Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

fugitives bounded away to the forest Harry thanked Heaven for thedarkness of that dismal night.

  They could soon hear the yells of the foe as they pressed onwards inpursuit.

  They would reach the shelter of the trees in another minute, but onedark form was before all the rest, and was nearing on the guide whenHarry fired.

  It was a random shot, but the savage fell: the first man that Harry hadkilled in Africa, and he felt grieved, but still it was in self-defence.

  They found themselves in a ravine, and crossed the stream at a placewhere, from the noise it made among the stones, they could tell it wasnot deep.

  Now the road lay along this glen--such road as it was--but the fugitiveswent straight on up the mountain side. The hills here were fully threethousand feet high, but they reached the top at last, and felt safe, forfar down beneath them, but well up the glen, they heard the shouts ofthe chief's people and knew they were off the scent. Then the stormcame on, and such a storm! From hill to hill and from rock to rock thethunder rattled and reverberated, while as for the lightning the wholeworld seemed to be on fire.

  Down below them in the forest the scene was singularly grand, for by thelight of the flashes they could see each moment the giant tree-topsstand out as clear and distinctly as at midday. Anon they would findthemselves blinded or dazzled for a moment, everything about them beingeither a dark bright blue, dotted with sparks, or a blood-red orcrimson.

  The very hills on which they stood appeared to shake beneath their feet.

  Then came the rain; it descended in streams, and made every one shiver,so ice-cold was it.

  But in less than an hour this strange but fearful storm had passed awayon the wings of a moaning wind, and the stars shone forth.

  They found a cave in which to rest that night, and next day continuedthe journey through the forest.

  To his change of raiment, despite the modest demands of many a savagechief or king, Harry had resolutely stuck, so he did not suffer from thedrenching.

  Yes, he had a change of raiment, but not one single button or inch ofgold lace on his uniform jackets.

  Both buttons and lace had long since been gifted away.

  About this stage of his wanderings Harry was as tough in muscle as if hehad been made of guttapercha, while his hands and face were of a coloursomewhat between brick-dust and bronze.

  Another month found the little band back once more in the village of thedismal swamp.

  The poor creatures there seemed, if anything, glad to see them. Onmaking inquiry, it was found that no more lions had sought to molestthem since the man-eater had been shot.

  Harry rested here a night, resolving to push on next day, and by aforced march get quite clear of the marsh.

  But lo! next day not only the swamp but the village itself was envelopedin a dark, wet mist, and the day wore away without the sun onceappearing.

  "No good, no good," was the answer of the guide to Harry's repeatedqueries whether it was not possible to make straight headway in spite ofthe fog.

  "No good, no good."

  And the next day showed no improvement nor the next week even.

  The outlook was now very dreary indeed.

  To make matters worse, the hopelessness of his situation brought aprostration of mind and body, and the hardships and privations he hadundergone in his wanderings began to tell upon Harry.

  Besides, there was the dread marsh miasma to be breathed day after day,while the very appearance and dejectedness of the people he foundhimself among was not calculated to mend matters. He found himselfgrowing ill, he struggled against it with all the force of his mind.But alas! a struggle of this kind is like that of floundering in a mirybog--the more you struggle the deeper you sink.

  One morning, after a restless night of pained and dreamful slumber,Harry found himself unable to rise from his couch of grass under theflower-clad, creeper-hung baobab tree.

  He was sick at heart, racked with pain in every limb, and oh, _so_ cold.

  The cold was worse to bear than anything, yet his pulse was boundingalong, his skin was hot, and his brow was burning.

  Before night he was delirious--dreaming of home, raving in his wakingmoments about his father, his mother, about Andrew, and Eily, the forestof Balbuie, and the far-off Highland hills.

  No nurse could have been kinder to Harry than Somali Jack, no one moreattentive than he and Raggy.

  Even in this strange swamp-island Jack managed to find herbs, andexercised all his native skill to bring his patient round.

  But nights went by, and days that were like nights to Harry, and he grewworse and worse.

  At last even Somali Jack gave up all hope.

