BY SHEER PLUCK

A TALE OF THE ASHANTI WAR

By G. A. Henty

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.   A FISHING
EXCURSION

CHAPTER II.   A
MAD DOG

CHAPTER III.   A
TOUGH YARN

CHAPTER IV.   A
RISING TIDE

CHAPTER V.   ALONE
IN THE WORLD

CHAPTER VI.   THE
FIRST STEP

CHAPTER VII.   AN
OLD FRIEND

CHAPTER VIII.   TO
THE DARK CONTINENT

CHAPTER IX.   THE
START INLAND

CHAPTER X.   LOST
IN THE FOREST

CHAPTER XI.   A
HOSTILE TRIBE

CHAPTER XII.   A
NEGRO'S STORY

CHAPTER XIII.   A
FUGITIVE SLAVE

CHAPTER XIV.   A
CHRISTIAN TOWN

CHAPTER XV.   THE
AMAZONS OF DAHOMET

CHAPTER XVI.   CAPTIVES
IN COOMASSIE

CHAPTER XVII.   THE
INVASION OF FANTI LAND

CHAPTER
XVIII.   THE ATTACK ON ELMINA

CHAPTER XIX.   THE TIDE TURNED


CHAPTER XX.   THE WHITE TROOPS


CHAPTER XXI.   THE
ADVANCE TO THE PRAH

CHAPTER XXII.
  THE BATTLE OF AMOAFUL


CHAPTER XXIII.     THE CAPTURE OF COOMASSIE

CHAPTER I: A FISHING EXCURSION

“Now, Hargate, what a fellow you are! I've been looking for you
everywhere. Don't you know it's the House against the Town boys. It's
lucky that the Town have got the first innings; they began a quarter of an
hour ago.”

“How tiresome!” Frank Hargate said. “I was watching a most interesting
thing here. Don't you see this little chaffinch nest in the bush, with a
newly hatched brood. There was a small black snake threatening the nest,
and the mother was defending it with quivering wings and open beak. I
never saw a prettier thing. I sat quite still and neither of them seemed
to notice me. Of course I should have interfered if I had seen the snake
getting the best of it. When you came running up like a cart horse, the
snake glided away in the grass, and the bird flew off. Oh, dear! I am
sorry. I had forgotten all about the match.”

“I never saw such a fellow as you are, Hargate. Here's the opening match
of the season, and you, who are one of our best bats, poking about after
birds and snakes. Come along; Thompson sent me and two or three other
fellows off in all directions to find you. We shall be half out before
you're back. Wilson took James's wicket the first ball.”

Frank Hargate leaped to his feet, and, laying aside for the present all
thoughts of his favorite pursuit, started off at a run to the playing
field. His arrival there was greeted with a mingled chorus of welcome and
indignation. Frank Hargate was, next to Thompson the captain of the Town
eleven, the best bat among the home boarders. He played a steady rather
than a brilliant game, and was noted as a good sturdy sticker. Had he been
there, Thompson would have put him in at first, in order to break the
bowling of the House team. As it was, misfortunes had come rapidly.
Ruthven and Handcock were bowling splendidly, and none of the Town boys
were making any stand against them. Thompson himself had gone in when the
fourth wicket fell, and was still in, although two wickets had since
fallen, for only four runs, and the seventh wicket fell just as Frank
arrived, panting, on the ground.

“Confound you, Hargate!” Thompson shouted, “where have you been? And not
even in flannels yet.”

“I'm very sorry,” Frank shouted back cheerfully, “and never mind the
flannels, for once. Shall I come in now?”

“No,” Thompson said. “You'd better get your wind first. Let Fenner come in
next.”

Fenner stayed in four overs, adding two singles as his share, while
Thompson put on a three and a two. Then Fenner was caught. Thirty-one runs
for eight wickets! Then Frank took the bat, and walked to the ground.
Thompson came across to him.

“Look here, Hargate, you have made a nice mess of it, and the game looks
as bad as can be. Whatever you do, play carefully. Don't let out at
anything that comes straight. The great thing is to bother their bowling a
bit. They're so cocky now, that pretty near every ball is straight on the
wickets. Be content with blocking for a bit, and Handcock will soon go
off. He always gets savage if his bowling is collared.”

Frank obeyed orders. In the next twenty minutes he only scored six runs,
all in singles, while Thompson, who was also playing very carefully, put
on thirteen. The game looked more hopeful for the Town boys. Then there
was a shout from the House, as Thompson's middle wicket was sent flying.
Childers, who was the last of the team, walked out.

“Now, Childers,” Thompson said, “don't you hit at a ball. You're safe to
be bowled or caught if you do. Just lift your bat, and block them each
time. Now, Frank, it's your turn to score. Put them on as fast as you can.
It's no use playing carefully any longer.”

Frank set to to hit in earnest. He had now got his eye well in, and the
stand which he and Thompson had made together, had taken the sting out of
the bowling. The ball which had taken Thompson's wicket was the last of
the over. Consequently the next came to him. It was a little wide, and
Frank, stepping out, drove it for four. A loud shout rose from the Town
boys. There had only been one four scored before, during the innings. Off
the next ball Frank scored a couple, blocked the next, and drove the last
of the over past long leg for four. The next over Childers strictly obeyed
orders, blocking each ball. Then it was Frank's turn again, and seven more
went up on the board. They remained together for just fifteen minutes, but
during that time thirty-one had been added to the score. Frank was caught
at cover point, having added twenty-eight since Thompson left him, the
other three being credited to Childers. The total was eighty-one—not
a bad score in a school match.

“Well, you've redeemed yourself,” Thompson said, as Frank walked to the
tent. “You played splendidly, old fellow, when you did come. If we do as
well next innings we are safe. They're not likely to average eighty. Now
get on your wicket-keeping gloves. Green and I will bowl.”

The House scored rapidly at first, and fifty runs were put on with the
loss of four wickets. Then misfortune fell upon them, and the remaining
six fell for nineteen. The next innings Frank went in first, but was
caught when the score stood at fifteen. Thompson made fourteen, but the
rest scored but badly, and the whole were out for forty-eight.

The House had sixty-one to get to win. Six wickets had fallen for
fifty-one runs, when Thompson put Childers on to bowl. The change was a
fortunate one. Ruthven's stumps were lowered at the first ball. Handcock
was caught off the second. The spirits of the Town boys rose. There were
but two wickets more, and still ten runs to get to win. The House played
cautiously now, and overs were sent down without a run. Then off a ball
from Childers a four was scored, but the next ball leveled the outside
stump. Then by singles the score mounted up until a tremendous shout from
the House announced that the game was saved, sixty runs being marked by
the scorers. The next ball, the Town boys replied even more lustily, for
Childers ball removed the bails, and the game ended in a tie. Both parties
were equally well satisfied, and declared that a better game had never
been played at Dr. Parker's. As soon as the game was over Frank, without
waiting to join in the general talk over the game, put on his coat and
waistcoat and started at a run for home.

Frank Hargate was an only son. His mother lived in a tiny cottage on the
outskirts of Deal. She was a widow, her husband, Captain Hargate, having
died a year before. She had only her pension as an officer's widow, a
pittance that scarce sufficed even for the modest wants of herself, Frank,
and her little daughter Lucy, now six years old.

“I hope I have not kept tea waiting, mother,” Frank said as he ran in. “It
is not my beetles and butterflies this time. We have been playing a
cricket match, and a first rate one it was. Town boys against the House.
It ended in a tie.”

“You are only a quarter of an hour late,” his mother said, smiling, “which
is a great deal nearer being punctual than is usually the case when you
are out with your net. We were just going to begin, for I know your habits
too well to give you more than a quarter of an hour's law.”

“I'm afraid I am horridly unpunctual,” Frank said, “and yet, mother, I
never go out without making up my mind that I will be in sharp to time.
But somehow there is always something which draws me away.”

“It makes no matter, Frank. If you are happy and amused I am content, and
if the tea is cold it is your loss, not ours. Now, my boy, as soon as you
have washed your hands we will have tea.”

It was a simple meal, thick slices of bread and butter and tea, for Mrs.
Hargate could only afford to put meat upon the table once a day, and even
for that several times in the week fish was substituted, when the weather
was fine and the fishing boats returned, when well laden. Frank
fortunately cared very little what he ate, and what was good enough for
his mother was good enough for him. In his father's lifetime things had
been different, but Captain Hargate had fallen in battle in New Zealand.
He had nothing besides his pay, and his wife and children had lived with
him in barracks until his regiment was ordered out to New Zealand, when he
had placed his wife in the little cottage she now occupied. He had fallen
in an attack on a Maori pah, a fortnight after landing in New Zealand. He
had always intended Frank to enter the military profession, and had
himself directed his education so long as he was at home.

The loss of his father had been a terrible blow for the boy, who had been
his constant companion when off duty. Captain Hargate had been devoted to
field sports and was an excellent naturalist. The latter taste Frank had
inherited from him. His father had brought home from India—where the
regiment had been stationed until it returned for its turn of home service
four years before he left New Zealand—a very large quantity of skins
of birds which he had shot there. These he had stuffed and mounted, and so
dexterous was he at the work, so natural and artistic were the groups of
birds, that he was enabled to add considerably to his income by sending
these up to the shop of a London naturalist. He had instructed Frank in
his methods, and had given him one of the long blowguns used by some of
the hill tribes in India. The boy had attained such dexterity in its use
that he was able with his clay pellets to bring down sitting birds,
however small, with almost unerring accuracy.

These he stuffed and mounted, arranging them with a taste and skill which
delighted the few visitors at his mother's cottage.

