Chapter Thirteen.The Encampment and the Supper—Discussions, Political and Otherwise—Kambira Receives a Shock, and our Wanderers are Thrown into Perplexity.Turn we now to a more peaceful scene. The camp is almost quiet, the stars are twinkling brightly overhead, the fires are glimmering fitfully below. The natives, having taken the edge off their appetites, have stretched their dusky forms on their sleeping-mats, and laid their woolly heads on their little wooden pillows. The only persons moving are Harold Seadrift and Disco Lillihammer—the first being busy making notes in a small book, the second being equally busy in manufacturing cloudlets from his unfailing pipe, gazing the while with much interest at his note-making companion.“They was pretty vigorous w’en they wos at it, sir,” said Disco, in reference to supper, observing that his companion looked up from his book, “but they wos sooner done than I had expected.”“Yes, they weren’t long about it,” replied Harold, with an abstracted air, as he resumed his writing.Lest the reader should erroneously imagine that supper is over, it is necessary here to explain what taking the edge off a free African’s appetite means.On reaching camp after the cutting up of the elephant, as detailed in the last chapter, the negroes had set to work to roast and boil with a degree of vigour that would have surprised even thechefs de cuisineof the world’s first-class hotels. Having gorged themselves to an extent that civilised people might perhaps have thought dangerous, they had then commenced an uproarious dance, accompanied by stentorian songs, which soon reduced them to the condition of beings who needed repose. Proceeding upon the principle of overcoming temptation by giving way to it, they at once lay down and went to sleep.It was during this stage of the night’s proceedings that Disco foolishly imagined that supper had come to a close. Not many minutes after the observation was made, and before the black cutty-pipe was smoked out, first one and then another of the sleepers awoke, and, after a yawn or two, got up to rouse the fires and put on the cooking-pots. In less than a quarter of an hour the whole camp was astir, conversation was rife, and the bubbling of pots that had not got time to cool, and the hissing of roasts whose fat had not yet hardened, mingled with songs whose echoes were still floating in the brains of the wild inhabitants of the surrounding jungle. Roasting, boiling, and eating were recommenced with as much energy as if the feast had only just begun.Kambira, having roused himself, gave orders to one of his men, who brought one of the elephant’s feet and set about the cooking of it at Harold’s fire. Kambira and Disco, with Antonio and Jumbo, sat round the same fire.There was a hole in the ground close beside them which contained a small fire; the embers of this were stirred up and replenished with fuel. When the inside was thoroughly heated, the elephant’s foot was placed in it, and covered over with hot ashes and soil, and another fire kindled above the whole.Harold, who regarded this proceeding with some surprise, said to Kambira—through Antonio— “Who are you cooking that for?”“For my white guests,” replied the chief.“But we have supped already,” said Harold; “we have already eaten as much as we can hold of the elephant’s trunk and tongue, both of which were excellent—why prepare more?”“This is not for to-night, but for to-morrow,” returned Kambira, with a smile. “The foot takes all night to cook.”This was a sufficient explanation, and in truth the nature of the dish required that it should be well done. When, on the morrow, they were called to partake of it they found that it was, according to Disco’s estimation, “fust-rate!” It was a whitish mass, slightly gelatinous and sweet, like marrow, and very palatable. Nevertheless, they learned from experience that if the effect of bile were to be avoided, a long march was necessary after a meal of elephant’s foot!Meanwhile the proceedings of the natives were food enough for our travellers for the time being. Like human creatures elsewhere, they displayed great variety of taste. Some preferred boiled meat, others roast; a few indulged in porridge made of mapira meal. The meal was very good, but the porridgewasdoubtful, owing to the cookery. It would appear that in Africa, as in England, woman excels in the culinary art. At all events, the mapira meal was better managed by them, than by the men. On the present occasion the hunters tumbled in the meal by handfuls in rapid succession as soon as the water was hot, until it became too thick to be stirred about, then it was lifted off the fire, and one man held the pot while another plied the porridge-stick with all his might to prevent the solid mass from being burnt. Thus it was prepared, and thus eaten, in enormous quantities. No wonder that dancing and profuse perspiration were esteemed a necessary adjunct to feeding!At the close of the second edition of supper, which went into four or five editions before morning, some of the men at the fire next to that of Kambira engaged in a debate so furious, that the curiosity of Disco and Harold was excited, and they caused Antonio to translate much of what was said. It is not possible to give a connected account of this debate as translated by Antonio. To overcome the difficulty we shall give the substance of it in what Disco styled Antonio’s “lingo.”There were about a dozen natives round the fire, but two of them sustained the chief part in the debate. One of these was a large man with a flat nose; the other was a small man with a large frizzy head.“Hold ’oos tongue,” said Flatnose (so Antonio named him); “tongue too long—far!”“Boh! ’oos brains too short,” retorted Frizzyhead contemptuously.An immense amount of chattering by the others followed these pithy remarks of the principals.The question in debate was, Whether the two toes of the ostrich represented the thumb and forefinger in man, or the little and ring fingers? But in a few minutes the subject changed gradually, and somehow unaccountably, to questions of a political nature,—for, strange to say, in savage Africa, as in civilised England, politics are keenly discussed, doubtless at times with equal wisdom in the one land as in the other.“What dat ’oo say?” inquired Flatnose, on hearing some muttered remarks of Frizzyhead in reference to the misgovernment of chiefs. Of course there, as here, present company was understood to be excepted.“Chiefs ob no use—no use at all!” said Frizzyhead so vehemently that the men at several of the nearest fires ceased to talk, and began to listen.“Ob no use?” cried Flatnose, with vehemence so superior that the attention of the whole camp was arrested.“No!” replied Frizzyhead, still more energetically, “ob no use at all. We could govern ourselves betterer, so what de use of ’um? The chief ’ums fat an’ hab plenty wife, but we, who do all de hard work, hab hunger, an’ only one wife, prehaps none at all. Dis is bad, unjust, wrong.”There was a general shout of “eehee!” from all quarters, which was equivalent to our “hear, hear.”“’Oo know noting at all,” retorted Flatnose, who was a loyal subject. “Is not de chief de fader of de peepil? Can dere be peepil widout a fader—eh? God made de chief—who says dat chief is not wise? Heiswise, but um’s child’n am big fools!”Kambira nodded his head and smiled at this, and there was a general inclination on the part of most of the audience to applaud, for there, as elsewhere, men have a tendency to be blown about by every wind of doctrine.It was amusing to observe the earnestness and freedom with which men of the lowest grade assaulted the opinions of their betters on this occasion. Unable at other times, or in any other way, to bring themselves into importance, they were glad of the opportunity to do so with their tongues, and, like their civilised types, they assumed an air of mock modesty.“Oh!” cried one of these, in reply to Flatnose, “we is littil infants; we is still holdin’ on to de boosums ob our moders; we not able to walk alone; we knows notin’ at all; but ondispoint, we knows that you old men speak like de ignorint peepil. We nebber hear such nonsense—nebber!”No notice was taken of this, but Frizzyhead, whose passion was rising to white heat in consequence of the glibness of his opponent’s tongue, cried out— “’Oo cannot prove wat ’ou says?”“Oh yes, can prove it well ’nuff,” replied Flatnose, “but ’oos no’ got brain for onerstand.”This last was too much for poor Frizzyhead, who leaped up, stuttered, and cried— “Can ’oo outrun me, then?”“Ye—ye—yes!” gasped Flatnose, springing up.Away they went like two hunted springboks, and ran for a mile, then turned and came back into camp streaming with perspiration, little Frizzyhead far ahead of the big man, and rejoicing in the fact that he could beat his opponent in a race, if not in an argument. Thus was peace restored. Pity that civilised arguments cannot be terminated in the same way!While these discussions were going on, Disco observed that hyenas were occasionally to be seen prowling near the verge of the bushes around them, as if anxious to join in the feast, which no doubt was the case.“Don’t they do mischief sometimes?” he inquired of Antonio.“No; him a cowardly beast. Him come at mans when sleepin’ or dyin’, but not at oder time. ’Oo like see me catch um?”“Why, yes, if ’ee can do it,” answered Disco, with a slight look of contempt at his friend, who bore too much resemblance in some points to the hyena.“Come here, den.”They went together into the jungle a little distance, and halted under the branch of a large tree. To this Antonio suspended a lump of raw flesh, at such a height from the ground that a hyena could only reach it by leaping. Directly underneath it he planted a short spear in the earth with its point upward.“Now, come back to fire,” he said to Disco; “’ou soon hear sometin’.”Antonio was right. In a short time afterwards a sharp yell was heard, and, on running to the trap, they found a hyena in its death-agonies. It had leaped at the meat, missed it, and had come down on the spear and impaled itself.“Well, of all the fellers I ever know’d for dodges,” said Disco, on reseating himself at the fire, “the men in these latitudes are the cleverest.”By this time dancing was going on furiously; therefore, as it would have been impossible to sleep, Disco refilled his pipe and amused himself by contemplating the intelligent countenance of Kambira, who sat smoking bang out of a huge native meerschaum on the other side of the fire.“I wonder,” said Harold, who lay stretched on a sleeping-mat, leaning on his right arm and gazing contemplatively at the glowing heart of the fire; “I wonder what has become of Yoosoof?”“Was ’ee thinkin’ that he deserved to be shoved in there?” asked Disco, pointing to the fire.“Not exactly,” replied Harold, laughing; “but I have frequently thought of the scoundrel, and wondered where he is and what doing now. I have sometimes thought too, about that girl Azinté, poor thing. She—”He paused abruptly and gazed at Kambira with great surprise, not unmixed with alarm, for the chief had suddenly dropped his pipe and glared at him in a manner that cannot be described. Disco observed the change also, and was about to speak, when Kambira sprang over the fire and seized Harold by the arm.There was something in the movement, however, which forbade the idea of an attack, therefore he lay still.“What now, Kambira?” he said.“Antonio,” cried the chief, in a voice that brought the interpreter to his side in a twinkling; “what name did the white man speak just now?”“Azinté,” said Harold, rising to a sitting posture.Kambira sat down, drew up his knees to his chin, and clasped his hands round them.“Tell me all you know about Azinté,” he said in a low, firm voice.It was evident that the chief was endeavouring to restrain some powerful feeling, for his face, black though it was, indicated a distinct degree of pallor, and his lips were firmly compressed together. Harold therefore, much surprised as well as interested, related the little he knew about the poor girl,—his meeting with her in Yoosoof’s hut; Disco’s kindness to her, and her subsequent departure with the Arab.Kambira sat motionless until he had finished.“Do you know where she is gone?” he inquired.“No. I know not; but she was not in the boat with the other slaves when we sailed, from which I think it likely that she remained upon the coast.—But why do you ask, Kambira, why are you so anxious about her?”“She is my wife,” muttered the chief between his teeth; and, as he said so, a frown that was absolutely diabolical settled down on his features.For some minutes there was a dead silence, for both Harold and Disco felt intuitively that to offer consolation or hope were out of the question.Presently Kambira raised his head, and a smile chased the frown away as he said— “You have been kind to Azinté, will you be kind to her husband?”“We should be indeed unworthy the name of Englishmen if we said no to that,” replied Harold, glancing at Disco, who nodded approval.“Good. Will you take me with you to the shores of the great salt lake?” said Kambira, in a low, pathetic tone, “will you make me your servant, your slave?”“Most gladly will I take you with me asa friend,” returned Harold. “I need not ask why you wish to go,” he added,—“you go to seek Azinté?”“Yes,” cried the chief, springing up wildly and drawing himself up to his full height, “I go to seek Azinté. Ho! up men! up! Ye have feasted enough and slept enough for one night. Who knows but the slavers may be at our huts while we lie idly here? Up! Let us go!”The ringing tones acted like a magic spell. Savage camps are soon pitched and sooner raised. In a few minutes the obedient hunters had bundled up all their possessions, and in less than a quarter of an hour the whole band was tracking its way by moonlight through the pathless jungle.The pace at which they travelled home was much more rapid than that at which they had set out on their expedition. Somehow, the vigorous tones in which Kambira had given command to break up the camp, coupled with his words, roused the idea that he must have received information of danger threatening the village, and some of the more anxious husbands and fathers, unable to restrain themselves, left the party altogether and ran back the whole way. To their great relief, however, they found on arriving that all was quiet. The women were singing and at work in the fields, the children shouting at play, and the men at their wonted occupation of weaving cotton cloth, or making nets and bows, under the banyan-trees.Perplexity is not a pleasant condition of existence, nevertheless, to perplexity mankind is more or less doomed in every period of life and in every mundane scene—particularly in the jungles of central Africa, as Harold and his friends found out many a time to their cost.On arriving at the native village, the chief point that perplexed our hero there was as to whether he should return to the coast at once, or push on further into the interior. On the one hand he wished very much to see more of the land and its inhabitants; on the other hand, Kambira was painfully anxious to proceed at once to the coast in search, of his lost wife, and pressed him to set off without delay.The chief was rather an exception in regard to his feelings on this point. Most other African potentates had several wives, and in the event of losing one of them might have found consolation in the others. But Kambira had never apparently thought of taking another wife after the loss of Azinté, and the only comfort he had was in his little boy, who bore a strong resemblance, in some points, to the mother.But although Harold felt strong sympathy with the man, and would have gone a long way out of his course to aid him, he could not avoid perceiving that the case was almost, if not altogether, a hopeless one. He had no idea to what part of the coast Azinté had been taken. For all he knew to the contrary, she might have been long ago shipped off to the northern markets, and probably was, even while he talked of her, the inmate of an Arab harem, or at all events a piece of goods—a “chattel”—in the absolute possession of an irresponsible master. Besides the improbability of Kambira ever hearing what had become of his wife, or to what part of the earth she had been transported, there was also the difficulty of devising any definite course of action for the chief himself, because the instant he should venture to leave the protection of the Englishmen he would be certain to fall into the hands of Arabs or Portuguese, and become enslaved.Much of this Harold had not the heart to explain to him. He dwelt, however, pretty strongly on the latter contingency, though without producing much effect. Death, the chief replied, he did not fear, and slavery could easily be exchanged for death.“Alas! not so easily as you think,” said Harold, pointing to Chimbolo, whose sad story he had heard; “they will tryeverykind of torture before they kill you.”Chimbolo nodded his head, assenting, and ground his teeth together fiercely when this was said.Still Kambira was unmoved; he did not care what they did to him. Azinté was as life to him, and to search for her he would go in spite of every consideration.Harold prevailed on him, however, to agree to wait until he should have spent another month in visiting Chimbolo’s tribe, after which he promised faithfully to return and take him along with his party to the coast.Neither Harold nor Disco was quite at ease in his mind after making this arrangement, but they both agreed that no other course could be pursued, the former saying with a sigh that there was no help for it, and the latter asserting with a grunt that the thing “wos unawoidable.”On the following day the journey of exploration was resumed. Kambira accompanied his friends a few miles on the road, and then bade them farewell. On the summit of an elevated ridge the party halted and looked back. Kambira’s manly form could be seen leaning on his spear. Behind him the little village lay embosomed in luxuriant verdure, and glowing in the bright sunshine, while songs and sounds of industry floated towards them like a sweet melody. It was with a feeling of keen regret that the travellers turned away, after waving their hands in reply to a parting salute from the stalwart chief, and, descending to the plain, pushed forward into the unknown wilderness beyond.
