Only it was evident the king had other thoughts in his head, for one day
he jumped up, and after practising the tongs exercise on his prime
minister for five minutes, he held the instrument of torture aloft and
snapped it wildly in the air.
"Teiah roota Kara-Kara yalla golla," he shouted, or some such words,
"I'll never be content till I seize Kara-Kara by the nose, and the tongs
shall be made red-hot for the purpose."
"I'd send and tell him so," that is what Mahmoud had suggested.
"Dee a beeseeta--I'll do so," said the king.
And away the messenger was sent to King Kara-Kara.
The messenger obeyed his instructions, and King Kara-Kara took much
pleasure in cutting off his head, but as this was no more than the
messenger had expected there was not much harm done.
But, and it is a big "but," had King 'Ngaloo only known that at the very
time Mahmoud was in _his_ camp or village, his "brother" Suliemon was in
that of the rival potentate, and that he had sold him the unfortunate
men of the _Bunting_, Mahmoud would not have been allowed to depart,
unless he could have done so without his head. For both Mahmoud and his
"brother" were excellent business men, and were not at all averse to
playing into each other's hands.
Before Mahmoud had left the town of this African potentate he was
allowed to choose his slaves. He chose, to begin with, a day on which
King Kara-Kara had imbibed even more rum than usual. Indeed, he was so
absurdly tipsy that he could not hold the tongs.
He was determined to see that he was not cheated for all that, and so,
supported on one side by his prime minister, and on the other by one of
his priests, the chief executioner, sword in hand, coming up behind, he
waddled out to the great square in which the poor unhappy souls, men and
women, from whom Mahmoud was to make his choice were drawn up.
The first thing the king did after getting outside was to give vent to
an uncontrollable fit of laughing. Nobody knew what he was laughing at,
nor, I dare say, did he himself. But he suddenly grew serious, hit his
prime minister on the face with his open palm, and asked why he dared
laugh in his august presence.
Though his nose bled a little, the minister said nothing; he was used to
all the king's little eccentricities, and this was one of them.
After he had got into the square, the king desired to be informed what
the meeting was all about.
"Execution, isn't it?" That is what he said in his own language.
"That fellow Mahmoud's white head is coming off, isn't it? Turban and
all? Turban and all, ha! ha! ha! I told him I would do it. And I
will."
No wonder Mahmoud had trembled in his sandals.
But King 'Ngaloo was soon put right.
Then Mahmoud made his choice.
He hesitated not to tear asunder mother and child, husband and wife,
sister and brother. It was merely a case of youth and strength with
him.
When he had finished, the slaves were at once chained together, and soon
after, having bidden farewell to this pretty king, the march was
commenced.
There was weeping and wailing among the new-made slaves, and there was
weeping and wailing among those left behind.
But what cared Mahmoud?
As they marched away, while 'Ngaloo's warlike tom-toms were beating, and
his chanters sounding, a music that was almost demoniacal, the poor
captives as with one accord cast a glance around them at the village--
which, savage though it was, had been their home--but which they would
never, never see again. Just one wild despairing glance, nothing more.
Then heavily fell the lash on the naked shoulders of the last pairs, and
on they went.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dey come, dey come!" cried Raggy, in despair.
Yes, they were coming--Mahmoud's caravan and his wretched slaves. They
were soon in sight, looking just the same as when last seen, only with
that dark and mournful chained line between the swarthy spear-armed
Somalis.
Harry prayed inwardly that they might pass on. They did not, but
stopped to bivouac on the old camping ground.
And yet our hero could not help admitting to himself that his adventure
with the lion that had delayed his journey had really been meant for his
good. It had saved his life to all appearance, for Mahmoud had returned
far sooner than even Jack--who knew the road and the work before his old
master--could have dreamed of.
This only proves, I think, reader, that we are shortsighted mortals, and
that our prayers may truly be answered, although things may not turn out
just as we would have desired them.
In the morning Mahmoud seemed in no hurry to leave, and the day wore on
without very much stir in his camp. It was an anxious day for Harry and
his companions, just as it had been a long and anxious night. They
never knew the moment the sharp-sighted Somalis might find their trail
and track them to their cave on the hill.
The recent rains alone probably prevented so great a catastrophe, else
beside that camp-fire a scene of blood would have been enacted that
makes one shudder even to think about.
In the afternoon there rushed into Mahmoud's camp, wildly waving his
spear aloft, one of the Somali spies. Then the commotion in the camp
grew intense. Mahmoud shortly after left the place all alone, and in
less than twenty minutes returned with his so-called brother Suliemon.
