Before we can understand the seeming mystery that clings to the end of
the last chapter of this tale, we must go a little way back, both as
regards time and space.
All the men Harry had with him in the unfortunate scuttled dhow at the
time she was beached were taken, along with little Raggy, by the
so-called brother of Mahmoud into the far interior of Africa, and there
sold or bartered away as slaves, and, as we already know, Suliemon made
what dealers term "a pretty penny" out of the nefarious transaction.
Escape for the poor fellows so banished seemed impossible, for, although
they had had an idea, from the appearance of the sun and stars, that
they had been all the time journeying steadily west, with either a
little angle of south or of north in it, so cruelly long had the route
been, so terrible had been their hardships, and so great their dangers,
that the idea of returning was considered by them as entirely out of the
question. Hope did not quite forsake them, however, but they had no
means of communicating with the outer world--that is, the world beyond
this dark continent. Occasionally they cut letters in the hides of the
wild beasts that had been slain, as these skins often found their way to
the markets of Zanzibar and Lamoo.
Who knows, they told each other, but some one may see these letters, and
come to our assistance!
But alas! though the letters were seen, and marvelled at and talked
about, no government, either English or French, deemed it worth while to
send a search and relief expedition.
Yet those ten poor fellows had wives and little ones, had sisters and
brothers, and fathers and mothers at home, who were, like Harry's
parents, mourning for them as dead.
The lives of cruelty and indignity which they had led, during all these
long dark dreary months and years, it is not my intention to describe.
Suffice it to say that these men were the abject slaves of a brutal
king, compelled to eat of the most loathsome garbage and to live in a
state of almost nudity. No wonder that already four of their number had
passed away. Their bodies, shocking to relate, were not even buried,
but thrown into the jungle for the wild dogs to gnaw and the ants to
eat.
The others lived, including Nicholls the bo's'n.
Ah! often and often had they wished to die.
The only pleasure of their lives, if pleasure it could be called, was
that at night they were not separated, but kept in one common prison,
strictly guarded by armed sentinels.
Then in the dark they used to talk of the dear old days at sea, and of
their homes far away in peaceful England.
More than once during the time of their captivity King Kara-Kara had
been on the war-path against the drunken old 'Ngaloo, and the former had
been the victor, although he had not followed up his triumph, as he used
to threaten he would do, and annihilate 'Ngaloo and his people.
The two kings hated each other with a true and everlasting hatred, and
the same may be said of their followers or people.
A day of rejoicing came at last, though, to the poor white slaves, and
that was when the island scout had bravely forced his way into camp, and
given them news of their officer Harry.
Then the king their master got word, somehow or other, of all the
prosperity of honest Googagoo, and determined at once that he would make
war upon him and utterly spoil and harry him.
So he called his men of war together, and made all preparations for the
campaign which we have seen to end so disastrously for this ambitious
monarch. He reckoned without his host in a manner of speaking--at all
events he did not take King 'Ngaloo into account. He kept the sentinels
on the hills and slipped away northwards at the dead of night.
Now 'Ngaloo had recently had a visit from a band of Somalis under the
guidance of an Arab, who had brought him gifts of rum and beads.
'Ngaloo gave the beads to his wives to hang around their fat necks,
their wrists, arms, and ankles, and his wives were happy in consequence,
and even submitted with patience and smiles to be pulled around the
palace tent by the king's horrid tongs. But 'Ngaloo stuck to the rum.
He never knew quite clearly what he was about as long as his him lasted,
but he was not a fool for all that; and when one day a sentinel reported
that the towns and camp of Kara-Kara were very still and almost
deserted--
"Oh!" said the king, "old Kara's away after something. Ha! ha! ha! now
is the chance for me! But I wonder where he has gone to."
These rival kings had one thing in common, a certain superstition not
unusual among some African potentates; they thought it unlucky to make
war the one upon the other without some cause. These causes, however,
were easily found; if they could not be found, then they could be
manufactured for the occasion.
'Ngaloo determined to manufacture one now. So he went to bed, not to
sleep, for he ordered his prime minister to squat on the floor close to
his dais and hand him rum as he wanted it.
'Ngaloo preferred drinking like this, it saved him the trouble of
tumbling about.
He lay awake nearly all night thinking and laughing and giggling to
himself. Once he caught his prime minister napping, and gave him a
back-hander with his tongs, which effectually kept him awake for some
time to come.
In the morning 'Ngaloo called three of his people to him, and sent them
away across the hills with a message for King Kara-Kara. It was to the
following effect, though I cannot give the exact words:
"Will King Kara-Kara be good enough to cross the mountains with his
army, and visit his dear brother King 'Ngaloo, the mighty monarch of the
whole universal earth, who will have the greatest pleasure in pulling
King Kara-Kara's nose with his gilded tongs, and the nose of every man
in his army."
Off went the three men, and delivered their message, and off went their
heads just three minutes afterwards. For though King Kara-Kara was far
away, he had left a lord-lieutenant behind him.
It did not matter about the messengers having their heads off, they were
first on the list, at all events, for the next human sacrifice, and a
day or two back or fore could not hurt. But as they did not return, the
fact formed a _casus belli_, and gave 'Ngaloo just the opportunity he
wished for.
So he put on his war clothes, hung his tongs in his girdle beside his
dagger, took his spear in his hand, summoned all his army, and marched
over the borders, five thousand strong, with tom-toms beating and
chanters braying, and in two days' time had entered the Kara-Kara
territory.
He captured every one he could, only those that were not worth capturing
he made short work of. Then he burned all his enemy's towns and
villages, and having left a thousand men to lay siege to an inaccessible
mountain, on the top of which, with the white prisoners, the
lord-lieutenant had made his camp, 'Ngaloo with the rest of his savage
army followed his foe up to the lake side, and it was fortunate he had
arrived in time, as we have seen in the last chapter.
