"Hearts of oak!" our captain cried, "when each gun
From its adamantine lips,
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse of the sun."
Campbell.
There are two events in the history of a man, of which he himself in
writing his autobiography can hardly be expected to give any very clear
account, namely, his birth and his death. To describe the former, he
would require to be born with his eyes very wide open indeed, and
instead of a silver spoon in his mouth, which they tell me some children
are born with, a silver pencil-case behind his ear; to describe the
latter, a man would need to be a prophet in reality. How is it then, it
may be asked, that I, Niobe Radnor, am able with truthfulness and
accuracy to give an account of the occurrences that were taking place
around me when I first made my appearance on "the stage of life." For
the ability to do so, I am indebted to the only father I ever knew, my
true and trusty old friend Captain (formerly boatswain) Ben Roberts, who
supplies me with the facts.
Yonder he is, sitting out on the rose lawn there, as I write, book in
hand, his white beard glittering in the spring sunshine, and his jolly
old round red face surmounted by an immensity of straw hat--just as if
_his_ complexion _could_ be spoiled, just as if a complexion that has
borne the brunt of a thousand storms, been scathed and scarred in
battle, blistered by many a fierce and scorching summer sun, and
reddened by the snows of many a hard and stormy winter, _could_ be
spoiled.
Ah! dear old Ben! he is getting old, wearing up towards the threescore
years and ten--
"--That form
That short allotted span.
That binds the few and weary years
Of pilgrimage to man."
Yes, Ben is getting old. As oaks get old, so is my faithful friend
getting old. As oaks in age are hard and tough, and defiant of the
gales that rage through the forest, uprooting mighty trees, so is Ben my
friend; and for all the storms he has weathered, I trust I shall have
him by me yet for years and years to come. Ben is so buoyant and fresh,
it always instils new blood into my veins merely to talk to him. "Ben,
my boy," I often say, "you are, by your own confession, some twenty
years my senior, and yet I believe you feel as young and even younger
than I do."
"Well, Nie," he replies, "I believe it's the heart that does it, you
know.
"For old as I am, and old as I seem,
My heart is full of youth.
"Eye hath not seen, tongue hath not told,
And ear hath not heard it sung,
How buoyant and bold, though it seem to grow old,
Is the heart for ever young.
"For ever young--though life's old age
Hath every nerve unstrung;
The heart, the heart, is a heritage
That keeps the old man young."
He always calls me "Nie" for short, "because," he added once, by way of
explanation, "your name is a heathenish kind of one at best, but a
person is bound to make the most of it."
I cannot deny that Ben is right; my name is a heathenish one. How did I
come by it? I will tell you. I was born, as you know, at sea, in the
Indian Ocean, in the _Niobe_, whilst she was cruising in that region in
the search of slavers--born not long before the appearance of that
terrible gale of wind described in the first chapter of this story, when
the tempest was at its fiercest, and the stormy waves were doing their
worst; born on board a vessel which seemed doomed to certain
destruction. And it is the custom of the service to call a child by the
name of the ship in which he first sees the light of day.
I never knew a father's love or a mother's tender care, for the gentle
lady who gave me birth lived but a little after that event; but she
bequeathed me all she had--her blessing--and died. In a glade in the
gloomy depths of an African forest my mother is sleeping, in the shade
of a banian tree. I stood by that lonely grave one morning not many
years ago. The ground, I remember, was all chequered with sunshine and
with shade from the tree above; little star-like primulas grew here and
there. Among these and the fallen leaves sea-green lizards were
creeping; high overhead bright-winged birds sang soft lullabies, and
every time the wind moved the boughs a whole shower of sparkling drops
fell down, like tears.
And my father? He never seemed to rally after my mother's death until
one hour before his own, just a fortnight and a day from that on which
he had followed her to her grave in the forest like one dazed. He did
not appear in his mess-place after this. He took no food, he spoke to
no one, he spent his time mostly within the screen by the empty cot
where my mother had been--in grief.
About the tenth day he suffered my friend Roberts (the boatswain) to
lead him like a child to the spare cabin where his baby boy was
sleeping; and in a daze he had seen her loved remains laid to rest
beneath the tree. He bent over the grave for a moment, and then for the
first time he burst into tears.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The _Niobe_ remained for ten days where she had cast anchor, in order to
make good repairs.
It was a very quiet spot in which she lay, a kind of bay or bight, as
the sailors called it, with mangrove trees growing all around it close
down to the water's edge, except at the one side where the great river
stole silently away seaward, its current seeming hardly to affect in any
degree the waters in the bay itself.
