Black Ivory, Robert Michael Ballantyne [i read a book txt] 📗

like see me catch um?"

"Why, yes, if 'ee can do it," answered Disco, with a slight look of contempt at his friend, who bore too much resemblance in some points to the hyena.

"Come here, den."

They went together into the jungle a little distance, and halted under the branch of a large tree. To this Antonio suspended a lump of raw flesh, at such a height from the ground that a hyena could only reach it by leaping. Directly underneath it he planted a short spear in the earth with its point upward.

"Now, come back to fire," he said to Disco; "'ou soon hear sometin'."

Antonio was right. In a short time afterwards a sharp yell was heard, and, on running to the trap, they found a hyena in its death-agonies. It had leaped at the meat, missed it, and had come down on the spear and impaled itself.

"Well, of all the fellers I ever know'd for dodges," said Disco, on reseating himself at the fire, "the men in these latitudes are the cleverest."

By this time dancing was going on furiously; therefore, as it would have been impossible to sleep, Disco refilled his pipe and amused himself by contemplating the intelligent countenance of Kambira, who sat smoking bang out of a huge native meerschaum on the other side of the fire.

"I wonder," said Harold, who lay stretched on a sleeping-mat, leaning on his right arm and gazing contemplatively at the glowing heart of the fire; "I wonder what has become of Yoosoof?"

"Was 'ee thinkin' that he deserved to be shoved in there?" asked Disco, pointing to the fire.

"Not exactly," replied Harold, laughing; "but I have frequently thought of the scoundrel, and wondered where he is and what doing now. I have sometimes thought too, about that girl Azinte, poor thing. She--"

He paused abruptly and gazed at Kambira with great surprise, not unmixed with alarm, for the chief had suddenly dropped his pipe and glared at him in a manner that cannot be described. Disco observed the change also, and was about to speak, when Kambira sprang over the fire and seized Harold by the arm.

There was something in the movement, however, which forbade the idea of an attack, therefore he lay still.

"What now, Kambira?" he said.

"Antonio," cried the chief, in a voice that brought the interpreter to his side in a twinkling; "what name did the white man speak just now?"

"Azinte," said Harold, rising to a sitting posture.

Kambira sat down, drew up his knees to his chin, and clasped his hands round them.

"Tell me all you know about Azinte," he said in a low, firm voice.

It was evident that the chief was endeavouring to restrain some powerful feeling, for his face, black though it was, indicated a distinct degree of pallor, and his lips were firmly compressed together. Harold therefore, much surprised as well as interested, related the little he knew about the poor girl,--his meeting with her in Yoosoof's hut; Disco's kindness to her, and her subsequent departure with the Arab.

Kambira sat motionless until he had finished.

"Do you know where she is gone?" he inquired.

"No. I know not; but she was not in the boat with the other slaves when we sailed, from which I think it likely that she remained upon the coast.--But why do you ask, Kambira, why are you so anxious about her?"

"She is my wife," muttered the chief between his teeth; and, as he said so, a frown that was absolutely diabolical settled down on his features.

For some minutes there was a dead silence, for both Harold and Disco felt intuitively that to offer consolation or hope were out of the question.

Presently Kambira raised his head, and a smile chased the frown away as he said--"You have been kind to Azinte, will you be kind to her husband?"

"We should be indeed unworthy the name of Englishmen if we said no to that," replied Harold, glancing at Disco, who nodded approval.

"Good. Will you take me with you to the shores of the great salt lake?" said Kambira, in a low, pathetic tone, "will you make me your servant, your slave?"

"Most gladly will I take you with me as _a friend_," returned Harold. "I need not ask why you wish to go," he added,--"you go to seek Azinte?"

"Yes," cried the chief, springing up wildly and drawing himself up to his full height, "I go to seek Azinte. Ho! up men! up! Ye have feasted enough and slept enough for one night. Who knows but the slavers may be at our huts while we lie idly here? Up! Let us go!"

The ringing tones acted like a magic spell. Savage camps are soon pitched and sooner raised. In a few minutes the obedient hunters had bundled up all their possessions, and in less than a quarter of an hour the whole band was tracking its way by moonlight through the pathless jungle.

The pace at which they travelled home was much more rapid than that at which they had set out on their expedition. Somehow, the vigorous tones in which Kambira had given command to break up the camp, coupled with his words, roused the idea that he must have received information of danger threatening the village, and some of the more anxious husbands and fathers, unable to restrain themselves, left the party altogether and ran back the whole way. To their great relief, however, they found on arriving that all was quiet. The women were singing and at work in the fields, the children shouting at play, and the men at their wonted occupation of weaving cotton cloth, or making nets and bows, under the banyan-trees.

