A little way down the hill, and looking towards the north, was a cave in
the rocks, and a cool delightful corner our friends found it, soon as
the sun "got some weigh" on him, and his beams no longer slanted over
the plain.
While Raggy was eating his modest breakfast Harry went some distance
apart, and, taking out a little Book--it was a gift from his mother--he
read a portion where a leaf was turned down.
Seems funny that a boy should carry a Bible with him, does it not?
Well, reader, I can tell you this much: I have known many and many a
sailor boy do so, and I never found that they were a bit the worse for
it.
Mind you this, I have no patience with superstition, and I do hate cant;
nor do I for a moment mean to say that our Book acts as a kind of
amulet: but putting the matter in a plain, practical, common sense kind
of a way, you and I have both immortal souls, you know, and we want to
be guided how to save them. Well, the Book tells us the way. But that
is not all. In times of danger--and a sailor comes across these pretty
often--a blink into the Bible often gives a fellow heartening. You open
it probably at the very passage that does so, and, even if you do not,
you know where to find such passage.
And this _does_ do good. Oh! I have proved it over and over again. I
have a little old Book there that I have carried about the world for
years and years. It has many a dog's-ear, but they are intentional, for
each one marks a passage, and to every dog's-ear a story is attached.
All point to little crumbs of comfort I have had in scenes of danger or
even pestilence--here and there in many lands. Some day, if spared, I
mean to write the story of this particular old Book of mine, and I do
not think it will be devoid of interest to those who may care to peruse
it.
But there! I am digressing, and I humbly beg my readers pardon; it was
all owing to Harry's getting away, in behind that bit of tangled scrub,
in order to perform his morning devotions. Well, the truth is he did
feel very, very grateful to be free.
But stay, will he be able to retain that freedom? And this brings me
back to my tale.
He went back to the place where he had left Raggy enjoying the leg of a
fowl.
The boy was sitting near the mouth of the cave.
"Enjoyed it, Raggy?"
"Ah!" and Raggy smacked his lips and rolled his eyes, "he am plenty much
sweet, massa."
"There's a wing there too, Raggy. There you are, have that."
"Tank you, massa. You am bery good, massa."
I dare say Raggy would have eaten a whole fowl had it been offered to
him. After all African fowls are not very big, nor very fat; but very
matter-of-fact and self-possessed--that is their moral character.
I have gone into an African village in the evening, just as the fowls
were all going to roost in the trees, my object being to buy half a
dozen for the pot. As soon as the natives were convinced that the white
man had not come to eat a baby, but that he really wanted to buy
"tuck-tuck-chow-chow," and had copper money in his hand to pay for the
dainty, then all hands would turn out, and such a hunt you never saw,
and such fluttering of wings and skraiching. I have felt sorry for the
fowls.
When I got what I wanted, the rest of the "tuck-tucks" would go quietly
to roost again as if nothing had happened. I envy such equanimity.
I remember that two fowls got loose in the boat once. It was blowing
stiff, and the white spray was dashing over us. Well, any other birds
would have jumped overboard. Not so these African fowls. They simply
got on the gun'ale, and, as soon as the squall was over, coolly
commenced to arrange their feathers. This regard for personal
appearance in a scene of such danger--for they must have known they were
going to pot--is something that one does not know whether most to admire
or wonder at.
Having fully satisfied the needs of nature, Raggy was prepared to give
some little account of his adventures. Briefly they were as follows,
and in Raggy's own language.
"You see, massa, befoh de sun rise on dat drefful night on de shore, de
Somali Indians, all plenty well-armed, plenty big knife, plenty spear
and gun, dey come and wake all our poor blue-jackets. `Come quiet,' dey
say; `suppose you make bobbery, den we kill you quick.' Dey tak us all
away behind de sandhills, and I tink first and fohmost dey am goin' to
obfuscate us."
"Suffocate us you mean, Raggy."