Frank was ready to join in a game of football or cricket when wanted, and
could hold his own in either. But he vastly preferred to go out for long
walks with his blowgun, his net, and his collecting boxes. At home every
moment not required for the preparation of his lessons was spent in
mounting and arranging his captures. He was quite ready to follow the
course his father proposed for him, and to enter the army. Captain Hargate
had been a very gallant officer, and the despatches had spoken most highly
of the bravery with which he led his company into action in the fight in
which he lost his life. Therefore Mrs. Hargate hoped that Frank would have
little difficulty in obtaining a commission without purchase when the time
for his entering the army arrived.

Frank's desire for a military life was based chiefly upon the fact that it
would enable him to travel to many parts of the world, and to indulge his
taste for natural history to the fullest. He was but ten years old when he
left India with the regiment, but he had still a vivid recollection of the
lovely butterflies and bright birds of that country.

His father had been at pains to teach him that a student of natural
history must be more than a mere collector, and that like other sciences
it must be methodically studied. He possessed an excellent library of
books upon the subject, and although Frank might be ignorant of the name
of any bird or insect shown to him he could at once name the family and
species.

In the year which Frank had been at school at Dr. Parker's he had made few
intimate friends. His habits of solitary wandering and studious indoor
work had hindered his becoming the chum of any of his schoolfellows, and
this absence of intimacy had been increased by the fact that the
straitness of his mother's means prevented his inviting any of his
schoolfellows to his home. He had, indeed, brought one or two of the boys,
whose tastes lay in the direction of his own, to the house, to show them
his collections of birds and insects. But he declined their invitations to
visit them, as he was unable to return their hospitality, and was too
proud to eat and drink at other fellows' houses when he could not ask them
to do the same at his own. It was understood at Dr. Parker's that Frank
Hargate's people were poor, but it was known that his father had been
killed in battle. There are writers who depict boys as worshipers of
wealth, and many pictures have been drawn of the slights and indignities
to which boys, whose means are inferior to those of their schoolfellows,
are subject. I am happy to believe that this is a libel. There are, it is
true, toadies and tuft hunters among boys as among men. That odious
creature, the parasite of the Greek and Latin plays, exists still, but I
do not believe that a boy is one whit the less liked, or is ever taunted
with his poverty, provided he is a good fellow. Most of the miseries
endured by boys whose pocket money is less abundant than that of their
fellows are purely self inflicted. Boys and men who are always on the
lookout for slights will, of course, find what they seek. But the lad who
is not ashamed of what is no fault of his own, who frankly and manfully
says, “I can't afford it,” will not find that he is in any way looked down
upon by those of his schoolfellows whose good opinion is in the smallest
degree worth having.

Certainly this was so in the case of Frank Hargate. He was never in the
slightest degree ashamed of saying, “I can't afford it;” and the fact that
he was the son of an officer killed in battle gave him a standing among
the best in the school in spite of his want of pocket money.

Frank was friends with many of the fishermen, and these would often bring
him strange fish and sea creatures brought up in their nets, instead of
throwing them back into the sea.

During the holidays he would sometimes go out with them for twenty-four
hours in their fishing-boats. His mother made no objection to this, as she
thought that the exercise and sea air were good for his health, and that
the change did him good. Frank himself was so fond of the sea that he was
half disposed to adopt it instead of the army as a profession. But his
mother was strongly opposed to the idea, and won him to her way of
thinking by pointing out that although a sailor visits many ports he stays
long at none of them, and that in the few hours' leave he might
occasionally obtain he would be unable to carry out his favorite pursuits.

“Hargate,” Ruthven, who was one of the oldest of the House boys, and was
about Frank's age, that is about fifteen years old, said a few days after
the match, “the Doctor has given Handcock and Jones and myself leave to
take a boat and go out this afternoon. We mean to start soon after dinner,
and shall take some lines and bait with us. We have got leave till lockup,
so we shall have a long afternoon of it. Will you come with us?”

“Thank you, Ruthven,” Frank said; “I should like it very much, but you
know I'm short of pocket money, and I can't pay my share of the boat, so I
would rather leave it alone.”

“Oh, nonsense, Hargate!” Ruthven answered; “we know money is not your
strong point, but we really want you to go with us. You can manage a boat
better than any of us, and you will really oblige us if you will go with
us.”

“Oh, if you put it in that way,” Frank said, “I shall be glad to go with
you; but I do not think,” he went on, looking at the sky, “that the
weather looks very settled. However, if you do not mind the chance of a
ducking, I don't.”

“That's agreed then,” Ruthven said; “will you meet us near the pier at
three o'clock?”

“All right. I'll be punctual.”

At the appointed hour the four lads met on the beach. Ruthven and his
companions wanted to choose a light rowing boat, but Frank strongly urged
them to take a much larger and heavier one. “In the first place,” he said,
“the wind is blowing off shore, and although it's calm here it will be
rougher farther out; and, unless I'm mistaken, the wind is getting up
fast. Besides this it will be much more comfortable to fish from a good
sized boat.”

His comrades grumbled at the extra labor which the large boat would entail
in rowing. However, they finally gave in and the boat was launched.

“Look out, Master Hargate,” the boatman said as they started; “you'd best
not go out too far, for the wind is freshening fast, and we shall have, I
think, a nasty night.”

The boys thought little of the warning, for the sky was bright and blue,
broken only by a few gauzy white clouds which streaked it here and there.
They rowed out about a mile, and then laying in their oars, lowered their
grapnel and began to fish. The sport was good. The fish bit freely and
were rapidly hauled on board. Even Frank was so absorbed in the pursuit
that he paid no attention to the changing aspect of the sky, the
increasing roughness of the sea, or the rapidly rising wind.

Suddenly a heavy drop or two of rain fell in the boat. All looked up.

“We are in for a squall,” Frank exclaimed, “and no mistake. I told you you
would get a ducking, Ruthven.”

He had scarcely spoken when the squall was upon them. A deluge of rain
swept down, driven by a strong squall of wind.

“Sit in the bottom of the boat,” Frank said; “this is a snorter.”

Not a word was said for ten minutes, long before which all were drenched
to the skin. With the rain a sudden darkness had fallen, and the land was
entirely invisible. Frank looked anxiously towards the shore. The sea was
getting up fast, and the boat tugging and straining at the cord of the
grapnel. He shook his head. “It looks very bad,” he said to himself. “If
this squall does not abate we are going to have a bad time of it.”

A quarter of an hour after it commenced the heavy downpour of rain ceased,
or rather changed into a driving sleet. It was still extremely dark, a
thick lead colored cloud overspread the sky. Already the white horses
showed how fast the sea was rising, and the wind showed no signs of
falling with the cessation of the rain storm. The boat was laboring at her
head rope and dipping her nose heavily into the waves.

“Look here, you fellows,” Frank shouted, “we must take to the oars. If the
rope were a long one we might ride here, but you know it little more than
reached the ground when we threw it out. I believe she's dragging already,
and even if she isn't she would pull her head under water with so short a
rope when the sea gets up. We'd better get out the oars and row to shore,
if we can, before the sea gets worse.”

The lads got up and looked round, and their faces grew pale and somewhat
anxious as they saw how threatening was the aspect of the sea. They had
four oars on board, and these were soon in the water and the grapnel
hauled up. A few strokes sufficed to show them that with all four rowing
the boat's head could not be kept towards the shore, the wind taking it
and turning the boat broadside on.

“This will never do,” Frank said. “I will steer and you row, two oars on
one side and one on the other. I will take a spell presently.

“Row steadily, Ruthven,” he shouted; “don't spurt. We have a long row
before us and must not knock ourselves up at the beginning.”

For half an hour not a word was spoken beyond an occasional cheery
exhortation from Frank. The shore could be dimly seen at times through the
driving mist, and Frank's heart sank as he recognized the fact that it was
further off than it had been when they first began to row. The wind was
blowing a gale now, and, although but two miles from shore, the sea was
already rough for an open boat.

“Here, Ruthven, you take a spell now,” he said.

Although the rowers had from time to time glanced over their shoulders,
they could not, through the mist, form any idea of their position. When
Ruthven took the helm he exclaimed, “Good gracious, Frank! the shore is
hardly visible. We are being blown out to sea.”

“I am afraid we are,” Frank said; “but there is nothing to do but to keep
on rowing. The wind may lull or it may shift and give us a chance of
making for Ramsgate. The boat is a good sea boat, and may keep afloat even
if we are driven out to sea. Or if we are missed from shore they may send
the lifeboat out after us. That is our best chance.”

In another quarter of an hour Ruthven was ready to take another spell at
the oar. “I fear,” Frank shouted to him as he climbed over the seat,
“there is no chance whatever of making shore. All we've got to do is to
row steadily and keep her head dead to wind. Two of us will do for that.
You and I will row now, and let Handcock and Jones steer and rest by
turns. Then when we are done up they can take our places.”

In another hour it was quite dark, save for the gray light from the
foaming water around. The wind was blowing stronger than ever, and it
required the greatest care on the part of the steersman to keep her dead
in the eye of the wind. Handcock was steering now, and Jones lying at the
bottom of the boat, where he was sheltered, at least from the wind. All
the lads were plucky fellows and kept up a semblance of good spirits, but
all in their hearts knew that their position was a desperate one.

CHAPTER II: A MAD DOG

“Don't you think, Hargate,” Ruthven shouted in his ear, “we had better run
before it? It's as much as Handcock can do to keep her head straight.”

“Yes,” Frank shouted back, “if it were not for the Goodwins. They lie
right across ahead of us.”

Ruthven said no more, and for another hour he and Frank rowed their
hardest. Then Handcock and Jones took the oars. Ruthven lay down in the
bottom of the boat and Frank steered. After rowing for another hour Frank
found that he could no longer keep the boat head to wind. Indeed, he could
not have done so for so long had he not shipped the rudder and steered the
boat with an oar, through a notch cut in the stern for the purpose.
Already the boat shipped several heavy seas, and Ruthven was kept hard at
work baling with a tin can in which they had brought out bait.

“Ruthven, we must let her run. Put out the other oar, we must watch our
time. Row hard when I give the word.”

