"W'y, to the last village wot we pa.s.sed through. It ain't more than a day's march, an' I'm sure the old feller as is capting of it would take care o' the lot."

"There is good advice in that, yet I grudge to go back," said Harold; "if there were a village the same distance in advance, I would rather take them on."

"But there ain't," returned Disco. "Hallo! I say, wot's wrong with Tony?"

The interpreter came forward with a look of much excitement as he spoke.

"What now, Antonio?"

"Oh! it's drefful," replied the interpreter. "Dey tells me have hear Marizano speak ob anoder slaving party what go straight to Kambira's village for attack it."

"Who told you that? Are they sure?" asked Harold hastily.

"Two, t'ree mans tole me," replied Antonio. "All say same ting. Too late to help him now, me's 'fraid."

"Never say too late," cried Disco, starting up; "never say die while there's a shot in the locker. It may be time enough yet if we only look sharp. I votes that we leave nearly all the provisions we have with these poor critters here; up anchor, 'bout ship, clap on all sail, and away this werry minit."

Harold agreed with this advice heartily, and at once acted on it. The arrangements were quickly made, the provisions distributed, an explanation made, and in less than an hour the travellers were retracing their steps in hot haste.

By taking a straight line and making forced marches, they arrived in sight of the ridge where they had last seen Kambira, on the evening of the third day. As they drew near Harold pushed impatiently forward, and, outrunning his companions, was first to reach the summit. Disco's heart sank within him, for he observed that his companion stood still, bowed his head, and covered his face with both hands. He soon joined him, and a groan burst from the seaman's breast when he saw dense volumes of smoke rising above the spot where the village had so recently lain a picture of peaceful beauty.

Even their followers, accustomed though they were, to scenes and deeds of violence and cruelty, could not witness the grief of the Englishmen unmoved.

"P'raps," said Disco, in a husky voice, "there's some of 'em left alive, hidin' in the bushes."

"It may be so," replied Harold, as he descended the slope with rapid strides. "G.o.d help them!"

A few minutes sufficed to bring them to the scene of ruin, but the devastation caused by the fire was so great that they had difficulty in recognising the different spots where the huts had stood. Kambira's hut was, however, easily found, as it stood on a rising ground. There the fight with the slavers had evidently been fiercest, for around it lay the charred and mutilated remains of many human bodies. Some of these were so far distinguishable that it could be told whether they belonged to man, woman, or child.

"Look here!" said Disco, in a deep, stern voice, as he pointed to an object on the ground not far from the hut.

It was the form of a woman who had been savagely mangled by her murderers. The upturned and distorted face proved it to be Yohama, the grandmother of little Obo. Near to her lay the body of a grey-haired negro, who might to judge from his position, have fallen in attempting to defend her.

"Oh! if the people of England only saw this sight!" said Harold, in a low tone; "if they only believed in and _realised_ this fact, there would be one universal and indignant shout of `No toleration of slavery anywhere throughout the world!'"

"Look closely for Kambira or his son," he added, turning to his men.

A careful search among the sickening remains was accordingly made, but without any discovery worth noting being made, after which they searched the surrounding thickets. Here sad evidence of the poor fugitives having been closely pursued was found in the dead bodies of many of the old men and women, and of the very young children and infants; also the bodies of a few of the warriors. All these had been speared, chiefly through the back. Still they were unsuccessful in finding the bodies of the chief or his little boy.

"It's plain," said Disco, "that they have either escaped or been took prisoners."

"Here is some one not quite dead," said Harold,--"Ah! poor fellow!"

He raised the unfortunate man's head on his knee, and recognised the features of the little man who had entertained them with his tunes on the native violin.

It was in vain that Antonio tried to gain his attention while Disco moistened his lips with water. He had been pierced in the chest with an arrow. Once only he opened his eyes, and a faint smile played on his lips, as if he recognised friends, but it faded quickly and left the poor musician a corpse.

Leaving, with heavy hearts, the spot where they had spent such pleasant days and nights, enjoying the hospitality of Kambira and his tribe, our travellers began to retrace their steps to the place where they had left the rescued slaves, but that night the strong frame of Disco Lillihammer succ.u.mbed to the influence of climate. He was suddenly stricken with African fever, and in a few hours became as helpless as a little child.

In this extremity Harold found it necessary to encamp. He selected the highest and healthiest spot in the neighbourhood, caused his followers to build a rude, but comparatively comfortable, hut and set himself diligently to hunt for, and to tend, his sick friend.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

TREATS OF LOVE, HATRED, AND SORROW, AND PROVES THAT SLAVERY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES ARE NOT CONFINED TO BLACK MEN AND WOMEN.

We must now change the scene to the garden of that excellent Governor, Senhor Francisco Alfonso Toledo Bignoso Letotti, and the date to three months in advance of the period in which occurred the events related in the last chapter.

"Maraquita, I am sorry to find that you still persist in encouraging that morbid regret for the loss of one who cannot now be recovered."

Thus spoke the Governor in tones that were unusually petulant for one who idolised his child.

"Father, why did you sell her without saying a word to me about your intention? It was very, very, _very_ unkind--indeed it was."

Poor Maraquita's eyes were already red and swollen with much weeping, nevertheless she proceeded to increase the redness and the swelling by a renewed burst of pa.s.sionate distress.

