Black Ivory Part 12

When grey dawn was beginning to rise above the tree-tops, they left their encampment in profound silence, and rowed up stream as swiftly as possible. They had not advanced far, when, on turning a point covered with tall reeds, Zombo, who was bowman in the leading canoe, suddenly made a sign to the men to cease rowing.

"What's the matter?" whispered Harold.

The negro pointed through the reeds, and whispered the single word "Canoe."

By this time the other canoe had ranged up alongside, and after a brief consultation between Harold and Disco, it was decided that they should push gently into the reeds, and wait till the strange canoe should pa.s.s; but a few seconds sufficed to show that the two men who paddled it did not intend to pa.s.s down the river, for they pushed straight out towards the deepest part of the stream. They were, however, carried down so swiftly by the current that they were brought quite near to the point of rushes where our travellers lay concealed--so near that their voices could be distinctly heard. They talked in Portuguese.

Antonio muttered a few words, and Harold observed that there was a good deal of excitement in the looks of his men.

"What's the matter?" he asked anxiously.

Antonio shook his head. "Dat n.i.g.g.e.r goin' to be drownded," he said; "bad n.i.g.g.e.r--obstropolous n.i.g.g.e.r, suppose."

"Wot!" exclaimed Disco in a whisper, "goin' to be drownded! wot d'ee mean?"

Antonio proceeded to explain that it was a custom amongst the Portuguese slave-owners there, when they found any of their slaves intractable or refractory, to hire some individuals who, for a small sum, would bind and carry off the incorrigible for the purpose of making away with him.

One method of effecting this was to tie him in a sack and throw him into the river, the crocodiles making quite sure that the unfortunate being should never again be seen, either alive or dead. But before Antonio had finished his brief explanation he was interrupted by an exclamation from the horrified Englishmen, as they beheld the two men in the canoe raise something between them which for a moment appeared to struggle violently.

"Shove off! give way!" shouted Harold and Disco in the same breath, each thrusting with his paddle so vigorously that the two canoes shot out like arrows into the stream.

At the same instant there was a heavy plunge in the water beside the strange canoe, and the victim sank. Next moment one end of the sack rose to the surface. Both Harold and Disco made straight towards it, but it sank again, and the two murderers paddled to the sh.o.r.e, on which they drew up their canoe, intending to take to the bush, if necessary, for safety.

Once again the sack rose not more than three yards from Disco's canoe.

The bold seaman knew that if it disappeared a third time there would be little chance of its rising again. He was prompt in action, and daring to recklessness. In one moment he had leaped overboard, dived, caught the sack in his powerful grasp, and bore it to the surface. The canoe had been steered for him. The instant he appeared, strong and ready hands laid hold of him and his burden, and dragged them both inboard.

"Cut the lashin's and give him air," cried Disco, endeavouring to find his clasp-knife; but one of the men quickly obeyed the order, and opened the sack.

A groan of horror and pity burst from the seaman when he beheld the almost insensible form of a powerful negro, whose back was lacerated with innumerable ragged cuts, and covered with clotted blood.

"Where are the--"

He stopped short on looking round, and, observing that the two men were standing on the sh.o.r.e, seized a double-barrelled gun. The stream had carried the canoe a considerable distance below the spot where the murder had been attempted, but they were still within range. Without a moment's hesitation Disco took deliberate aim at them and fired.

Fortunately for him and his party Disco was a bad shot--nevertheless the bullet struck so close to the feet of the two men that it drove the sand and pebbles into their faces. They turned at once and fled, but before they reached the cover of the bushes the second barrel was fired, and the bullet whistled close enough over their heads greatly to accelerate their flight.

The negroes opened their great round eyes, and appeared awe-struck at this prompt display of a thirst for vengeance on the part of one who had hitherto shown no other disposition than hilarity, fun, and good-humour.

Harold was greatly relieved to observe Disco's failure, for, if he had hit either of the fugitives, the consequences might have been very disastrous to their expedition.

On being partially revived and questioned, it turned out that the poor fellow had been whipped almost to death for refusing to be the executioner in whipping his own mother. This was a refinement in cruelty on the part of these professedly Christian Portuguese, which our travellers afterwards learned was by no means uncommon.

