two who swam on shore, the others went off in a boat.”
“Come you from man-of-war?” asked the Arab, with a keen glance at the candid countenance of the youth.
“No, our vessel was a trader bound for Zanzibar. She now lies in fragments on the shore, and we have escaped with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Can you tell us whether there is a town or a village in the neighbourhood? for, as you see, we stand sadly in need of clothing, food, and shelter. We have no money, but we have good muscles and stout hearts, and could work our way well enough, I doubt not.”
Young Seadrift said this modestly, but the remark was unnecessary, for it would have been quite obvious to a man of much less intelligence than the Arab that a youth who, although just entering on the age of manhood, was six feet high, deep-chested, broad-shouldered, and as lithe as a kitten, could not find any difficulty in working his way, while his companion, though a little older, was evidently quite as capable.
“There be no town, no village, for fifty miles from where you stand,” replied the Arab.
“Indeed!” exclaimed Harold in surprise, for he had always supposed the East African coast to be rather populous.
“That’s a blue look-out anyhow,” observed Disco, “for it necessitates starvation, unless this good gentleman will hire us to work his craft. It ain’t very ship-shape to be sure, but anything of a seagoin’ craft comes more or less handy to an old salt.”
The trader listened with the politeness and profound gravity that seems to be characteristic of Orientals, but by no sign or expression showed whether he understood what was said.
“I go to Zanzibar,” said he, turning to Harold, “and will take you,—so you wish.”
There was something sinister in the man’s manner which Harold did not like, but as he was destitute, besides being in the Arab’s power, and utterly ignorant of the country, he thought it best to put a good face on matters, and therefore thanked him for his kind offer, and assured him that on reaching Zanzibar he would be in a position to pay for his passage as well as that of his friend.
“May I ask,” continued Harold, “what your occupation is?”
“I am trader.”
Harold thought he would venture another question:—
“In what sort of goods do you trade?”
“Ivory. Some be white, an’ some be what your contrymans do call black.”
“Black!” exclaimed Harold, in surprise.
“Yees, black,” replied the trader. “White ivory do come from the elephant—hims tusk; Black Ivory do come,”—he smiled slightly at this point—“from the land everywheres. It bees our chef artikil of trade.”
“Indeed! I never heard of it before.”
“No?” replied the trader; “you shall see it much here. But I go talk with my mans. Wait.”
Saying this, in a tone which savoured somewhat unpleasantly of command, the Arab went towards a small hut near to which his men were standing, and entered into conversation with them.
It was evident that they were ill pleased with what he said at first for there was a good deal of remonstrance in their tones, while they pointed frequently in a certain direction which seemed to indicate the coast-line; but by degrees their tones changed, and they laughed and chuckled a good deal, as if greatly tickled by the speech of the Arab, who, however, maintained a look of dignified gravity all the time.
“I don’t like the looks o’ them fellers,” remarked Disco, after observing them in silence for some time. “They’re a cut-throat set, I’m quite sure, an’ if you’ll take my advice, Mister Seadrift, we’ll give ’em the slip, an’ try to hunt up one o’ the native villages. I shouldn’t wonder, now, if that chap was a slave-trader.”
“The same idea has occurred to myself, Disco,” replied Harold, “and I would willingly leave him if I thought there was a town or village within twenty miles of us; but we are ignorant on that point and I have heard enough of the African climate to believe that it might cost us our lives if we were obliged to spend a night in the jungle without fire, food, or covering, and with nothing on but a wet flannel shirt and pair of canvas breeches. No, no, lad, we must not risk it. Besides, although some Arabs are slave-traders, it does not follow that all are. This fellow may turn out better than he looks.”
Disco Lillihammer experienced some sensations of surprise on hearing his young friend’s remarks on the climate, for he knew nothing whatever about that of Africa, having sailed chiefly in the Arctic Seas as a whaler,—and laboured under the delusion that no climate under the sun could in any degree affect his hardy and well-seasoned frame. He was too respectful, however, to let his thoughts be known.
Meanwhile the Arab returned.
“I sail this night,” he said, “when moon go down. That not far before midnight. You mus keep by boat here—close. If you go this way or that the niggers kill you. They not come here; they know I is here. I go look after my goods and chattels—my Black Ivory.”
“Mayn’t we go with ’ee, mister—what’s your name?”
“My name?—Yoosoof,” replied the Arab, in a tone and with a look which were meant to command respect.
“Well, Mister Yoosoof,” continued Disco, “if we may make bold to ax leave for to go with ’ee, we could lend ’ee a helpin’ hand, d’ye see, to carry yer goods an’ chattels down to the boat.”
“There is no need,” said Yoosoof, waving his hand, and pointing to the hut before mentioned. “Go; you can rest till we sail. Sleep; you will need it. There is littil rice in hut—eat that, and make fire, dry youselfs.”
So saying, the Arab left them by a path leading into the woods, along which his men, who were Portuguese half-castes, had preceded him.
“Make fire indeed!” exclaimed Disco, as he walked with his companion to the hut; “one would think, from the free-and-easy way in which he tells us to make it, that he’s in the habit himself of striking it out o’ the point o’ his own nose, or some such convenient fashion.”
“More likely to flash it out of his eyes, I should think,” said Harold; “but, see here, the fellow knew what he was talking about. There is fire among these embers on the hearth.”
“That’s true,” replied Disco, going down on his knees, and blowing them carefully.
In a few minutes a spark leaped into a flame, wood was heaped on, and the flame speedily became a rousing fire, before which they dried their garments, while a pot of rice was put on to boil.
Scarcely had they proceeded thus far in their preparations, when two men, armed with muskets, were seen to approach, leading a negro girl between them. As they drew nearer, it was observable that the girl had a brass ring round her neck, to which a rope was attached.
“A slave!” exclaimed Disco vehemently, while the blood rushed to his face; “let’s set her free!”
The indignant seaman had half sprung to his legs before Harold seized and pulled him forcibly back.
“Be quiet man,” said Harold quickly. “If we could free her by fighting, I would help you, but we can’t. Evidently