Turn we now to a more peaceful scene. The camp is almost quiet, the stars are twinkling brightly overhead, the fires are glimmering fitfully below. The natives, having taken the edge off their appetites, have stretched their dusky forms on their sleeping-mats, and laid their woolly heads on their little wooden pillows. The only persons moving are Harold Seadrift and Disco Lillihammer—the first being busy making notes in a small book, the second being equally busy in manufacturing cloudlets from his unfailing pipe, gazing the while with much interest at his note-making companion.
“They was pretty vigorous w’en they wos at it, sir,” said Disco, in reference to supper, observing that his companion looked up from his book, “but they wos sooner done than I had expected.”
“Yes, they weren’t long about it,” replied Harold, with an abstracted air, as he resumed his writing.
Lest the reader should erroneously imagine that supper is over, it is necessary here to explain what taking the edge off a free African’s appetite means.
On reaching camp after the cutting up of the elephant, as detailed in the last chapter, the negroes had set to work to roast and boil with a degree of vigour that would have surprised even thechefs de cuisineof the world’s first-class hotels. Having gorged themselves to an extent that civilised people might perhaps have thought dangerous, they had then commenced an uproarious dance, accompanied by stentorian songs, which soon reduced them to the condition of beings who needed repose. Proceeding upon the principle of overcoming temptation by giving way to it, they at once lay down and went to sleep.
It was during this stage of the night’s proceedings that Disco foolishly imagined that supper had come to a close. Not many minutes after the observation was made, and before the black cutty-pipe was smoked out, first one and then another of the sleepers awoke, and, after a yawn or two, got up to rouse the fires and put on the cooking-pots. In less than a quarter of an hour the whole camp was astir, conversation was rife, and the bubbling of pots that had not got time to cool, and the hissing of roasts whose fat had not yet hardened, mingled with songs whose echoes were still floating in the brains of the wild inhabitants of the surrounding jungle. Roasting, boiling, and eating were recommenced with as much energy as if the feast had only just begun.
Kambira, having roused himself, gave orders to one of his men, who brought one of the elephant’s feet and set about the cooking of it at Harold’s fire. Kambira and Disco, with Antonio and Jumbo, sat round the same fire.
There was a hole in the ground close beside them which contained a small fire; the embers of this were stirred up and replenished with fuel. When the inside was thoroughly heated, the elephant’s foot was placed in it, and covered over with hot ashes and soil, and another fire kindled above the whole.
Harold, who regarded this proceeding with some surprise, said to Kambira—through Antonio— “Who are you cooking that for?”
“For my white guests,” replied the chief.
“But we have supped already,” said Harold; “we have already eaten as much as we can hold of the elephant’s trunk and tongue, both of which were excellent—why prepare more?”
“This is not for to-night, but for to-morrow,” returned Kambira, with a smile. “The foot takes all night to cook.”
This was a sufficient explanation, and in truth the nature of the dish required that it should be well done. When, on the morrow, they were called to partake of it they found that it was, according to Disco’s estimation, “fust-rate!” It was a whitish mass, slightly gelatinous and sweet, like marrow, and very palatable. Nevertheless, they learned from experience that if the effect of bile were to be avoided, a long march was necessary after a meal of elephant’s foot!
Meanwhile the proceedings of the natives were food enough for our travellers for the time being. Like human creatures elsewhere, they displayed great variety of taste. Some preferred boiled meat, others roast; a few indulged in porridge made of mapira meal. The meal was very good, but the porridgewasdoubtful, owing to the cookery. It would appear that in Africa, as in England, woman excels in the culinary art. At all events, the mapira meal was better managed by them, than by the men. On the present occasion the hunters tumbled in the meal by handfuls in rapid succession as soon as the water was hot, until it became too thick to be stirred about, then it was lifted off the fire, and one man held the pot while another plied the porridge-stick with all his might to prevent the solid mass from being burnt. Thus it was prepared, and thus eaten, in enormous quantities. No wonder that dancing and profuse perspiration were esteemed a necessary adjunct to feeding!
At the close of the second edition of supper, which went into four or five editions before morning, some of the men at the fire next to that of Kambira engaged in a debate so furious, that the curiosity of Disco and Harold was excited, and they caused Antonio to translate much of what was said. It is not possible to give a connected account of this debate as translated by Antonio. To overcome the difficulty we shall give the substance of it in what Disco styled Antonio’s “lingo.”
There were about a dozen natives round the fire, but two of them sustained the chief part in the debate. One of these was a large man with a flat nose; the other was a small man with a large frizzy head.
“Hold ’oos tongue,” said Flatnose (so Antonio named him); “tongue too long—far!”
“Boh! ’oos brains too short,” retorted Frizzyhead contemptuously.
An immense amount of chattering by the others followed these pithy remarks of the principals.
The question in debate was, Whether the two toes of the ostrich represented the thumb and forefinger in man, or the little and ring fingers? But in a few minutes the subject changed gradually, and somehow unaccountably, to questions of a political nature,—for, strange to say, in savage Africa, as in civilised England, politics are keenly discussed, doubtless at times with equal wisdom in the one land as in the other.
“What dat ’oo say?” inquired Flatnose, on hearing some muttered remarks of Frizzyhead in reference to the misgovernment of chiefs. Of course there, as here, present company was understood to be excepted.
“Chiefs ob no use—no use at all!” said Frizzyhead so vehemently that the men at several of the nearest fires ceased to talk, and began to listen.
“Ob no use?” cried Flatnose, with vehemence so superior that the attention of the whole camp was arrested.
“No!” replied Frizzyhead, still more energetically, “ob no use at all. We could govern ourselves betterer, so what de use of ’um? The chief ’ums fat an’ hab plenty wife, but we, who do all de hard work, hab hunger, an’ only one wife, prehaps none at all. Dis is bad, unjust, wrong.”
There was a general shout of “eehee!” from all quarters, which was equivalent to our “hear, hear.”
“’Oo know noting at all,” retorted Flatnose, who was a loyal subject. “Is not de chief de fader of de peepil? Can dere be peepil widout a fader—eh? God made de chief—who says dat chief is not wise? Heiswise, but um’s child’n am big fools!”
Kambira nodded his head and smiled at this, and there was a general inclination on the part of most of the audience to applaud, for there, as elsewhere, men have a tendency to be blown about by every wind of doctrine.
It was amusing to observe the earnestness and freedom with which men of the lowest grade assaulted the opinions of their betters on this occasion. Unable at other times, or in any other way, to bring themselves into importance, they were glad of the opportunity to do so with their tongues, and, like their civilised types, they assumed an air of mock modesty.
“Oh!” cried one of these, in reply to Flatnose, “we is littil infants; we is still holdin’ on to de boosums ob our moders; we not able to walk alone; we knows notin’ at all; but ondispoint, we knows that you old men speak like de ignorint peepil. We nebber hear such nonsense—nebber!”
No notice was taken of this, but Frizzyhead, whose passion was rising to white heat in consequence of the glibness of his opponent’s tongue, cried out— “’Oo cannot prove wat ’ou says?”
“Oh yes, can prove it well ’nuff,” replied Flatnose, “but ’oos no’ got brain for onerstand.”
This last was too much for poor Frizzyhead, who leaped up, stuttered, and cried— “Can ’oo outrun me, then?”
“Ye—ye—yes!” gasped Flatnose, springing up.
Away they went like two hunted springboks, and ran for a mile, then turned and came back into camp streaming with perspiration, little Frizzyhead far ahead of the big man, and rejoicing in the fact that he could beat his opponent in a race, if not in an argument. Thus was peace restored. Pity that civilised arguments cannot be terminated in the same way!
While these discussions were going on, Disco observed that hyenas were occasionally to be seen prowling near the verge of the bushes around them, as if anxious to join in the feast, which no doubt was the case.
“Don’t they do mischief sometimes?” he inquired of Antonio.
“No; him a cowardly beast. Him come at mans when sleepin’ or dyin’, but not at oder time. ’Oo like see me catch um?”
“Why, yes, if ’ee can do it,” answered Disco, with a slight look of contempt at his friend, who bore too much resemblance in some points to the hyena.
“Come here, den.”
They went together into the jungle a little distance, and halted under the branch of a large tree. To this Antonio suspended a lump of raw flesh, at such a height from the ground that a hyena could only reach it by leaping. Directly underneath it he planted a short spear in the earth with its point upward.
“Now, come back to fire,” he said to Disco; “’ou soon hear sometin’.”
Antonio was right. In a short time afterwards a sharp yell was heard, and, on running to the trap, they found a hyena in its death-agonies. It had leaped at the meat, missed it, and had come down on the spear and impaled itself.
“Well, of all the fellers I ever know’d for dodges,” said Disco, on reseating himself at the fire, “the men in these latitudes are the cleverest.”
By this time dancing was going on furiously; therefore, as it would have been impossible to sleep, Disco refilled his pipe and amused himself by contemplating the intelligent countenance of Kambira, who sat smoking bang out of a huge native meerschaum on the other side of the fire.
“I wonder,” said Harold, who lay stretched on a sleeping-mat, leaning on his right arm and gazing contemplatively at the glowing heart of the fire; “I wonder what has become of Yoosoof?”
“Was ’ee thinkin’ that he deserved to be shoved in there?” asked Disco, pointing to the fire.
“Not exactly,” replied Harold, laughing; “but I have frequently thought of the scoundrel, and wondered where he is and what doing now. I have sometimes thought too, about that girl Azinté, poor thing. She—”
He paused abruptly and gazed at Kambira with great surprise, not unmixed with alarm, for the chief had suddenly dropped his pipe and glared at him in a manner that cannot be described. Disco observed the change also, and was about to speak, when Kambira sprang over the fire and seized Harold by the arm.
There was something in the movement, however, which forbade the idea of an attack, therefore he lay still.
“What now, Kambira?” he said.
“Antonio,” cried the chief, in a voice that brought the interpreter to his side in a twinkling; “what name did the white man speak just now?”
“Azinté,” said Harold, rising to a sitting posture.
Kambira sat down, drew up his knees to his chin, and clasped his hands round them.
“Tell me all you know about Azinté,” he said in a low, firm voice.
It was evident that the chief was endeavouring to restrain some powerful feeling, for his face, black though it was, indicated a distinct degree of pallor, and his lips were firmly compressed together. Harold therefore, much surprised as well as interested, related the little he knew about the poor girl,—his meeting with her in Yoosoof’s hut; Disco’s kindness to her, and her subsequent departure with the Arab.
Kambira sat motionless until he had finished.
“Do you know where she is gone?” he inquired.
“No. I know not; but she was not in the boat with the other slaves when we sailed, from which I think it likely that she remained upon the coast.—But why do you ask, Kambira, why are you so anxious about her?”