The maneuver was safely accomplished, and in a minute the boat was flying
before the gale.

“Keep on rowing,” Frank said, “but take it easily. We must try and make
for the tail of the sands. I can see the lightship.”

Frank soon found that the wind was blowing too directly upon the long line
of sands to enable him to make the lightship. Already, far ahead, a gray
light seemed to gleam up, marking where the sea was breaking over the
dreaded shoal.

“I am afraid it is no use,” he said. “Now, boys, we had best, each of us,
say our prayers to God, and prepare to die bravely, for I fear that there
is no hope for us.”

There was silence in the boat for the next five minutes, as the boys sat
with their heads bent down. More than one choking sob might have been
heard, had the wind lulled, as they thought of the dear ones at home.
Suddenly there was a flash of light ahead, and the boom of a gun directly
afterwards came upon their ears. Then a rocket soared up into the air.

“There is a vessel on the sands,” Frank exclaimed. “Let us make for her.
If we can get on board we shall have a better chance than here.”

The boys again bent to their oars, and Frank tried to steer exactly for
the spot whence the rocket had gone up. Presently another gun flashed out.

“There she is,” he said. “I can see her now against the line of breakers.
Take the oar again, Ruthven. We must bring up under shelter of her lee.”

In another minute or two they were within a hundred yards of the ship. She
was a large vessel, and lay just at the edge of the broken water. The
waves, as they struck her, flew high above her deck. As the boat neared
her a bright light suddenly sprang up. The ship was burning a blue light.
Then a faint cheer was heard.

“They see us,” Frank said. “They must think we are the lifeboat. What a
disappointment for them! Now, steady, lads, and prepare to pull her round
the instant we are under her stern. I will go as near as I dare.”

Frank could see the people on deck watching the boat. They must have seen
now that she was not the lifeboat; but even in their own danger they must
have watched with intense interest the efforts of the tiny boat, adrift in
the raging sea, to reach them. Frank steered the boat within a few yards
of the stern. Then Jones and Ruthven, who were both rowing the same side,
exerted themselves to the utmost, while Frank pushed with the steering
oar. A minute later, and they lay in comparatively still water, under the
lee of the ship. Two or three ropes were thrown them, and they speedily
climbed on board.

“We thought you were the lifeboat at first,” the captain said, as they
reached the deck; “but, of course, they cannot be here for a couple of
hours yet.”

“We were blown off shore, sir,” Frank said, “and have been rowing against
the wind for hours.”

“Well, my lads,” the captain said, “you have only prolonged your lives for
a few minutes, for she will not hold together long.”

The ship, indeed, presented a pitiable appearance. The masts had already
gone, the bulwark to windward had been carried away, and the hull lay
heeled over at a sharp angle, her deck to leeward being level with the
water. The crew were huddled down near the lee bulwarks, sheltered
somewhat by the sharp slope of the deck from the force of the wind. As
each wave broke over the ship, tons of water rushed down upon them. No
more guns were fired, for the lashing had broken and the gun run down to
leeward. Already there were signs that the ship would break up ere long,
and no hope existed that rescue could arrive in time.

Suddenly there was a great crash, and the vessel parted amidships.

“A few minutes will settle it now,” the captain said. “God help us all.”

At this moment there was a shout to leeward, which was answered by a
scream of joy from those on board the wreck, for there, close alongside,
lay the lifeboat, whose approach had been entirely unseen. In a few
minutes the fifteen men who remained of the twenty-two, who had formed the
crew of the wreck, and the four boys, were on board her. A tiny sail was
set and the boat's head laid towards Ramsgate.

“I am glad to see you, Master Hargate,” the sailor who rowed one of the
stroke oars shouted. He was the man who had lent them the boat. “I was up
in the town looking after my wife, who is sick, and clean forgot you till
it was dark. Then I ran down and found the boat hadn't returned, so I got
the crew together and we came out to look for you, though we had little
hope of finding you. It was lucky for you we did, and for the rest of them
too, for so it chanced that we were but half a mile away when the ship
fired her first gun, just as we had given you up and determined to go
back; so on we came straight here. Another ten minutes and we should have
been too late. We are making for Ramsgate now. We could never beat back to
Deal in this wind. I don't know as I ever saw it blow much harder.”

These sentences were not spoken consecutively, but were shouted out in the
intervals between gusts of wind. It took them two hours to beat back to
Ramsgate, a signal having been made as soon as they left the wreck to
inform the lifeboat there and at Broadstairs that they need not put out,
as the rescue had been already effected. The lads were soon put to bed at
the sailors' home, a man being at once despatched on horseback to Deal, to
inform those there of the arrival of the lifeboat, and of the rescue of
the four boys who had been blown to sea.

Early next morning Frank and Handcock returned to Deal, the other two lads
being so exhausted by their fatigue and exposure that the doctor said they
had better remain in bed for another twenty-four hours.

It is impossible to describe the thankfulness and relief which Mrs.
Hargate experienced, when, about two in the morning, Dr. Parker himself
brought her news of the safety of her boy. She had long given up all hope,
for when the evening came on and Frank had not returned, she had gone down
to the shore. She learned from the fishermen there that it was deemed
impossible that the boys could reach shore in face of the gale, and that
although the lifeboat had just put out in search of them, the chances of
their being found were, as she herself saw, faint indeed. She had passed
the hours which had intervened, in prayer, and was still kneeling by her
bedside, where little Lucy was unconsciously sleeping, when Dr. Parker's
knock was heard at the door. Fervent, indeed, was her gratitude to God for
the almost miraculous preservation of her son's life, and then, overcome
by the emotions she had experienced, she sought her couch, and was still
asleep when, by the earliest train in the morning, Frank returned.

For some time the four boys were the heroes of the school. A subscription
was got up to pay for the lost boat, and close as were Mrs. Hargate's
means, she enabled Frank to subscribe his share towards the fund. The
incident raised Frank to a pinnacle of popularity among his schoolfellows,
for the three others were unanimous in saying that it was his coolness and
skill in the management of the boat, which alone kept up their spirits,
and enabled them to keep her afloat during the gale, and to make the wreck
in safety.

In the general enthusiasm excited by the event, Frank's pursuits, which
had hitherto found few followers, now became quite popular in the school.
A field club was formed, of which he was elected president, and long
rambles in the country in search of insects and plants were frequently
organized. Frank himself was obliged, in the interests of the school, to
moderate the zeal of the naturalists, and to point out that cricket must
not be given up, as, if so large a number withdrew themselves from the
game, the school would suffer disaster in its various engagements with
other schools in the neighborhood. Consequently the rule was made that
members of the club were bound to be in the cricket field on at least
three days in the week, including one half holiday, while they were free
to ramble in the country on other days. This wise regulation prevented the
“naturalists” from becoming unpopular in the school, which would assuredly
have been the case had they entirely absented themselves from cricket.

One Saturday afternoon Frank started with a smaller boy, who was one of
his most devoted followers, for a long country walk. Frank carried his
blowgun, and a butterfly net, Charlie Goodall a net of about a foot in
depth, made of canvas, mounted on a stout brass rim, and strong stick, for
the capture of water beetles. Their pockets bulged with bottles and tin
boxes for the carriage of their captured prey.

They had passed through Eastry, a village four miles from Deal, when Frank
exclaimed, “There is a green hairstreak. The first I've seen this year. I
have never caught one before.”

Cautiously approaching the butterfly, who was sunning himself on the top
of a thistle, Frank prepared to strike, when it suddenly mounted and
flitted over a hedge. In a moment the boys had scrambled through the gap
and were in full pursuit. The butterfly flitted here and there, sometimes
allowing the boys to approach within a few feet and then flitting away
again for fifty yards without stopping. Heedless where they were going,
the boys pursued, till they were startled by a sudden shout close to them.

“You young rascals, how dare you run over my wheat?”

The boys stopped, and Frank saw what, in his excitement, he had not
hitherto heeded, that he was now running in a field of wheat, which
reached to his knee.

“I am very sorry, sir,” he said. “I was so excited than I really did not
see where I was going.”

“Not see!” shouted the angry farmer. “You young rascal, I'll break every
bone in your body,” and he flourished a heavy stick as he spoke.

Charlie Goodall began to cry.

“I have no right to trespass on your wheat, sir,” Frank said firmly; “but
you have no right to strike us. My name is Frank Hargate. I belong to Dr.
Parker's school at Deal, and if you will say what damage I have caused, I
will pay for it.”

“You shall pay for it now,” shouted the farmer, as he advanced with
uplifted stick.

Frank slipped three or four of his clay bullets into his mouth.

“Leave us alone or it will be worse for you,” he said as he raised the
blowgun to his mouth.

The farmer advanced, and Frank sent a bullet with all his force, and with
so true an aim that he struck the farmer on the knuckles. It was a sharp
blow, and the farmer, with a cry of pain and surprise, dropped the stick.

“Don't come a step nearer,” Frank shouted. “If you do, I will aim at your
eye next time,” and he pointed the threatening tube at the enraged
farmer's face.

“I'll have the law of you, you young villain. I'll make you smart for
this.”

“You can do as you like about that,” Frank said. “I have only struck you
in self defense, and have let you off easily. Come along, Charlie, let's
get out of this.”

In a few minutes they were again on the road, the farmer making no attempt
to follow them, but determined in his mind to drive over the next morning
to Deal to take out a summons against them for trespass and assault. The
lads proceeded silently along the road. Frank was greatly vexed with
himself at his carelessness in running over half grown wheat, and was
meditating how he could pay the fine without having to ask his mother. He
determined upon his return to carry some of his cases of stuffed birds
down to a shop in the town, and he felt sure that he could get enough for
these to pay for any damage which could have been inflicted, with a fine
for trespassing, for he had seen stuffed birds exposed in the windows for
sale, which were, he was sure, very inferior to his own both in execution
and lifelike interest.

