Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

else," said the Indian, showing a row of teeth like alabaster;"I have floated all the rest of the ammunition down stream."

  "You are clever, but hark! did you not hear some sound? I believe theyare stirring."

  "No, no, that was a lion miles away."

  "Come, then, lead on."

  "Which way?"

  "West. They are sure to think I have gone in the direction of thecoast."

  "Come, then."

  And away went Nanungamanoo. And by daybreak they were many, many milesfrom the camp of Mahmoud.

  Book 3--CHAPTER THREE.

  A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES--A MYSTERIOUS PACK, AND A MYSTERIOUS APPEARANCE.

  Danger sharpens one's wits. It makes the old young again, and the youngold--in judgment.

  Harry was no fool from the commencement, and he now reasoned rightlyenough, that Mahmoud with his savage caravan, as soon as he missed therunaways, would naturally conclude that they had gone back towards thecoast.

  This, however, was precisely the thing that Harry had no presentintention of doing. And why? it may be asked. Ought he not to be gladof the freedom he had once more obtained, and make the best of his wayto some friendly village or town by the sea-shore? Perhaps; but thenHarry was a wayward youth. He was wayward and headstrong, but on thisoccasion I think he had right on his side.

  "I cannot and will not return," he said to himself, "without making someeffort to find my poor fellows--if, indeed, they be still alive.Besides, this is a strange and a lovely land, and there are strangeadventures to be met with. I must see a little of it while I am here."

  You will notice, reader, that hope was already throwing its glamour overthe poor lad's mind. He dearly loved nature, but while being draggedaway as a prisoner, although some parts of the country through which hepassed had been charming enough, he could not bear to gaze on theirbeauty while _he_ was a slave.

  Flowers grew in abundance on many parts of the plains; they grew inpatches, in beds of gorgeous colour, here, there, and everywhere--paleblue, dark blue, yellow, crimson, and modest brown; they carpetted theground, and even trailed up over and beautified the stunted scrubbushes. As Burns hath it, these flowers--

  "Sprang wanton to be pressed."

  At another time their sunlit glory would have dazzled him, now they hadseemed to mock him in his misery, and he had crushed them under foot.

  Great birds sailed majestically and slowly overhead, or flew with thatlazy indifference peculiar to some of the African species, ascendingsome distance, then letting themselves fall again, putting no moreexertion into the action of flight than was absolutely necessary, butsauntering along through the air, as it were. Never mind, they werehappy, and Harry had hated them because they were so happy--and free.Long after the caravan had left the coast, sea-birds even came floatinground them.

  "Come away, Harry!" they seemed to scream. "Come away--away--away!"

  They were happy too. Oh, he had thought, if he could only be as free,and had their lithesome, lissom wings!

  Monster butterflies like painted fans, browns, vermilions, andultramarines hovered indolently over the flowers. How _they_ appearedto enjoy the sunshine!

  Even the bronzy green or black beetles that moved about among the grassor over the bare patches of ground had something to do, something toengross their minds, thoroughly to the exclusion of every otherconsideration in life.

  As for the lovely sea-green lizards with broad arrows of crimson ontheir shoulders, they simply squatted, panting, on stones, or lay alongreed-stalks, making the very most of life and sunshine; while as for thegiant cicadas, their happiness considerably interfered with the businessof their little lives, because they were so very, very, _very_ happythat they had to stop about every two minutes to sing.

  But now, why Harry was free and as happy as any of them--at present, atall events.

  As he trudged along in the moonlight he could not help making a littlejoke to himself.

  "Go back!" he said, half aloud. "No, Scotchmen never go back."

  Well, then, Mahmoud, after retreating for some distance towards thecoast, would no doubt resume his journey. Of this Harry felt sureenough, because Nanungamanoo told his new master, before they had gonevery far that night, that the Arab priest was on his way to a fardistant country, quite unknown to any other trader, there to purchase agang of slaves from a king, who would sell his people for fire-water.

  "The scoundrels!" said Harry.

  "Yes, sahib."

  "Both I mean; both king and priest. I'd tie them neck to neck and drownthem as one drowns kittens."

