"We are not prisoners here. We are guests of the chief of this
village."
"In that case," replied the half-caste, "I can return to the coast
without you."
As he said this a large band of the villagers, having discovered that
strangers had arrived, drew near. Marizano at once advanced, making
peaceful demonstrations, and, after the requisite amount of clapping of
hands on both sides, stated the object for which he had come. He made
no attempt to conceal the fact that he was a slave-trader, but said
that, having purchased enough of slaves, he had visited their village
because of certain rumours to the effect that some white men had been
lost in these regions, and could not find their way back to the coast.
He was anxious, he said, to help these white men to do so, but, finding
that the white men then at the village were _not_ the men he was in
search of, and did not want to go to the coast, he would just stay long
enough with the chief to exchange compliments, and then depart.
All this was translated to the white men in question by their faithful
ally Antonio, and when they retired to consult as to what should be
done, they looked at each other with half amused and half perplexed
expressions of countenance.
"Werry odd," said Disco, "how contrairy things turns up at times!"
"Very odd indeed," assented Harold, laughing. "It is quite true that we
are, in one sense, lost and utterly unable to undertake a journey
through this country without men, means, or arms; and nothing could be
more fortunate than that we should have the chance, thus suddenly thrown
in our way, of travelling under the escort of a band of armed men;
nevertheless, I cannot bear the idea of travelling with or being
indebted to a slave-trader and a scoundrel like Marizano."
"That's w'ere it is, sir," said Disco with emphasis, "I could stand
anything a'most but that."
"And yet," pursued Harold, "it is our only chance. I see quite well
that we may remain for years here without again having such an
opportunity or such an escort thrown in our way."
"There's no help for it, I fear," said Disco. "We must take it like a
dose o' nasty physic--hold our nobs, shut our daylights, an' down with
it. The only thing I ain't sure of is your ability to travel. You
ain't strong yet."
"Oh, I'm strong enough now, or very nearly so, and getting stronger
every day. Well, then, I suppose it's settled that we go?"
"Humph! I'm agreeable, an' the whole business werry disagreeable," said
Disco, making a wry face.
Marizano was much pleased when the decision of the white men was made
known to him, and the native chief was naturally much distressed, for,
not only was he about to lose two men of whom he had become very fond,
but he was on the point of being bereft of his story-teller, the opener
up of his mind, the man who, above all others, had taught him to think
about his Maker and a future state.
He had sense enough, however, to perceive that his guests could not
choose but avail themselves of so good an opportunity, and, after the
first feeling of regret was over, made up his mind to the separation.
Next day Harold and Disco, with feelings of strong revulsion, almost of
shame, fell into the ranks of the slave-gang, and for many days
thereafter marched through the land in company with Marizano and his
band of lawless villains.
Marizano usually walked some distance ahead of the main body with a few
trusty comrades. Our adventurers, with their two followers, came next
in order of march, the gang of slaves in single file followed, and the
armed men brought up the rear. It was necessarily a very long line, and
at a distance resembled some hideous reptile crawling slowly and
tortuously through the fair fields and plains of Africa.
At first there were no stragglers, for the slaves were as yet, with few
exceptions, strong and vigorous. These exceptions, and the lazy, were
easily kept in the line by means of rope and chain, as well as the rod
and lash.
Harold and Disco studiously avoided their leader during the march.
Marizano fell in with their humour and left them to themselves. At
nights they made their own fire and cooked their own supper, as far
removed from the slave camp as was consistent with safety, for they
could not bear to witness the sufferings of the slaves, or to look upon
their captors. Even the food that they were constrained to eat appeared
to have a tendency to choke them, and altogether their situation became
so terrible that they several times almost formed the desperate
resolution of leaving the party and trying to reach the coast by
themselves as they best might, but the utter madness and hopelessness of
such a project soon forced itself on their minds, and insured its being
finally abandoned.
One morning Marizano threw off his usual reserve, and, approaching the
white men, told them that in two hours they would reach the lake where
his employer was encamped.
"And who is your master?" asked Harold.
"A black-faced or yellow-faced blackguard like himself, I doubt not,"
growled Disco.
Antonio put Harold's question without Disco's comment, and Marizano
replied that his master was an Arab trader, and added that he would push
on in advance of the party and inform him of their approach.
Soon afterwards the lake was reached. A large dhow was in readiness,
the gang was embarked and ferried across to a place where several rude
buildings and barracoons, with a few tents, indicated that it was one of
the inland headquarters of the trade in Black Ivory.
The moment our travellers landed Marizano led them to one of the nearest
buildings, and introduced them to his master.
"Yoosoof!" exclaimed Disco in a shout of astonishment.
It would have been a difficult question to have decided which of the
three faces displayed the most extreme surprise. Perhaps Disco's would
have been awarded the palm, but Yoosoof was undoubtedly the first to
regain his self-possession.
"You be surprised," he said, in his _very_ broken English, while his
pale-yellow visage resumed its placid gravity of expression.
"Undoubtedly we are," said Harold.
"Bu'stin'!" exclaimed Disco.
"You would be not so mush surprised,--did you know dat I comes to here
every year, an' dat Engleesh consul ask me for 'quire about you."
"If that be so, how comes it that _you_ were surprised to see us?" asked
Harold.
"'Cause why, I only knows dat some white mans be loss theirselfs--not
knows _what_ mans--not knows it was _you_."
"Well now," cried Disco, unable to restrain himself as he turned to
Harold, "did ever two unfortnits meet wi' sitch luck? Here have we bin'
obliged for days to keep company with the greatest Portugee villian in
the country, an' now we're needcessitated to be under a obligation to
the greatest Arab scoundrel in Afriky."
The scoundrel in question smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"Yoosoof," cried Disco, clenching his fist and looking full in the
trader's eyes, "when I last saw yer ugly face, I vowed that if ever I
seed it again I'd leave my mark on it pretty deep, I did; and now I does
see it again, but I haven't the moral courage to touch sitch a poor,
pitiful, shrivelled-up package o' bones an' half-tanned leather.
Moreover, I'm goin' to be indebted to 'ee! Ha! ha!" (he laughed
bitterly, and with a dash of wild humour in the tone), "to travel under
yer care, an' eat yer accursed bread, and--and--oh! there ain't no sitch
thing as shame left in my corpus. I'm a low mean-spirited boastful
idiot, that's wot _I_ am, an' I don't care the fag-end of a hunk o'
gingerbread who knows it."
After this explosion the sorely tried mariner brought his right hand
down on his thigh with a tremendous crack, turned about and walked away
to cool himself.