This very spot there was the rendezvous for these slave-dealers on their
return from their expedition. Behind Suliemon came a vast crowd of
chained slaves. There could not have been less than a thousand. How
tired they appeared! No sooner was the order to halt given, than they
threw themselves on the grass, just as weary sheep would have done
returning from a fair.
There was no movement that night, so Harry and his merry men had to lie
close like foxes in their lair.
Next morning, however, as early as daybreak, the whole camp was astir,
and for nearly two hours the shouting and howling, the firing of guns
and cracking of whips were hideous to hear. The scene near the
camp-fire was like some awful pandemonium.
But by ten o'clock, as nearly as Harry could judge, every one had gone,
and silence once more reigned over forest and plain.
Our hero breathed more freely now, yet it would have been madness for
any of them to have ventured forth even yet. Some loitering Somali
might have seen him and given instant alarm.
Strange to say, the excitement appeared to have almost restored Harry to
health. He no longer felt weak, and he longed to be away on the road
again.
He knew enough of the climate, however, not to venture for a week or two
longer, for a man needs all the nerve and strength that the human frame
can possess to battle against the odds presented to him on such a
journey as that which he was now making.
The day wore away, the sun set in a cloudscape of indescribable glory,
the short twilight succeeded, then the stars peeped out through the blue
rifts in the sky.
After a supper of fruit and roasted yams, Harry lay down on his couch of
grass and fell into a dreamless sleep.
When he awoke, the stars were still shining and the sky was far more
clear. A brightly burning scimitar of a moon was declining towards the
horizon, and not far from it, to the west and north, the well-known
constellation of Orion. Yonder also, blinking red and green, was the
great Mars himself.
But it was not to study the stars that Harry had crept out of the tent,
but to breathe fresher air, for there was no wind to-night. Not a
branch stirred in the forest, not a leaf moved. The wild beasts had
been scared far away, only now and then a lion roared, and the screams
of the wild birds filled up the intervals. Dreadfully eerie they are to
listen to on a night like this, and in such a lonely scene.
"Eeah--eee--ah--eeah--eeah--ah!" screamed one bird.
"Tak--tak--tak--tak!"--cried another.
"Willikin, willikin, willikin, willikin?" shrieked a third.
Then there are mournful unearthly yells and groans that would make the
heart of a novice stand still with dread. He would feel convinced foul
murder was being done in the gloomy depths of the forest. [It is
possible the monkeys take their part in producing the cries one hears by
night in forests of the tropics.]
But Harry could sleep no more.
The sentries were being relieved. Raggy had just turned up, and Somali
Jack was about to turn in.
"Let us take a stroll down by the camp-fire," said Harry. "I feel I
must stretch my legs, night though it be."
Together they went as far as the old camping ground, and were about to
leave when a pained and weary groan fell on Harry's ear.
He soon discovered whence it issued. From the lips of a poor half-naked
dark figure, lying stabbed and dying on the grass.
All this he could see by the light of moon and stars. He sat down
beside the poor creature and took his head on his lap. The white eyes
rolled up towards him, the lips were parted in a grateful smile.
One word was all he said or could say.
"What is it, Jack?" asked Harry. "Interpret, please."
"It only says thanks, sahib."
"Run for water, Raggy."
The dying slave boy drinks just one gulp of the water. Again the white
eyes are turned towards Harry, again the lips are parted in a smile--and
then he is still.
For ever still.
Perhaps it is because Harry was nervous and ill; but he cannot prevent a
gush of tears to his eyes as he bends over this murdered boy.
"What a demon's heart the man must have to commit a sin like this!"
Book 3--CHAPTER SIX.
THE LAND OF DEPOPULATION--IN A BEAST-HAUNTED WILDERNESS--A MYSTERY--A
STRANGE KING.
Three months have elapsed since the night Harry found the dying slave
lad on the grass, near the old camp-fire Harry is as strong now as ever.
Nay, he is even stronger. He has had a birthday since then, and now in
his own mind calls himself a man.
He is a man in heart at all events, a man in pluck and a man in
manliness.
The trio--Somali Jack, Raggy, and Harry--are very friendly now.
Only once did Jack allude to that night when they fled from Mahmoud's
camp. It is in terms of admiration and in broken English.
"You give me proper trashing that night. I think I feel your shut hand
on my nose now. Wah-ee! he do make him smart, and my eyes all fill with
water hat hat ha!"
Yes, Jack could afford to laugh now, for Harry was not a bad master to
him.