“She is my wife,” muttered the chief between his teeth; and, as he said so, a frown that was absolutely diabolical settled down on his features.
For some minutes there was a dead silence, for both Harold and Disco felt intuitively that to offer consolation or hope were out of the question.
Presently Kambira raised his head, and a smile chased the frown away as he said— “You have been kind to Azinté, will you be kind to her husband?”
“We should be indeed unworthy the name of Englishmen if we said no to that,” replied Harold, glancing at Disco, who nodded approval.
“Good. Will you take me with you to the shores of the great salt lake?” said Kambira, in a low, pathetic tone, “will you make me your servant, your slave?”
“Most gladly will I take you with me asa friend,” returned Harold. “I need not ask why you wish to go,” he added,—“you go to seek Azinté?”
“Yes,” cried the chief, springing up wildly and drawing himself up to his full height, “I go to seek Azinté. Ho! up men! up! Ye have feasted enough and slept enough for one night. Who knows but the slavers may be at our huts while we lie idly here? Up! Let us go!”
The ringing tones acted like a magic spell. Savage camps are soon pitched and sooner raised. In a few minutes the obedient hunters had bundled up all their possessions, and in less than a quarter of an hour the whole band was tracking its way by moonlight through the pathless jungle.
The pace at which they travelled home was much more rapid than that at which they had set out on their expedition. Somehow, the vigorous tones in which Kambira had given command to break up the camp, coupled with his words, roused the idea that he must have received information of danger threatening the village, and some of the more anxious husbands and fathers, unable to restrain themselves, left the party altogether and ran back the whole way. To their great relief, however, they found on arriving that all was quiet. The women were singing and at work in the fields, the children shouting at play, and the men at their wonted occupation of weaving cotton cloth, or making nets and bows, under the banyan-trees.
Perplexity is not a pleasant condition of existence, nevertheless, to perplexity mankind is more or less doomed in every period of life and in every mundane scene—particularly in the jungles of central Africa, as Harold and his friends found out many a time to their cost.
On arriving at the native village, the chief point that perplexed our hero there was as to whether he should return to the coast at once, or push on further into the interior. On the one hand he wished very much to see more of the land and its inhabitants; on the other hand, Kambira was painfully anxious to proceed at once to the coast in search, of his lost wife, and pressed him to set off without delay.
The chief was rather an exception in regard to his feelings on this point. Most other African potentates had several wives, and in the event of losing one of them might have found consolation in the others. But Kambira had never apparently thought of taking another wife after the loss of Azinté, and the only comfort he had was in his little boy, who bore a strong resemblance, in some points, to the mother.
But although Harold felt strong sympathy with the man, and would have gone a long way out of his course to aid him, he could not avoid perceiving that the case was almost, if not altogether, a hopeless one. He had no idea to what part of the coast Azinté had been taken. For all he knew to the contrary, she might have been long ago shipped off to the northern markets, and probably was, even while he talked of her, the inmate of an Arab harem, or at all events a piece of goods—a “chattel”—in the absolute possession of an irresponsible master. Besides the improbability of Kambira ever hearing what had become of his wife, or to what part of the earth she had been transported, there was also the difficulty of devising any definite course of action for the chief himself, because the instant he should venture to leave the protection of the Englishmen he would be certain to fall into the hands of Arabs or Portuguese, and become enslaved.
Much of this Harold had not the heart to explain to him. He dwelt, however, pretty strongly on the latter contingency, though without producing much effect. Death, the chief replied, he did not fear, and slavery could easily be exchanged for death.
“Alas! not so easily as you think,” said Harold, pointing to Chimbolo, whose sad story he had heard; “they will tryeverykind of torture before they kill you.”
Chimbolo nodded his head, assenting, and ground his teeth together fiercely when this was said.
Still Kambira was unmoved; he did not care what they did to him. Azinté was as life to him, and to search for her he would go in spite of every consideration.
Harold prevailed on him, however, to agree to wait until he should have spent another month in visiting Chimbolo’s tribe, after which he promised faithfully to return and take him along with his party to the coast.
Neither Harold nor Disco was quite at ease in his mind after making this arrangement, but they both agreed that no other course could be pursued, the former saying with a sigh that there was no help for it, and the latter asserting with a grunt that the thing “wos unawoidable.”
On the following day the journey of exploration was resumed. Kambira accompanied his friends a few miles on the road, and then bade them farewell. On the summit of an elevated ridge the party halted and looked back. Kambira’s manly form could be seen leaning on his spear. Behind him the little village lay embosomed in luxuriant verdure, and glowing in the bright sunshine, while songs and sounds of industry floated towards them like a sweet melody. It was with a feeling of keen regret that the travellers turned away, after waving their hands in reply to a parting salute from the stalwart chief, and, descending to the plain, pushed forward into the unknown wilderness beyond.
Chapter Fourteen.Camping, Travelling, Shooting, Dreaming, Poetising, Philosophising, and Surprising, in Equatorial Africa.At sunset the travellers halted in a peculiarly wild spot and encamped under the shelter of a gigantic baobab tree.Two rousing fires were quickly kindled, round which the natives busied themselves in preparing supper, while their leaders sat down, the one to write up his journal, the other to smoke his pipe.“Well, sir,” said Disco, after a few puffs delivered with extreme satisfaction, “you do seem for to enjoy writin’. You go at that log of yours every night, as if it wos yer last will and testament that ye couldn’t die happy without exikootin’ an’ signin’ it with yer blood.”“A better occupation, isn’t it,” replied Harold, with a sly glance, “than to make a chimney-pot of my mouth?”“Come, sir,” returned Disco, with a deprecatory smile, “don’t be too hard on a poor feller’s pipe. If you can’t enjoy it, that’s no argiment against it.”“How d’you know I can’t enjoy it?”“Why? cos I s’pose you’d take to it if you did.”“Didyouenjoy it when you first began?” asked Harold.“Well, I can’t ’zactly say as I did.”“Well, then, if you didn’t, that proves that it is notnaturalto smoke, and why should I acquire an unnatural and useless habit?”“Useless! why, sir, on’y think of wot you loses by not smokin’—wot a deal of enjoyment!”“Well, Iamthinking,” replied Harold, affecting a look of profound thoughtfulness, “but I can’t quite make it out—enjoyment? let me see. Do I not enjoy as good health as you do?”“O, cer’nly, sir, cer’nly. You’re quite up to the mark in that respect.”“Well then, I enjoy my food as well, and can eat as much, can’t I?”“No doubt of it,” replied Disco, with a grin; “I was used to be considered raither a dab at wittles, but I must say I knocks under toyou, sir.”“Very good,” rejoined Harold, laughing; “then as to sleep, I enjoy sleep quite as soundly as yourself; don’t I?”“I can’t say as to that,” replied Disco. “You see, sir, as I never opens my eyes arter shuttin’ of ’em till the bo’s’n pipes all hands ahoy, I’ve no means of knowin’ wot you accomplish in that way.”“On the whole, then, it seems that I enjoy everything as much as you do, and—”“No, not everything; you don’t enjoy baccy, you know.—But please, sir, don’t go for to moralise; I can’t stand it. You’ll spile my pipe if ye do!”“Well, I shall spare you,” said Harold, “all the more that I perceive supper is about—”At that moment Antonio, who had gone down to a streamlet which trickled close at hand, gave utterance to a hideous yell, and came rushing into camp with a face that was pea-green from terror.“Ach!” he gasped, “a lion! queek! your guns!” Every one leaped up and seized his weapon with marvellous alacrity on receiving an alarm so violent and unlooked-for.“Where away?” inquired Disco, blazing with excitement, and ready at a moment’s notice to rush into the jungle and fire both barrels at whatever should present itself.“No, no, don’ go,” cried Antonio in alarm; “be cautionous.”The interpreter’s caution was enforced by Chimbolo, who laid his hand on Disco’s arm, and looked at him with such solemnity that he felt it necessary to restrain his ardour.Meanwhile Antonio with trembling steps led Harold to a point in the thicket whence he beheld two bright phosphoric-looking objects which his companion said were the lion’s eyes, adding that lion’s eyes always shone in that way.Harold threw forward his rifle with the intention of taking aim, but lowered it quickly, for he felt convinced that no lion could possibly have eyes so wide apart unless its head were as large as that of an elephant.“Nonsense, Antonio!” he said, laughing; “that cannot be a lion.”“Ho, yis, him’s a lion, for sure,” Antonio returned, positively.“We shall see.”Harold raised his rifle and fired, while Antonio turned and fled, fully expecting the wounded beast to spring. Harold himself half looked for some such act, and shrank behind a bush by way of precaution, but when the smoke cleared away, he saw that the two glowing eyes were gazing at him as fixedly as ever.“Pooh!” exclaimed Disco, brushing past; “I knows wot it is. Many a time I’ve seed ’em in the West Injies.”Saying which, he went straight up to the supposed lion, picked up a couple of glow-worms, and brought them to the camp-fires, much to the amusement of the men, especially of Jumbo, and greatly to the confusion of the valorous interpreter, who, according to his invariable custom when danger threatened, was found to have sought refuge in a tree.This incident furnished ground for much discussion and merriment during supper, in which Antonio, being in no wise ashamed of himself, joined noisily; and Chimbolo took occasion to reprove Disco for his rashness, telling him that it was impossible to kill lions in the jungle during the darkness of night, and that, if they did pay them a visit, it would be wise to let them be, and trust to the camp-fires keeping them at a respectful distance. To which Disco retorted that he didn’t believe there was any lions in Afriky, for he’d heard a deal about ’em an’ travelled far, but had not yet heard the sound of their woices, an’, wot was more, didn’t expect to.Before that night was far advanced, Disco was constrained to acknowledge himself in error, for a veritable lion did actually prowl down to the camp, and salute them with a roar which had a wonderfully awe-inspiring effect on every member of the party, especially on those who heard it for the first time in their lives.Just before the arrival of this nocturnal visitor, one of the men had been engaged in some poetic effusions, which claim preliminary notice here, because they were rudely terminated by the lion.This man was one of Kambira’s people, and had joined the party by permission. He was one of those beings who, gifted with something like genius, or with superior powers of some sort, have sprung up in Africa, as elsewhere, no doubt from time immemorial, to dazzle their fellows for a little, and then pass away, leaving a trail of tradition behind them. The existence there, in time past, of men of mind far in advance of their fellows, as well as of heroes whose physical powers were marvellous, may be assumed from the fact that some such exist at the present time, as well as from tradition. Some of these heroes have excited the admiration of large districts by their wisdom, others by their courage or their superior dexterity with the spear and bow, like William Tell and Robin Hood, but the memory of these must soon have been obliterated for want of literature. The man who had joined Harold was a poet and a musician. He was animprovvisatore, composed verses on the incidents that occurred as they travelled along, and sang them with an accompaniment on an instrument called thesansa, which had nine iron keys and a calabash for a sounding-board.The poet’s name was Mokompa. With the free and easy disposition of his race, he allowed his fancy to play round the facts of which he sang, and was never at a loss, for, if the right word did not come readily, he spun out the measure with musical sounds which meant nothing at all.After supper was over, or rather when the first interval of repose occurred, Mokompa, who was an obliging and hearty little fellow, was called on for a song. Nothing loath, he seized his sansa and began a ditty, of which the following, given by Antonio, may be regarded as a remarkably free, not to say easy, translation:—Mokompa’s Song.Kambira goes to hunt,Yo ho!Him’s spear am nebber blunt,Yo ho!Him kill de buff’lo quick,An’ lub de porridge thick;Him chase de lion too,An’ stick um troo an’ troo.De ’potimus as well,An’ more dan me can tell,Hab down before um fell,Yo ho!De English come to see,Yo ho!Dat werry good for we,Yo ho!No’ take us ’way for slaves,Nor put us in our graves,But set de black mans free,W’en cotch um on de sea.Dem splendid shooters, too,We knows what dey can doWid boil an’ roast an’ stew,Yo ho!One makes um’s gun go crack,Yo ho!An elephant on um’s back,Yo ho!De drefful lion roar,De gun goes crack once more,De bullet fly an’ splitsOne monkey into bits,Yo ho!De glow-worm next arise,De Englishman likewiseWid werry much surprise,An’ hit um ’tween de eyes,“Hooray! hooray!” um cries,An’ run to fetch um’s prize—Yo ho!The last “Yo ho!” was given with tremendous energy, and followed by peals of laughter.It was at this point that the veritable lion thought proper to join in, which he did, as we have said, with a roar so tremendous that it not only put a sudden stop to the music, but filled the party with so much alarm that they sprang to their arms with surprising agility.Mindful of Chimbolo’s previous warning, neither Harold nor Disco sought to advance, but both looked at their savage friend for advice.Now, in some parts of Africa there exists a popular belief that the souls of departed chiefs enter into lions and render them sacred, and several members of Harold Seadrift’s party entertained this notion. Chimbolo was one of these. From the sounds of growling and rending which issued from the thicket, he knew that the lion in question was devouring part of their buffalo-meat which had been hung on the branch of a neighbouring tree, not, however, near enough to the fires to be visible. Believing that the beast was a chief in disguise, Chimbolo advanced a little towards the place where he was, and, much to our traveller’s amusement, gave him a good scolding.