O'er Many Lands, on Many Seas, Gordon Stables [microsoft ebook reader TXT] 📗

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spill the great king's rum; that is, I was pretending to. There was

more than one chief on whose shoulders I permitted my magician's wand to

rest for a while, just by way of a mild revenge, but the lot finally

fell once again on an aged billy-goat. I had saved the king, and saved

many of his subjects, for when the king was intoxicated, human

sacrifices were of everyday occurrence. At ordinary times they were no

more numerous than Bank Holidays in our own country.

 

When it was all over I stole away to the shady banks of a stream to

bathe, and lie and watch the kingfishers. It was a favourite resort of

mine, whenever I dared be alone.

 

The warriors of this tribe spent most of their time either on the

hunting grounds--forest and plain--or in making raids on their

neighbours. I was allowed to join the hunting expeditions, but not the

forays. I became an expert horseman. I could ride bare-backed as well

as any circus-man I have ever seen since. The king was too fat to ride

much, but he used to follow to the chase of the koodoo.

 

This is a kind of beautiful antelope, and excellent eating, its

principal recommendation in the eyes of Otakooma. We often caught the

young, and they became as tame as our goats.

 

Now once having taken it into my head that escape from this country of

savages was impossible, strange to say I began to settle down, in

everything else except human bloodthirstiness, and soon became a very

expert savage, taking a wild kind of pride in my exploits.

 

Mine was now a life of peril and hardship; adventures to me were of

everyday occurrence; I carried my life in my hand; I grew as wily as a

jackal, and I hope as bold as a lion. I take no credit to myself for

being bold; I had to be so.

 

The king and I continued friends. At the end of the sixth year of my

captivity, Jooma died. He died from wounds received at the horns of a

wild buffalo in the forest.

 

This buffalo-hunting had for me a very great charm, and it certainly was

not unattended with danger, for there were times when, headed by an old

bull or two, a whole herd of these animals would charge down upon us.

This was nothing to me. I could climb trees as well as most monkeys, so

I got out of harm's way, but it was hard upon the savages, who were not

always so nimble.

 

Jooma was terribly tossed and wounded by a bull, and he died at the tree

foot. He called me to him before his eyes were for ever closed, and

asked me to forgive him for all the ill he had done me, and tried to do

me.

 

"I have been to you one ver bad fellow," said poor Jooma; "I have want

to kill you plenty time. Now I die. You forgive Jooma?"

 

"I do, Jooma," I said, and pressed his cold hard hand.

 

"Ver well," said the lad, faintly and slowly. "Now I die. Now, I go

home--go home--home."

 

We buried him just where he lay, between the gnarled roots of a great

forest tree, and piled wood over the grave to keep the sneaking jackals

at bay.

 

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One morning about two years after this, I was awakened early--indeed it

was hardly dawn--by hearing a tremendous uproar and commotion in the

camp, with much warlike shouting and beating of those everlasting

tom-toms [Note 1].

 

The king was running about wildly--too wildly, indeed, for his weight--

and was summoning his warriors to arms.

 

White men were coming to attack the camp!

 

This was glorious news for me.

 

But who, or what could they be, or what could they want?

 

All that day, from far and near, the warriors of Otakooma came trooping

into camp. To do them justice they were fond of fighting, and eager for

the fray; they loved fighting for its own sake, but a battle with white

men was a thing that did not happen every day.

 

The old men, the women and children, and the cattle were separated from

the main or soldier portion of the tribe, and taken westwards towards

the distant hills. So it was evident that Otakooma and his people meant

business.

 

What part should I take in the coming fray? I might have fled, and

remained away until the victory was secured by the white men, but this

would have been both unkind and cowardly. On the other hand, I would

not lift a spear or poise a lance against my own people.

 

That same evening, after all was hushed in the camp, I sought out the

king. He looked at me very suspiciously before I spoke.

 

I sat quietly in front of him on the ground, and explained to him my

situation.

 

He was wise enough to see exactly how I stood, but he told me there was

an easy way out of the difficulty. Early in the morning he would chop

off my head. He bore me no grudge, he explained, _it was a mere matter

of policy_.

 

"Quite right," I replied, "and, if he chose, he might take my head off

then and there. I didn't at all mind; and would just as soon be without

a head as with one."

 

The king smiled, and seemed pleased.

 

"But," I continued, "you may look at the possession of a head in a

different light, so far as your own particular head is concerned. If

your people are beaten, you will assuredly lose that head, unless a

white man is near to take your part. I will be your friend," I said,

"in this matter, and during the battle I will stand by your person and

never leave you."

 

Otakooma was delighted at the proposal, and so we arranged matters to

our mutual satisfaction, and I felt glad I had come; I had certainly

lost nothing by my candour. No one ever does.

