They went on "for true," and soon found themselves in a grove and under
a canopy of grass-cloth. On the green-sward they all squatted down to a
banquet, the like of which Harry had not seen for many days.
It was not served on china, you may be sure, and there were no forks,
only knives. The plates were of yellow-brown clay, and as soft as a
brick. In the centre was a huge dish of curried rice; before each of
his guests was placed a curried fowl. Then there were floury and
well-cooked yams, sweet potatoes and plantains, and a large chattee of
water.
Raggy ate up his fowl every bit, so did Somali Jack. Harry failed on
his last drumstick, and the king laughed again, and cried, "Lobo!
Lobo!"
Then there was more wandering about the island, and another banquet or
fried fish and fruit on their return.
All the time Harry and Jack stuck to their rifles. One never knows what
savages may turn out to be, and had anything occurred they were
determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
Next day, and next, and next, were simply repetitions of the first, with
this difference--that the king took his guests round his islands in his
barge, rowed now by five dark-skinned boatmen on each side, and this
will give you some idea of the size of it.
Every evening after supper, sitting out under the stars, the king being
only dimly visible as a kind of shape, Harry had to tell stories of all
the kings and potentates and countries in the world.
He got a little tired at last, and found it better and easier to invent
tales of imagination, based upon the stories he had read, such as the
novels of Cooper and Walter Scott, than to stick to plain geography and
pure history. This pleased this strange king even better, and he was
constantly saying, "Lobo!" during Harry's recitals.
I dare say, however, that Raggy, through whom, as a medium, the stories
had to pass, embellished them somewhat on his own account.
Among the gifts from Somali Jack's packet that Harry presented to his
majesty was a shirt and a pair of pyjamas. These he wore until they
were black, albeit Harry had several times suggested that they should be
washed.
A whole month flew by. Very quickly indeed the days went too, for the
air made Harry lazy, and he felt as if he had eaten the lotus leaf. He
roused himself at last, and, fearful that he might be outstaying his
welcome, he told the king he must go.
"Go! did you not come here to stay and talk to me for ever and ever?
Go! No, no! Lobo! Lobo!"
It began gradually to dawn upon Harry that he really and virtually was a
prisoner in these friendly islands. He certainly could not leave them
without his majesty's permission. To steal a boat and try to escape was
out of the question, the amazons with the rolling eyes would effectually
prevent this.
So he stayed on quietly another month. Then, firm in the belief that a
constant drop will wear away a stone, he began persistently to tease the
king into letting him go on his journey.
The king would promise one day, and retract the next.
Three months passed away, then four. Harry was getting desperate. At
the risk of giving mortal offence he refused to tell any more stories.
And his majesty got so sad and morose that he felt grieved to see him.
"I will let you go," he said at length, "if you will promise to return
and bring me more gifts."
Harry gladly promised that he would do everything in his power to come
back that way.
The king had most minutely examined the rifles, but hitherto not a shot
had been fired. Ammunition was far too valuable.
But one day Harry determined to give the king a treat. He took his
rifle, and pointing to a great vulture that was slowly floating around
the village, fired, and to his own surprise brought it down.
But the consternation among the natives was intense. It was a strange,
superstitious dread, and if they could have turned pale with fear I feel
sure they would have done so. Harry had made thunder and lightning,
smoke and flame, and killed an evil bird. No wonder the king capsized
on his back on the mat, and said "Lobo!" more than a dozen times!
But Harry explained everything to him, and his majesty was satisfied.
The day before Harry's departure from the Lake of the Hundred Isles was
devoted to feasting and dancing. The king even proposed killing one or
two of his subjects in honour of the occasion.
Harry would not hear of this.
"Well," the king said, "he would put them up at a distance, and his
guest should bring them down, with his rifle."
"No, no, no," laughed Harry; "kill hens and we can eat them, but not
human beings."
It was such a drowsy island this that Harry never thought of turning out
of bed till about eight o'clock.
When he got up next day, and went forth to breathe the balmy morning
air, the sight that was presented to him made him open his eyes wide
with astonishment. It was like a scene of enchantment.
The king's hut, and every other hut, and even the palisade around this
camp, was completely covered with flowers of the most gorgeous hues and
sweetest perfume, while all the ground was deeply bedded with green
leaves and boughs. Even the shields and spears of the amazons were
decorated with flowers, and they wore garlands around their necks and
heads. Near the king's tent sat a few musicians, beating low on
tom-toms, and singing a dreamy kind of a chant.
It was late before the king put in an appearance; he did so at last,
however, and very pleased he seemed when he gazed about him. Then his
eye sought Harry's; he was anxious to know if he was also pleased with--
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