After proceeding a few hundred yards along the road they met a pretty
little girl of seven or eight years old walking along alone. Frank
scarcely glanced at her, for at the moment he heard a shouting in the
distance and saw some men running along the road. For a moment he thought
that the farmer had despatched some of his men to stop him, but instantly
dismissed the idea, as they were coming from the opposite direction and
could by no possibility have heard what had happened. They were lost sight
of by a dip in the road, and as they disappeared, an object was seen on
the road on the near side of the dip.

“It is a dog,” Frank said. “What can they be shouting at?”

The dog was within fifty yards of them when the men again appeared from
the dip and recommenced shouting. Frank could now hear what they said.

“Mad dog! mad dog!”

“Get through the hedge, Charlie, quick,” Frank cried. “Here, I will help
you over, never mind the thorns.”

The hedge was low and closely kept, and Frank, bundling his comrade over
it, threw himself across and looked round. The dog was within ten yards of
them, and Frank saw that the alarm was well founded. The dog was a large
crossbred animal, between a mastiff and a bulldog. Its hair was rough and
bristling. It came along with its head down and foam churning from its
mouth. Frank looked the other way and gave a cry. Yet twenty yards off, in
the middle of the road, stood the child. She, too, had heard the shouts,
and had paused to see what was the matter. She had not taken the alarm,
but stood unsuspicious of danger, watching, not the dog, but the men in
the distance.

Frank placed the blowgun to his mouth, and in a moment his pellet struck
the animal smartly on the side of the head. It gave a short yelp and
paused. Another shot struck it, and then Frank, snatching the water net
from Charlie, threw himself over the hedge, and placed himself between the
child and the dog just as the latter, with a savage growl, rushed at him.

Frank stood perfectly cool, and as the animal rushed forward, thrust the
net over its head; the ring was but just large enough to allow its head to
enter. Frank at once sprang forward, and placing himself behind the dog
kept a strain upon the stick, so retaining the mouth of the net tightly on
his neck. The animal at first rushed forward dragging Frank after him.
Then he stopped, backed, and tried to withdraw his head from the
encumbrance which blinded him. Frank, however, had no difficulty in
retaining the canvas net in its place, until the men, who were armed with
pitchforks, ran up and speedily despatched the unfortunate animal.

“That's bravely done, young master,” one of them said; “and you have saved
missy's life surely. The savage brute rushed into the yard and bit a young
colt and a heifer, and then, as we came running out with forks, he took to
the road again. We chased 'um along, not knowing who we might meet, and it
gived us a rare turn when we saw the master's Bessy standing alone in the
road, wi' nout between her and the dog. Where have you been, Miss Bessy?”

“I've been to aunt's,” she said, “and she gave me some strawberries and
cream, and it's wicked of you to kill the poor dog.”

“Her aunt's farm lies next to master's,” the man explained; “and little
miss often goes over there.

“The dog was mad, missy, and if it hadn't been for young master here, it
would have killed you as safe as eggs. Won't you come back to the farm,
sir? Master and mistress would be main glad to thank you for having saved
missy's life.”

“No, thank you,” Frank said; “we are late now and must be going on our
way. I am very glad I happened to be here at the time;” so saying Frank
and Charlie proceeded on their way to Deal.

On reaching home he at once picked out four of his best cases of stuffed
birds. The cases he had constructed himself, for his father had encouraged
him to depend upon himself for his amusements. He had asked Charlie to
come round to help him to carry the cases, and with these he proceeded to
a shop where he had seen such things offered for sale.

“And you really did these yourself?” the man said in surprise. “They are
beautifully done. Quite pictures, I call them. It is a pity that they are
homely birds. There is no great sale for such things here. I cannot give
you more than five shillings each, but if you had them in London they
would be worth a great deal more.”

Frank gladly accepted the offer, and feeling sure that the pound would
cover the damage done and the fine, which might be five shillings apiece
for trespassing, went home in good spirits. The next morning the doctor
was called out in the middle of school, and presently returned accompanied
by the farmer with whom they had had the altercation on the previous day.
Frank felt his cheeks flush as he anticipated a severe reprimand before
the whole school.

“Mr. Gregson,” the doctor said, “tells me that two of my boys were out
near his place at Eastry yesterday. One of them gave him his name, which
he has forgotten.”

“It was I, sir,” Frank said rising in his place; “I was there with
Goodall. We ran on Mr. Gregson's ground after a butterfly. It was my
fault, sir, for, of course, Goodall went where I did. We ran among his
wheat, and I really did not notice where we were going till he called to
us. I was wrong, of course, and am ready to pay for any damage we may have
caused.”

“You are welcome,” the farmer said, “to trample on my wheat for the rest
of your born days. I haven't come over here to talk about the wheat,
though I tell you fairly I'd minded to do so. I've come over here, Dr.
Parker, me and my missus who's outside, to thank this young gentleman for
having saved the life of my little daughter Bessy. She was walking along
the road when a mad dog, a big brute of a mastiff, who came, I hear, from
somewhere about Canterbury, and who has bit two boys on the road, to say
nothing of other dogs and horses and such like; he came along the road, he
were close to my Bess, and she stood there all alone. Some of my men with
pitchforks were two hundred yards or so behind; but law, they could have
done nothing! when this young gentleman here jumped all of a sudden over a
hedge and put himself between the dog and my Bess. The dog, he rushed at
him; but what does he do but claps a bag he'd got at the end of a stick
over the brute's head, and there he holds him tight till the men comes up
and kills him with their forks.

“Young gentleman,” he said, stepping up to Frank and holding out his hand,
“I owe my child's life to you. There are not many men who would have
thrown themselves in the way of a mad dog, for the sake of a child they
knew nothing of. I thank you for it with all my heart. God bless you, sir.
Now, boys, you give three cheers with me for your schoolmate, for you've
got a right to be proud of him.”

Three such thundering cheers as those which arose had never been heard
within the limits of Dr. Parker's school from the day of its foundation.
Seeing that farther work could not be expected from them after this
excitement, Dr. Parker gave the boys a holiday for the rest of the day,
and they poured out from the schoolroom, shouting and delighted, while
Frank was taken off to the parlor to be thanked by Mrs. Gregson. The
farmer closed his visit by inviting Frank, with as many of his
schoolfellows as he liked—the whole school if they would come, the
more the better—to come over to tea on the following Saturday
afternoon, and he promised them as much strawberries and cream as they
could eat. The invitation was largely accepted, and the boys all agreed
that a jollier meal they never sat down to than that which was spread on
tables in the farmer's garden. The meal was called tea, but it might have
been a dinner, for the tables were laden with huge pies, cold chicken and
duck, hams, and piles of cakes and tarts of all sorts. Before they started
for home, late in the evening, syllabub and cake were handed round, and
the boys tramped back to Deal in the highest of glee at the entertainment
they had received from the hospitable farmer and his wife.

Great fun had been caused after tea by the farmer giving a humorous
relation of the battle with which his acquaintance with Frank had
commenced, and especially at the threat of Frank to send a bullet into his
eye if he interfered with him. When they left, a most cordial invitation
was given to Frank to come over, with any friend he liked to bring with
him, and have tea at the Oaks Farm whenever he chose to do so.

CHAPTER III: A TOUGH YARN

“You had a close shave the other night,” one of the boatmen remarked to
Frank, as a few days after the adventure he strolled down with Ruthven and
Handcock to talk to the boatman whose boat had been lost, “a very narrow
shave. I had one out there myself when I was just about your age, nigh
forty years ago. I went out for a sail with my father in his fishing boat,
and I didn't come back for three years. That was the only long voyage I
ever went. I've been sticking to fishing ever since.”

“How was it you were away three years?” Handcock asked, “and what was the
adventure? Tell us about it.”

“Well, it's rather a long yarn,” the boatman said.

“Well, your best plan, Jack,” Ruthven said, putting his hand in his pocket
and bringing out sixpence, “will be for you to go across the road and wet
your whistle before you begin.”

“Thank ye, young gentleman. I will take three o' grog and an ounce of
'bacca.”

He went across to the public house, and soon returned with a long clay in
his hand. Then he sat down on the shingle with his back against a boat,
and the boys threw themselves down close to him.

“Now,” he began, when he had filled his pipe with great deliberation and
got it fairly alight, “this here yarn as I'm going to tell you ain't no
gammon. Most of the tales which gets told on the beach to visitors as
comes down here and wants to hear of sea adventures is just lies from
beginning to end. Now, I ain't that sort, leastways, I shouldn't go to
impose upon young gents like you as ha' had a real adventure of your own,
and showed oncommon good pluck and coolness too. I don't say, mind ye,
that every word is just gospel. My mates as ha' known me from a boy tells
me that I've 'bellished the yarn since I first told it, and that all sorts
of things have crept in which wasn't there first. That may be so. When a
man tells a story a great many times, naturally he can't always tell it
just the same, and he gets so mixed up atween what he told last and what
he told first that he don't rightly know which was which when he wants to
tell it just as it really happened. So if sometimes it appears to you that
I'm steering rather wild, just you put a stopper on and bring me up all
standing with a question.”

There was a quiet humor about the boatman's face, and the boys winked at
each other as much as to say that after such an exordium they must expect
something rather staggering. The boatman took two or three hard whiffs at
his pipe and then began.

