Black Ivory Part 37

The voyage which our travellers now commenced was likely to be of considerable duration, for the Seych.e.l.les 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 Seych.e.l.les, 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 Seych.e.l.les.

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 appet.i.te and slowly declined, notwithstanding the doctor's utmost care.

This state of things continuing until the `Firefly' arrived at the Seych.e.l.les, 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 circ.u.mstances 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 att.i.tude 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 antic.i.p.ated; 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 sh.o.r.e like a band of lunatics just escaped from Bedlam!

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE LAST.

"How comes it," said Lieutenant Lindsay to Harold, on the first favourable opportunity that occurred after the meeting described in the last chapter; "how comes it that you and Kambira know each other so well?"

"I might reply by asking," said Harold, with a smile, "how comes it that you are so well acquainted with Azinte? but, before putting that question, I will give a satisfactory answer to your own."

Hereupon he gave a brief outline of those events, already narrated in full to the reader, which bore on his first meeting with the slave-girl, and his subsequent sojourn with her husband.

"After leaving the interior," continued our hero, "and returning to the coast, I visited various towns in order to observe the state of the slaves in the Portuguese settlements, and, truly, what I saw was most deplorable--demoralisation and cruelty, and the obstruction of lawful trade, prevailed everywhere. The settlements are to my mind a very pandemonium on earth. Every one seemed to me more or less affected by the accursed atmosphere that prevails. Of course there must be some exceptions. I met with one, at the last town I visited, in the person of Governor Letotti."

"Letotti!" exclaimed Lindsay, stopping abruptly.

"Yes!" said Harold, in some surprise at the lieutenant's manner, "and a most amiable man he was--"

"Was!--was! What do you mean? Is--is he dead?" exclaimed Lindsay, turning pale.

"He died suddenly just before I left," said Harold.

"And Maraquita--I mean his daughter--what of her?" asked the lieutenant, turning as red as he had previously turned pale.

Harold noted the change, and a gleam of light seemed to break upon him as he replied:--

"Poor girl, she was overwhelmed at first by the heavy blow. I had to quit the place almost immediately after the event."

"Did you know her well?" asked Lindsay, with an uneasy glance at his companion's handsome face.

"No; I had just been introduced to her shortly before her father's death, and have scarcely exchanged a dozen sentences with her. It is said that her father died in debt, but of course in regard to that I know nothing certainly. At parting, she told me that she meant to leave the coast and go to stay with a relative at the Cape."

The poor lieutenant's look on hearing this was so peculiar, not to say alarming, that Harold could not help referring to it, and Lindsay was so much overwhelmed by such unexpected news, and, withal, so strongly attracted by Harold's sympathetic manner, that he straightway made a confidant of him, told him of his love for Maraquita, of Maraquita's love for Azinte, of the utter impossibility of his being able to take Azinte back to her old mistress, now that she had found her husband and child, even if it had been admissible for a lieutenant in the British navy to return freed negroes again into slavery, and wound up with bitter lamentations as to his unhappy fate, and expressions of poignant regret that fighting and other desperate means, congenial and easy to his disposition, were not available in the circ.u.mstances. After which explosion he subsided, felt ashamed of having thus committed himself, and looked rather foolish.