The remnant of Kara-Kara's beaten army hied them back to their own
country, only to find it laid waste by fire and sword; so they fled away
into the wilderness, and joined other tribes with whom they had been
friendly before this.
Having both fought on one side, and both assisted each other in
annihilating the unfortunate Kara-Kara, 'Ngaloo and Googagoo naturally
became very friendly.
Both armies bivouacked that night on the battlefield, and the wounded
were attended to. These, however, owing to the brutal customs of
African warfare, were very few, for 'Ngaloo's men in the moonlight ran
a-muck all across the blood-stained field, and ruthlessly slew all those
who showed the slightest signs of life.
Next morning was a sad one for Harry, for his faithful Somali Jack, who
had served him so long and so faithfully, who had nursed him in
sickness, and more than once saved his life, breathed his last in his
arms shortly after sunrise.
He had been terribly wounded in the battle, and nothing could save the
poor fellow.
Quite conscious he was to the last, and conscious, too, that his end was
drawing near, though neither he nor Harry knew it was so _very_ nigh.
Some duty or other demanded Harry's presence in another part of the
field, but Jack said--
"Do not go and leave me now, dear master; stay with me a little time."
"I will stay; I will not go--poor Jack," replied Harry. And he sat down
beside the dying Indian, and took his head in his lap.
Harry often thought of this last interview with his Somali servant
afterwards, and how thankful he always felt, when he did so, that he had
not gone away and left Jack. Had he done that he would not have seen
the last of him, or heard his dying words.
These, however, were few, for Jack was weak and his voice feeble, and
his breath coming in gasps. He lay some time quiet, then--
"I have so much to say," he almost whispered; "but I forget, and I am
cold--_so_ cold."
"I have a brother in Brava."
Harry thought he said mother.
"You have a mother, Jack?"
"No; no mother--a brother. See him; tell him how I died, how I lived.
Tell him about heaven and all things good, as you have told me."
"Raggy--he will miss poor Jack."
There was a long interval of silence. Jack's eyes were closed now, and
Harry thought he slept. But he opened them presently.
Then he put his cold damp hand in Harry's. "Master," he said, "you have
given me life."
"Oh, Jack!" said Harry, "I fear it is far beyond my skill to give you
life."
"But you have given me life--light and life. I was but a savage. You
have told me of Him who can love even a savage."
"Yes, yes, Jack; He loves you. He will receive you."
"Say `The Vale,'" Jack murmured.
Harry knew what he meant, and repeated a verse or two, in metre, of that
beautiful psalm that has given comfort to many a soul in sorrow.
The last verse that Jack could have heard was the fourth:
"Yea, though I walk thro' death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear none ill,
For Thou art with me; and Thy rod
And staff me comfort still."
There were just a few long-drawn sobs at intervals, then Harry sat
watching to see if he would sigh again.
But a minute passed, and Jack sighed no more. Harry gently closed the
eyes.
Then he sat for a time, biting his lip till it almost bled; but all to
no purpose, his sorrow _would_ find vent.
And knowing all we do, can we wonder at Harry's grief?
Can we wonder that he bent over that faithful Jack, and that the
scalding tears fell from his eyes upon the poor dead face?
Book 4--CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE FIGHT ON THE HILL--REUNION--"THE GREATEST KING IN ALL THE WORLD"--
HOME AGAIN.
This is a busy, work-a-day world, events will not tarry, nor will duty
wait even upon grief, and no sooner had Harry and his party dug a grave
and laid poor Somali Jack to his long rest in a cotton-tree grove, than
he had to hurry off to camp again.
It was the morning of another day, a bright and beautiful day, birds
sang in the bush, or went flitting from branch to branch, displaying
their rainbow colours, as happy and careless as if there were no sorrow
in the world.
But other birds there were--kites and fierce-looking _corvidae_, with
horrid-looking vultures, that went sailing lazily round in the sky,
alighting every moment on some dead body--to gorge. And gorge they
would, until unable either to walk, or fly.
And what they leave of the corpses on the battlefield the ants, whose
great hills and homes can be counted by the score, will speedily devour.
At night, too, when the vultures have gone to roost on the scorched and
blackened branches of the burned forest, wild dogs and hyaenas will come
in crowds to the awful feast.
Then rains and dews will fall and wash the bones, and the sun's bright
beams will bleach them, till in time nought will be left in the field of
that fearful fight except blanched skulls and snow-white skeletons.
Ah, boys! where is the glory of war when the fight is fought, when the
battle is over, and the victory won? Look upon that silent, bone-strewn
plain and tell me where.
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As naturally as if he had been voted into it, did Harry now quietly and
coolly assume command of the whole army, both Googagoo's and 'Ngaloo's.
The latter king he could not respect, albeit it was through his
instrumentality that they had all escaped utter annihilation. He tried
to feel grateful to 'Ngaloo, but it was impossible, he really could not
help observing that the great chief had a selfish, grasping, and
grovelling mind. There were times, indeed, that he could scarcely feel
civil to the savage.
And no wonder. 'Ngaloo, after looking for a long time at Harry's
actions, and admiring his bustling but well-trained activity, came, and
with cool audacity made a proposition to him. It was couched in the
following terms:
"We soon go back now to my beautiful land among the mountains. I am a
great king now. I have been a great king all my life. I am now twice a
great king, because I shall reign over all the rich land and woods of my
dear brother King Kara-Kara, whose confounded dead nose I pulled on the
battlefield. So there is no king in the world so great now as 'Ngaloo.
Come, then, and live with me. I will make of you a big chief. I will
cut the head of my prime minister off, and you shall reign in his stead,
and have all his wives as slaves--"
It was precisely at this point that Harry interrupted the king's
poetical harangue.