Perplexity is not a pleasant condition of existence, nevertheless, to perplexity mankind is more or less doomed in every period of life and in every mundane scene--particularly in the jungles of central Africa, as Harold and his friends found out many a time to their cost.

On arriving at the native village, the chief point that perplexed our hero there was as to whether he should return to the coast at once, or push on further into the interior. On the one hand he wished very much to see more of the land and its inhabitants; on the other hand, Kambira was painfully anxious to proceed at once to the coast in search, of his lost wife, and pressed him to set off without delay.

The chief was rather an exception in regard to his feelings on this point. Most other African potentates had several wives, and in the event of losing one of them might have found consolation in the others. But Kambira had never apparently thought of taking another wife after the loss of Azinte, and the only comfort he had was in his little boy, who bore a strong resemblance, in some points, to the mother.

But although Harold felt strong sympathy with the man, and would have gone a long way out of his course to aid him, he could not avoid perceiving that the case was almost, if not altogether, a hopeless one. He had no idea to what part of the coast Azinte had been taken. For all he knew to the contrary, she might have been long ago shipped off to the northern markets, and probably was, even while he talked of her, the inmate of an Arab harem, or at all events a piece of goods--a "chattel"--in the absolute possession of an irresponsible master. Besides the improbability of Kambira ever hearing what had become of his wife, or to what part of the earth she had been transported, there was also the difficulty of devising any definite course of action for the chief himself, because the instant he should venture to leave the protection of the Englishmen he would be certain to fall into the hands of Arabs or Portuguese, and become enslaved.

Much of this Harold had not the heart to explain to him. He dwelt, however, pretty strongly on the latter contingency, though without producing much effect. Death, the chief replied, he did not fear, and slavery could easily be exchanged for death.

"Alas! not so easily as you think," said Harold, pointing to Chimbolo, whose sad story he had heard; "they will try _every_ kind of torture before they kill you."

Chimbolo nodded his head, assenting, and ground his teeth together fiercely when this was said.

Still Kambira was unmoved; he did not care what they did to him. Azinte was as life to him, and to search for her he would go in spite of every consideration.

Harold prevailed on him, however, to agree to wait until he should have spent another month in visiting Chimbolo's tribe, after which he promised faithfully to return and take him along with his party to the coast.

Neither Harold nor Disco was quite at ease in his mind after making this arrangement, but they both agreed that no other course could be pursued, the former saying with a sigh that there was no help for it, and the latter asserting with a grunt that the thing "wos unawoidable."

On the following day the journey of exploration was resumed. Kambira accompanied his friends a few miles on the road, and then bade them farewell. On the summit of an elevated ridge the party halted and looked back. Kambira's manly form could be seen leaning on his spear. Behind him the little village lay embosomed in luxuriant verdure, and glowing in the bright sunshine, while songs and sounds of industry floated towards them like a sweet melody. It was with a feeling of keen regret that the travellers turned away, after waving their hands in reply to a parting salute from the stalwart chief, and, descending to the plain, pushed forward into the unknown wilderness beyond.


CHAPTER FOURTEEN.


CAMPING, TRAVELLING, SHOOTING, DREAMING, POETISING, PHILOSOPHISING, AND SURPRISING, IN EQUATORIAL AFRICA.

At sunset the travellers halted in a peculiarly wild spot and encamped under the shelter of a gigantic baobab tree.

Two rousing fires were quickly kindled, round which the natives busied themselves in preparing supper, while their leaders sat down, the one to write up his journal, the other to smoke his pipe.

"Well, sir," said Disco, after a few puffs delivered with extreme satisfaction, "you do seem for to enjoy writin'. You go at that log of yours every night, as if it wos yer last will and testament that ye couldn't die happy without exikootin' an' signin' it with yer blood."

"A better occupation, isn't it," replied Harold, with a sly glance, "than to make a chimney-pot of my mouth?"

"Come, sir," returned Disco, with a deprecatory smile, "don't be too hard on a poor feller's pipe. If you can't enjoy it, that's no argiment against it."

"How d'you know I can't enjoy it?"

"Why? cos I s'pose you'd take to it if you did."

"Did _you_ enjoy it when you first began?" asked Harold.

"Well, I can't 'zactly say as I did."

"Well, then, if you didn't, that proves that it is not _natural_ to smoke, and why should I acquire an unnatural and useless habit?"

"Useless! why, sir, on'y think of wot you loses by not smokin'--wot a deal of enjoyment!"

"Well, I _am_ thinking," replied Harold, affecting a look of profound thoughtfulness, "but I can't