 

Firing began early in the morning. The battle raged till nearly noon,

with dreadful slaughter on the side of the savages, who were finally

borne backwards a disorganised mob.

 

I stuck by the king. He did not fly. He felt safe and said so, but he

wept to see his children, as he called them, slain before his very eyes.

 

Oh! the glad sight it was to me, after all these years, to behold the

bold bluejackets, and brave marines, dashing after the foe, gun and

bayonet in hand!

 

But a more joyful surprise awaited me when the battle was over; for the

very first man to rush up to me and shake me by the two hands was my

dear friend Ben Roberts.

 

"Nie, old boy!" he cried, "I wouldn't have known you. You've grown a

man, and what a savage you do look! And do you know, Nie, what all this

fighting has been about?"

 

"No," I said innocently.

 

"Why, about _you_!" He almost shouted the last word, and I could see in

his honest eyes the tears which he could hardly keep from failing.

 

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Note 1. A tom-tom is a kind of kettle-drum. It is simply a log of wood

hollowed out at one end, and a dried skin stretched over it.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

 

"The sea! the sea! the open sea!

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!"

 

Proctor.

 

"England, thy beauties are tame and domestic,

To one who has roamed o'er the mountains afar."

 

Byron.

 

Yes, all the fighting had been about me.

 

Our fellows had not lost the battle that day at Zareppa's fort; on the

contrary, they had given the Arabs a grievous defeat. I had at first

been reported killed, but as I was not found among the dead and wounded,

search was made for me more inland, and it was soon elicited that I had

been carried away prisoner, and no doubts were left in the minds of my

shipmates, that I had died by the torture, in order to avenge the death

of the pirate chief.

 

The old _Niobe_ had been wrecked since my incarceration in the land of

the savages. Roberts had been made lieutenant, and it was not until he

returned to the shores of Africa, several years after, that he heard

from friendly Arabs that there was an English prisoner in the hands of a

warlike tribe of savages, who lived almost in the centre of the dark

continent. After this my dear friend never rested in his hammock, as he

himself expressed it, until he had organised the expedition that came to

my relief.

 

What a delightful sensation it was to me to feel myself once more at

sea!

 

"The glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form

Glasses itself in tempest."

 

We were homeward bound. I was a passenger, and we had splendid weather,

so everything seemed to combine to make me feel joyful and happy.

Joyful, did I say? why, there were times when I wanted to run about and

shout for joy like a schoolboy, or like the savage that I fear I had

almost become.

 

But I could not run about and shout on board a trim and well-disciplined

man-o'-war. The very appearance of the

 

"White and glassy deck, without a stain

Where, on the watch, the staid lieutenant walked,"

 

forbade, so at such moments I used to long to be away in the woods

again, in order to give proper vent to my exultation.

 

Besides, I had good cause to be staid and sedate. Roberts had heard

news that changed the whole course of my life. I was no longer a

friendless sailor-boy. My grandfather was dead, and I was the heir to

his estate. It was not a very large patrimony, I admit. It was simply

a competence, but to me, when I heard it described, it appeared a

princely fortune. There would be no longer any need for me to sail the

seas. I could settle down in life, or I could choose some honourable

career on shore, and, if I was good for anything at all, distinguish

myself therein.

 

Or, stay, I thought, should I become a soldier? "No, no, no," was the

answer of my soul. The war was past and gone; even the terrible Indian

Mutiny had been quelled at last. To be a soldier in the field was a

career worthy of a king's son. To be a soldier, and have nothing to do

but loll about in some wretched garrison town, play billiards or

cricket, have a day's shooting, English fashion, now and then, be

admired by school-misses and probably snubbed by men with more money

than brains; no, such a life would not suit me.

 

I should much prefer, I thought, to stay at home and till my garden.

With my jacket off, my shirt-sleeves rolled up, and an axe or spade in

hand, I should feel far more free than playing with a useless sword.

 

Lieutenant Roberts was about to retire from active service in the Royal

Navy, and he had already been promised the command of a ship in the

Merchant Service. But before he left England he would, he said, see me,

his foster-son, well settled down.

 

The ship was homeward bound. There was nothing but laughing and talking

and singing all day long, for many of the poor fellows on board had not

placed foot on their native shores for five long years and more. What a

glorious place England must be, I mused, to make these men so happy at

the prospect of returning to it. How brightly the sun must shine there!

How blue and beautiful must be the seas that lave her coasts!

 

So we presently crossed the Line and sailed north, and north, and north.

Past Madeira--and then the brightness began to leave the sky. The wind

to me grew chilly, biting, and cruel. The sea became a darker blue, and

finally, as we entered the Bay of Biscay, a leaden grey. My hopes of

happiness fell, and fell, and fell. Roberts tried all he could to cheer

me up, told me of the monster cities I should see, of the ballrooms, of

the concert-rooms, and of a multitude of wonderful things, not

forgetting