“Youcall yourself a chief, do you—eh?” he said sternly. “What kind of a chief canyoube, to come sneaking about in the dark like this, trying to steal our buffalo-meat! Are you not ashamed of yourself? A pretty chief, truly; you are like the scavenger-beetle, and think of yourself only; you have not the heart of a chief. Why don’t you kill your own beef? You must have a stone in your chest, and no heart at all.”“That’s werry flowery lingo, but it don’t seem to convince him,” said Disco, with a quiet smile, as the lion, which had been growling continuously over its meal all the time, wound up Chimbolo’s speech with another terrific roar.At this point another believer in transmigration of souls, a quiet man who seldom volunteered remarks on any subject, stepped forward and began seriously to expostulate with the lion.“It is very wrong of you,” he said, “to treat strangers in this fashion. You might have more respect for Englishmen who have come to see your land, and never did you any harm. We are travelling peaceably through the country; we never kill anybody, and never steal anything; the buffalo-meat is ours, not yours, and it ill becomes a great chief like you to be prowling about in the dark, like a hyena, trying to steal the meat of strangers. Surely you can hunt for yourself—there is plenty of meat in the forest.” (See Livingstone’sZambesi and its Tributaries, page 160.)As the lion was equally deaf to this man’s reasoning, Harold thought it right to try a more persuasive plan. He drew up in a line all the men who had guns, and at a word of command they fired a volley of balls into the jungle, in the direction whence the sounds issued. A dead silence followed, but it was deemed advisable not to venture in to see the effect, as men had frequently lost their lives by so doing. A watch, however, was kept during the night, and the fires were well replenished, for they knew that the king of the forest usually shrinks from doing his evil deeds in the light of a strong camp-fire. We say usually—because they are not always thus shy. Authentic instances are on record of lions having leaped into the centre of a bivouac, and carried off one of the men in spite of being smitten in the face with flaming firebrands. Fortunately the lion of which we write thought “discretion the better part of valour.” He retired peaceably, nevertheless Disco and his friend continued to dream of him all night so vividly that they started up several times, and seized their rifles, under the impression that he had roared his loudest into their very ears, and after each of these occasions they crept back into their sleeping bags to re-dream of the lion!The “bag” which formed each man’s couch was made simply of two mats sewed together, and left open, not at one of the ends but at one of the sides, so that a man could roll out of or into it more easily than he could have slid, feet first, into a sack. It was large enough also for two to sleep inside together, always supposing that the two were of accommodating dispositions!That they had now reached a land which swarmed with wild animals was intimated to some extent by the running past, within fifty yards of their bivouac, of a troop of elephants. It was daybreak at the time, so that, having been thus rudely aroused, they did not deem it necessary to return to rest but after taking a hasty mouthful of food, set forth on their journey.The usual mode of proceeding on the march was as follows:— They rose about five o’clock, or soon after the appearance of dawn, and swallowed a cup of tea, with a bit of biscuit, then some of the men folded up the blankets and stowed them away in the bags, others tied up the cooking utensils, etcetera, in bundles, and hung them at the ends of carrying-sticks, which they bore upon their shoulders. The process did not take long. They were soon on the march, either in single file, if the path were narrow, or in groups, according to fancy, where the ground admitted of their spreading out. About nine, a convenient spot was chosen for a halt to breakfast, which meat, although not “eatenthe night before in order to save time in the morning,” was at all eventscookedon the previous evening for the same end, so that it only needed warming up. Then the march was resumed; a short rest was allowed in the heat of the day, when, of course, Disco had a pipe and much sagacious intercourse with his fellows, and they finally encamped for the remainder of the day and night early in the afternoon. Thus they travelled five or six hours at a stretch, and averaged from twelve to fifteen miles a day, which is about as much as Europeans can stand in a hot climate without being oppressed. This Disco called “taking it easy,” and so it was when compared with the custom of some travellers, whose chief end would appear to be the getting over as much ground as possible in a given time, in order that they may afterwards boast of the same, and for the accomplishment of which they are obliged to abuse and look ferocious at the blacks, cock their pistols, and flourish their whips, in a manner which is only worthy of being styled contemptible and cowardly. We need not say that our friends Harold and Disco had no such propensities. They had kindly consideration for the feelings of their “niggers,” coupled with great firmness; became very sociable with them, and thus got hearty, willing work out of them. But to return from this digression.During the day, the number of animals of all sorts that were seen was so great as to induce Disco to protest, with a slap of his thigh, that the whole land, from stem to stern, seemed to him to be one prodigious zoological garden—it did, an’ no mistake about it.Disco was not far wrong. He and Harold having started ahead of the party, with Chimbolo as their guide, came on a wonderful variety of creatures in rapid succession. First, they fell in with some large flocks of guinea-fowl, and shot a few for dinner. As they advanced, various birds ran across their path, and clouds of turtle-doves filled the air with the blatter of their wings as they rose above the trees. Ducks, geese, and francolins helped to swell the chorus of sounds.When the sun rose and sent a flood of light over a wide and richly wooded vale, into which they were about to descend, a herd of pallahs stood gazing at the travellers in stupid surprise, and allowed them to approach within sixty yards before trotting leisurely away. These and all other animals were passed unmolested, as the party had sufficient meat at the time, and Harold made it a point not to permit his followers to shoot animals for the mere sake of sport, though several of them were uncommonly anxious to do so. Soon afterwards a herd of waterbucks were passed, and then a herd of koodoos, with two or three magnificently-horned bucks amongst them, which hurried off to the hillsides on seeing the travellers. Antelopes also were seen, and buffaloes, grazing beside their path.Ere long they came upon a small pond with a couple of elephants standing on its brink, cooling their huge sides by drawing water into their trunks and throwing it all over themselves. Behind these were several herds of zebras and waterbucks, all of which took to flight on “getting the wind” of man. They seemed intuitively to know that he was an enemy. Wild pigs, also, were common, and troops of monkeys, large and small, barked, chattered, grinned, and made faces among the trees.After pitching the camp each afternoon, and having had a mouthful of biscuit, the two Englishmen were in the habit of going off to hunt for the daily supply of fresh meat accompanied by Chimbolo as their guide and game-carrier, Antonio as their interpreter, and Mokompa as their poet and jester. They did not indeed, appoint Mokompa to that post of honour, but the little worthy took it upon himself, for the express purpose of noting the deeds of the white men, in order to throw his black comrades into convulsions over supper by a poetic recital of the same.“It pleases them, an’ it don’t hurt us,” was Disco’s observation on this head.On the afternoon, then, of which we write, the party of four went out to hunt, while the encampment was being prepared under the superintendence of Jumbo, who had already proved himself to be an able manager and cook, as also had his countrymen Masiko and Zombo.“What a rich country!” exclaimed Harold, looking round in admiration from the top of a small hillock on as fine a scene as one could wish to behold, “and what a splendid cotton country it might be if properly cultivated!”“So it is,” said Disco, “an’ I shouldn’t wonder if there wos lots of gold too, if we only knew where to look for it.”“Gold!” exclaimed Antonio, who sat winking placidly on the stump of a fallen tree; “dere be lots ob gold near Zambesi—an’ oder ting too.”“Let’s hear wot are some of the other things,” said Disco.“What are dere?—oh, let me see: der be coal, lots ob coal on Zambesi, any amount ob it, an’ it burn fuss-rate, too. Dere be iron-ore, very much, an’ indigo, an’ sugar-cane, an ivory; you hab hear an’ see yooself about de elephants an’ de cottin, an’ tobacco. (See Livingstone’sZambesi and its Tributaries, page 52.) Oh! great plenty ob eberyting eberywhere in dis yere country, but,” said Antonio, with a shrug of his shoulders, “no can make noting out ob it on account ob de slave-trade.”“Then I ’spose ’ee don’t approve of the slave-trade?” said Disco.“No, dat am true,” replied Antonio; “de country very good for slave-trader, but no good for man like me what want to trade proper.”“H’m! I’ve more respect for ’ee than I had,” said Disco. “I ’spose you’ve bin up in these parts before now, have ’ee?”“No, nevah, but I hab sister what marry one nigger, one slave, what sold himself, an’ him tell me much ’bout it. Hims bin up here many time.”“Sold himself!” repeated Harold in surprise. “What do you mean?”“Mean dat,” returned Antonio. “Him was a black free-man—call him Chibanti; him was all alone in de world, lose fader, moder, broder, sister, wife, eberyting by slave-trader, who steal dem all away or murder dem. So Chibanti him say, ‘What de use of be free?’ So him go to one master, who berry good to hims niggers—gib dem plenty to eat an’ little to do—an’ sole hisself to him.”“An’ wot did he get for himself?” asked Disco.“Got ninety yard ob cottin cloth.”“Did he consider himself cheap or dear at that?” inquired Disco.“Oh, dear—awful dear!”“What has come of him now?” asked Harold.“Dunno,” answered Antonio. “After him got de cloth, hims master send him to Quillimane wid cargo ob ivory, an’ gib him leave to do leetil trade on hims own account; so him bought a man, a woman, an’ a boy, for sixty yard ob cottin, an’ wid de rest hired slaves for de voyage down, an’ drove a mos’ won’erful trade. But long time since me hear ob him. P’raps hims good master be dead, an’ him go wid de rest of de goods an’ chattels to a bad master, who berry soon make him sorry him sole hisself.”Pushing forward for several days in the manner which we have attempted to describe, our travellers passed through many varied scenes, which, however, all bore one mark in common, namely, teeming animal and vegetable life. Human beings were also found to be exceedingly numerous, but not so universally distributed as the others, for, although many villages and hamlets were passed, the inhabitants of which were all peacefully inclined and busy in their fields, or with their native cotton, iron, and pottery manufactures, vast expanses of rich ground were also traversed, which, as far as man was concerned, appeared to be absolute solitudes.Entering upon one of these about noon of a remarkably fine day, Harold could not help remarking on the strange stillness which pervaded the air. No sound was heard from beast, bird, or insect; no village was near, no rippling stream murmured, or zephyr stirred the leaves; in short, it was a scene which, from its solitude and profound silence, became oppressive.“W’y, sir,” said Disco, whose face was bathed in perspiration, “it do seem to me as if we’d got to the fag-end of the world altogether. There ain’t nothin’ nowhere.”Harold laughed, and said it looked like it. But Disco was wrong. It was only the hour when animals seem to find asiestaindispensable, and vegetables as well as air had followed their example. A few minutes sufficed to prove their mistake, for, on entering a piece of woodland, a herd of pallahs, and another of water-bucks, appeared, standing as quiet and still as if they were part of a painted landscape. Then, in passing a thick clump of thorns, they could see, through openings in the bushes, the dim phantom-like forms of buffaloes, with heads lowered and eyes glaring at them, ready to charge, if need be, though too lazy from heat, apparently, to begin the ’fray, and willing to act on the principle of “let be for let be.” Still farther on, a native was observed keeping at a respectful distance. He had seen the travellers from afar, and come with noiseless tread to get a nearer view.Halting to rest the party for a few minutes in a shady hollow, Harold threw himself at full length on the grass, but Disco, who, strange to say, did not feel inclined to smoke at the moment—probably because he had only just finished his fifth pipe a few minutes previously—sauntered on alone to the top of the next ridge.He had barely reached the summit when Harold, who chanced to be looking after him, observed that he crouched suddenly behind a bush, and, after gazing steadfastly for a few seconds over the hill, turned and ran back, making excessively wild demonstrations with head and arms, but uttering no sound.Of course the whole party sprang up and ran towards the excited mariner, and soon were near enough to understand that his violent actions were meant to caution them to make no noise.“Hush!” he said eagerly, on coming near enough to be heard; “keep quiet as mice. There’s a slave-gang, or somethin’ uncommon like it, goin’ along on right athwart us.”Without a word of reply, the whole party hurried forward and gained a point of observation behind the low bushes which crowned the ridge.
At sunset the travellers halted in a peculiarly wild spot and encamped under the shelter of a gigantic baobab tree.
Two rousing fires were quickly kindled, round which the natives busied themselves in preparing supper, while their leaders sat down, the one to write up his journal, the other to smoke his pipe.
“Well, sir,” said Disco, after a few puffs delivered with extreme satisfaction, “you do seem for to enjoy writin’. You go at that log of yours every night, as if it wos yer last will and testament that ye couldn’t die happy without exikootin’ an’ signin’ it with yer blood.”
“A better occupation, isn’t it,” replied Harold, with a sly glance, “than to make a chimney-pot of my mouth?”
“Come, sir,” returned Disco, with a deprecatory smile, “don’t be too hard on a poor feller’s pipe. If you can’t enjoy it, that’s no argiment against it.”
“How d’you know I can’t enjoy it?”
“Why? cos I s’pose you’d take to it if you did.”
