VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER THREE.
THE SLAVE SETTLEMENT.
"Idiot! Don't you see that the poor devil can't move an inch further tosave his wretched life. Leave him alone. You're the greatest bruteeven in this bestial land?"
"Am I? And if I am, what's that to you?" is the defiant reply.
The first speaker is a young Englishman, whose face, tanned to a copperybrown by exposure to a torrid sun, bears a stamp of recklessness anddetermination. His bearded lips are set firm as he confronts the other,a powerful, savage-looking mulatto, and his eyes are ablaze withwrathful contempt. Around stretches a wide, sun-baked desert in CentralAfrica. A few palms, dotted about here and there, throw a faintpretence of a shadow, and not far from the cloudless horizon hangs thenow declining sun. A gang of black men and women, weary and emaciated,and a few of them tied together, are standing wearily contemplating oneof their number who lies prone upon the earth, sick, footsore, andunable to move another step. It is a slave-gang on the march.
"Here, you two," goes on the first speaker, addressing a couple of thestrongest-looking among the slaves, "pick him up and carry him along."
The two fellows designated pause, and look hesitatingly from one to theother of their drivers. They stand in mortal fear of the ruffianlymulatto, and prefer to chance the wrath of the Englishman.
"Do you hear what I say? Let him alone, Sharkey," repeats the latter ina warning tone.
For all answer the ruffian addressed advances upon the fallen slave, andwith a frightful grin, disclosing two pointed, shark-like teeth--whencehis hideous _sobriquet_--curls his raw-hide lash round the naked body ofthe emaciated wretch. But a terrific blow full in the face sends himreeling half-a-dozen paces.
"There! Won't you listen?" And the Englishman stands between themiserable wretch and his smiter. With a growl like a wild beast, thelatter springs up.
"Stand off, Sharkey!" cries his companion in a firm, warning tone. Toolate. With features working in fury, and foaming at the mouth, theother rushes upon him knife in hand.
"Stand off, I say, or--"
Crack!
The savage makes one spring and rolls over and over at his slayer'sfeet, digging his knife into the hard earth in his death-throes.
"Dog! You would have it!" observes the Englishman, calmly reloading thedischarged chamber of his still smoking revolver. "You won't biteagain. Now then, you fellows, do as I told you just now--pick up thatchap and--march."
They obey apathetically; and, with many a furtive glance backward, theslaves move wearily on, leaving the body of their late oppressor to thevultures and jackals of the desert.
And now, after a march of several miles further, the melancholy_cortege_ arrives at its destination. In a natural clearing, surroundedby dense jungle, stand a few thatched shanties. In the centre is alarge barracoon, and into this the miserable human herd is turned. Thelast rays of the sun have disappeared, and here and there in the openspace a fire glows redly. Several men are standing about; awful-lookingcut-throats, villainy personified. Half-a-dozen of them are Portuguese,the rest Arabs and negroes. They crowd up to inspect the slaves.
"Well, Lidwell," says one of the first nationality in good English,addressing the new arrival. "You've brought in a poor-looking lot. Howmany did you lose?"
"Two. Both died."
"And Sharkey--wasn't he with you? Where's he?"
"Dead."
"Dead? Nonsense! What killed him?" And the first speaker stares inamazement.
"A pistol ball, regulation calibre."
A gleam of triumphant malice flits across the other's swarthy features.He is young, and by no means bad-looking but for a chronic scowl.
"Comrade," he replies, "you have done a good thing in ridding us of thatbeast." But the man addressed as Lidwell has marked that exultantexpression, and he knows that it means mischief. Sharkey has relativesin the camp who will certainly do their utmost to revenge his death, andit is doubtful whether the ruffianly European element will have eitherthe strength or resolution to stand out against these should theyclamour for his slayer's blood. It is more than doubtful if they havethe will; for this Englishman is both hated and feared by them. Hiscoolness and daring in the pursuit of their lawless traffic has not onlybeen the means of quadrupling their gains, but has twice saved the wholeparty from capture red-handed, for of late the Union Jack has been--tothem--unpleasantly active in Zanzibar waters. Yes, they hate himbitterly. He has won largely from them at play, for they are greatgamblers, and can they once get him into their power they are fullydetermined to make him yield up--by torture if necessary--the large sumswhich they know him to keep concealed somewhere. But then, his revolveris ever ready, and they are most of them cowards at heart.