We are told by those who know that region well, and whose veracity is unquestionable, that the Portuguese on the east coast of Africa live in constant dread of their slaves rising against them. No wonder, considering the fiendish cruelties to which they subject them! In order to keep them in subjection they underfeed them, and if any of them venture to steal cocoa-nuts from the trees the owners thereof are at liberty to shoot them and throw them into the sea. Slaves being cheap there, and plentiful, are easily replaced, hence a cruel owner never hesitates. If a slave is refractory, and flogging only makes him worse, his master bids the overseer flog him until "he will require no more."

Still further to keep them in subjection, the Portuguese then endeavour to eradicate from them all sympathy with each other, and all natural affection, by the following means. If a woman requires to be flogged, her brother or son is selected to do it. Fathers are made to flog their daughters, husbands their wives, and, if two young negroes of different s.e.xes are observed to show any symptoms of growing attachment for each other, these two are chosen for each other's executioners. [See _Travels in Eastern Africa_, by Lyons McLeod, Esquire, FRGS, and late Her Britannic Majesty's Consul at Mozambique, volume one pages 274 to 277, and volume two page 27.]

The poor wretch whom we have just described as having been saved from death, to which he had been doomed for refusing to become the executioner of his own mother, was placed as tenderly and comfortably as circ.u.mstances would admit of in the bottom of the canoe, and then our travellers pushed on with all haste--anxious to pa.s.s the town before the two fugitives could give the alarm.

They were successful in this, probably because the two men may have hid themselves for some time in the jungle, under the impression that the exasperated Englishmen might be searching for them on sh.o.r.e.

Giving themselves time only to take a hurried meal in the middle of the day, our travellers rowed continuously till sunset when, deeming it probable that pursuit, if undertaken at all, must have been abandoned, they put ash.o.r.e on the right bank of the river and encamped.

When the sufferer had been made as comfortable as circ.u.mstances would allow--for he was much weakened by loss of blood as well as agonised with pain--and after he had been refreshed with food and some warm tea, Harold questioned him, through the interpreter, as to his previous history.

At first the man was brusque in his manner, and inclined to be sulky, for a long course of cruelty had filled him with an intense hatred of white men. Indeed, an embittered and desperate spirit had begun to induce callous indifference to all men, whether white or black. But kind treatment, to which he was evidently unaccustomed, and generous diet, which was obviously new to him, had a softening influence, and when Harold poured a small gla.s.s of rum into his tea, and Antonio added a lump of sugar, and Disco pressed him tenderly to drink it off--which he did--the effect was very decided; the settled scowl on his face became unsettled, and gradually melting away, was replaced by a milder and more manly look. By degrees he became communicative, and, bit by bit, his story was drawn from him. It was brief, but very sorrowful.

His name, he said, was Chimbolo. He belonged to a tribe which lived far inland, beyond the Manganja country, which latter was a country of hills. He was not a Manganja man, but he had married a Manganja woman.

One night he, with his wife and mother, was paying a visit to the village of his wife's relations, when a band of slave-hunters suddenly attacked the village. They were armed with guns, and at once began to murder the old people and capture the young. Resistance was useless.

His relatives were armed only with bows and spears. Being taken by surprise, they all fled in terror, but were pursued and few escaped.

His wife, he said--and a scowl of terrible ferocity crossed Chimbolo's face as he said it--was about to become a mother at the time. He seized her in his arms on the first alarm, and fled with her into the bush, where he concealed her, and then hurried back to aid his relations, but met them--old and young, strong and feeble--flying for their lives. It was not possible to rally them; he therefore joined in the flight.

While running, a bullet grazed his head and stunned him. Presently he recovered and rose, but in a few minutes was overtaken and captured. A slave-stick was put on his neck, and, along with a number of Manganja men, women, and children, he was driven down to the coast, and sold, with a number of other men and women, among whom was his own mother, to a Portuguese merchant on the coast, near the East Luavo mouth of the Zambesi. There he was found to be of a rebellious spirit, and at last on positively refusing to lash his mother, his master ordered him to be whipped to death, but, changing his mind before the order had been quite carried out he ordered him to be bound hand and foot and taken away in a sack. As to his wife, he had never heard of her since that night which was about two years past. He knew that she had not been found, because he had not seen her amongst the other captives. If they had found her they would have been sure to carry her off, because--here Chimbolo's visage again grew diabolical--she was young, he said, and beautiful.