“It was towards the end of September in 1832, that's just forty years ago
now, that I went out with my father and three hands in the smack, the
Flying Dolphin. I'd been at sea with father off and on ever since I was
about nine years old, and a smarter boy wasn't to be found on the beach.
The Dolphin was a good sea boat, but she wasn't, so to say, fast, and I
dunno' as she was much to look at, for the old man wasn't the sort of chap
to chuck away his money in paint or in new sails as long as the old ones
could be pieced and patched so as to hold the wind. We sailed out pretty
nigh over to the French coast, and good sport we had. We'd been out two
days when we turned her head homewards. The wind was blowing pretty
strong, and the old man remarked, he thought we was in for a gale. There
was some talk of our running in to Calais and waiting till it had blown
itself out, but the fish might have spoil before the Wind dropped, so we
made up our minds to run straight into Dover and send the fish up from
there. The night came on wild and squally, and as dark as pitch. It might
be about eight bells, and I and one of the other hands had turned in, when
father gave a sudden shout down the hatch, 'All hands on deck.' I was next
to the steps and sprang up 'em. Just as I got to the top something grazed
my face. I caught at it, not knowing what it was, and the next moment
there was a crash, and the Dolphin went away from under my feet. I clung
for bare life, scarce awake yet nor knowing what had happened. The next
moment I was under water. I still held on to the rope and was soon out
again. By this time I was pretty well awake to what had happened. A ship
running down channel had walked clean over the poor old Dolphin, and I had
got hold of the bobstay. It took me some time to climb up on to the
bowsprit, for every time she pitched I went under water. However, I got up
at last and swarmed along the bowsprit and got on board. There was a chap
sitting down fast asleep there. I walked aft to the helmsman. Two men were
pacing up and down in front of him. 'You're a nice lot, you are,' I said,
'to go running down Channel at ten knots an hour without any watch,
a-walking over ships and a-drowning of seamen. I'll have the law of ye,
see if I don't.'

“'Jeerusalem!' said one, 'who have we here?'

“'My name is Jack Perkins,' says I, 'and I'm the sole survivor, as far as
I knows, of the smack, the Flying Dolphin, as has been run down by this
craft and lost with all hands.'

“'Darn the Flying Dolphin, and you too,' says the man, and he begins to
walk up and down the deck a-puffn' of a long cigar as if nothing had
happened.

“'Oh, come,' says I, 'this won't do. Here you've been and run down a
smack, drowned father and the other three hands, and your lookout fast
asleep, and you does nothing.'

“'I suppose,' said the captain, sarcastic, 'you want me to jump over to
look for 'em. You want me to heave the ship to in this gale and to invite
yer father perlitely to come on board. P'raps you'd like a grapnel put out
to see if I couldn't hook the smack and bring her up again. Perhaps you'd
like to be chucked overboard yourself. Nobody asked you to come on board,
nobody wanted your company. I reckon the wisest thing you can do is to go
for'ard and turn in.' There didn't seem much for me to do else, so I went
forward to the forecastle. There most of the hands were asleep, but two or
three were sitting up yarning. I told 'em my story and what this captain
had said.

“'He's a queer hand is the skipper,' one of 'em said, 'and hasn't got a
soft place about him. Well, my lad, I'm sorry for what's happened, but
talking won't do it any good. You've got a long voyage before you, and
you'd best turn in and make yourself comfortable for it.'

“'I ain't going a long voyage,' says I, beginning to wipe my eye, 'I wants
to be put ashore at the first port.'

“'Well, my lad, I daresay the skipper will do that, but as we're bound for
the coast of Chili from Hamburg, and ain't likely to be there for about
five months, you've got, as I said, a long voyage before you. If the
weather had been fine the skipper might have spoken some ship in the
Channel, and put you on board, but before the gale's blown out we shall be
hundreds of miles at sea. Even if it had been fine I don't suppose the
skipper would have parted with you, especially if you told him the watch
was asleep. He would not care next time he entered an English port to have
a claim fixed on his ship for the vally of the smack.'

“I saw what the sailor said was like enough, and blamed myself for having
let out about the watch. However, there was no help for it, and I turned
into an empty bunk and cried myself to sleep. What a voyage that was, to
be sure! The ship was a Yankee and so was the master and mates. The crew
were of all sorts, Dutch, and Swedes, and English, a Yank or two, and a
sprinklin' of niggers. It was one of those ships they call a hell on
earth, and cussing and kicking and driving went on all day. I hadn't no
regular place give me, but helped the black cook, and pulled at ropes, and
swabbed the decks, and got kicked and cuffed all round. The skipper did
not often speak to me, but when his eye lighted on me he gave an ugly sort
of look, as seemed to say, 'You'd better ha' gone down with the others.
You think you're going to report the loss of the smack, and to get damages
against the Potomac, do you? we shall see.' The crew were a rough lot, but
the spirit seemed taken out of 'em by the treatment they met with. It was
a word and a blow with the mates, and they would think no more of catching
up a handspike and stretching a man senseless on the deck than I should of
killing a fly. There was two or three among 'em of a better sort than the
others. The best of 'em was the carpenter, an old Dutchman. 'Leetle boy,'
he used to say to me, 'you keep yourself out of the sight of de skipper.
Bad man dat. Me much surprise if you get to de end of dis voyage all
right. You best work vera hard and give him no excuse to hit you. If he
do, by gosh, he kill you, and put down in de log, Boy killed by accident.'

“I felt that this was so myself, and I did my work as well as I could. One
day, however, when we were near the line I happened to upset a bucket with
some tar. The captain was standing close by.

“'You young dog,' he said, 'you've done that a purpose,' and before I
could speak he caught up the bucket by the handle and brought it down on
my head with all his might. The next thing I remember was, I was lying in
a bunk in the forecastle. Everything looked strange to me, and I couldn't
raise my head. After a time I made shift to turn it round, and saw old
Jans sitting on a chest mending a jacket. I called him, but my voice was
so low I hardly seemed to hear it myself.

“'Ah, my leetle boy!' he said, 'I am glad to hear you speak again. Two
whole weeks you say nothing except talk nonsense.'

“'Have I been ill?' I asked.

“'You haf been vera bad,' he said. 'De captain meant to kill you, I haf no
doubt, and he pretty near do it. After he knock you down he said you dead.
He sorry for accident, not mean to hit you so hard, but you dead and
better be tossed overboard at once. De mates they come up and take your
hands and feet. Den I insist dat I feel your wrist. Two or three of us dey
stood by me. Captain he vera angry, say we mutinous dogs. I say not
mutinous, but wasn't going to see a boy who was only stunned thrown
overboard. We say if he did dat we make complaint before consul when we
get to port. De skipper he cuss and swear awful. Howebber we haf our way
and carry you here. You haf fever and near die. Tree days after we bring
you here de captain he swear you shamming and comed to look at you
hisself, but he see that it true and tink you going to die. He go away wid
smile on his face. Every day he ask if you alive, and give grunt when I
say yes. Now you best keep vera quiet. You no talk 'cept when no one else
here but me. Other times lie wid your face to the side and your eyes shut.
Best keep you here as long as we can, de longer de better. He make you
come on deck and work as soon as he think you strong enough to stand. Best
get pretty strong before you go out.'

“For another three weeks I lay in my bunk. I only ate a little gruel when
others were there, but when the skipper was at dinner Jans would bring me
strong soup and meat from the caboose. The captain came several times and
shook me and swore I was shamming, but I only answered in a whisper and
seemed as faint as a girl. All this time the Potomac was making good way,
and was running fast down the coast of South America. The air was getting
cool and fresh.

“'I tink,' Jans said one evening to me, 'dat dis not go on much much
longer. De crew getting desperate. Dey talk and mutter among demselves. Me
thinks we have trouble before long.'

“The next day one of the mates came in with a bucket of water. 'There! you
skulking young hound,' he said as he threw it over me; 'you'd best get
out, or the skipper will come and rouse you up himself.'

“I staggered on to the floor. I had made up my mind to sham weak, but I
did not need to pretend at first, for having been six weeks in bed, I felt
strange and giddy when I got up. I slipped on my clothes and went out on
deck, staggered to the bulwarks and held on. The fresh air soon set me
straight, and I felt that I was pretty strong again. However, I pretended
to be able to scarce stand, and, holding on by the bulwark, made my way
aft.

“'You young dog,' the skipper said, 'you've been shamming for the last six
weeks. I reckon I'll sharpen you up now,' and he hit me a heavy blow with
a rattan he held in his hand. There was a cry of 'Shame!' from some of the
men. As quick as thought the skipper pulled a pistol from his pocket.

“'Who cried “Shame”?'” he asked looking round.

“No one answered. Still holding the pistol in his hand he gave me several
more cuts, and then told me to swab the deck. I did it, pretending all the
time I was scarce strong enough to keep my feet. Then I made my way
forward and sat down against the bulwark, as if nigh done up, till night
came. That night as I lay in my bunk I heard the men talking in whispers
together. I judged from what they said that they intended to wait for
another week, when they expected to enter Magellan Straits, and then to
attack and throw the officers overboard. Nothing seemed settled as to what
they would do afterwards. Some were in favor of continuing the voyage to
port, and there giving out that the captain and officers had been washed
overboard in a storm; when, if all stood true to each other, the truth
could never be known, although suspicions might arise. The others,
however, insisted that you never could be sure of every one, and that some
one would be sure to peach. They argued in favor of sailing west and
beaching the ship on one of the Pacific islands, where they could live
comfortably and take wives among the native women. If they were ever found
they could then say that the ship was blown out of her course and wrecked
there, and that the captain and officers had been drowned or killed by the
natives. It seemed to me that this party were the strongest. For the next
week I was thrashed and kicked every day and had I been as weak as I
pretended to be, I'm sure they would have killed me. However, thanks to
the food Jans brought me, for I was put on bread and water, I held on. At
last we entered the straits. The men were very quiet that day, and the
captain in a worse temper than usual. I did not go to sleep, and turned
out at the midnight watch, for I was made to keep watch although I was on
duty all day. As the watch came in I heard them say to the others, 'In ten
minutes' time.' Presently I saw them come out, and joining the watch on
deck they went aft quietly in a body. They had all got handspikes in their
hands. Then there was a rush. Two pistol shots were fired, and then there
was a splash, and I knew that the officer on watch was done for. Then they
burst into the aft cabins. There were pistol shots and shouts, and for
three or four minutes the fight went on. Then all was quiet. Then they
came up on deck again and I heard three splashes, that accounted for the
captain and the two other mates. I thought it safe now to go aft. I found
that six of the men had been killed. These were thrown overboard, and then
the crew got at the spirit stores and began to drink. I looked about for
Jans, and found him presently sitting on the deck by the bulwark.