Sternly he now looks the young Portuguese in the face.
"Juarez," he says, in a very significant tone. "Do you know, I alwaysthink I can never have enough revolver practice. It makes a maninvulnerable, does this little bit of wood and iron."
The other turns away with an oily smile. He has his own reasons for notbeing fond of the Englishman.
The latter strolls leisurely into one of the huts, keeping his eyesabout him, though, unobtrusively. Arrived there, he sits down for a fewminutes to rest and think out his plans. For he is determined to takeleave of his repulsive surroundings; and the sooner the better. Nearlytwo years of his life have been spent in this detestable traffic, andhow sick he is of it, he himself hardly knows. He has amassed wealthwith a rapidity little short of marvellous; but not for the ransom of anempire would he go through the experiences of those two years overagain. Many and many a scene of human suffering has it been his lot towitness during that period--for he is a slave-dealer, a trafficker inhuman flesh. But he is guiltless of any single act of brutality orwanton oppression towards the unfortunate wretches who have passedthrough his hands. In his eyes mere cattle, yet he would never allowthem to be tortured or ill-treated. More than once has he stood betweenthe victim and the lash, occasionally at the risk of his life--as wehave seen--or interfered to save some worn-out wretch from beingabandoned to the beasts of the desert. More than once, even, during along desert march when water was worth its weight in gold, has he sharedhis scanty stock of the priceless fluid with some toiling, parched, andexhausted slave, who, with tongue swollen and protruding, could hardlydrag one foot after the other. Yet, what is he but a hard-hearted,self-seeking slave-dealer, coining money out of suffering flesh andblood?
The gloom deepens. Lidwell, sitting there in his hut, can make out aknot of his rascally confederates talking earnestly together by one ofthe fires. A strange instinct warns him. Unless he leaves this placeto-night he will never leave it alive. Quickly he stows away a flaskand some biscuits in his pockets. Already his gains are secured abouthis person, carefully sewn up in his clothes--a large sum, partly ingold, partly in the paper currency of several nationalities. For sometime past he has been prepared for a sudden flight, and he has a canoesnugly concealed in a convenient place on the river bank. To-night hewill cut the whole concern for ever, and woe betide the man who shalltry to stop him.
He looks out of the doorway, carelessly. All seems quiet enough, and itis now quite dark. His sheath-knife is ready to his hand in case ofneed; so, too, is the brace of revolvers without which he never moves.
"Now for a start," he muses; "but--hang it--I must go round and saygood-bye to Anita. Can't leave without seeing the little one again."
Down a narrow path through the shadowy forest a few hundred yards, andhe reaches a small thatched dwelling, more substantially built than therest. Within all is silence. But for a lamp burning in one of thewindows the place would seem deserted. He imitates the cry of a jackaltwice. A moment, and then a dark figure glides swiftly round the cornerof the house and stands beside him.
"At last! I wondered when you were coming to see me. You have beenback hours, and never came near me." The voice is low, soft, andmusical; but there is re
sentment in it.
"Didn't I? Well, I came as soon as I could. Don't scold me to-night,little one."
And he looks down at her with a queer expression. Every moment lost isa nail in his coffin; yet he is wasting those precious moments gazinginto a pair of dark eyes.
She nestles close to his side. "I hate it so when you are away. And Iam always afraid you may get killed, or catch that terrible fever overthere, and never come back to me at all."
