In the course of time, our hero, Harold Seadrift, and his faithful ally,
Disco Lillihammer, after innumerable adventures which we are unwillingly
obliged to pass over in silence, returned to the coast and, in the
course of their wanderings in search of a vessel which should convey
them to Zanzibar, found themselves at last in the town of Governor
Letotti. Being English travellers, they were received as guests by the
Governor, and Harold was introduced to Senhorina Maraquita.
Passing through the market-place one day, they observed a crowd round
the flag-staff in the centre of the square, and, following the
irresistible tendency of human nature in such circumstances, ran to see
what was going on.
They found that a slave was about to be publicly whipped by soldiers.
The unhappy man was suspended by the wrists from the flag-staff, and a
single cord of coir round his waist afforded him additional support.
"Come away, we can do no good here," said Harold, in a low, sorrowful
tone, which was drowned in the shriek of the victim, as the first lash
fell on his naked shoulders.
"Pra'ps he's a criminal," suggested Disco, as he hurried away,
endeavouring to comfort himself with the thought that the man probably
deserved punishment. "It's not the whippin' I think so much of," he
added; "that is the only thing as will do for some characters, but it's
the awful cruelties that goes along with it."
Returning through the same square about an hour later, having almost
forgotten about the slave by that time, they were horrified to observe
that the wretched man was still hanging there.
Hastening towards him, they found that he was gasping for breath. His
veins were bursting, and his flesh was deeply lacerated by the cords
with which he was suspended. He turned his head as the Englishmen
approached, and spoke a few words which they did not understand; but the
appealing look of his bloodshot eyes spoke a language that required no
interpreter.
At an earlier period in their career in Africa, both Harold and Disco
would have acted on their first impulse, and cut the man down; but
experience had taught them that this style of interference, while it put
their own lives in jeopardy, had sometimes the effect of increasing the
punishment and sufferings of those whom they sought to befriend.
Acting on a wiser plan, they resolved to appeal to Governor Letotti in
his behalf. They therefore ran to his residence, where Maraquita, who
conversed with Harold in French, informed them that her father was in
the "Geresa," or public palaver house. To that building they hastened,
and found that it was in the very square they had left. But Senhor
Letotti was not there. He had observed the Englishmen coming, and,
having a shrewd guess what their errand was, had disappeared and hid
himself. His chief-officer informed them that he had left the town
early in the morning, and would not return till the afternoon.
Harold felt quite sure that this was a falsehood, but of course was
obliged to accept it as truth.
"Is there no one to act for the Governor in his absence?" he asked,
anxiously.
No, there was no one; but after a few minutes the chief-officer appeared
to be overcome by Harold's earnest entreaties, and said that he could
take upon himself to act, that he would suspend the punishment till the
Governor's return, when Harold might prefer his petition to him in
person.
Accordingly, the slave was taken down. In the afternoon Harold saw the
Governor, and explained that he did not wish to interfere with his
province as a magistrate, but that what he had witnessed was so shocking
that he availed himself of his privilege as a guest to pray that the
man's punishment might be mitigated.
Governor Letotti's health had failed him of late, and he had suffered
some severe disappointments in money matters, so that his wonted
amiability had been considerably reduced. He objected, at first, to
interfere with the course of justice; but finally gave a reluctant
consent, and the man was pardoned. Afterwards, however, when our
travellers were absent from the town for a day, the wretched slave was
again tied up, and the full amount of his punishment inflicted; in other
words, he was flogged to death. [For the incident on which this is
founded we are indebted to the Reverend Doctor Ryan, late Bishop of the
Mauritius.]
This incident had such an effect on the mind of Harold, that he resolved
no longer to accept the hospitality of Governor Letotti. He had some
difficulty, however, in persuading himself to carry his resolve into
effect, for the Governor, although harsh in his dealing with the slave,
had been exceedingly kind and amiable to himself; but an unexpected
event occurred which put an end to his difficulties. This was the
illness and sudden death of his host.
Poor, disconsolate Maraquita, in the first passion of her grief, fled to
the residence of the only female friend she had in the town, and refused
firmly to return home. Thus it came to pass that Harold's intercourse
with the Senhorina was cut short at its commencement, and thus he missed
the opportunity of learning something of the fortunes of Azinte; for it
is certain that, if they had conversed much together, as would probably
have been the case had her father lived, some mention of the
slave-girl's name could not fail to have been made, and their mutual
knowledge of her to have been elicited and interchanged.