  "Master will never speak again. Master will never shoot and never fightagain," he said, mournfully, "till he shoots and fights in the landbeyond the clouds."

  Jack sat down and gazed long and intently at Harry, whose jaw haddropped, and whose breath came in long-drawn sighs or sobs.

  He lay on his back, his knees half drawn up, and his hands extended onthe grass.

  For a long, long time Somali Jack sat looking mournfully at his master;then he seemed to lose all control of himself: he threw out his arms,fell down on his face on the ground, and sobbed as though his heart werebreaking.

  Book 4--CHAPTER THREE.

  BACK AGAIN AT THE HUNDRED ISLES--THE KING AS A NURSE--HARRY TELLS THE

  STORY OF THE WORLD--NEWS OF THE "BUNTING'S" MEN--PREPARING FOR THEWAR-PATH.

  But the worst was past, and the fever had spent itself before the dawnof another day; even the terrible marsh miasmata had been repelled bythe strength and resiliency of Harry's constitution.

  He was weak now, very. But he was sensible and able to swallow a littlehoney and milk, that Jack had culled and drawn with his own hands.

  And that day, lo! the sun again shone out, the birds that had been mutefor weeks once more remembered their low but beautiful songs, and surelyin this swamp-island never did the wealth of flowers that greweverywhere put forth a more dazzling show. Twisted and pinched they hadbeen while the dank fog hung over them, but now they opened in all theirwild wanton glory, and vied with each other in the brightness of theircolours, their vivid blues, whites, pinks, and crimsons, and velvetysulphurs, and chocolate browns.

  They grew up over the trees, borne aloft on climbing stems, theycanopied the bushes, they carpeted the ground, and hung their charmingfestoons round the fruit itself.

  But yet in spite of all this wealth of beauty Harry longed to be off,and almost the first words he spoke, though in a voice but little louderthan a whisper, were--

  "Take me away. Take me away out of here."

  Those words made Somali Jack and Raggy very happy, and even the otherboys were rejoiced, for truth to tell, they all dearly loved their braveyoung master.

  All that day Jack and his comrades were very busy indeed. They weremaking an ambulance hammock. When complete it was simplicity itself.

  Only a couple of strong bamboos of great length, and between them asheet of grass-cloth, add to this a rude pillow stuffed with witheredmoss, and the whole is complete.

  It was a long and a slow journey which they started on next morning,before even the stars had paled before the advancing beams of the sun.But ere ever he had set behind the western hills it had been safelyaccomplished.

  And so by degrees, as Harry's strength could bear it, stage after stageof the return march was got over and at length, to the invalid'sinexpressible joy, they arrived once more at the banks of the lake ofthe hundred isles. Walda quickly gathered together an immense heap ofwithered grass, and quickly had it on flame; then he put on top of itgreen branches, so that a dense volume of white-blue smoke rose up onthe evening air.

  They saw it from the king's island.

  King Googagoo--they have strange names, these chiefs of the interior,the repetition of syllables and even words in names is very common--KingGoogagoo himself came to meet Harry in his barge, but he brought noretinue. He was a very simple
king.

  As soon as he landed Walda, Peela, and Popa went and threw themselves ontheir faces in front of his majesty, burying their knives in the earthas they did so. Nor did they rise until he had thrice touched each onewith the flat of his spear.

  He now went speedily towards Harry, and scanned him very anxiously.

  Harry smiled feebly, and held out a hand which the king took andpressed.

  "My son has been ill," he said, "my son has been at the door of the caveof death. No matter, he lives; my son will soon be well. The king willmake him well; he shall eat honey and milk, and drink of the blood ofshe-goats until he is once more strong."

  When landed at the island, the king led the way to his own tent, andHarry was brought here and laid on a bed or dais covered with lions'skins.

  As he shivered with cold, a fire was lit in the middle of the floor.The smoke found its way up almost spirally, and out through a hole inthe roof, over which was placed a triple fan kept in constant motion byslaves without.

  Another warm lion's skin was spread over Harry, Somali Jack prepared hima decoction of