“'Ah, my leetle boy!' he said, 'you have just come in time. I have been
shot through the body. I was not in de fight, but was standing near when
dey rushed at de officer on watch. De first pistol he fire missed de man
he aim at and hit me. Well, it was shust as well. I am too old to care for
living among de black peoples, and I did not want a black wife at all. So
matters haf not turned out so vera bad. Get me some water.'

“I got him some, but in five minutes the poor old Dutchman was dead. There
was no one on deck. All were shouting and singing in the captain's cabin,
so I went and turned in forward. Morning was just breaking when I suddenly
woke. There was a great light, and running on deck I saw the fire pouring
out from the cabin aft. I suppose they had all drunk themselves stupid and
had upset a light, and the fire had spread and suffocated them all.
Anyhow, there were none of them to be seen. I got hold of a water keg and
placed it in a boat which luckily hung out on its davits, as Jans had, the
day before, been calking a seam in her side just above the water's edge. I
made a shift to lower it, threw off the falls, and getting out the oars,
rowed off. I lay by for some little time, but did not see a soul on deck.
Then, as I had nowhere particular to go, I lay down and slept. On getting
up I found that I had drifted two or three miles from the ship, which was
now a mere smoking shell, the greater part being burnt to the Water's
edge. Two miles to the north lay the land, and getting out an oar at the
stern I sculled her to shore. I suppose I had been seen, or that the
flames of the ship had called down the people, for there they were in the
bay, and such a lot of creatures I never set eyes on. Men and women alike
was pretty nigh naked, and dirt is no name for them. Though I was but a
boy I was taller than most. They came round me and jabbered and jabbered
till I was nigh deafened. Over and over again they pointed to the ship. I
thought they wanted to know whether I belonged to it, but it couldn't have
been that, because when I nodded a lot of 'em jumped into some canoes
which was lying ashore, and taking me with them paddled off to the ship. I
suppose they really wanted to know if they could have what they could
find. That wasn't much, but it seemed a treasure to them. There was a lot
of burned beams floating about alongside, and all of these which had iron
or copper bolts or fastenings they took in tow and rowed ashore. We hadn't
been gone many hundred yards from the vessel when she sunk. Well, young
gentlemen, for upwards of two years I lived with them critturs. My clothes
soon wore out, and I got to be as naked and dirty as the rest of 'em. They
were good hands at fishing, and could spear a fish by the light of a torch
wonderful. In other respects they didn't seem to have much sense. They
lived, when I first went there, in holes scratched in the side of a hill,
but I taught 'em to make huts, making a sort of ax out of the iron saved.
In summer they used to live in these, but in winter, when it was awful
cold, we lived in the holes, which were a sight warmer than the huts. Law,
what a time that was! I had no end of adventures with wild beasts. The way
the lions used to roar and the elephants—”

“I think, Jack,” Ruthven interrupted, “that this must be one of the
embellishments which have crept in since you first began telling the tale.
I don't think I should keep it in if I were you, because the fact that
there are neither lions or elephants in South America throws a doubt upon
the accuracy of this portion of your story.”

“It may be, sir,” the sailor said, with a twinkle of his eyes, “that the
elephants and lions may not have been in the first story. Now I think of
it, I can't recall that they were; but, you see, people wants to know all
about it. They ain't satisfied when I tell 'em that I lived two years
among these chaps. They wants to know how I passed my time, and whether
there were any wild beasts, and a lot of such like questions, and, in
course, I must answer them. So then, you see, naturally, 'bellishments
creeps in; but I did live there for two years, that's gospel truth, and I
did go pretty nigh naked, and in winter was pretty near starved to death
over and over again. When the ground was too hard to dig up roots, and the
sea was too rough for the canoes to put out, it went hard with us, and
very often we looked more like living skelingtons than human beings. Every
time a ship came in sight they used to hurry me away into the woods. I
suppose they found me useful, and didn't want to part with me. At last I
got desperate, and made up my mind I'd make a bolt whatever came of it.
They didn't watch me when there were no ships near. I suppose they thought
there was nowhere for me to run to, so one night I steals down to the
shore, gets into a canoe, puts in a lot of roots which I had dug up and
hidden away in readiness, and so makes off. I rowed hard all night, for I
knew they would be after me when they found I had gone. Them straits is
sometimes miles and miles across; at other times not much more than a
ship's length, and the tide runs through 'em like a mill race. I had
chosen a time when I had the tide with me, and soon after morning I came
to one of them narrow places. I should like to have stopped here, because
it would have been handy for any ship as passed; but the tide run so
strong, and the rocks were so steep on both sides, that I couldn't make a
landing. Howsomdever, directly it widened out, I managed to paddle into
the back water and landed there. Well, gents, would you believe me, if
there wasn't two big allygaters sitting there with their mouths open ready
to swallow me, canoe and all, when I came to shore.”

“No, Jack, I'm afraid we can't believe that. We would if we could, you
know, but alligators are not fond of such cold weather as you'd been
having, nor do they frequent the seashore.”

“Ah, but this, you see, was a straits, Master Ruthven, just a narrow
straits, and I expect the creatures took it for a river.”

“No, no, Jack, we can't swallow the alligators, any more than they could
swallow you and your canoe.”

“Well,” the sailor said with a sigh, “I won't say no more about the
allygaters. I can't rightly recall when they came into the story.
Howsomdever, I landed, you can believe that, you know.”

“Oh yes, we can quite believe, Jack, that, if you were there, in that
canoe, in that back water, with the land close ahead, you did land.”

The sailor looked searchingly at Ruthven and then continued:

“I hauled the canoe up and hid it in some bushes, and it were well I did,
for a short time afterwards a great—” and he paused. “Does the
hippypotybus live in them ere waters, young gents?”

“He does not, Jack,” Ruthven said.

“Then it's clear,” the sailor said, “that it wasn't a hippypotybus. It
must have been a seal.”

“Yes, it might have been a seal,” Ruthven said. “What did he do?”

“Well he just took a look at me, gents, winked with one eye, as much as to
say, 'I see you,' and went down again. There warn't nothing else as he
could do, was there?”

“It was the best thing he could do anyhow,” Ruthven said.

“Well, gents, I lived there for about three weeks, and then a ship comes
along, homeward bound, and I goes out and hails her. At first they thought
as I was a native as had learned to speak English, and it wasn't till
they'd boiled me for three hours in the ship's copper as they got at the
color of my skin, and could believe as I was English. So I came back here
and found the old woman still alive, and took to fishing again; but it was
weeks and weeks before I could get her or any one else to believe as I was
Jack Perkins. And that's all the story, young gents. Generally I tells it
a sight longer to the gents as come down from London in summer; but, you
see, I can't make much out of it when ye won't let me have 'bellishments.”

“And how much of it is true altogether, Jack?” Frank asked. “Really how
much?”

“It's all true as I have told you, young masters,” the boatman said. “It
were every bit true about the running down of the smack, and me being
nearly killed by the skipper, and the mutiny, and the burning of the
vessel, and my living for a long time—no, I won't stick to the two
years, but it might have been three weeks, with the natives before a ship
picked me up. And that's good enough for a yarn, ain't it?”

“Quite good enough, Jack, and we're much obliged to you; but I should
advise you to drop the embellishments in future.”

“It ain't no use, Master Hargate, they will have 'bellishments, and if
they will have 'em, Jack Perkins isn't the man to disappint 'em; and, Lord
bless you, sir, the stiffer I pitches it in the more liberal they is with
their tips. Thank ye kindly all round, gentlemen. Yes, I do feel dry after
the yarn.”

CHAPTER IV: A RISING TIDE

The half year was drawing to its close, and it was generally agreed at Dr.
Parker's that it had been the jolliest ever known. The boating episode and
that of the tea at Oak Farm had been events which had given a fillip to
existence. The school had been successful in the greater part of its
cricket matches, and generally every one was well satisfied with himself.
On the Saturday preceding the breaking up Frank, with Ruthven, Charlie
Goodall and two of the other naturalists, started along the seashore to
look for anemones and other marine creatures among the rocks and pools at
the foot of the South Foreland. Between Ruthven and Frank a strong feeling
of affection had grown up since the date of their boating adventure. They
were constantly together now; and as Ruthven was also intended for the
army, and would probably obtain his commission about the same time as
Frank, they often talked over their future, and indulged in hopes that
they might often meet, and that in their campaigns, they might go through
adventures together.

Tide was low when they started. They had nearly three miles to walk. The
pools in front of Deal and Walmer had often been searched, but they hoped
that once round the Foreland they might light upon specimens differing
from any which they had hitherto found. For some hours they searched the
pools, retiring as the tide advanced. Then they went up to the foot of the
cliffs, and sat down to open their cans and compare the treasures they had
collected. The spot which they had unwittingly selected was a little bay.
For a long time they sat comparing their specimens. Then Frank said, “Come
along, it is time to be moving.”

As he rose to his feet he uttered an exclamation of dismay. Although the
tide was still at some little distance from the spot where they were
sitting, it had already reached the cliffs extending out at either end of
the bay. A brisk wind was blowing on shore, and the waves were already
splashing against the foot of the rocks.

The whole party leaped to their feet, and seizing their cans ran off at
the top of their speed to the end of the bay.

“I will see how deep the water is,” Frank exclaimed; “we may yet be able
to wade round.”

The water soon reached Frank's waist. He waded on until it was up to his
shoulders, and he had to leap as each wave approached him. Then he
returned to his friends.

