He was most hospitably received, and did not get away for nearly three weeks.

Both Harry's parents were plunged into grief at the captain's tidings, but his reason for coming north was to make the best of matters that he could, and he left them at last resigned and hopeful, Harry's mother especially a.s.suring him that she felt certain her son would turn up again safely and soon.

But alas! and alas! weeks flew by, and months pa.s.sed into a year, and a year into long years, but no tidings ever were received of that lost dhow and her unhappy crew.

Then hope died out of even the mother's heart, and she even began to look old, and grow grey under the pressure of her woeful grief.

Book 3--CHAPTER ONE.

ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS.

'TIS JUSTICE, NOT REVENGE.

"Call it not revenge, my brother; say it is but an act of justice, stern justice, and I am with you."

"Allah is great, Allah is good," replied the Arab whom his companion had addressed as brother.

They were both talking in their own language, a language at once so forcible and flowery, that all attempts to render it into English ends but in a poverty-stricken paraphrase.

"Yes, Allah is good."

The difference between the two speakers was very remarkable. They were brothers only by courtesy.

One sat on the edge of a kind of wooden sofa or dais; in front of him was a small table of Hindoo manufacture, on which there stood a brown earthenware water chatty, some gla.s.ses, and a bottle of sherbet [Note 1]. He was fair in skin, delicate in complexion, with a mild and almost benevolent aspect. He was unarmed, and though he wore the usual dress of an Arab gentleman, over all he wore a cloak of green camel's hair, probably denoting him to be a scion of the great prophet.

The other Arab was tall, stately, swarthy, nay, but almost black. He was armed _cap-a-pie_, and ever as he spoke he strode rapidly up and down the floor of the room. A large apartment it was, in an upper room of a great square flat-roofed house in Brava, a village or town close by the sea, and some distance north of the line.

The room had no signs of luxury or even comfort about it, and no more furniture than a gaol. The walls were of clay, and unadorned except by creeping lizards; the one little window looked out towards the ocean, and a long reef of rocks that lay like a gigantic breakwater--from north to south--about a mile out.

There were a few clouds in the sky that looked like gigantic ostrich feathers; now and then these would flit across the sun, casting patches of green shade on the otherwise blue sea.

That a breeze was blowing, or had been blowing far away out, and far away eastwards, was evident enough, even on the beach at Brava, for here the breakers were as tall as trees, they came curling onwards with the fleetness of desert horses, with the strength of a thousand cataracts, then broke on the sands with a noise like thunder, retreating again in a chaos of brown froth, with a hurtling, sucking sound, as if they would fain draw the very town itself into their grasp.

On the beach itself "the boys" were at play.

What was their play? What was their game? Was it football, tip-cat, or modest marbles? Not quite.

Just behold them in imagination, as I have done in reality. There cannot be fewer than a hundred of those boys scattered in groups all along the sh.o.r.e. Tall, lank, sharp-featured lads of all ages, from twelve to twenty. Naked they are except for the smallest of c.u.mmerbunds, and the sun is glittering on their well-greased skins.

Black? No, not quite black, rather of the colour of tarnished copper, their mouths are small and cruel-like, their features sharp and well-defined, their eyes twinkling with ill-concealed cunning and malice, and their heads surmounted by great ha.s.socks of hair, in which clay has been mixed to make it stand well out. They use clay for the same purpose as ladies of civilisation used the perfumed bandoline.

They are Somali Indians, of the lowest caste, if, indeed, there be any caste among them.

Here are two engaged in what seems a mortal combat, a deadly duel. They are standing confronting each other at a distance of some twenty or thirty paces. Each is armed with a little round shield, made from the hardened skin of a water buffalo's hump, and studded with big bra.s.s nails. Each holds in his hand a long and deadly-looking spear--not a broad-bladed one, this latter being only used for hand-to-hand fighting.

The game is that each may hurl his spear at the other when and how he pleases. The other has either to dodge it or receive its point on the small strong shield. The quick, rapid, snake-like movements of the body, and the strange but graceful att.i.tudes a.s.sumed, are truly wonderful to behold. The agility of these Indians, their skill in parrying and strength in hurling these deadly spears if once witnessed can never be forgotten.

But wounds are not unfrequent, and on rare occasions a spear may pierce the body of a friendly antagonist. Blood is staunched by styptics, which Arab merchants vend them, and if a lad is slain, he does not obtain the comfort of a coroner's inquest, he is simply buried in the sand, or even exposed on the beach itself. Then at night wild dogs come and quarrel and fight over his remains, crabs creep up out of the sea to the awful feast, and what the dogs and crabs leave is speedily disposed of by colonies of ants. So the bones are picked clean enough; for a time they lie bleaching in the sun, till the tide comes up and gradually buries them in the soft sand.

Look again. Here are some half a dozen younger boys--guiltless of clothing of any sort; they have been playing in the sea, dashing in under the breakers with the speed of eels, and coming up far beyond in smooth but rolling water, disappearing under the surface, and remaining under for long minutes, bobbing up again, riding in upon the very curling sharp crests of the breakers themselves, and being floated and rolled up upon the beach in the smother of surf and spume, laughing, yelling, and turning head over heels with delight. And now they are fighting with bones, or pelting each other with them, laughing and yelling as loudly as ever.