"Listen now, Anita," he says, gravely. "I must go away again--now--to-night, or my life is not worth a pebble, and I don't feel inclined tothrow it away for the benefit of those brutes." Then he tells her aboutthe fate of Sharkey, and the unmistakable signs he had read among hisassociates of their deadly intentions towards him.
The girl trembles with horror and apprehension as she listens.
"You must indeed go, and immediately. You can do nothing against them,and there are so many of them; and--Ah, I may as well die," she breaksoff in a wail of despair.
"Don't say that, little one. You will soon learn to do without me; butI am afraid you will forget all your English. And you were getting onwith it so nicely, too."
The girl is silent; but looks up at him with a stricken, hopelessexpression that goes to his heart. She is very lovely, standing therein the starlight, lovely in the rich, southern, voluptuous type. She isquite young--barely sixteen--but the delicate arched features are fullyformed. As regards education or mental culture, Anita de Castro is awild flower indeed. Her father is the head of this slave-dealingcolony. Formerly a merchant in the Portuguese settlement of DelagoaBay, his rascalities have landed him in outlawry, and he has taken hisdaughter with him into exile. Such is the girl who had attracted theattention of the Englishman Lidwell, who in her had found the oneredeeming feature in his present reckless life. He had to a certainextent, and in a desultory sort of way, educated this girl; at any ratehad moulded her into something better than a mere mental blank; and theprocess had been to him a real recreation, a refuge from the disgustwhich he increasingly felt for his cold-blooded and lawless occupation.And she? Here, on the threshold of budding womanhood, this stranger,who looked upon her as a mere plaything, possessed her whole heart. Howit was she could not tell, even had she asked herself the question.Juarez, her sworn admirer, was softer of speech and far moredeferential; whereas Lidwell sometimes seemed to ignore her veryexistence. Yet she would with a heavy heart anticipate the absence ofthe latter on long and perilous expeditions, and look forward soanxiously and so joyfully to his return. And now he has returned onlyto leave again immediately, and well she knew that she would see him nomore. Suddenly she throws herself on his breast in a fit of passionateweeping.
"Ah, love! I shall never see you again. Never--never."
A wave of wild temptation sweeps over the man. Why should he not takeher with him? She is beautiful enough in face and form, and it suddenlystrikes him that she is not the child he has hitherto been wont toconsider her. She is in his arms now. He has only to say the word andshe will stay there. But Lidwell is gifted with a cool head, and astrong one. He knows the world well enough, and he also knows his ownnature. He will not sacrifice this girl to a passing impulse, howeverpowerful. So he resists the momentary temptation, and--it is the savingof his life.
He strokes back the soft hair from her forehead. "Anita, child--youmust not grieve like this for me--I don't say forget the times we havespent together. What I do say is, you are, made for something betterthan this kind of life; leave it as soon as you are able, and--"
"Hush!"
She has heard something. With a quick gesture she draws herself fromhim, and stands erect and listening intently. A glow suffuses the sky,and the golden moon peeps above the tree-tops. And now the sound ofstealthy footsteps and smothered voices may be heard approaching.
"Go!" exclaims the girl, imprinting a shower of kisses upon his lips."Go--quick. They are coming. You shall not die here. Good-bye, love.I shall never see you again. Go." And, as she pushes him from her, theadvancing voices are very near indeed. She has barely time to regainthe house before several men are knocking at the door. Feigning to behalf asleep, she opens.
"Well, father, what has gone wrong?"
"Oh, nothing, Anita. Has Lidwell been here? We want him down at thecamp. He promised to help us through with the wine," answers De Castro.
"The Englishman? No, he hasn't been here. He must be in his own hut."
A glance goes round the group.
"But he must have been here, senorita," replies Juarez. "He was seen tocome in this direction."
A thought strikes the girl. She must gain time. So with anadmirably-feigned glance of uneasiness at a side door leading intoanother room, she reiterates that she has not seen him.