“I could see round,” he said, “and I think I could have got round without
getting into deeper water. The worst of it is the bottom is all rocky, and
I stumbled several times, and should have gone under water if I could not
have swam. You can't swim, Ruthven, I know; can you other fellows?”

Goodall could swim, as could one of the others.

“Now, Ruthven,” Frank said, “if you will put your hand on my shoulder and
keep quiet, I think I could carry you around. Goodall and Jackson can take
Childers.”

But neither of the other boys had much confidence in their swimming. They
could get thirty or forty yards, but felt sure that they would be able to
render but little assistance to Childers, and in fact scarcely liked to
round the point alone. For some time they debated the question, the sea
every minute rising and pushing them farther and farther from the point.
“Look here, Frank,” Ruthven said at last; “you are not sure you can carry
me. The others are quite certain that they cannot take Childers. We must
give up that idea. The best thing, old boy, is for you three who can swim
to start together. Then if either of the others fail you can help them a
bit. Childers and I must take our chance here. When you get round you must
send a boat as soon as possible.”

“I certainly shall not desert you, Ruthven,” Frank said. “You know as well
as I do that I'm not likely to find a boat on the shore till I get pretty
near Walmer Castle, and long before we could get back it would be settled
here. No, no, old fellow, we will see the matter out together. Jackson and
Goodall can swim round if they like.”

These lads, however, would not venture to take the risk alone, but said
they would go if Frank would go with them.

“Chuck off your boots and coats and waistcoats,” Frank said suddenly,
proceeding to strip rapidly to the skin. “I will take them round, Ruthven,
and come back to you. Run round the bay you and Childers, and see if you
can find any sort of ledge or projection that we can take refuge upon.
Now, then, come on you two as quick as you can.”

The sea had already reached within a few feet of the foot of the cliff all
round the bay.

“Now, mind,” Frank said sharply, “no struggling and nonsense, you fellows.
I will keep quite close to you and stick to you, so you needn't be afraid.
If you get tired just put one hand on my back and swim with the other and
your legs; and above all things keep your heads as low as possible in the
water so as just to be able to breathe.”

The three lads soon waded out as far as they could go and then struck out.
Jackson and Goodall were both poor swimmers and would have fared very
badly alone. The confidence, however, which they entertained in Frank gave
them courage, and they were well abreast of the point when first Jackson
and then Goodall put their hands on his shoulders. Thanks to the
instructions he had given them, and to their confidence in him, they
placed no great weight upon him. But every ounce tells heavily on a
swimmer, and Frank gave a gasp of relief as at last his feet touched the
ground. Bidding his companions at once set off at a run he sat down for
two or three minutes to recover his breath.

“It is lucky,” he said to himself, “that I did not try with Ruthven. It's
a very different thing carrying fellows who can swim and fellows who
can't. What fools we've been to let ourselves he caught here! I had no
idea the tide came so high, or that it was so dangerous, and none of us
have ever been round here before. Now I must go back to Ruthven.”

Frank found it even harder work to get back than it had been to come out
from the bay, for the tide was against him now. At last he stood beside
Ruthven and Childers.

“We can only find one place, Frank, where there is any projection a fellow
could stand upon, and that is only large enough for one. See!” he said,
pointing to a projecting block of chalk, whose upper surface, some eight
inches wide, was tolerably flat. “There is a cave here, too, which may go
beyond the tide. It is not deep but it slopes up a bit.”

“That will never do,” Frank said; “as the waves come in they will rush up
and fill it to the top. Don't you see it is all rounded by the water? Now,
Childers, we will put you on that stone. You will be perfectly safe there,
for you see it is two feet above this greenish line, which shows where the
water generally comes to. The tides are not at spring at present, so
though you may get a splashing there is no fear of your being washed off.”

The water was already knee deep at the foot of the rocks, and the waves
took them nearly up to the shoulders. Ruthven did not attempt to dispute
Frank's allotment of the one place of safety to Childers. Frank and he
placed themselves below the block of chalk, which was somewhat over six
feet from the ground. Then Childers scrambled up on to their shoulders,
and from these stepped onto the ledge.

“I am all right,” he said; “I wish to Heaven that you were too.”

“We shall do,” Frank said. “Mind you hold tight, Childers! You had better
turn round with your face to the cliff, so as to be able to grip hold and
steady yourself in case the waves come up high. The tide will turn in
three quarters of an hour at the outside. Now, then, Ruthven, let's make a
fight for it, old man.”

“What are you going to do, Frank?”

“We will wade along here as far as we can towards the corner, and than we
must swim for it.”

“Don't you think it's possible to stay here,” Ruthven said, “if the tide
will turn so soon?”

“Quite impossible!” Frank said. “I have been nearly taken off my feet
twice already, and the water will rise a yard yet, at least. We should be
smashed against the rocks, even if we weren't drowned. It must be tried,
Ruthven. There is no other way for it. The distance is a good deal farther
than it would have been if we had started at first; but it isn't the
distance that makes much matter. We've only got to go out a little way,
and the tide will soon take us around the point. Everything depends on
you. I can take you round the point, and land you safely enough, if you
will lie quiet. If you don't, you will drown both of us. So it's entirely
in your hands.

“Look out!”

At this moment a larger wave than usual took both boys off their legs, and
dashed them with considerable force against the cliff. Frank seized
Ruthven, and assisted him to regain his feet.

“Now, old fellow, let me put you on your back. I will lie on mine and tow
you along. Don't struggle; don't move; above all, don't try and lift your
head, and don't mind if a little water gets in your mouth. Now!”

For a moment Ruthven felt himself under water, and had to make a great
effort to restrain himself from struggling to come to the surface. Then he
felt himself lying on his back in the water, supported by Frank. The
motion was not unpleasant as he rose and fell on the waves, although now
and then a splash of water came over his face, and made him cough and
splutter for breath. He could see nothing but the blue sky overhead, could
feel nothing except that occasionally he received a blow from one or other
of Frank's knees, as the latter swam beneath him, with Ruthven's head on
his chest. It was a dreamy sensation, and looking back upon it afterwards
Ruthven could never recall anything that he had thought of. It seemed
simply a drowsy pleasant time, except when occasionally a wave covered his
face. His first sensation was that of surprise when he felt the motion
change, and Frank lifted his head from the water and said, “Stand up, old
fellow. Thank God, here we are, safe!”

Frank had indeed found the journey easier than that which he had before
undertaken with the others. He had scarcely tried to progress, but had,
after getting sufficiently far out to allow the tide to take him round the
point, drifted quietly.

“I owe my life to you, Frank. I shall never forget it, old fellow.”

“It's been a close thing,” Frank answered; “but you owe your life as much
to your own coolness as to me, and above all, Ruthven, don't let us forget
that we both owe our lives to God.”

“I sha'n't forget it,” Ruthven said quietly, and they stood for a few
minutes without speaking. “Now, what had we better do? Shall we start to
run home?”

“I can't,” Frank laughed, for he had nothing on but his trousers. These he
had slipped on after the return from his first trip, pushing the rest of
his things into a crevice in the rocks as high up as he could reach.

“You had better take off your things, Ruthven, and lay them out to dry in
the sun. The boat will be here in half an hour. I wonder how Childers is
getting on!”

“I think he will be safe,” Ruthven said. “The tide will not rise high
enough for there to be much danger of his being washed off.”

“I don't think so either,” Frank agreed, “or I would try and swim back
again; but I really don't think I could get round the point against the
tide again.”

In half an hour a boat rowing four oars was seen approaching.

“They are laying out well,” Ruthven said. “They couldn't row harder if
they were rowing a race. But had it not been for you, old fellow, they
would have been too late, as far as I am concerned.”

As the boat approached, the coxswain waved his hat to the boys. Frank
motioned with his arm for them to row on round the point. The boat swept
along at a short distance from the shore. The boys watched them
breathlessly. Presently as it reached the point they saw the coxswain
stand up and say something to the men, who glanced over their shoulders as
they rowed. Then the coxswain gave a loud shout. “Hold on! We'll be with
you directly.”

“Thank God!” Frank exclaimed, “Childers is all right.”

It was well, however, that the boat arrived when it did, for Childers was
utterly exhausted when it reached him. The sea had risen so high that the
waves broke against his feet, throwing the spray far above his head, and
often nearly washing him from the ledge on which he stood. Had it not
been, indeed, for the hold which he obtained of the cliff, it would
several times have swept him away. About eighteen inches above his head he
had found a ledge sufficiently wide to give a grip for his hands, and
hanging by these he managed to retain his place when three times his feet
were swept off the rock by the rush of water. The tide was just on the
turn when the boat arrived, and so exhausted was he that he certainly
would not have been able to hold out for the half hour's buffeting to
which he would have been exposed before the water fell sufficiently to
leave him. After helping him into the boat the men gathered the clothes
jammed in fissures of the cliffs. These were, of course, drenched with
water, but had for the most part remained firm in their places. They now
pulled round to the spot where Frank and Ruthven were awaiting them.

“Childers must have been pretty nearly done,” Frank said. “He must be
lying in the bottom of the boat.”

Childers gave a smile of pleasure as his schoolfellows jumped on board. He
had, glancing over his shoulder, seen them drift out of sight round the
point, and had felt certain that they had reached shore. It was, however,
a great pleasure to be assured of the fact.

“You have made quite a stir upon the beach, young gentlemen,” the coxswain
of the boat said. “When they two came running up without their shoes or
coats and said there were three of you cut off in the bay under the
Foreland, there didn't seem much chance for you. It didn't take us two
minutes to launch the boat, for there were a score of hands helping to run
her down; and my mates bent to it well, I can tell you, though we didn't
think it would be of any use. We were glad when we made you two out on
this side of the point. Look, there's half Deal and Walmer coming along
the shore.”

It was as the boatman said. Numbers of persons were streaming along the
beach, and loud were the cheers which rose as the coxswain stood up and
shouted in a stentorian voice, “All saved!”