Just one other _tableau_. Two tall youths engaged in a frenzied combat with Somali swords, terrible-looking long knives, as broad almost as a spade. The swiftness of stroke and parry or shield is truly marvellous; but at last, as if by a single accord, the awful knives and eke the shields are cast aside, and they clutch each other with deadly grip and fierce: they fight for the throats. See, they are both rolling on the sand, but one at last is victorious, his talonlike, long bony fingers have closed upon his adversary's neck. He beats his head against the sand, till eyeb.a.l.l.s and tongue protrude, then he slowly rises, and retreats a pace or two, still with his eyes on his supposed foe. He feels backwards with his hand till he touches a sword, he seizes it, and with a yell springs forward again and stands triumphant over his fallen fellow, the deadly knife just grazing his neck. Will he strike? No, for here the combat ends. By and by the vanquished Indian lad will gasp and sigh, and presently rise, slowly and feebly, and creeping seawards, refresh himself with a dip beneath the waves.

But to return to the room where the Arabs are.

"They do tell me at Zanzibar," said the dark and soldier Arab, "that in Europe they place machines beneath the waves, which, if a ship do but strike, she is blown to death and destruction. Could we not import these? Money would not be wanting, and you, Mahmoud, have the key to good foreign society. Oh I fancy the glory of blowing up a British cruiser--!"

"Talk not thus," was the reply, "nor let us even dream of forsaking the form in which our fathers fought. With sword and spear, and Allah's help, they conquered the North, they overran the West, and laid even the might of Spain in the dust. Let us bide our time. Long has it been dark, but the dawn will come. A prophet will arise. He will conquer the world in Allah's name, and every man, woman, or child who adopts not the true faith will be put to the knife."

"Oh! these will be glorious times, Mahmoud."

"Gloat not over them, Suliemon. It is still with the spirit of revenge you speak. Think of future wars and executions as but necessities, the darkness of the inevitable clouds, that will be dispelled by the glorious rising sun of peace and joy."

"Revenge," muttered Suliemon, through his set teeth. "Curb not my feelings, Mahmoud. They are just. Think what I have suffered from British cruisers. Thrice have they run me on sh.o.r.e, twice have they burned my dhows. To-day I would be wealthy but for them. Curses on them, I say!" he thundered, half drawing his sword, and sending it ringing back into the sheath again.

"Stay, brother, stay; I will not sit and hear such exclamations. Allah is good, but tempt him not, or he may leave you to a fate worse than that which befel your own brother in Zanzibar."

"Yes, my brother was hanged, hanged at the hands of those infidel dogs.

Oh! Mahmoud, Mahmoud, can you wonder if I sometimes forget myself, forget your teaching, and loose grip of our religion? My wife, too, Mahmoud, chased on sh.o.r.e--death by jungle fever. Would you have me forget that also, Mahmoud?"

"Yes," said Mahmoud, solemnly; "I'd have you forget even that."

Suliemon was standing by the little window, gazing seawards, and as Mahmoud spoke the last word--

"Look, look!" he shouted, or almost yelled. "It is she--it is my dhow-- deep, deep, in the water--scudding northwards before the breeze; they are going to beach her ere she sinks--Allah! Allah be praised! I'll have my wish!"

He girded his sword-belt more tightly as he spoke, and, without even a word of farewell to Mahmoud, rushed out, and down the Stone stairs.

They ended in a little narrow lane which conducted him to the sands.

At once, on his appearance, all games were stopped. The boys dropped their bones, the young men sheathed their swords and shouldered their spears, and next minute he was surrounded. They knew by the face of their warlike chief he had something of much importance to communicate.

His words were brief and to the point. "Fifty of you I want," he said.

"You, Saleedin," he continued, "will be captain. Be well-armed, bring irons and surf-boats, and carry with you water, boiled rice, and dates.

Bid your friends farewell, the journey may be a long one.

"Saleedin, keep along on the brow of the hill, but keep the boys out of sight behind, keep abreast of yonder dhow, and when she is beached come quickly to me: I shall be on the sh.o.r.e."

Right well had the captain of the double-masted slave dhow--captured by the _Bunting_--played his game. Right well and right cleverly.

As speedily as possible the dhow had been put in charge of Harry Milvaine; probably three hours had scarcely elapsed ere she and the gunboat parted company.

Knowing well that he could rely on his men, Harry retired about eleven o'clock to the beautiful saloon, and having caused Doomah, the Arab interpreter and spy who was acting steward, to light the lamps, he threw himself on a couch and gave way to thought. He did not feel at all inclined to sleep, and somehow or other, he, to-night, felt under the shadow of a cloud of melancholy. He could not account for it, he was seldom otherwise than light and bright and happy.

Being a Highlander, he was naturally somewhat superst.i.tious.

"I would give worlds," he said to himself, "to know what is doing at home to-night, and to be sure that my dear mother and father are well.

Dear old father, sitting even now, perhaps, smoking his everlasting meerschaum behind his _Scotsman_. And mother--reading. Oh! would I could sit beside her for a moment, and tell her how often her boy thinks of her!"