“Didyouenjoy it when you first began?” asked Harold.
“Well, I can’t ’zactly say as I did.”
“Well, then, if you didn’t, that proves that it is notnaturalto smoke, and why should I acquire an unnatural and useless habit?”
“Useless! why, sir, on’y think of wot you loses by not smokin’—wot a deal of enjoyment!”
“Well, Iamthinking,” replied Harold, affecting a look of profound thoughtfulness, “but I can’t quite make it out—enjoyment? let me see. Do I not enjoy as good health as you do?”
“O, cer’nly, sir, cer’nly. You’re quite up to the mark in that respect.”
“Well then, I enjoy my food as well, and can eat as much, can’t I?”
“No doubt of it,” replied Disco, with a grin; “I was used to be considered raither a dab at wittles, but I must say I knocks under toyou, sir.”
“Very good,” rejoined Harold, laughing; “then as to sleep, I enjoy sleep quite as soundly as yourself; don’t I?”
“I can’t say as to that,” replied Disco. “You see, sir, as I never opens my eyes arter shuttin’ of ’em till the bo’s’n pipes all hands ahoy, I’ve no means of knowin’ wot you accomplish in that way.”
“On the whole, then, it seems that I enjoy everything as much as you do, and—”
“No, not everything; you don’t enjoy baccy, you know.—But please, sir, don’t go for to moralise; I can’t stand it. You’ll spile my pipe if ye do!”
“Well, I shall spare you,” said Harold, “all the more that I perceive supper is about—”
At that moment Antonio, who had gone down to a streamlet which trickled close at hand, gave utterance to a hideous yell, and came rushing into camp with a face that was pea-green from terror.
“Ach!” he gasped, “a lion! queek! your guns!” Every one leaped up and seized his weapon with marvellous alacrity on receiving an alarm so violent and unlooked-for.
“Where away?” inquired Disco, blazing with excitement, and ready at a moment’s notice to rush into the jungle and fire both barrels at whatever should present itself.
“No, no, don’ go,” cried Antonio in alarm; “be cautionous.”
The interpreter’s caution was enforced by Chimbolo, who laid his hand on Disco’s arm, and looked at him with such solemnity that he felt it necessary to restrain his ardour.
Meanwhile Antonio with trembling steps led Harold to a point in the thicket whence he beheld two bright phosphoric-looking objects which his companion said were the lion’s eyes, adding that lion’s eyes always shone in that way.
Harold threw forward his rifle with the intention of taking aim, but lowered it quickly, for he felt convinced that no lion could possibly have eyes so wide apart unless its head were as large as that of an elephant.
“Nonsense, Antonio!” he said, laughing; “that cannot be a lion.”
“Ho, yis, him’s a lion, for sure,” Antonio returned, positively.
“We shall see.”
Harold raised his rifle and fired, while Antonio turned and fled, fully expecting the wounded beast to spring. Harold himself half looked for some such act, and shrank behind a bush by way of precaution, but when the smoke cleared away, he saw that the two glowing eyes were gazing at him as fixedly as ever.
“Pooh!” exclaimed Disco, brushing past; “I knows wot it is. Many a time I’ve seed ’em in the West Injies.”
Saying which, he went straight up to the supposed lion, picked up a couple of glow-worms, and brought them to the camp-fires, much to the amusement of the men, especially of Jumbo, and greatly to the confusion of the valorous interpreter, who, according to his invariable custom when danger threatened, was found to have sought refuge in a tree.
This incident furnished ground for much discussion and merriment during supper, in which Antonio, being in no wise ashamed of himself, joined noisily; and Chimbolo took occasion to reprove Disco for his rashness, telling him that it was impossible to kill lions in the jungle during the darkness of night, and that, if they did pay them a visit, it would be wise to let them be, and trust to the camp-fires keeping them at a respectful distance. To which Disco retorted that he didn’t believe there was any lions in Afriky, for he’d heard a deal about ’em an’ travelled far, but had not yet heard the sound of their woices, an’, wot was more, didn’t expect to.
Before that night was far advanced, Disco was constrained to acknowledge himself in error, for a veritable lion did actually prowl down to the camp, and salute them with a roar which had a wonderfully awe-inspiring effect on every member of the party, especially on those who heard it for the first time in their lives.
Just before the arrival of this nocturnal visitor, one of the men had been engaged in some poetic effusions, which claim preliminary notice here, because they were rudely terminated by the lion.
This man was one of Kambira’s people, and had joined the party by permission. He was one of those beings who, gifted with something like genius, or with superior powers of some sort, have sprung up in Africa, as elsewhere, no doubt from time immemorial, to dazzle their fellows for a little, and then pass away, leaving a trail of tradition behind them. The existence there, in time past, of men of mind far in advance of their fellows, as well as of heroes whose physical powers were marvellous, may be assumed from the fact that some such exist at the present time, as well as from tradition. Some of these heroes have excited the admiration of large districts by their wisdom, others by their courage or their superior dexterity with the spear and bow, like William Tell and Robin Hood, but the memory of these must soon have been obliterated for want of literature. The man who had joined Harold was a poet and a musician. He was animprovvisatore, composed verses on the incidents that occurred as they travelled along, and sang them with an accompaniment on an instrument called thesansa, which had nine iron keys and a calabash for a sounding-board.
The poet’s name was Mokompa. With the free and easy disposition of his race, he allowed his fancy to play round the facts of which he sang, and was never at a loss, for, if the right word did not come readily, he spun out the measure with musical sounds which meant nothing at all.
After supper was over, or rather when the first interval of repose occurred, Mokompa, who was an obliging and hearty little fellow, was called on for a song. Nothing loath, he seized his sansa and began a ditty, of which the following, given by Antonio, may be regarded as a remarkably free, not to say easy, translation:—
Mokompa’s Song.Kambira goes to hunt,Yo ho!Him’s spear am nebber blunt,Yo ho!Him kill de buff’lo quick,An’ lub de porridge thick;Him chase de lion too,An’ stick um troo an’ troo.De ’potimus as well,An’ more dan me can tell,Hab down before um fell,Yo ho!De English come to see,Yo ho!Dat werry good for we,Yo ho!No’ take us ’way for slaves,Nor put us in our graves,But set de black mans free,W’en cotch um on de sea.Dem splendid shooters, too,We knows what dey can doWid boil an’ roast an’ stew,Yo ho!One makes um’s gun go crack,Yo ho!An elephant on um’s back,Yo ho!De drefful lion roar,De gun goes crack once more,De bullet fly an’ splitsOne monkey into bits,Yo ho!De glow-worm next arise,De Englishman likewiseWid werry much surprise,An’ hit um ’tween de eyes,“Hooray! hooray!” um cries,An’ run to fetch um’s prize—Yo ho!
Mokompa’s Song.Kambira goes to hunt,Yo ho!Him’s spear am nebber blunt,Yo ho!Him kill de buff’lo quick,An’ lub de porridge thick;Him chase de lion too,An’ stick um troo an’ troo.De ’potimus as well,An’ more dan me can tell,Hab down before um fell,Yo ho!De English come to see,Yo ho!Dat werry good for we,Yo ho!No’ take us ’way for slaves,Nor put us in our graves,But set de black mans free,W’en cotch um on de sea.Dem splendid shooters, too,We knows what dey can doWid boil an’ roast an’ stew,Yo ho!One makes um’s gun go crack,Yo ho!An elephant on um’s back,Yo ho!De drefful lion roar,De gun goes crack once more,De bullet fly an’ splitsOne monkey into bits,Yo ho!De glow-worm next arise,De Englishman likewiseWid werry much surprise,An’ hit um ’tween de eyes,“Hooray! hooray!” um cries,An’ run to fetch um’s prize—Yo ho!
The last “Yo ho!” was given with tremendous energy, and followed by peals of laughter.
It was at this point that the veritable lion thought proper to join in, which he did, as we have said, with a roar so tremendous that it not only put a sudden stop to the music, but filled the party with so much alarm that they sprang to their arms with surprising agility.
Mindful of Chimbolo’s previous warning, neither Harold nor Disco sought to advance, but both looked at their savage friend for advice.
Now, in some parts of Africa there exists a popular belief that the souls of departed chiefs enter into lions and render them sacred, and several members of Harold Seadrift’s party entertained this notion. Chimbolo was one of these. From the sounds of growling and rending which issued from the thicket, he knew that the lion in question was devouring part of their buffalo-meat which had been hung on the branch of a neighbouring tree, not, however, near enough to the fires to be visible. Believing that the beast was a chief in disguise, Chimbolo advanced a little towards the place where he was, and, much to our traveller’s amusement, gave him a good scolding.
“Youcall yourself a chief, do you—eh?” he said sternly. “What kind of a chief canyoube, to come sneaking about in the dark like this, trying to steal our buffalo-meat! Are you not ashamed of yourself? A pretty chief, truly; you are like the scavenger-beetle, and think of yourself only; you have not the heart of a chief. Why don’t you kill your own beef? You must have a stone in your chest, and no heart at all.”
“That’s werry flowery lingo, but it don’t seem to convince him,” said Disco, with a quiet smile, as the lion, which had been growling continuously over its meal all the time, wound up Chimbolo’s speech with another terrific roar.
At this point another believer in transmigration of souls, a quiet man who seldom volunteered remarks on any subject, stepped forward and began seriously to expostulate with the lion.
“It is very wrong of you,” he said, “to treat strangers in this fashion. You might have more respect for Englishmen who have come to see your land, and never did you any harm. We are travelling peaceably through the country; we never kill anybody, and never steal anything; the buffalo-meat is ours, not yours, and it ill becomes a great chief like you to be prowling about in the dark, like a hyena, trying to steal the meat of strangers. Surely you can hunt for yourself—there is plenty of meat in the forest.” (See Livingstone’sZambesi and its Tributaries, page 160.)
As the lion was equally deaf to this man’s reasoning, Harold thought it right to try a more persuasive plan. He drew up in a line all the men who had guns, and at a word of command they fired a volley of balls into the jungle, in the direction whence the sounds issued. A dead silence followed, but it was deemed advisable not to venture in to see the effect, as men had frequently lost their lives by so doing. A watch, however, was kept during the night, and the fires were well replenished, for they knew that the king of the forest usually shrinks from doing his evil deeds in the light of a strong camp-fire. We say usually—because they are not always thus shy. Authentic instances are on record of lions having leaped into the centre of a bivouac, and carried off one of the men in spite of being smitten in the face with flaming firebrands. Fortunately the lion of which we write thought “discretion the better part of valour.” He retired peaceably, nevertheless Disco and his friend continued to dream of him all night so vividly that they started up several times, and seized their rifles, under the impression that he had roared his loudest into their very ears, and after each of these occasions they crept back into their sleeping bags to re-dream of the lion!
The “bag” which formed each man’s couch was made simply of two mats sewed together, and left open, not at one of the ends but at one of the sides, so that a man could roll out of or into it more easily than he could have slid, feet first, into a sack. It was large enough also for two to sleep inside together, always supposing that the two were of accommodating dispositions!
That they had now reached a land which swarmed with wild animals was intimated to some extent by the running past, within fifty yards of their bivouac, of a troop of elephants. It was daybreak at the time, so that, having been thus rudely aroused, they did not deem it necessary to return to rest but after taking a hasty mouthful of food, set forth on their journey.
The usual mode of proceeding on the march was as follows:— They rose about five o’clock, or soon after the appearance of dawn, and swallowed a cup of tea, with a bit of biscuit, then some of the men folded up the blankets and stowed them away in the bags, others tied up the cooking utensils, etcetera, in bundles, and hung them at the ends of carrying-sticks, which they bore upon their shoulders. The process did not take long. They were soon on the march, either in single file, if the path were narrow, or in groups, according to fancy, where the ground admitted of their spreading out. About nine, a convenient spot was chosen for a halt to breakfast, which meat, although not “eatenthe night before in order to save time in the morning,” was at all eventscookedon the previous evening for the same end, so that it only needed warming up. Then the march was resumed; a short rest was allowed in the heat of the day, when, of course, Disco had a pipe and much sagacious intercourse with his fellows, and they finally encamped for the remainder of the day and night early in the afternoon. Thus they travelled five or six hours at a stretch, and averaged from twelve to fifteen miles a day, which is about as much as Europeans can stand in a hot climate without being oppressed. This Disco called “taking it easy,” and so it was when compared with the custom of some travellers, whose chief end would appear to be the getting over as much ground as possible in a given time, in order that they may afterwards boast of the same, and for the accomplishment of which they are obliged to abuse and look ferocious at the blacks, cock their pistols, and flourish their whips, in a manner which is only worthy of being styled contemptible and cowardly. We need not say that our friends Harold and Disco had no such propensities. They had kindly consideration for the feelings of their “niggers,” coupled with great firmness; became very sociable with them, and thus got hearty, willing work out of them. But to return from this digression.
During the day, the number of animals of all sorts that were seen was so great as to induce Disco to protest, with a slap of his thigh, that the whole land, from stem to stern, seemed to him to be one prodigious zoological garden—it did, an’ no mistake about it.