At last all repairs were finished, and the "clang, clang, clang" of the
carpenters' hammers, that had been till now incessant all day long, and
far into the night, was hushed, sails were shaken half loose, and the
_Niobe_ only waited for a breeze to bear her down the river and across
the great and dreaded bar, where, even in the calmest weather, the
breakers rolled and tumbled mountains high.
But the breeze seemed in no hurry to come. During the day those dull
dreamy woods and forests lay asleep in the sunshine, and stirred not
leaf or twig, and the creatures that dwelt therein were as silent as the
woods around them. Had you landed on that still shore, and wandered
inland through the trees, you would have seen great lizards enjoying
themselves in patches of sunlight, an occasional monkey enjoying a nap
at a tree foot or squatting on a bough blinking at the birds that--
open-beaked as if gasping for more air--sat among the branches too
languid to hop or fly. But except a startled cry at your presence
emitted by some of these, hardly any other sound would have fallen on
your ears.
The only creatures that seemed to be busy were the beetles on the ground
and the bees, the latter long, dark, dangerous-looking hornets that flew
in clouds about the lime and orange-trees, and behaved as if all the
forest belonged to them, the former of all shapes and sizes, and of
colours more brilliant than the rainbow. No doubt they knew exactly
what they were about and had their ideas carefully arranged, but what
their business was in particular would have puzzled any human being to
tell--why they dug pits and rolled little pieces of stones down them, or
why they pulled pieces of sticks along bigger than themselves, dropped
them, apparently without reason, and went in search of others. There
was, one would have thought, no method in the madness of these strange
but lovely creatures: it looked as though they were doomed to keep
moving, doomed to keep on working, and doing something, no matter what.
In the great river itself sometimes small herds of hippopotami would
appear, especially in parts where the water was shallow. They came but
to enjoy a sunshine bath and siesta.
But at night both forest and river seemed to awaken from their slumbers.
The river cows now came on shore to feed, and their grunting and
bellowing, that often ended in a kind of shriek, mingled [Two pages
missing here].
"Well, my friend, how much for your bananas, and that bottle of honey,
and those eggs, and fowls? Come, I'll buy the lot," said the boatswain.
"De Arab chief come in big ship, two three week ago. De ship he hide in
de bush. He come to-night when de moon am shine. He come on board you
big ship, plenty knife, plenty spear, plenty gun, killee you all for
true. Den he take all de money and all de chow-chow. Plenty much
bobbery he makee, plenty much blood he spillee, plenty much murder.
Sweeba tell you for true."
While this conversation was going on the fruit, eggs, and fowls were
being handed on board and money thrown into the boat, which was quickly
concealed by the natives in their cummerbunds.
They found themselves richer than they had ever been before in their
lives.
"But why do you come and tell us?" then inquired Roberts. (Roberts, by
the way, was the only one the native would converse with. He had
eagerly requested the captain and officers to keep away, for fear of
exciting the suspicion of those who he averred were lurking in the
forest.)
"What for I come and tellee you?" he replied. "English have been good
to me many time 'fore now. Arab chief he bad man. He come to my house,
he tie me to a tree by de neck. He think I dead. Den he takee my poor
wife away, and all de poor piccaninnies. My poor ole mudder she berry
bad. She not fit to trabbel away to de bush, so he cut her head off,
and trow her in de blaze. He burn all my hut, all my house. I not lub
dat Arab chief berry berry much."
"I shouldn't think you did," was the reply; "but now, my friend, if all
goes well come back to-morrow, and we will reward you."
About eight o'clock that same night, the full moon rose slowly up over
the woods, bathing the trees in a soft blue haze, but changing the
river, 'twixt the ship and the distant shore, into a broad pathway of
light that shimmered and shone like molten gold. There was hardly a
cloud in the heaven's dark blue, and the stars shone with unusual
brilliancy.
No one was visible on the _Niobe's_ decks, and never a light burned
aloft, but, nevertheless, sentinels were watching the water on all
sides, and down below the crew, fully armed, were waiting. The guns
were all ready to run out, and there was no talking save in whispers,
and when any one had occasion to cross the deck he did it so lightly
that you could scarcely have heard his footfall.
Except the officers of the watch, all others were in the saloon or
ward-room. They too were armed, but passing the time in quietly playing
draughts and other games. Instead of being in his cabin, the captain
was there along with his officers.
Presently the boatswain, whose duty it was to keep one of the
night-watches, came quietly in to make a report.
"There are no signs yet, sir. The forest is quiet enough, except for
the birds and beasts. It is very bright now. If they do come, we will
have light enough to give 'em fits."
"I hope they will, then," replied the captain; "I sincerely trust that
tall native wasn't a-gammoning us."
"I feel sure enough he wasn't, sir."
"Hark!" cried the captain.