When all this had been translated into bad English by Antonio, Harold asked if Chimbolo thought it probable that his wife was still alive in the Manganja highlands. To this the former said that he thought it likely.

"W'y, then," said Disco, giving his right thigh a powerful slap, which was his favourite method of emphasising a remark, "wot d'ye say, sir, to lay our course for these same highlands, and try for to find out this poor critter?"

"Just what was running in my own mind, Disco," said Harold, musing over his supper. "It does not make much difference what part of this country we go to, being all new to us; and as Antonio tells me the Manganja highlands are up the Shire river, which was explored by Dr Livingstone not long ago, and is not distant many days' journey from this, I think we can't do better than go there. We shall have a good as well as a definite object in view."

"Wery good, sir; I'm agreeable," returned Disco, reaching forth his pewter plate; "another hunk o' that pottimus, Jumbo; it's better than salt-junk any day; and I say, Jumbo, don't grin so much, else ye'll enlarge yer pretty little mouth, which 'ud be a pity."

"Yis, saar," replied Jumbo, becoming very grave all of a sudden, but on receiving a nod and an expressive wink from the seaman, he exploded again, and rolled backward on the gra.s.s, in the performance of which act he capsized Zombo's can of tea, whereupon Zombo leaped upon him in wrath, and Masiko, as in duty bound, came to the rescue.

"Clap a stopper on yer noise, will 'ee?" cried Disco sternly, "else you'll be bringin' all the wild beasts in these parts down on us to see wot it's all about."

"That reminds me," said Harold, when quiet was restored, "that we must now organise ourselves into something of a fighting band--a company, as it were, of soldiers,--and take our regular spell of watching by night, for, from all that I hear of the disturbed state of the country just now, with these runaway slaves and rebels, it will be necessary to be on our guard. Of course," he added, smiling, "I suppose I must be captain of the company, and you, Disco, shall be lieutenant."

"Not at all," replied the seaman, shaking his head, and frowning at Jumbo, whose brilliant teeth at once responded to the glance, "not at all, none of your sodgerin' for me. I never could abide the lobsters.

Fust-mate, sir, that's wot _I_ am, if I'm to be expected to do my dooty."

"Well then, first-mate be it," rejoined Harold, "and Antonio shall be serjeant-major--"

"Bo's'n--bo's'n," suggested Disco; "keep up appearances wotiver ye do, an' don't let the memory of salt water go down."

"Very good," said Harold, laughing; "then you shall be boatswain, Antonio, as well as cook, and I will instruct you in the first part of your duty, which will be to keep watch for an hour while the rest of us sleep. My first-mate will teach you the whistling part of a boatswain's duty, if that should be required--"

"Ah, and the roar," interrupted Disco, "a bo's'n would be nothin'

without his roar--"

At that moment the woods around them were filled with a tremendous and very unexpected roar, which caused the whole party to spring up, and induced the new bo's'n to utter a yell of terror that would have done credit to the whistle of the most violent bo's'n on the sea. Next moment the travellers were surrounded by a large and excited band of armed negroes.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

ENEMIES ARE CHANGED INTO FRIENDS--OUR TRAVELLERS PENETRATE INTO THE INTERIOR OF THE LAND.

To possess the power of looking perfectly calm and unconcerned when you are in reality considerably agitated and rather anxious, is extremely useful in any circ.u.mstances, but especially so when one happens to be in the midst of grinning, gesticulating, naked savages.

Our hero, Harold Seadrift possessed that power in an eminent degree, and his first-mate, Disco Lillihammer, was not a whit behind him. Although both had started abruptly to their legs at the first alarm, and drawn their respective revolvers, they no sooner found themselves surrounded by overwhelming numbers than they lowered their weapons, and, turning back to back, faced the intruders with calm countenances.