"All de same meaning, massa. But dey tie our arms till de blood tingle
all down de fingers, and dey tie us roun' de neck till we all feel
chickey-chokey, and our eyes want to bust and relieve demselves. Den
away we all go. I look back, and see dat poor massa not follow, and my
heart am bery sad. Ober de hills and de plains we walk. Poor white
man's feet soon get tire and blister all, and in two tree day dey walk
all de same's one chicken on de stove-top. Dey Somalis and de big
Arab--he one bad, _bad_ man--dey talk. Dey not tink I understand what
dey say. Dey speak ob where dey am going to de country ob King
Kara-Kara, to sell all de men for slabes and get a tousand niggers foh
'em. Den dey speak ob you. You, dey say, am wo'th de lot Raggy heah
all, and listen, and tink, and I want to set you free. One day one man
he fall sick--one ohdinary seaman, massa, name is Davis--he fall bery,
bery sick. Den de Arab soldier look at him and look at him. You nebah
get well, he say. Den he take him by de two leg and pull him along de
grass to a bush; and oh! it was drefful, massa, to heah poor Davis
crying for mussy 'cause he hab a wife and piccaninnies at home, he tole
'em. No mussy in dat Arab's eye. No mussy in his heart, he take de
ugly spear and stab--stab--stab--Poor Davis jes say `Oh!' once or twice,
den he die. Plenty oder men sick after dis, but dey not lie down. Dey
jes walk on weary, weary. Byemby we come to wells. Den de men get
better. But Raggy hab eno' ob dis. He steal away at night. How de
lion roah in de jungle, and how de tiger [the leopard is frequently so
called in Africa] jump about, and de wild hyaenas come out in de
moonlight and laugh at poor Raggy. Raggy's heart bery full ob feah.
But he no say much. Suppose dey only laugh, dat not hurt much. Suppose
dey bite, den Raggy die. I walk and walk foh days. I not hab much
food. But I catch de mole and de mouse, I eatee he plenty quick. Den
byemby I come to Mahmoud's trail, and I follow on and up till one day I
see de caravan on de hill, den I lie and sleep till night Massa knows
all de rest."
"Yes, Raggy, I know all the rest, and very grateful I am for your pluck,
and all that, and if ever we get back again, I'll report your good and
brave conduct, and you'll be well rewarded. Perhaps they'll make you a
captain, Raggy."
"Massa is joking."
"You go home now at once?" the boy asked, after a pause.
"Oh! no, Raggy. That would not be doing my duty. I'm going inland, and
I'm going to try to find and redeem, or rescue our poor fellows. It
would not be plucky nor brave to go back without them--at all events
without trying to find them. Now, Raggy, as we are sure, if spared, to
be some considerable time together, I wish you to do me the favour to
teach Nanungamanoo to speak English."
"De yeller nigger wi' de long name, massa?"
"That is he, Raggy--Nanungamanoo."
"Oh! lah! massa, I teachee he plenty propah, and suppose he no speak
good, I give him five, six, ten stick all same as de schoolmastah ob de
_Bunting_ switchee me."
"You better not try," said Harry, laughing, "or you may find yourself in
the wrong box. But here," he cried aloud, "Nanungamanoo, where are
you?"
Next moment Nanungamanoo stood silently before him awaiting his
commands.
"You've got too long a name, Nanungamanoo."
"Yes, sahib."
"Well, we'll shorten it. We'll call you Jack. It's free and easy."
Jack expressed his pleasure to have an English name, so Jack he became.
"On all `occasions of ceremony or state,' as the Navy List says, Jack,
we will resort to your original designation, and you will be
Nanungamanoo again."
For three days and nights Harry and his merry men occupied the cave on
the hillside.
At the end of this time they had the satisfaction one evening of seeing
a red light gleaming on the western horizon. It was the reflection of
the camp-fire of the returning caravan.
Early next morning, almost as soon as sunrise, Mahmoud and his followers
passed through the forest at the foot of the hill. Harry could even
hear them talking, so close were they.
He had the rifles loaded and everything ready to give them a warm
reception should they dare to ascend. But they did not. They went
through the forest and on their way across a broad sandy plain.
When they had quite disappeared beyond the horizon, Harry gave a sigh of
relief. The danger was, comparatively speaking, over for a time. He
would now give them a few days' start, then go on behind, for Jack
assured him this caravan route was the only practical way into the
interior.
Every night the lions could be heard growling and roaring with that
awe-inspiring cough, which they emit, in the woods around the hill. It
was well they had a cave to sleep in, for to have lit fires on the
hill-top would have ensured the return of Mahmoud and his savage
Somalis, and they would have been captured. But a sentinel was set--and
Harry took the post time about with Raggy and Somali Jack.
Was Jack really to be trusted? The answer to this is, that the
faithfulness of a Somali Indian will be sold to the highest bidder, just
like a picture at an auction mart, but it may in time be cemented to the
purchaser if he is worthy of it. I have always found that there is a
great deal of similarity betwixt the human nature as displayed by
Indians and white men, which only proves that the world is much the same
all over.