  "Yes, sahib."

  "And no one else knows of this territory?"

  "No white man, sahib."

  "The villain! A little nest of his own that he robs periodically. Ahappy hunting-ground all to himself. So you think Mahmoud will shortlycome on this way?"

  "Sure to, sahib."

  Harry considered a short time, then--

  "Well, Nanungamanoo, my good fellow, it won't do to get in front of him.He would soon find our trail."

  "Yes, sahib, and kill us with fire."

  "Would he now? That would not be pleasant, Nanungamanoo. By the way,Nanungamanoo, what an awful name you have! Excuse me, Nanungamanoo, butwe must really try to find you a shorter. Do you understand, MrNanungamanoo? We'll boil that name of yours down, or extract theessence of it and let you have that. But touching this pretty priest,this amiable individual, who hesitates not to buy poor slaves for rum,although he is far too good to fight for them. He'll be along this wayin a day or two. Now I greatly object to be hurried, especially when Iam out upon a little pleasure trip like the present--ha! ha! I don'tthink for a moment that either an Arab or any of you Somali fellows arehalf so clever at picking up a trail as your genuine North Americanbackwoods Indian; but then, you know, even an Arab or a Somali couldn'tgo past the mark of an old camp-fire without smelling a rat. Do youunderstand, Mr Nanungamanoo?--bother your name, it's a regulartwice-round the clock business!"

  "I understand," replied Nanungamanoo, "much that you say even inEnglish."

  "Well, Mr Nanungamanoo, if you behave yourself and are long with me,I'll put you to school and teach you myself--good English. But,"continued Harry, "we must have this angelic Mahmoud on ahead of us. Soif you can find a place to hide, we will let him pass and give him afair start. For, as you say that you know this route well, and noother, we must be content to keep it for some time to come at allevents."

  "Yes, sahib; and I know the place to hide. Come."

  "I'll follow as fast as you like, Mr Nanungamanoo. But, first andforemost, just let us see what you have in that bundle of yours--to eat,I mean. I haven't really felt so genuinely hungry since I was takenprisoner. My eyes! Nanungamanoo, what a size your bundle is! You seemto have looted the whole camp."

  The Somali laid down the burden and prepared to open it. It was wrappedin a kind of coarse blue-striped cloth, much admired by certain tribesof savages.

  They had reached a patch of high clearing in the jungle, the moon wasshining very brightly, so, although there were lions about, there wasvery little fear of an attack, these gentry much preferring to catchtheir foes unawares and by daylight.

  The Somali undid his bundle precisely like a packman of olden times,showing off the wares he had for sale.

  "This is the food," he said.

  "What! dry rice? Why, my good fellow, I'm not a fowl."

  "Fowl--yes, yes," cried Nanungamanoo, the first words he had spoken inEnglish. "Here is fowl and rice curry."

  "Ha! glorious!" cried Harry. "Capitally cooked too, done to a turn,tastes delicious. Have a bit yourself, old man. No doubt Mahmoud hadintended this for his own little breakfast. I feel double theindividual now, Nanungamanoo," said Harry, after he had done amplejustice to the viands of his late lord and master, "double theindividual. Now suppose we proceed to investigate still further thecontents of your mysterious pack? That's the ammunition, is it? Agoodly lot too! But what is in that o
ther pack? There are wheelswithin wheels, and packs within packs, my clever Nanungamanoo. You areafraid to touch it--to open it. Give it to me, I will."

  So saying he quickly undid the lashing.

  "Why," he continued in astonishment, as he lifted the things up one byone, "my own best uniform jacket--two pairs of white duck pants--mySunday-go-meeting pairs--one--two--three--four flannel shirts, my bestones too--a pair of canvas shoes--a packet of new uniform buttons, and ayard of gold lace--three cakes of eating chocolate, and a box of coughdrops that old Yonitch gave me as a parting gift. Why, Nanungamanoo, assure as we're squatting here, and the moon shining down over us both,that old thief has been and gone and robbed my sea-chest! I see hislittle game, Nanungamanoo: he was taking