In those days there was no regular communication between one point and
another of the east coast of Africa and the neighbouring islands.
Travellers had frequently to wait long for a chance; and when they got
one were often glad to take advantage of it without being fastidious as
to its character. Soon after the events above narrated, a small trading
schooner touched at the port. It was bound for the Seychelles,
intending to return by Zanzibar and Madagascar, and proceed to the Cape.
Harold would rather have gone direct to Zanzibar, but, having plenty of
time on his hands, as well as means, he was content to avail himself of
the opportunity, and took passage in the schooner for himself, Disco,
and Jumbo. That sable and faithful friend was the only one of his
companions who was willing to follow him anywhere on the face of the
earth. The others received their pay and their discharge with smiling
faces, and scattered to their several homes--Antonio departing to
complete his interrupted honeymoon.
Just before leaving, Harold sought and obtained permission to visit
Maraquita, to bid her good-bye. The poor child was terribly overwhelmed
by the death of her father, and could not speak of him without giving
way to passionate grief. She told Harold that she meant to leave the
coast by the first opportunity that should offer, and proceed to the
Cape of Good Hope, where, in some part of the interior, lived an old
aunt, the only relative she now had on earth, who, she knew, would be
glad to receive her. Our hero did his best to comfort the poor girl,
and expressed deep sympathy with her, but felt that his power to console
was very small indeed. After a brief interview he bade her farewell.
The voyage which our travellers now commenced was likely to be of
considerable duration, for the Seychelles Islands lie a long way to the
eastward of Africa, but as we have said, time was of no importance to
Harold, and he was not sorry to have an opportunity of visiting a group
of islands which are of some celebrity in connexion with the East
African slave-trade. Thus, all unknown to himself or Disco, as well as
to Maraquita, who would have been intensely interested had she known the
fact, he was led towards the new abode of our sable heroine Azinte.
But alas! for Kambira and Obo,--they were being conveyed, also, of
course, unknown to themselves or to any one else, further and further
away from one whom they would have given their heart's blood to meet
with and embrace, and it seemed as if there were not a chance of any
gleam of light bridging over the ever widening gulf that lay between
them, for although Lieutenant Lindsay knew that Azinte had been left at
the Seychelles, he had not the remotest idea that Kambira was Azinte's
husband, and among several hundreds of freed slaves the second
lieutenant of the `Firefly' was not likely to single out, and hold
converse with a chief whose language he did not understand, and who, as
far as appearances went, was almost as miserable, sickly, and degraded
as were the rest of the unhappy beings by whom he was surrounded.
Providence, however, turned the tide of affairs in favour of Kambira and
his son. On reaching Zanzibar Captain Romer had learned from the
commander of another cruiser that Aden was at that time somewhat
overwhelmed with freed slaves, a considerable number of captures having
been recently made about the neighbourhood of that great rendezvous of
slavers, the island of Socotra.
The captain therefore changed his mind, and once more very unwillingly
directed his course towards the distant Seychelles.
On the way thither many of the poor negroes died, but many began to
recover strength under the influence of kind treatment and generous
diet. Among these latter was Kambira. His erect gait and manly look
soon began to return, and his ribs, so to speak, to disappear. It was
otherwise with poor Obo. The severity of the treatment to which he had
been exposed was almost too much for so young a frame. He lost appetite
and slowly declined, notwithstanding the doctor's utmost care.
This state of things continuing until the `Firefly' arrived at the
Seychelles, Obo was at once conveyed to the hospital which we have
referred to as having been established there.
Azinte chanced to be absent in the neighbouring town on some errand
connected with her duties as nurse, when her boy was laid on his bed
beside a number of similar sufferers. It was a sad sight to behold
these little ones. Out of the original eighty-three children who had
been placed there forty-seven had died in three weeks, and the remnant
were still in a pitiable condition. While on their beds of pain,
tossing about in their delirium, the minds of these little ones
frequently ran back to their forest homes, and while some, in spirit,
laughed and romped once more around their huts, thousands of miles away
on the banks of some African river, others called aloud in their
sufferings for the dearest of all earthly beings to them--their mothers.
Some of them also whispered the name of Jesus, for the missionary had
been careful to tell them the story of our loving Lord, while tending
their poor bodies.
Obo had fevered slightly, and in the restless half-slumber into which he
fell on being put to bed, he, too, called earnestly for his mother. In
_his_ case, poor child, the call was not in vain.