Disco was not far wrong. He and Harold having started ahead of the party, with Chimbolo as their guide, came on a wonderful variety of creatures in rapid succession. First, they fell in with some large flocks of guinea-fowl, and shot a few for dinner. As they advanced, various birds ran across their path, and clouds of turtle-doves filled the air with the blatter of their wings as they rose above the trees. Ducks, geese, and francolins helped to swell the chorus of sounds.
When the sun rose and sent a flood of light over a wide and richly wooded vale, into which they were about to descend, a herd of pallahs stood gazing at the travellers in stupid surprise, and allowed them to approach within sixty yards before trotting leisurely away. These and all other animals were passed unmolested, as the party had sufficient meat at the time, and Harold made it a point not to permit his followers to shoot animals for the mere sake of sport, though several of them were uncommonly anxious to do so. Soon afterwards a herd of waterbucks were passed, and then a herd of koodoos, with two or three magnificently-horned bucks amongst them, which hurried off to the hillsides on seeing the travellers. Antelopes also were seen, and buffaloes, grazing beside their path.
Ere long they came upon a small pond with a couple of elephants standing on its brink, cooling their huge sides by drawing water into their trunks and throwing it all over themselves. Behind these were several herds of zebras and waterbucks, all of which took to flight on “getting the wind” of man. They seemed intuitively to know that he was an enemy. Wild pigs, also, were common, and troops of monkeys, large and small, barked, chattered, grinned, and made faces among the trees.
After pitching the camp each afternoon, and having had a mouthful of biscuit, the two Englishmen were in the habit of going off to hunt for the daily supply of fresh meat accompanied by Chimbolo as their guide and game-carrier, Antonio as their interpreter, and Mokompa as their poet and jester. They did not indeed, appoint Mokompa to that post of honour, but the little worthy took it upon himself, for the express purpose of noting the deeds of the white men, in order to throw his black comrades into convulsions over supper by a poetic recital of the same.
“It pleases them, an’ it don’t hurt us,” was Disco’s observation on this head.
On the afternoon, then, of which we write, the party of four went out to hunt, while the encampment was being prepared under the superintendence of Jumbo, who had already proved himself to be an able manager and cook, as also had his countrymen Masiko and Zombo.
“What a rich country!” exclaimed Harold, looking round in admiration from the top of a small hillock on as fine a scene as one could wish to behold, “and what a splendid cotton country it might be if properly cultivated!”
“So it is,” said Disco, “an’ I shouldn’t wonder if there wos lots of gold too, if we only knew where to look for it.”
“Gold!” exclaimed Antonio, who sat winking placidly on the stump of a fallen tree; “dere be lots ob gold near Zambesi—an’ oder ting too.”
“Let’s hear wot are some of the other things,” said Disco.
“What are dere?—oh, let me see: der be coal, lots ob coal on Zambesi, any amount ob it, an’ it burn fuss-rate, too. Dere be iron-ore, very much, an’ indigo, an’ sugar-cane, an ivory; you hab hear an’ see yooself about de elephants an’ de cottin, an’ tobacco. (See Livingstone’sZambesi and its Tributaries, page 52.) Oh! great plenty ob eberyting eberywhere in dis yere country, but,” said Antonio, with a shrug of his shoulders, “no can make noting out ob it on account ob de slave-trade.”
“Then I ’spose ’ee don’t approve of the slave-trade?” said Disco.
“No, dat am true,” replied Antonio; “de country very good for slave-trader, but no good for man like me what want to trade proper.”
“H’m! I’ve more respect for ’ee than I had,” said Disco. “I ’spose you’ve bin up in these parts before now, have ’ee?”
“No, nevah, but I hab sister what marry one nigger, one slave, what sold himself, an’ him tell me much ’bout it. Hims bin up here many time.”
“Sold himself!” repeated Harold in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Mean dat,” returned Antonio. “Him was a black free-man—call him Chibanti; him was all alone in de world, lose fader, moder, broder, sister, wife, eberyting by slave-trader, who steal dem all away or murder dem. So Chibanti him say, ‘What de use of be free?’ So him go to one master, who berry good to hims niggers—gib dem plenty to eat an’ little to do—an’ sole hisself to him.”
“An’ wot did he get for himself?” asked Disco.
“Got ninety yard ob cottin cloth.”
“Did he consider himself cheap or dear at that?” inquired Disco.
“Oh, dear—awful dear!”
“What has come of him now?” asked Harold.
“Dunno,” answered Antonio. “After him got de cloth, hims master send him to Quillimane wid cargo ob ivory, an’ gib him leave to do leetil trade on hims own account; so him bought a man, a woman, an’ a boy, for sixty yard ob cottin, an’ wid de rest hired slaves for de voyage down, an’ drove a mos’ won’erful trade. But long time since me hear ob him. P’raps hims good master be dead, an’ him go wid de rest of de goods an’ chattels to a bad master, who berry soon make him sorry him sole hisself.”
Pushing forward for several days in the manner which we have attempted to describe, our travellers passed through many varied scenes, which, however, all bore one mark in common, namely, teeming animal and vegetable life. Human beings were also found to be exceedingly numerous, but not so universally distributed as the others, for, although many villages and hamlets were passed, the inhabitants of which were all peacefully inclined and busy in their fields, or with their native cotton, iron, and pottery manufactures, vast expanses of rich ground were also traversed, which, as far as man was concerned, appeared to be absolute solitudes.
Entering upon one of these about noon of a remarkably fine day, Harold could not help remarking on the strange stillness which pervaded the air. No sound was heard from beast, bird, or insect; no village was near, no rippling stream murmured, or zephyr stirred the leaves; in short, it was a scene which, from its solitude and profound silence, became oppressive.
“W’y, sir,” said Disco, whose face was bathed in perspiration, “it do seem to me as if we’d got to the fag-end of the world altogether. There ain’t nothin’ nowhere.”
Harold laughed, and said it looked like it. But Disco was wrong. It was only the hour when animals seem to find asiestaindispensable, and vegetables as well as air had followed their example. A few minutes sufficed to prove their mistake, for, on entering a piece of woodland, a herd of pallahs, and another of water-bucks, appeared, standing as quiet and still as if they were part of a painted landscape. Then, in passing a thick clump of thorns, they could see, through openings in the bushes, the dim phantom-like forms of buffaloes, with heads lowered and eyes glaring at them, ready to charge, if need be, though too lazy from heat, apparently, to begin the ’fray, and willing to act on the principle of “let be for let be.” Still farther on, a native was observed keeping at a respectful distance. He had seen the travellers from afar, and come with noiseless tread to get a nearer view.
Halting to rest the party for a few minutes in a shady hollow, Harold threw himself at full length on the grass, but Disco, who, strange to say, did not feel inclined to smoke at the moment—probably because he had only just finished his fifth pipe a few minutes previously—sauntered on alone to the top of the next ridge.
He had barely reached the summit when Harold, who chanced to be looking after him, observed that he crouched suddenly behind a bush, and, after gazing steadfastly for a few seconds over the hill, turned and ran back, making excessively wild demonstrations with head and arms, but uttering no sound.
Of course the whole party sprang up and ran towards the excited mariner, and soon were near enough to understand that his violent actions were meant to caution them to make no noise.
“Hush!” he said eagerly, on coming near enough to be heard; “keep quiet as mice. There’s a slave-gang, or somethin’ uncommon like it, goin’ along on right athwart us.”
Without a word of reply, the whole party hurried forward and gained a point of observation behind the low bushes which crowned the ridge.
Chapter Fifteen.Shows Some of the Effects of the Slave-Trade at the Fountain-Head.Down in a gorge, just below the spot where Harold Seadrift and his men lay concealed, a strange sight met the eyes of the two Englishmen, in regard to which, despite all that they had heard and seen, and were prepared to see, they were as much shocked as if it had never been presented even to their imaginations up to that moment.It was a gang of slaves winding its way slowly but steadily through the gorge.The head of the dusky procession was just emerging on the open ground beyond the gorge when the travellers first came upon it. The slaves advanced towards the spot where they lay, passing under it so closely that they could see the very expressions on the faces of the men, women, and children who composed the gang. These expressions were varied and very terrible. Our travellers had now reached the fountain-head whence the perennial stream of “Black Ivory” flows out of Africa. The process of manufacture, although considerably advanced, had not yet reached that perfection of callous subjection and settled despair which had struck our Englishmen so forcibly in the slave-market of Zanzibar. There was anxiety not unmingled with faint hope in the faces of some of the women; and a few of the more stalwart and courageous among the men wore a fierce, determined aspect which told of manhood not yet absolutely prostrated in the dust of abject servility, while, in regard to some of the children, surprise at the peculiar circumstances of their surroundings had not yet been swallowed up in a condition of chronic terror.They marched in a long line, fastened to each other by chains and ropes and heavy “gorees” or slave-sticks. The latter implements were poles from six to seven feet long, with a fork at the end of each, in which the necks of the men were fitted and secured by means of an iron bolt, passing across the throat and riveted at both ends. To render marching possible with such encumbrances, the men went in couples, one behind the other, so that the slave-stick of the leading man could be tied to the stick of his fellow behind, which was slewed round to the front for the purpose. Their wrists were also tied, some in front, others behind their backs. Secured thus, Hercules himself mighthave been reduced to obedience, especially if he had felt the frequent sting of the cruel lash that was laid on these captives, a lash whose power was made manifest by the numerous seams and scars which crossed and recrossed their backs and limbs. The women and children were deemed sufficiently secure by being fastened to each other with ropes and iron rings round their necks. All were naked, with the exception of a little piece of cloth round the loins, and some of the women had infants of a few weeks old strapped to their backs by means of this shred of cloth, while others carried baskets on their heads containing meal for the sustenance of the party during their journey.In advance of the line marched a tall, powerfully-built half-caste, armed with a musket and small axe, and clad in a loose coat, short drawers reaching the knees, and straw hat. He was obviously the commander of the band. Behind him came several negroes, also armed with muskets, and with thick wands for the purpose of flagellation. These wore loin-cloths and turbans or red caps, but nothing more. They laughed, talked and strutted as they went along, forming a marked contrast to the silent and depressed slaves.At intervals along the line, and in rear, there were stationed one or two of these drivers, who urged on their “cattle” with more or less cruelty, according to their individual impulses or natures.We need scarcely say that this sight filled Harold and Disco not only with feelings of horror and pity, but with sensations of towering indignation that almost suffocated them. Those who only read of such things at home can form but a faint conception of what it is actually to behold them.“We must fight!” muttered Harold between his teeth.Disco could not speak, but he looked at his companion, and gave a nod that plainly indicated the state of his feelings.“’Sh!” hissed Chimbolo, creeping up at that moment and laying his hand, which trembled violently, on Harold’s shoulder, “Marizano!”“What! the scoundrel in advance?”Chimbolo pointed to the leader of the slave-gang, and almost foamed at the mouth with suppressed rage.At that moment their attention was attracted to a woman who walked immediately behind the slavers. She was a young and, according to African ideas, a comely girl, but was apparently very weak—so weak that she panted and stumbled as she went along, a circumstance which was accounted for by the little infant tied to her back, which could not have been more than a couple of weeks old. Stumbling against the fallen branch of a tree, she fell at last with a low wail to the ground, and made no effort, as on previous occasions, to recover herself.The whole gang stopped, and Marizano, turning back, pushed the woman with his foot.A fine-looking young man, who was the leader in a couple secured by a slave-stick, seemed to regard this woman with a degree of interest that argued near relationship. He started forward half involuntarily when the Portuguese half-caste kicked her. He had forgotten for an instant his fellow in rear, as well as the bar of the goree across his throat, which checked him violently; at the same time one of the drivers, who had observed the movement, laid a supple wand across his bare back so sharply as to draw forth a terrific yell of agony.This was too much for Disco Lillihammer. Unable to restrain himself, he leaped up, seized his rifle by the muzzle with both hands, and, swinging it round his head, rushed upon Marizano with a bursting shout of rage and defiance.It is probable that the half-caste leader, who was by no means destitute of courage, would have stood his ground had his assailant been a man of colour, but this unexpected apparition of a white man with a fiery countenance and blue eyes that absolutely flashed as he rushed forward with irresistible fury, was too much for him. Firing hastily, and with bad aim, Marizano turned and fled into the woods, followed by all his men. There was however a large band of Ajawa savages in rear, armed with bows and poisoned arrows. When he encountered these the Portuguese chief halted, and, rallying his men, took shelter behind trees and began to fire at the advancing enemy.Seeing this, Harold drew his men together and made them fire a united volley, which had the effect of utterly routing the slavers. Disco meanwhile, finding that he could not overtake Marizano, at last did what he ought to have done at first—kneeled down, took deliberate aim at him, and fired. His agitation prevented accuracy of aim; nevertheless he succeeded in sending a bullet through the fleshy part of the man’s arm, above the elbow, which effectually put him to flight.Returning to the slaves, who had been left standing where they were first stopped, in a state of great surprise and perplexity, he assisted his companions in freeing them. This was easy enough in regard to the women and children, but the gorees on the men were very difficult to remove. Being riveted, as we have said, it became necessary to split the forks with hatchets, an operation which endangered the heads of the poor captives and hurt their galled necks considerably. It was accomplished however in the midst of a deal of excitement and hurried conversation, while Jumbo and his comrades kindled fires, and Harold bade the women cook the meal—which they had hitherto carried—for themselves and their children. They seemed to consider this too good news to be true, but on being encouraged, began with alacrity.