I must add, however, that white men as a rule treat savages with less
ceremony and far less justice than they would mete out to one of their
own dogs at home. Take an example. Some scoundrelly white trader has
been murdered (it is called "murdered," but I should say "killed") by
some islanders of the Pacific. This trading fellow had been on shore--
probably not sober--abusing the hospitality held out to him, bullying
and swaggering, and doing deeds that, if committed in this country,
would secure for him a lengthened period of penal servitude. The worm
turns at last and resents. The trader calls his men and a fight ensues;
the savages are victorious, the white men slain. By and by in comes a
British man-o'-war and demands the surrender of the murderers by the
chief or king. Perhaps he does not even know them, refuses to give them
up, and therein ensues a wholesale butchery of men, women, and children,
and the burning of towns and villages.
I have known this happen over and over again, and I have asked myself,
Who is to blame? Certainly not the so-called savages.
Well, boy-readers, if ever any of you happen to be away abroad, in
Africa or the Pacific, and have a native as a servant, take my advice:
treat him as a human being and a fellow-creature, and you will have no
cause to complain, but quite the reverse.
Harry had a good long talk with Jack; he told him he should let him go
away any time he wished, but that if he did stay he would have no cause
to repent it.
Once more Jack took Harry's hand in both his and bent himself down until
his brow touched it, and our hero was satisfied.
On leaving the hill--which, by the way, Harry took possession of in the
Queen's name, and called it Mount Andrew, to show he had not forgotten
his old friend in the Highlands--they journeyed on through the forest
and followed in the very footsteps of Mahmoud's caravan, across plains,
through woods, through rivers and mountain glens, camping every night
where Mahmoud had camped, and lighting a fire in the very same spot.
The fire was very necessary now, and it had to be kept up all night, for
they were in a country inhabited by and given up to, one might say, wild
beasts.
Here were lions in scores, hyaenas and jungle-cats.
So all night long these animals made the bush resound with their cries.
Sometimes Harry found it almost impossible to sleep, so terrible was the
quarrelling and din. He fell upon a plan at last that in some measure
remedied the infliction--that of leaving the bullock or two, or the deer
or hartebeest slain for food, a good two or three miles behind. Where
the carrion is, there cometh the kite; and so it was in this case--to
some extent at all events.
The store of rice that Jack had looted from Mahmoud's camp very soon was
done, but they did not want for provisions for all that.
There were fruits of so many kinds, and roots that they dug up, or
rather that Jack dug up and roasted in the camp-fire. Then there were
plantains, which are excellent cooked in the same primitive style. Some
of the forest trees were laden with fruit; the danger lay in eating too
much of it. Many of these fruits were quite unknown to Harry, but he
was guided by his best man, Jack. With so much fruit, salt was hardly
missed, though at first Harry thought it strange to eat meat without it.
Slices from the most tender portions of the animals killed were cut and
carried along with them, and towards evening, when the bivouac ground
was chosen, and the fire of wood gathered and kindled by Jack and Raggy,
the former set to work to prepare the supper.
The roots, yams principally, were simply buried among the fiery ashes,
but a far more artistic method was adopted in grilling the steak: a
triangle of green wood was built over the fire as soon as it had died
down to red embers, across the triangle bars were fastened, and on this
were hung the pieces of juicy flesh. When the bars were nearly burned
through, and the wooden triangle itself falling to pieces, then the
steak was cooked.
They had fresh air and exercise, and consequently the appetite of mighty
hunters. It is hardly necessary, therefore, to add that they really
enjoyed their dinners. Fruit followed, then water, which was not always
good.
The country they traversed now, though a hilly and fertile one, was,
strange to say, deserted.
Still, this is not so strange when we remember that in all probability
it has been depopulated by the Arab slaver. Indeed, many parts of the
forest gave evidence of having been ravished by fire.
Bravery, I take it, is not a very uncommon quality in the human breast
of any inhabitant of our British islands, yet he is the bravest man who
_knows_ his danger and still does not fear to face it. In the matter of
danger, where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise. Your
first-voyage sailor will retain his presence of mind and coolness, at
times when old seafarers are pale with the coldness of a coming evil.
Why? Because he does not know the worst. This is not bravery. It is--
nothing.
If, however, one is so positioned as to know there is danger, but
remains in ignorance as to its amount or extent, then he has a bold
heart who can quietly meet or court it. I have hinted before in this
tale of mine that I claim for my wayward boy, Harry, no _extraordinary_
qualities of mind, and that he had his faults just as you have, reader;
so now I need not apologise for him when I confess to you that in the
wild African jungle there were many times that his heart beat high with
fear. Especially was this so at first. All bold, brave natures are
finely strung and sensitive. Harry's was. He did not like the dangers
of the darkness, and he dreaded snakes. At the commencement, then, of
his wanderings on the dark continent he expected to see one whenever a
bunch of grass quivered or moved, though only a mole might have been at
the bottom of it. And I believe at night he heard sounds and saw sights
in the bush and on the plains, that had no existence except in his own
fervid imagination.
