The Ruined Cities of Zululand Part 27

His shirt was open, showing the jagged, ragged hole made by the Malay creese in the broad, hairy breast.

The man spoke, but his tones were low. Masters leaned over him, and caught the faint eager tones.

"Tell the skipper to heave up the anchor, and get into blue water. I know these fellows, and they'll come back."

"Ay, ay, Sedley," answered the steward, "I'll tell him, sure enough."

"Trouble not yourself about the brig, my poor fellow," said the missionary. "Prepare to meet your G.o.d."

The man rolled restlessly from side to side, the hand ever plucking at the coa.r.s.e blanket.

"I've done my duty," he said. "There's no one left to ask after me in the old house at home, so I may slip my anchor as soon as I like."

"Pray with me, Sedley," replied the missionary, and the faint light glanced and flickered over the dark cabin, making the white sail seem to take strange shapes, sometimes even to move; for the feeble daylight began to mingle with the yellow rays, and the dying sailor's lips parted in prayer, as he tossed wearily from side to side. It was a sad and solemn spectacle.

A heavy step was heard coming down the fore-hatchway, and a moment later Captain Weber stood by the man's berth. He was without the tarpaulin hat he usually wore, and his forehead seamed with a broad b.l.o.o.d.y gash.

"Ay, ay!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old seaman. "Four of them under yonder sail, and here goes a fifth."

On deck the tread of the men was heard, the splash of the water as it was dashed about the stained decks, the loud, careless laugh, and now and then the "Yeo, heave oh!" followed by a splash, as the dawning day showed some corpse, hitherto overlooked, lying stiff and stark among the spars and rigging with which the deck was strewn.

The dying man appeared to revive; he looked around him.

"Heave up the anchor, captain! Fourteen years of Jack Sedley's life has been pa.s.sed off this here coast. Heave up the anchor, and make sail on the old bark! Them murderous beggars will--"

The man fell back heavily, a rattle was heard in the throat, the eyes became glazed, a long breath was followed by a deep silence; again the chest filled, as though by a laborious effort, the eyelids twitched nervously, a heavy sigh, and the seaman's course was run.

Captain Weber turned away, pa.s.sing the sleeve of his coat over his eyes, and so smearing his face with the gore which still flowed from the wound in his forehead, as he slowly left the cabin.

The steward did not come back; but gradually the blood resumed its wonted course, and Isabel's consciousness returned.

"Where is my father?" she asked. "What has happened?"

"The brig has been attacked by pirates. They are beaten off, and your father is safe."

"Santa Maria! my arm, how stiff it feels! Ah, now I remember," she continued, half rising, and a look of honour overspreading her countenance.

"But for your scream," replied Hughes, "I should have been taken by surprise. The smoke of the gun was in my eyes, blinding me, and so I could not save you from the felon's blow."

The wounded arm, with its stained bandages, the kneeling figure, all begrimed with smoke, the certainty of her father's safety, and of the departure of the pirates, seemed to strike the girl's imagination. A smile pa.s.sed over her face.

"Isabel," said the soldier with a sudden burst of pa.s.sion, his emotion mastering him, "I have loved you from the first time I ever saw you!"

The black eyes had been gazing on him with a wild vacant look, as the girl lived over again, in imagination, the terrible scene she had witnessed on deck, when the bulky form of the Malay leader had so nearly borne her lover down; the day, too, when on the banks of the Zambesi he had stood between her and a terrible death; and now the tension of her nerves giving way, she sobbed deeply and convulsively.

"I have loved you ever since I saw you, Isabel, and strange to say it is the only love I have ever known," he continued, breaking the silence.

The heavy, convulsive sobs shook her slight frame, but she made no answer.

"Left an orphan when a mere child, joining my father's regiment when a youth, I have never known what even a parent's love may be, and it seems now as if the devotion of a whole life were concentred on you, Isabel."

Again the soldier paused, and the sobs of the girl were alone heard in the cabin. The grey light of dawn was showing itself down the hatchway, and through the ports. The same grey dawn which was lighting the dying seaman's long journey, was gradually creeping over the lover's dream.

He took her hand carefully, gently, for it was the injured arm; he looked up into her face.

"Isabel, can you return a soldier's love?" he asked, eagerly.

The head fell on his shoulders, the hot tears deluged his hand.

"Dearest Isabel, speak!" he urged, as he pa.s.sed his arm round her waist.

"I can--I will!" whispered the girl. "But, oh, for pity's sake be silent now."

And he was silent, for his heart was full of sweet emotions, while Isabel sobbed on, and the grey light grew more and more perceptible.

"And your father, Isabel?" at last asked her lover.

"He never denied me anything; my happiness is his; and here he comes."

Dom Maxara and the missionary at this moment entered the cabin. The former had only just heard of his daughter's wound, and as it had been exaggerated, his face, pale from loss of blood, showed great anxiety.

Rising, the girl threw herself into her father's arms.

"Oh, father, I am so happy!" she sobbed.

The old man's grey hair mixed with the dark tresses of his daughter, as he bent over and soothed her, Wyzinski standing for a moment as if astonished at the scene.

"Pardon me, Dom Maxara, you had better conduct the Dona Isabel to her cabin, and I will dress the wound. It is but slight, and I am a bit of a surgeon."

"I thank you, Senhor," replied the old Portuguese, again a.s.suming all the stateliness of manner which usually characterised him. "Come, Isabel."

Isabel de Maxara turned, gave one look at her lover--a glance teeming with grat.i.tude and love, even though the eyes were running over with tears, as she held out her hand. Hughes pressed it to his lips, and the next moment she was gone.

"The Dona Isabel might have a cleaner lover," observed Wyzinski, after a long silence.

It was the first time Captain Hughes had been conscious of his dirt-begrimed, ragged condition; would he have risked the confession he had made, had he been aware of it?

Volume 2, Chapter V.

THE DAY AFTER THE FIGHT.

The day was well advanced, and the fierce rays of the African sun were pouring on the "Halcyon's" decks, as she lay at anchor in Saint Augustine's Bay. On sh.o.r.e the parrots could be heard chattering and screaming, the long cry of the peac.o.c.k sounded from the woods, while on board every sign of the late b.l.o.o.d.y fight had been removed. The "Halcyon's" crew had been reduced by five deaths, and many of the men were hardly able to work from the effects of weakness. Still everything was going on well. The fore-topmast was in its place, the main-topgallant-mast replaced, and the standing and running rigging nearly finished. A new jib-boom had been rigged out, and the only spar wanting was the fore-topgallant-mast, which could be easily done without. The mate had weighed the spare anchor, and the brig now rode to a single one, and that was hove short. The crew were busy bending new sails, and no one who had looked into St Augustine's Bay that afternoon could have imagined that the vessel which lay so quietly riding on the calm waters, had just escaped from shipwreck, and her crew from murder.

"I know where the rascals hail from," said Captain Weber to the missionary.

The old seaman had a broad bandage round his forehead, and Wyzinski walked with the help of a stick. Leaning over the taffrail at some little distance, Hughes and Dom Maxara were in earnest conversation, the blue smoke from the n.o.ble's cigarette rising in the air.

"I should not have believed in piracy in this age," replied Wyzinski.

"Ay, but several vessels have been closely followed by a low rakish black schooner, of small tonnage, but very swift. The 'Dawn,' a full-rigged ship I spoke in the lat.i.tude of Cape St Andre, had some difficulty in getting away from her."