor anyreligion, for _any_ religion is better than none. Oh! woe is me for theboy or girl who retires to bed without having first felt grateful forthe past, and commended his or her soul to Him for the night!
Harry Milvaine did not forget to pray.
No, he did not; and, like a Scotch boy, he always concluded hisdevotions with our Lord's Prayer; but ah! how hard he thought itto-night to breathe those words, "Thy will be done"! It seemed thatHeaven itself had deserted him.
For Harry was very low in spirits.
Whither did his thoughts revert? Home, of course. It was a pleasure tothink of the dear ones far away, even although something seemed towhisper to him that he would never see them more.
Presently he fell into a kind of stupor. He had collected the witheredgrass in his immediate neighbourhood and formed it into a sort ofpillow, and on this his head lay.
When he awoke--if he really had been asleep--the moon was shining verybright and clearly, the camp-fire had died to red shining embers, aroundit in various positions lay the Somali Indians, not far off was Mahmoudhimself, while beside Harry's grass pillow, leaning on his rifle, stoodthe sentinel. This rifle had belonged to one of Harry's own men, so hadthe belt and well-filled pouch.
Harry raised himself on his elbow.
The sentinel never moved. There was a deep, death-like stillness overall the place, broken only now
Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy Page 25