"Ah, well, comrades, I have some old wine in here," says her father,advancing towards this door. "We will try it." He turns the handle;but the door is locked. "The key, Anita, the key!"
"The key? Oh, here it is," and after a pretended search she finds thekey. They throw open the door suddenly, and stand staring in stupidsurprise into an empty room.
"Juarez," said the girl, calling him apart from the rest--"keep quietnow. Do you want the Englishman? You shall take him."
The other started, and his eyes lit up with savage triumph.
"How? Where? Where is he?"
"You shall have him. Listen, Juarez. He has been here, but if you tryto find him now you will fail. I promised to meet him two hours aftermidnight at the corner of the cane planting. He thinks I love him, butI hate him," she went on, working herself into a state ofadmirably-feigned fury. "He laughed at me and treated me as aplaything--now I shall have revenge. But listen. Go back to the camp.He is suspicious of you already; but he will come to me two hours aftermidnight. Then be in waiting, and you shall take him as easily as aleopard in a net. Don't tell the others about it until the time comes,only get them away now."
If Juarez felt a qualm of suspicion, she acted her part so well, that hefell headlong into the trap. With difficulty, he persuaded his fellowruffians to abandon their quest for the present. He trusted Anitaimplicitly; and, full of elation at the speedy vengeance which wouldovertake his rival, he returned with the others to their carousals.
The hours drag their length, and silence reigns in the tropical forest.A damp, unwholesome mist rises from the river and spreads over thetree-tops. Now and again the shout of the revellers breaks upon thesilence, or the deep bass of a bloodhound is raised in dismal bay at themoon. Still Anita sits there, gazing out upon the forest, and followingin spirit every step of him whose life she has saved, further andfurther as each step takes him from her. At last she falls fast asleep,worn out with the excitement and tension of the past few hours. Thencomes a loud, angry knocking at the door.
Opening it, she is confronted with her father. He is shaking withwrath, and behind him are nine or ten others all armed to the teeth.
"Where is the Englishman?" he roared. "Have you fooled us? It isnearly daybreak--and two hours after midnight we were to take him!Where is he?"
"Where is he?" echoed Anita, her voice as clear as a bell. "Where ishe? Safe. Far away--leagues and leagues. You will never see himagain. He is safe." And her large eyes flashed upon the enraged andastonished group in scornful defiance as she stood in the doorway.
With the yell of a wild beast baffled of its prey, the old ruffiansprang at his daughter. She never moved. But his clenched hand wasseized in a firm grasp before it could descend.
"Softly--softly, patron!" said Juarez. "You would not strike thesenorita!"
De Castro struggled in the grasp of the younger man and yelled the mostawful curses upon Lidwell, his daughter, and all present; but Juarez wasfirm. He was not all bad, and a glow of admiration went through him atAnita's daring, and the shrewd way in which she had outwitted them.Moreover, rivalry apart, he had rather liked Lidwell. The latter theywould never see again, for had
not Anita herself said as much. On thewhole, therefore, it was just as well that he had escaped, and savedthem the necessity of killing a former brave comrade. So he tried topacify the old man.
"Patron," he said, "be reasonable. We are well rid of this Englishdevil. Certainly, he has won a lot of our dollars; but then he willlose his share in the profits of the last expedition." Then, in a lowtone: "And he has rid us of that turbulent beast, Sharkey. He is adetermined devil, and while he was with us he served us well. Let himgo."
The old slave-dealer fumed and raved, then fell in with things as theywere. "Ah well," he said at last, "what is--is, and we can't help it.We will empty another skin of wine." Then they withdrew to drown theirdiscomfiture in drink, though some of the party, less easily pacified,would fain have started in pursuit of the fugitive, but that they knewit would be useless.
Six weeks later the mail steamer from Zanzibar was securely docked inthe port of London, and Lidwell, bidding farewell to a few fellowpassengers, stepped ashore, and in a moment was lost among the busycrowd in the great restless city. He was now in easy circumstances forlife.
The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier Page 3