However, a month or two of nomad life hardened him. He noticed that
even serpents do not go out of their way to bite people, and that you
have only to observe a certain amount of caution, then you may put your
hands in your pockets and whistle.
As far as that goes, I believe you might put your hands in your pockets
and go whistling up to a lion "on the roam." My illustrious countryman,
the great General Gordon, did this or something very like it once. _I_
would not, nor would I advise you to do so, reader; but I have to say,
as regards my hero, Harry, that familiarity bred in him a contempt for
danger that led him to grief.
I will tell you the story after making just one remark. It is this--and
happy I would be this minute if I thought you would lay it to heart and
remember it. We are apt to pray to our Father to keep us from evil, and
then, when something occurs to us, some accident, perhaps, turn round
and murmur and say--
"Oh! my prayers have not been heard. God loves me not."
How know you, I ask, that He in His mercy has not allowed this _little_
misfortune to befall us in order to save us from a _greater_?
Harry was carelessly walking one evening--he was waiting for dinner--in
a grove of rugged euphorbias. The evening was very beautiful, the sun
declining in the west towards a range of high hills which they had that
day passed. There was a great bank of purple-grey clouds loftier than
the hills; these were fringed with pale gold, else you could not have
told which was mountain and which was cloud. There was also a breeze
blowing, just enough to make a rustling sound among the cactuses and
scrub. This it was probably that prevented Harry from hearing the
stealthy footsteps of an enormous lion, until startled by a roar that
made the blood tingle in his very shoes.
There he was--the African king of beasts--not twenty yards away--
crouched, swishing his tail on the grass, and preparing for a spring.
Harry stood spellbound.
Then he tried to raise his rifle.
"No, you don't," the lion must have thought. For at that very moment he
sprang, and next Harry was down under him.
He remembered a confused shout, and the sharp ring of a rifle. Then all
was a mist of oblivion till he found himself lying near the camp-fire,
with Jack kneeling by his side holding his arm.
"I'm not hurt, am I?" said Harry.
"Oh, massa, you am dun killed completely," sobbed little Raggy. "All de
blood in you body hab run out. You quite killed. You not lib. What
den will poor Raggy do?"
It was not so bad as Raggy made out, however. But Harry's wounds were
dreadful enough, back and shoulder lacerated and arm bitten through.
Harry had made it a point all the journey since leaving the hill he
called Mount Andrew to camp each night on the same place Mahmoud had
left days before, and to build the fire in the self-same spot, and on
departing in the morning to leave nothing behind that could tell the
Arab's sharp-eyed Somalis the ground had been used.
It was well he had taken this precaution, for now he was wounded and
ill, and must remain near this place for weeks at least.
Jack, the Somali, was equal to the occasion.
He went away to the forest, and was not long in finding a site for the
invalid's camp.
Like that upon Mount Andrew, it was on a hill or eminence, from which
the country eastwards could be seen for many, many miles. And here also
was a shelter under a rock from the direct rays of the sun.
Next day, and for several days, poor Harry tossed about on his couch in
a raging fever.
But Jack proved an excellent surgeon, and Raggy the best of nurses. The
former applied cooling and healing antiseptic leaves to Harry's wounds,
and bound them tenderly up with bundles of grass, while the latter
hardly ever left his master's couch, except to seek for and bring him
the most luscious fruit the forest could afford.
Long, long weary weeks passed away, but still Harry lay there in his
cave on the hillside too weak to stand, too ill to move.
Between them his two faithful servants had built him a hut of branches
and grass, which not only defended him against the sun, but against the
rain as well--for the wet season had now set in. Thunders rolled over
the plains and reverberated from the mountain sides, and at times the
rain came down in terrible "spatters" that in volume far exceeded
anything Harry could ever have dreamt of.
But the rain cooled and purified the atmosphere, and seemed to so revive
Harry, that his wounds took on what surgeons call the healing intention.
Raggy was a joyful boy then, and honest Jack, the Somali--for he had
proved himself honest by this time--was doubly assiduous in his
endeavours to perfect a cure.
One afternoon, while Jack was talking to his master, Raggy, who had been
in the forest, ran in breathless and scared.
"Golly-mussy!" he cried, "dey come, dey come. Where shall we hide poor
massa? Dey come, dey come."
Book 3--CHAPTER FIVE.