It was the sentry's hail. Next moment his rifle rang out on the night
air. It seemed to be caught up by the echoes of the forest, and the
sound multiplied indefinitely, but there was instant evidence that this
was no echo.
A long line of fire swept across the forest shore, and bullets rattled
through the rigging or on the vessel's sides.
The attack was about to commence.
Guns were speedily run out in the direction from which the volley had
come, and just by way of showing the enemy that the _Niobe_ was
prepared, two loaded with shrapnel were fired.
The yell of rage and pain that rang through the forest, told plainly
enough that some of the savages had bitten the dust. The battle had
begun.
But it was not to be a fight of rifle against big guns. The Arabs,
unless at close quarters, are ever at disadvantage. The chief who led
this particular band bore a fierce and implacable hatred to the English
race, more especially to those who wore the blue uniform of the Royal
Navy. Many a time had he been thwarted in his designs by the ubiquitous
British cruiser, and, sword in hand, he had sworn by Allah--sworn on his
"book"--to have revenge.
His time, it almost seemed, had come to-night. Though far south when
the first news of the disaster to the _Niobe_ had been brought to him by
a swift-footed Somali spy, Zareppa had lost no time in setting sail in
his largest dhow--he was the proud owner of many--and making his way
north.
It was no trouble for this daring piratical slaver to cross the bar even
on a light wind. He had stolen up the river by night unseen, and soon
after planned his attack.
Now at the very moment that a whole fleet of canoes filled with armed
Somalis and Arabs left the forest shore, under cover of volley after
volley from the bush, Zareppa, the pirate chief, was stealing round the
corner of the bay with over a hundred of his best warriors, who were
lying down so that they might not be seen, to attack the _Niobe_ on the
other quarter.
Swiftly came they while guns thundered forestward, and all hands lay on
the port side to repel boarders. It looked as though the fate of the
good ship were sealed.
Till this moment the soldier sergeant--my father--had lain apparently
helpless and apathetic in a screen berth on the main deck. But the
sound of warfare will stir the blood of even a dying soldier, as the
blast of a bugle does that of the aged and worn-out war-horse. No
sooner had the firing commenced than he started from his cot and
speedily dressed himself, often tottering as he did so.
Captain Roberts tells me that even then my father could hardly have
known what he was about: that all he could have been certain of was that
a fight was going on, and it was his duty to be in it.
Grasping sword and pistol, he rushed on deck. Still staggering, and
gazing wildly around him, almost the first thing he saw was the approach
of Zareppa's boats. He was all alive now, he rushed across the deck,
and more by gesture than by voice made the commander aware of the
terrible danger.
None too soon. Already the heads of the foremost boarders were
appearing above the bulwarks. But our men were speedily divided into
two parties, and in a minute more the battle was raging fiercely on both
sides of the deck.
"Deen! Deen! Deen!" was the fierce and shrill Arab war-cry.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" was the bold and answering shout of our marines and
bluejackets.
The tall form of Zareppa seemed everywhere. It towered high on the
bulwarks. It was seen springing down on deck, and vaulting backwards,
and wherever it came death followed in its wake.
Soon no sound even of pistol was heard. It was a hand-to-hand fight
_on_ deck, for the _Niobe_ had been boarded: hand to hand, and breast to
breast; cutlass and sword 'gainst Somali dagger and Arab spear. There
were the shrieks of pain, the cries of exultation, and horrible oaths as
well, I blush to say, mingling with the groans of the dying in this
dreadful _melee_.
How peacefully the moon shone--how quiet and lovely and still the forest
looked all around! How great the contrast 'twixt man and nature!
But, see! the fight is finished. The enemy are borne backwards into the
sea. Our fellows hack them down as they fly, for they are wild with the
excitement of the strife.
But high on the poop a young soldier is engaged in a deadly strife with
the Arab chief himself. All his skill would hardly save Zareppa. For
several minutes the duel seemed to rage. Then with a wild rash the Arab
dashed forward on the soldier, his sword passed through his body and--my
father fell dead.
"English dogs!" shouted Zareppa, standing for a moment on the bulwarks
with bleeding sword upheld. "Dogs of English, Zareppa's day will come!
Beware!"
He would have vaulted into the sea, but up from behind the very place
where he stood rose a dark naked figure. A dagger gleamed one instant
in its hand, and next was plunged into the back of the chief, who gave a
fearful shriek.
"Ha! ha! aha!" yelled this strange figure, "Zareppa's day _hab_ come.
Plenty quick. Ha!"
The Arab chief fell face forward on the deck.
It was the negro Sweeba, who had brought the news of the intended
attack.
From his own side of the river he had heard the firing and the wild
shouts that told of the raging combat, and had speedily launched his
rude canoe, intent on revenge for the murder of his poor wife and babes.