The worthy Governor found it difficult to frame a reply or to administer suitable consolation, for in his heart he knew that he had sold Azinte, as it were surrept.i.tiously, to Marizano for an unusually large sum of money, at a time when his daughter was absent on a visit to a friend.

The noted Portuguese kidnapper, murderer, rebel and trader in black ivory, having recovered from his wound, had returned to the town, and, being well aware of Azinte's market value, as a rare and remarkably beautiful piece of ivory of extra-superfine quality, had threatened, as well as tempted, Governor Letotti beyond his powers of resistance.

Marizano did not want the girl as his own slave. He wanted dollars, and, therefore, destined her for the markets of Arabia or Persia, where the smooth-tongued and yellow-skinned inhabitants hold that robbery, violence, and cruelty, such as would make the flesh of civilised people creep, although horrible vices in themselves, are nevertheless, quite justifiable when covered by the sanction of that miraculous talisman called a "domestic inst.i.tution." The British Government had, by treaty, agreed to respect slavery in the dominions of the Sultan of Zanzibar, as a domestic inst.i.tution with which it would not interfere!

Governor Letotti's heart had smitten him at first for he really was an amiable man, and felt kindly disposed to humanity at large, slaves included. Unfortunately the same kindliness was concentrated with tenfold power on himself, so that when self-interest came into play the amiable man became capable of deeds that Marizano himself might have been proud of. The only difference, in fact, between the two was that the Governor, like the drunkard, often felt ashamed of himself, and sometimes wished that he were a better man, while the man-stealer gloried in his deeds, and had neither wish nor intention to improve.

"Maraquita," said Senhor Letotti, still somewhat petulantly, though with more of remonstrance in his tone, "how can you speak so foolishly? It was out of my power you know, to speak to you when you were absent about what I intended to do. Besides, I was, at the time, very much in need of some ready money, for, although I am rich enough, there are times when most of my capital is what business men called `locked up,' and therefore not immediately available. In these circ.u.mstances, Marizano came to me with a very tempting offer. But there are plenty of good-looking, amiable, affectionate girls in Africa. I can easily buy you another slave quite as good as Azinte."

"As good as Azinte!" echoed Maraquita wildly, starting up and gazing at her father with eyes that flashed through her tears, "Azinte, who has opened her heart to me--her bursting, bleeding heart--and told me all her former joys and all her present woes, and who loves me as she loves--ay, better than she loves--her own soul, merely because I dropped a few tears of sympathy on her little hand! Another as good as Azinte!"

she cried with increasing vehemence; "would _you_ listen with patience to any one who should talk to you of another as good as Maraquita?"

"Nay, but," remonstrated the Governor, "you are now raving; your feelings towards Azinte cannot be compared with my love for _you_."

"If you loved me as I thought you did, you would not--you could not-- have thus taken from me my darling little maid. Oh! shame, shame on you, father--"

She could say no more, but rushed from the room to fling herself down and sob out her feelings in the privacy of her own chamber, where she was sought out by the black cook, who had overheard some of the conversation, and was a sympathetic soul. But that amiable domestic happened to be inopportunely officious; she instantly fled from the chamber, followed by the neatest pair of little slippers imaginable, which hit her on the back of her woolly head,--for Maraquita, like other spoilt children, had made up her mind _not_ to be comforted.

Meanwhile the Governor paced the floor of his drawing-room with uneasy feelings, which, however, were suddenly put to flight by the report of a gun. Hastening to the window, he saw that the shot had been fired by a war-steamer which was entering the bay.

"Ha! the `Firefly;' good!" exclaimed the Governor, with a gratified look; "this will put it all right."

He said nothing more, but left the room hastily. It may however be as well to explain that his remark had reference to the mutual affection which he was well aware existed between his daughter and the gallant Lieutenant Lindsay. He had not, indeed, the most remote intention of permitting Maraquita to wed the penniless officer, but he had no objection whatever to their flirting as much as they pleased; and he readily perceived that nothing would be more likely to take the Senhorina's thoughts off her lost maid than the presence of her lover.

There was a bower in a secluded corner of the Governor Letotti's garden, a very charming bower indeed, in which Lieutenant Lindsay had been wont at times when duty to the Queen of England permitted, to hold sweet converse with the "queen of his soul." What that converse was it neither becomes us to say nor the reader to inquire. Perhaps it had reference to astronomy, perchance to domestic economy. At all events it was always eminently satisfactory to both parties engaged, save when the Senhorina indulged in a little touch of waywardness, and sent the poor officer back to his ship with a heavy heart, for the express purpose of teaching him the extent of her power and the value of her favour. She overclouded him now and then, just to make him the more ardently long for sunshine, and to convince him that in the highest sense of the word he was a slave!

To this bower, then, the Senhorina returned with a sad heart and swollen eyes, to indulge in vain regrets. Her sorrows had overwhelmed her to such an extent that she failed to observe the `Firefly's' salute. It was therefore with a look of genuine surprise and agitation that she suddenly beheld Lieutenant Lindsay, who had availed himself of the first free moment, striding up the little path that led to the bower.

"Maraquita!" he exclaimed, looking in amazement at the countenance of his lady-love, which was what Nors.e.m.e.n style "begrutten."

But Maraquita was in no mood to be driven out of her humour, even by her lover.