Lieutenant Lindsay and the doctor of the ship, with Kambira, had
accompanied Obo to the hospital.
"Now, Lindsay," said the doctor, when the child had been made as
comfortable as circumstances would admit of, "this man must not be left
here, for he will be useless, and it is of the utmost consequence that
the child should have some days of absolute repose. What shall we do
with him?"
"Take him on board again," said Lindsay. "I daresay we shall find him
employment for a short time."
"If you will allow me to take charge of him," interposed the missionary,
who was standing by them at the time, "I can easily find him employment
in the neighbourhood, so that he can come occasionally to see his child
when we think it safe to allow him."
"That will be the better plan," said the doctor, "for as long as--"
A short sharp cry near the door of the room cut the sentence short.
All eyes were turned in that direction and they beheld Azinte gazing
wildly at them, and standing as if transformed to stone.
The instant Kambira saw his wife he leaped up as if he had received an
electric shock, bounded forward like a panther, uttered a shout that did
full credit to the chief of a warlike African tribe, and seized Azinte
in his arms.
No wonder that thirty-six little black heads leaped from thirty-six
little white pillows, and displayed all the whites of seventy-two eyes
that were anything but little, when this astonishing scene took place!
But Kambira quickly recovered himself, and, grasping Azinte by the arm,
led her gently towards the bed which had just been occupied, and pointed
to the little one that slumbered uneasily there. Strangely enough, just
at the moment little Obo again whispered the word "mother."
Poor Azinte's eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets. She
stretched out her arms and tried to rush towards her child, but Kambira
held her back.
"Obo is very sick," he said, "you must touch him tenderly."
The chief looked into his wife's eyes, saw that she understood him, and
let her go.
Azinte crept softly to the bed, knelt down beside it and put her arms so
softly round Obo that she scarcely moved him, yet she gradually drew him
towards her until his head rested on her swelling bosom, and she pressed
her lips tenderly upon his brow. It was an old familiar attitude which
seemed to pierce the slumbers of the child with a pleasant reminiscence,
and dissipate his malady, for he heaved a deep sigh of contentment and
sank into profound repose.
"Good!" said the doctor, in a low tone, with a significant nod to
Lindsay, when an interpreter had explained what had been already guessed
by all present, that Kambira and Azinte were man and wife; "Obo has a
better chance now of recovery than I had anticipated; for joy goes a
long way towards effecting a cure. Come, we will leave them together."
Kambira was naturally anxious to remain, but like all commanding
spirits, he had long ago learned that cardinal virtue, "obedience to
whom obedience is due." When it was explained to him that it would be
for Obo's advantage to be left alone with his mother for a time, he
arose, bowed his head, and meekly followed his friends out of the room.
Exactly one week from that date little Obo had recovered so much of his
former health that he was permitted to go out into the air, and, a few
days later, Lieutenant Lindsay resolved to take him, and his father and
mother, on board the `Firefly,' by way of a little ploy. In pursuance
of this plan he set off from the hospital in company with Kambira,
followed at a short distance by Azinte and Obo.
Poor Lindsay! his heart was heavy, while he did his best to convey in
dumb show his congratulations to Kambira, for he saw in this unexpected
re-union an insurmountable difficulty in the way of taking Azinte back
to her former mistress--not that he had ever seen the remotest chance of
his being able to achieve that desirable end before this difficulty
arose, but love is at times insanely hopeful, just as at other times--
and with equally little reason--it is madly despairing.
He had just made some complicated signs with hands, mouth, and eyebrows,
and had succeeded in rendering himself altogether incomprehensible to
his sable companion, when, on rounding a turn of the path that led to
the harbour, he found himself suddenly face to face with Harold
Seadrift, Disco Lillihammer, and their follower, Jumbo, all of whom had
landed from a schooner, which, about an hour before, had cast anchor in
the bay.
"Mr Lindsay!" "Mr Seadrift!" exclaimed each to the other
simultaneously, for the reader will remember that they had met once
before when our heroes were rescued from Yoosoof by the "Firefly."
"Kambira!" shouted Disco.
"Azinte!" cried Harold, as our sable heroine came into view.
"Obo!" roared the stricken mariner.
Jumbo could only vent his feelings in an appalling yell and an impromptu
war-dance round the party, in which he was joined by Disco, who
performed a hornpipe with Obo in his arms, to the intense delight of
that convalescent youngster.
Thus laughing, questioning, shouting, and dancing, they all effervesced
towards the shore like a band of lunatics just escaped from Bedlam!