“Don’t be afeared, lass,” cried Disco, patting a young woman on the head, “eat as much as ’ee like. You need it, poor thing, an’ stuff the childer till they can’t hold no more. Bu’st ’em if ’ee can. The slavers won’t come back here in a hurry. Ha! I only wish they would, an’ let us have a brush with ’em. But there’s no such luck. Cowards never fight ’xcept w’en they’re sure to win.—Now, piccaninny, here you are,” he said, stuffing some raw mapira meal into the open mouth of a thin little girl of about six or seven, who was gazing at him in open-eyed surprise; “don’t put off time, you’re half-starved already!”The little black skeleton began to chew the dry meal with evident satisfaction, but without taking her eyes off her deliverer.“Who areyou?” asked a somewhat older girl of Harold, whom she regarded with looks of reverence and wonder.Of course Harold did not understand her, but he immediately called Antonio, who translated.“Who are you?” she said; “the other people tied and starved us, but you cut the ropes and tell us to eat; what sort of people are you? Where did you come from?”To this Harold replied briefly that he was an Englishman, who hated slavers and slavery, but he said nothing more at that time, as he intended to have a palaver and explanation with the freed captives after their meal was over.There was a great clapping of hands among the slaves, expressive of gratitude, on hearing that they were free.About a hundred sat down to that meal, most of whom were women and children, and the manner in which they devoured the food set before them, told eloquently of their previous sufferings. At first they timidly held back, scarce venturing to believe that their new captors, as they thought them, were in earnest. But when their doubts and fears were removed, they attacked the mapira porridge like ravening wolves. Gradually the human element began to reappear, in the shape of a comment or a smile, and before long the women were chatting together, and a few of the stronger among the young children were making feeble attempts to play.When the oldest man of the party, who appeared to be between twenty and thirty, was brought forward and questioned, he gave some interesting and startling information.“Tell him,” said Harold to Antonio, “that we are Englishmen; that we belong to the same nation as the great white man Dr Livingstone, who travelled through this land some years ago—the nation which hates slavery because the Great God hates it, and would have all men to be free, to serve each other in love, and to do to other people as they would have other people do to them. Ask him, also, where he comes from, and who captured him and his companions.”To this the negro replied— “What the white man says may be true, but the white men seem to tell lies too much. The men who killed our warriors, burned our villages, and took our women and children away, came to us saying that they were friends; that they were the servants of the same people as the white man Livingstone, and wanted to trade with us. When we believed and trusted them, and were off our guard, they fired on us with their guns. We know not what to think or to believe.”Harold was much perplexed by this reply, for he knew not what evidence to cite in proof that he, at least was not a deceiver.“Tell him,” he said at length, “that there are false white men as well as true, and that the best proof I can give him that I am one of the true is, to set him and his friends at liberty. They are now as free to go where they please as we are.”On receiving this assurance the negro retired to consult with his friends. Meanwhile Antonio, who seemed to have been touched by the unvarying kindness with which he had been treated by his employers, opened his mind to them, and gave them a good deal of information, of which the substance is as follows:—At that time the merchants of the Portuguese inland town of Tette, on the Zambesi, were carrying on the slave-trade with unusual vigour, for this reason, that they found it difficult to obtain ivory except in exchange for slaves. In former years they had carried on a trade in ivory with a tribe called the Banyai, these Banyai being great elephant-hunters, but it happened that they went to war with another tribe named the Matabele, who had managed to steal from them all their women and children. Consequently, the forlorn Banyai said to the Tette merchants, when they went to trade with them as they had been accustomed to do, “We do not want your merchandise. Bring us women and children, and you shall have as much ivory as you wish.”These good people of Tette—being chiefly half-caste Portuguese, and under Portuguese government, and claiming, as they do, to be the possessors of that region of Africa—are so utterly incapable of holding their own, that they are under the necessity of paying tribute to a tribe of savages who come down annually to Tette to receive it, and who, but for that tribute, would, as they easily could, expel them from the land. These merchants of Tette, moreover, in common with all the Portuguese in Africa, are by the laws of Portugal prohibited from engaging in theexportslave-trade. They are not, however, forbidden to engage temporarily in the “domestic slave-trade,” hence they had sent out slaving parties—in other words, robbers, kidnappers, murderers—who hired the warlike Ajawa tribe to aid them in killing the Manganja men, and robbing them of their wives and little ones, by which means they were enabled to supply the demand for such “cattle” among the Banyai, and thus obtained the desired supply of ivory! So vigorously had this slave traffic been carried on, at the time of which we write, that no fewer than two hundred people—mostly women and children—were carried out of the hill-country every week. (SeeThe Universities’ Mission to Central Africa, page 112.)In a short time the negro returned to the place where Harold and Disco were seated, and said that he believed his white deliverers were true men, but added that he and his people had no home to go to; their village having been burnt, and all the old people and warriors killed or dispersed by Marizano, who was a terribly cruel man. In proof of this assertion he said that only the day before, Marizano had shot two of the women for attempting to untie their thongs; a man had been killed with an axe because he had broken-down with fatigue; and a woman had her infant’s brains dashed out because she was unable to carry it, as well as the load assigned to her.“It is difficult to decide what one should do in these circumstances,” said Harold to Disco. “You know it would never do to leave these helpless people here to starve; but if we take them on with us our progress will be uncommonly slow.”“We’d better take ’em back,” said Disco.“Back! Where to?”“W’y, to the last village wot we passed through. It ain’t more than a day’s march, an’ I’m sure the old feller as is capting of it would take care o’ the lot.”“There is good advice in that, yet I grudge to go back,” said Harold; “if there were a village the same distance in advance, I would rather take them on.”“But there ain’t,” returned Disco. “Hallo! I say, wot’s wrong with Tony?”The interpreter came forward with a look of much excitement as he spoke.“What now, Antonio?”“Oh! it’s drefful,” replied the interpreter. “Dey tells me have hear Marizano speak ob anoder slaving party what go straight to Kambira’s village for attack it.”“Who told you that? Are they sure?” asked Harold hastily.“Two, t’ree mans tole me,” replied Antonio. “All say same ting. Too late to help him now, me’s ’fraid.”“Never say too late,” cried Disco, starting up; “never say die while there’s a shot in the locker. It may be time enough yet if we only look sharp. I votes that we leave nearly all the provisions we have with these poor critters here; up anchor, ’bout ship, clap on all sail, and away this werry minit.”Harold agreed with this advice heartily, and at once acted on it. The arrangements were quickly made, the provisions distributed, an explanation made, and in less than an hour the travellers were retracing their steps in hot haste.By taking a straight line and making forced marches, they arrived in sight of the ridge where they had last seen Kambira, on the evening of the third day. As they drew near Harold pushed impatiently forward, and, outrunning his companions, was first to reach the summit. Disco’s heart sank within him, for he observed that his companion stood still, bowed his head, and covered his face with both hands. He soon joined him, and a groan burst from the seaman’s breast when he saw dense volumes of smoke rising above the spot where the village had so recently lain a picture of peaceful beauty.Even their followers, accustomed though they were, to scenes and deeds of violence and cruelty, could not witness the grief of the Englishmen unmoved.“P’raps,” said Disco, in a husky voice, “there’s some of ’em left alive, hidin’ in the bushes.”“It may be so,” replied Harold, as he descended the slope with rapid strides. “God help them!”A few minutes sufficed to bring them to the scene of ruin, but the devastation caused by the fire was so great that they had difficulty in recognising the different spots where the huts had stood. Kambira’s hut was, however, easily found, as it stood on a rising ground. There the fight with the slavers had evidently been fiercest, for around it lay the charred and mutilated remains of many human bodies. Some of these were so far distinguishable that it could be told whether they belonged to man, woman, or child.“Look here!” said Disco, in a deep, stern voice, as he pointed to an object on the ground not far from the hut.It was the form of a woman who had been savagely mangled by her murderers. The upturned and distorted face proved it to be Yohama, the grandmother of little Obo. Near to her lay the body of a grey-haired negro, who might to judge from his position, have fallen in attempting to defend her.“Oh! if the people of England only saw this sight!” said Harold, in a low tone; “if they only believed in andrealisedthis fact, there would be one universal and indignant shout of ‘No toleration of slavery anywhere throughout the world!’”“Look closely for Kambira or his son,” he added, turning to his men.A careful search among the sickening remains was accordingly made, but without any discovery worth noting being made, after which they searched the surrounding thickets. Here sad evidence of the poor fugitives having been closely pursued was found in the dead bodies of many of the old men and women, and of the very young children and infants; also the bodies of a few of the warriors. All these had been speared, chiefly through the back. Still they were unsuccessful in finding the bodies of the chief or his little boy.“It’s plain,” said Disco, “that they have either escaped or been took prisoners.”“Here is some one not quite dead,” said Harold,—“Ah! poor fellow!”He raised the unfortunate man’s head on his knee, and recognised the features of the little man who had entertained them with his tunes on the native violin.It was in vain that Antonio tried to gain his attention while Disco moistened his lips with water. He had been pierced in the chest with an arrow. Once only he opened his eyes, and a faint smile played on his lips, as if he recognised friends, but it faded quickly and left the poor musician a corpse.Leaving, with heavy hearts, the spot where they had spent such pleasant days and nights, enjoying the hospitality of Kambira and his tribe, our travellers began to retrace their steps to the place where they had left the rescued slaves, but that night the strong frame of Disco Lillihammer succumbed to the influence of climate. He was suddenly stricken with African fever, and in a few hours became as helpless as a little child.In this extremity Harold found it necessary to encamp. He selected the highest and healthiest spot in the neighbourhood, caused his followers to build a rude, but comparatively comfortable, hut and set himself diligently to hunt for, and to tend, his sick friend.
Down in a gorge, just below the spot where Harold Seadrift and his men lay concealed, a strange sight met the eyes of the two Englishmen, in regard to which, despite all that they had heard and seen, and were prepared to see, they were as much shocked as if it had never been presented even to their imaginations up to that moment.
It was a gang of slaves winding its way slowly but steadily through the gorge.
The head of the dusky procession was just emerging on the open ground beyond the gorge when the travellers first came upon it. The slaves advanced towards the spot where they lay, passing under it so closely that they could see the very expressions on the faces of the men, women, and children who composed the gang. These expressions were varied and very terrible. Our travellers had now reached the fountain-head whence the perennial stream of “Black Ivory” flows out of Africa. The process of manufacture, although considerably advanced, had not yet reached that perfection of callous subjection and settled despair which had struck our Englishmen so forcibly in the slave-market of Zanzibar. There was anxiety not unmingled with faint hope in the faces of some of the women; and a few of the more stalwart and courageous among the men wore a fierce, determined aspect which told of manhood not yet absolutely prostrated in the dust of abject servility, while, in regard to some of the children, surprise at the peculiar circumstances of their surroundings had not yet been swallowed up in a condition of chronic terror.
They marched in a long line, fastened to each other by chains and ropes and heavy “gorees” or slave-sticks. The latter implements were poles from six to seven feet long, with a fork at the end of each, in which the necks of the men were fitted and secured by means of an iron bolt, passing across the throat and riveted at both ends. To render marching possible with such encumbrances, the men went in couples, one behind the other, so that the slave-stick of the leading man could be tied to the stick of his fellow behind, which was slewed round to the front for the purpose. Their wrists were also tied, some in front, others behind their backs. Secured thus, Hercules himself mighthave been reduced to obedience, especially if he had felt the frequent sting of the cruel lash that was laid on these captives, a lash whose power was made manifest by the numerous seams and scars which crossed and recrossed their backs and limbs. The women and children were deemed sufficiently secure by being fastened to each other with ropes and iron rings round their necks. All were naked, with the exception of a little piece of cloth round the loins, and some of the women had infants of a few weeks old strapped to their backs by means of this shred of cloth, while others carried baskets on their heads containing meal for the sustenance of the party during their journey.
In advance of the line marched a tall, powerfully-built half-caste, armed with a musket and small axe, and clad in a loose coat, short drawers reaching the knees, and straw hat. He was obviously the commander of the band. Behind him came several negroes, also armed with muskets, and with thick wands for the purpose of flagellation. These wore loin-cloths and turbans or red caps, but nothing more. They laughed, talked and strutted as they went along, forming a marked contrast to the silent and depressed slaves.
At intervals along the line, and in rear, there were stationed one or two of these drivers, who urged on their “cattle” with more or less cruelty, according to their individual impulses or natures.
We need scarcely say that this sight filled Harold and Disco not only with feelings of horror and pity, but with sensations of towering indignation that almost suffocated them. Those who only read of such things at home can form but a faint conception of what it is actually to behold them.
“We must fight!” muttered Harold between his teeth.
Disco could not speak, but he looked at his companion, and gave a nod that plainly indicated the state of his feelings.
“’Sh!” hissed Chimbolo, creeping up at that moment and laying his hand, which trembled violently, on Harold’s shoulder, “Marizano!”
“What! the scoundrel in advance?”
Chimbolo pointed to the leader of the slave-gang, and almost foamed at the mouth with suppressed rage.
At that moment their attention was attracted to a woman who walked immediately behind the slavers. She was a young and, according to African ideas, a comely girl, but was apparently very weak—so weak that she panted and stumbled as she went along, a circumstance which was accounted for by the little infant tied to her back, which could not have been more than a couple of weeks old. Stumbling against the fallen branch of a tree, she fell at last with a low wail to the ground, and made no effort, as on previous occasions, to recover herself.
The whole gang stopped, and Marizano, turning back, pushed the woman with his foot.
A fine-looking young man, who was the leader in a couple secured by a slave-stick, seemed to regard this woman with a degree of interest that argued near relationship. He started forward half involuntarily when the Portuguese half-caste kicked her. He had forgotten for an instant his fellow in rear, as well as the bar of the goree across his throat, which checked him violently; at the same time one of the drivers, who had observed the movement, laid a supple wand across his bare back so sharply as to draw forth a terrific yell of agony.
This was too much for Disco Lillihammer. Unable to restrain himself, he leaped up, seized his rifle by the muzzle with both hands, and, swinging it round his head, rushed upon Marizano with a bursting shout of rage and defiance.
It is probable that the half-caste leader, who was by no means destitute of courage, would have stood his ground had his assailant been a man of colour, but this unexpected apparition of a white man with a fiery countenance and blue eyes that absolutely flashed as he rushed forward with irresistible fury, was too much for him. Firing hastily, and with bad aim, Marizano turned and fled into the woods, followed by all his men. There was however a large band of Ajawa savages in rear, armed with bows and poisoned arrows. When he encountered these the Portuguese chief halted, and, rallying his men, took shelter behind trees and began to fire at the advancing enemy.
Seeing this, Harold drew his men together and made them fire a united volley, which had the effect of utterly routing the slavers. Disco meanwhile, finding that he could not overtake Marizano, at last did what he ought to have done at first—kneeled down, took deliberate aim at him, and fired. His agitation prevented accuracy of aim; nevertheless he succeeded in sending a bullet through the fleshy part of the man’s arm, above the elbow, which effectually put him to flight.
Returning to the slaves, who had been left standing where they were first stopped, in a state of great surprise and perplexity, he assisted his companions in freeing them. This was easy enough in regard to the women and children, but the gorees on the men were very difficult to remove. Being riveted, as we have said, it became necessary to split the forks with hatchets, an operation which endangered the heads of the poor captives and hurt their galled necks considerably. It was accomplished however in the midst of a deal of excitement and hurried conversation, while Jumbo and his comrades kindled fires, and Harold bade the women cook the meal—which they had hitherto carried—for themselves and their children. They seemed to consider this too good news to be true, but on being encouraged, began with alacrity.
“Don’t be afeared, lass,” cried Disco, patting a young woman on the head, “eat as much as ’ee like. You need it, poor thing, an’ stuff the childer till they can’t hold no more. Bu’st ’em if ’ee can. The slavers won’t come back here in a hurry. Ha! I only wish they would, an’ let us have a brush with ’em. But there’s no such luck. Cowards never fight ’xcept w’en they’re sure to win.—Now, piccaninny, here you are,” he said, stuffing some raw mapira meal into the open mouth of a thin little girl of about six or seven, who was gazing at him in open-eyed surprise; “don’t put off time, you’re half-starved already!”
The little black skeleton began to chew the dry meal with evident satisfaction, but without taking her eyes off her deliverer.
“Who areyou?” asked a somewhat older girl of Harold, whom she regarded with looks of reverence and wonder.
Of course Harold did not understand her, but he immediately called Antonio, who translated.
“Who are you?” she said; “the other people tied and starved us, but you cut the ropes and tell us to eat; what sort of people are you? Where did you come from?”
To this Harold replied briefly that he was an Englishman, who hated slavers and slavery, but he said nothing more at that time, as he intended to have a palaver and explanation with the freed captives after their meal was over.
There was a great clapping of hands among the slaves, expressive of gratitude, on hearing that they were free.
About a hundred sat down to that meal, most of whom were women and children, and the manner in which they devoured the food set before them, told eloquently of their previous sufferings. At first they timidly held back, scarce venturing to believe that their new captors, as they thought them, were in earnest. But when their doubts and fears were removed, they attacked the mapira porridge like ravening wolves. Gradually the human element began to reappear, in the shape of a comment or a smile, and before long the women were chatting together, and a few of the stronger among the young children were making feeble attempts to play.
When the oldest man of the party, who appeared to be between twenty and thirty, was brought forward and questioned, he gave some interesting and startling information.
“Tell him,” said Harold to Antonio, “that we are Englishmen; that we belong to the same nation as the great white man Dr Livingstone, who travelled through this land some years ago—the nation which hates slavery because the Great God hates it, and would have all men to be free, to serve each other in love, and to do to other people as they would have other people do to them. Ask him, also, where he comes from, and who captured him and his companions.”
To this the negro replied— “What the white man says may be true, but the white men seem to tell lies too much. The men who killed our warriors, burned our villages, and took our women and children away, came to us saying that they were friends; that they were the servants of the same people as the white man Livingstone, and wanted to trade with us. When we believed and trusted them, and were off our guard, they fired on us with their guns. We know not what to think or to believe.”
Harold was much perplexed by this reply, for he knew not what evidence to cite in proof that he, at least was not a deceiver.
“Tell him,” he said at length, “that there are false white men as well as true, and that the best proof I can give him that I am one of the true is, to set him and his friends at liberty. They are now as free to go where they please as we are.”
On receiving this assurance the negro retired to consult with his friends. Meanwhile Antonio, who seemed to have been touched by the unvarying kindness with which he had been treated by his employers, opened his mind to them, and gave them a good deal of information, of which the substance is as follows:—
At that time the merchants of the Portuguese inland town of Tette, on the Zambesi, were carrying on the slave-trade with unusual vigour, for this reason, that they found it difficult to obtain ivory except in exchange for slaves. In former years they had carried on a trade in ivory with a tribe called the Banyai, these Banyai being great elephant-hunters, but it happened that they went to war with another tribe named the Matabele, who had managed to steal from them all their women and children. Consequently, the forlorn Banyai said to the Tette merchants, when they went to trade with them as they had been accustomed to do, “We do not want your merchandise. Bring us women and children, and you shall have as much ivory as you wish.”
These good people of Tette—being chiefly half-caste Portuguese, and under Portuguese government, and claiming, as they do, to be the possessors of that region of Africa—are so utterly incapable of holding their own, that they are under the necessity of paying tribute to a tribe of savages who come down annually to Tette to receive it, and who, but for that tribute, would, as they easily could, expel them from the land. These merchants of Tette, moreover, in common with all the Portuguese in Africa, are by the laws of Portugal prohibited from engaging in theexportslave-trade. They are not, however, forbidden to engage temporarily in the “domestic slave-trade,” hence they had sent out slaving parties—in other words, robbers, kidnappers, murderers—who hired the warlike Ajawa tribe to aid them in killing the Manganja men, and robbing them of their wives and little ones, by which means they were enabled to supply the demand for such “cattle” among the Banyai, and thus obtained the desired supply of ivory! So vigorously had this slave traffic been carried on, at the time of which we write, that no fewer than two hundred people—mostly women and children—were carried out of the hill-country every week. (SeeThe Universities’ Mission to Central Africa, page 112.)
In a short time the negro returned to the place where Harold and Disco were seated, and said that he believed his white deliverers were true men, but added that he and his people had no home to go to; their village having been burnt, and all the old people and warriors killed or dispersed by Marizano, who was a terribly cruel man. In proof of this assertion he said that only the day before, Marizano had shot two of the women for attempting to untie their thongs; a man had been killed with an axe because he had broken-down with fatigue; and a woman had her infant’s brains dashed out because she was unable to carry it, as well as the load assigned to her.
“It is difficult to decide what one should do in these circumstances,” said Harold to Disco. “You know it would never do to leave these helpless people here to starve; but if we take them on with us our progress will be uncommonly slow.”
“We’d better take ’em back,” said Disco.
“Back! Where to?”
“W’y, to the last village wot we passed through. It ain’t more than a day’s march, an’ I’m sure the old feller as is capting of it would take care o’ the lot.”
“There is good advice in that, yet I grudge to go back,” said Harold; “if there were a village the same distance in advance, I would rather take them on.”
“But there ain’t,” returned Disco. “Hallo! I say, wot’s wrong with Tony?”
The interpreter came forward with a look of much excitement as he spoke.
“What now, Antonio?”
“Oh! it’s drefful,” replied the interpreter. “Dey tells me have hear Marizano speak ob anoder slaving party what go straight to Kambira’s village for attack it.”
“Who told you that? Are they sure?” asked Harold hastily.
“Two, t’ree mans tole me,” replied Antonio. “All say same ting. Too late to help him now, me’s ’fraid.”
“Never say too late,” cried Disco, starting up; “never say die while there’s a shot in the locker. It may be time enough yet if we only look sharp. I votes that we leave nearly all the provisions we have with these poor critters here; up anchor, ’bout ship, clap on all sail, and away this werry minit.”
Harold agreed with this advice heartily, and at once acted on it. The arrangements were quickly made, the provisions distributed, an explanation made, and in less than an hour the travellers were retracing their steps in hot haste.
By taking a straight line and making forced marches, they arrived in sight of the ridge where they had last seen Kambira, on the evening of the third day. As they drew near Harold pushed impatiently forward, and, outrunning his companions, was first to reach the summit. Disco’s heart sank within him, for he observed that his companion stood still, bowed his head, and covered his face with both hands. He soon joined him, and a groan burst from the seaman’s breast when he saw dense volumes of smoke rising above the spot where the village had so recently lain a picture of peaceful beauty.
Even their followers, accustomed though they were, to scenes and deeds of violence and cruelty, could not witness the grief of the Englishmen unmoved.
“P’raps,” said Disco, in a husky voice, “there’s some of ’em left alive, hidin’ in the bushes.”
“It may be so,” replied Harold, as he descended the slope with rapid strides. “God help them!”
A few minutes sufficed to bring them to the scene of ruin, but the devastation caused by the fire was so great that they had difficulty in recognising the different spots where the huts had stood. Kambira’s hut was, however, easily found, as it stood on a rising ground. There the fight with the slavers had evidently been fiercest, for around it lay the charred and mutilated remains of many human bodies. Some of these were so far distinguishable that it could be told whether they belonged to man, woman, or child.
“Look here!” said Disco, in a deep, stern voice, as he pointed to an object on the ground not far from the hut.
It was the form of a woman who had been savagely mangled by her murderers. The upturned and distorted face proved it to be Yohama, the grandmother of little Obo. Near to her lay the body of a grey-haired negro, who might to judge from his position, have fallen in attempting to defend her.
“Oh! if the people of England only saw this sight!” said Harold, in a low tone; “if they only believed in andrealisedthis fact, there would be one universal and indignant shout of ‘No toleration of slavery anywhere throughout the world!’”
“Look closely for Kambira or his son,” he added, turning to his men.
A careful search among the sickening remains was accordingly made, but without any discovery worth noting being made, after which they searched the surrounding thickets. Here sad evidence of the poor fugitives having been closely pursued was found in the dead bodies of many of the old men and women, and of the very young children and infants; also the bodies of a few of the warriors. All these had been speared, chiefly through the back. Still they were unsuccessful in finding the bodies of the chief or his little boy.
“It’s plain,” said Disco, “that they have either escaped or been took prisoners.”
“Here is some one not quite dead,” said Harold,—“Ah! poor fellow!”
He raised the unfortunate man’s head on his knee, and recognised the features of the little man who had entertained them with his tunes on the native violin.
It was in vain that Antonio tried to gain his attention while Disco moistened his lips with water. He had been pierced in the chest with an arrow. Once only he opened his eyes, and a faint smile played on his lips, as if he recognised friends, but it faded quickly and left the poor musician a corpse.
Leaving, with heavy hearts, the spot where they had spent such pleasant days and nights, enjoying the hospitality of Kambira and his tribe, our travellers began to retrace their steps to the place where they had left the rescued slaves, but that night the strong frame of Disco Lillihammer succumbed to the influence of climate. He was suddenly stricken with African fever, and in a few hours became as helpless as a little child.
In this extremity Harold found it necessary to encamp. He selected the highest and healthiest spot in the neighbourhood, caused his followers to build a rude, but comparatively comfortable, hut and set himself diligently to hunt for, and to tend, his sick friend.