Frank put on his things as they approached Walmer. His shoes were lost, as
were those of Ruthven, and he had difficulty in getting his arms into his
wet and shrunken jacket. Quite a crowd were gathered near the castle as
the boat rowed to shore, and a hearty cheer arose as it was run up on the
shingle and the boys were helped out. Frank and Ruthven, indeed, required
no assistance. They were in no way the worse for the adventure, but
Childers was so weak that he was unable to stand. He was carried up and
laid on a fly, the others sitting opposite, the driver having first taken
the precaution of removing the cushions.

There were among the crowd most of the boys from Dr. Parker's. Goodall and
Jackson had arrived nearly an hour and a half before, and the news had
spread like wildfire. Bats and balls had been thrown down and every one
had hurried to the beach. Goodall and his companion had already related
the circumstance of their being cut off by the water and taken round the
point by Frank; and as Ruthven on jumping out had explained to his
comrades who flocked round to shake his hand, “I owe my life to Hargate,”
the enthusiasm reached boiling point, and Frank had difficulty in taking
his place in the fly, so anxious were all to shake his hand and pat him on
the shoulder. Had it not been for his anxiety to get home as soon as
possible, and his urgent entreaties, they would have carried him on their
shoulders in triumph through the town. They drove first to the school,
where Childers was at once carried up to a bed, which had been prepared
with warm blankets in readiness; Ruthven needed only to change his
clothes.

The moment they had left the fly Frank drove straight home, and was
delighted at finding, from his mother's exclamation of surprise as he
alighted from the cab, that she had not been suffering any anxiety, no
one, in the general excitement, having thought of taking the news to her.
In answer to her anxious inquiries he made light of the affair, saying
only that they had stupidly allowed themselves to be cut off by the sea
and had got a ducking. It was not, indeed, till the next morning, when the
other four boys came around to tell Mrs. Hargate that they were indebted
to Frank for their lives, that she had any notion that he had been in
danger.

Frank was quite oppressed by what he called the fuss which was made over
the affair. A thrilling description of it appeared in the local papers. A
subscription was got up in the school, and a gold watch with an
inscription was presented to him; and he received letters of heart felt
thanks from the parents of his four schoolfellows, for Childers maintained
that it was entirely to Frank's coolness and thoughtfulness that his
preservation was also due.

On the following Wednesday the school broke up. Frank had several
invitations from the boys to spend his holidays with them; but he knew how
lonely his mother would feel in his absence, and he declined all the
invitations. Mrs. Hargate was far from strong, and had had several fits of
fainting. These, however, had taken place at times when Frank was at
school, and she had strictly charged her little servant to say nothing
about it.

One day on returning from a long walk he saw the doctor's carriage
standing at the door. Just as he arrived the door opened and the doctor
came out. Upon seeing Frank he turned.

“Come in here, my boy,” he said.

Frank followed him, and seeing that the blinds were down, went to draw
them up. The doctor laid his hand on his arm.

“Never mind that,” he said gently.

“My boy,” he said, “do you know that your mother has been for some time
ailing?”

“No, indeed,” Frank said with a gasp of pain and surprise.

“It is so, my boy. I have been attending her for some time. She has been
suffering from fainting fits brought on by weakness of the heart's action.
Two hours since I was sent for and found her unconscious. My poor boy, you
must compose yourself. God is good and merciful, though his decrees are
hard to bear. Your mother passed away quietly half an hour since, without
recovering consciousness.”

Frank gave a short cry, and then sat stunned by the suddenness of the
blow. The doctor drew out a small case from his pocket and poured a few
drops from the phial into a glass, added some water, and held it to
Frank's lips.

“Drink this, my boy,” he said.

Frank turned his head from the offered glass. He could not speak.

“Drink this, my boy,” the doctor said again; “it will do you good. Try and
be strong for the sake of your little sister, who has only you in the
world now.”

The thought of Lucy touched the right chord in the boy's heart, and he
burst into a passionate fit of crying. The doctor allowed his tears to
flow unchecked.

“You will be better now,” he said presently. “Now drink this, then lie
down on the sofa. We must not be having you ill, you know.”

Frank gulped down the contents of the glass, and, passive as a child,
allowed the doctor to place him upon the sofa.

“God help and strengthen you, my poor boy,” he said; “ask help from Him.”

For an hour Frank lay sobbing on the sofa, and then, remembering the
doctor's last words, he knelt beside it and prayed for strength.

A week had passed. The blinds were up again. Mrs. Hargate had been laid in
her last home, and Frank was sitting alone again in the little parlor
thinking over what had best be done. The outlook was a dark one, enough to
shake the courage of one much older than Frank. His mother's pension, he
knew, died with her. He had, on the doctor's advice, written to the War
Office on the day following his mother's death, to inform the authorities
of the circumstances, and to ask if any pension could be granted to his
sister. The reply had arrived that morning and had relieved him of the
greatest of his cares. It stated that as he was now just fifteen years old
he was not eligible for a pension, but that twenty-five pounds a year
would be paid to his sister until she married or attained the age of
twenty-one.

He had spoken to the doctor that morning, and the latter said that he knew
a lady who kept a small school, and who would, he doubted not, be willing
to receive Lucy and to board and clothe her for that sum. She was a very
kind and motherly person, and he was sure that Lucy would be most kindly
treated and cared for by her. It was then of his own future only that
Frank had to think. There were but a few pounds in the house, but the
letter from the War Office inclosed a check for twenty pounds, as his
mother's quarterly pension was just due. The furniture of the little house
would fetch but a small sum, not more, Frank thought, than thirty or forty
pounds. There were a few debts to pay, and after all was settled up there
would remain about fifty pounds. Of this he determined to place half in
the doctor's hands for the use of Lucy.

“She will want,” he said to himself, “a little pocket money. It is hard on
a girl having no money to spend of her own. Then, as she gets on, she may
need lessons in something or other. Besides, half the money rightly
belongs to her, The question is, What am I to do?”

CHAPTER V: ALONE IN THE WORLD

“What am I to do?”

A difficult question indeed, for a boy of fifteen, with but twenty-five
pounds, and without a friend in the world. Was he, indeed, without a
friend? he asked himself. There was Dr. Parker. Should he apply to him?
But the doctor had started for a trip on the Continent the day after the
school had broken up, and would not return for six weeks. It was possible
that, had he been at home, he might have offered to keep Frank for a
while; but the boys seldom stayed at his school past the age of fifteen,
going elsewhere to have their education completed. What possible claim had
he to quarter himself upon the doctor for the next four years, even were
the offer made? No, Frank felt; he could not live upon the doctor's
charity. Then there were the parents of the boys he had saved from
drowning. But even as he sat alone Frank's face flushed at the thought of
trading upon services so rendered. The boy's chief fault was pride. It was
no petty feeling, and he had felt no shame at being poorer than the rest
of his schoolfellows. It was rather a pride which led him unduly to rely
upon himself, and to shrink from accepting favors from any one. Frank
might well, without any derogation, have written to his friends, telling
them of the loss he had suffered and the necessity there was for him to
earn his living, and asking them to beg their fathers to use their
interest to procure him a situation as a boy clerk, or any other position
in which he could earn his livelihood.

Frank, however, shrunk from making any such appeal, and determined to
fight his battle without asking for help. He knew nothing of his parents'
relations. His father was an only son, who had been left early an orphan.
His mother, too, had, he was aware, lost both her parents, and he had
never heard her speak of other relations. There was no one, therefore, so
far as he knew, to whom he could appeal on the ground of ties of blood. It
must be said for him that he had no idea how hard was the task which he
was undertaking. It seemed to him that it must be easy for a strong,
active lad to find employment of some sort in London. What the employment
might be he cared little for. He had no pride of that kind, and so that he
could earn his bread he cared not much in what capacity he might do it.

Already preparations had been made for the sale of the furniture, which
was to take place next day. Everything was to be sold except the
scientific books which had belonged to his father. These had been packed
in a great box until the time when he might place them in a library of his
own, and the doctor kindly offered to keep it for him until such time
should arrive. Frank wrote a long letter to Ruthven, telling him of his
loss, and his reasons for leaving Deal, and promising to write some day
and tell him how he was getting on in London. This letter he did not
intend to post until the last thing before leaving Deal. Lucy had already
gone to her new home, and Frank felt confident that she would be happy
there. His friend, the doctor, who had tried strongly, but without avail,
to dissuade Frank from going up to London to seek his fortune there, had
promised that if the lad referred any inquiries to him he would answer for
his character.

He went down to the beach the last evening and said goodbye to his friends
among the fishermen, and he walked over in the afternoon and took his last
meal with Farmer Gregson.

“Look ye here, my lad,” the farmer said as they parted. “I tell ye, from
what I've heerd, this London be a hard nut to crack. There be plenty of
kernel, no doubt, when you can get at it, but it be hard work to open the
shell. Now, if so be as at any time you run short of money, just drop me a
line, and there's ten pound at your service whenever you like. Don't you
think it's an obligation. Quite the other way. It would be a real pleasure
to me to lend you a helping hand.”

Two days after the sale Frank started for London. On getting out of the
train he felt strange and lonely amid the bustle and confusion which was
going on on the platform. The doctor had advised him to ask one of the
porters, or a policeman, if he could recommend him to a quiet and
respectable lodging, as expenses at an hotel would soon make a deep hole
in his money. He, therefore, as soon as the crowd cleared away, addressed
himself to one of the porters.

“What sort of lodgings do you want, sir?” the man said, looking at him
rather suspiciously, with, as Frank saw, a strong idea in his mind that he
was a runaway schoolboy.

“I only want one room,” he said, “and I don't care how small it is, so
that it is clean and quiet. I shall be out all day, and should not give
much trouble.”

The porter went away and spoke to some of his mates, and presently
returned with one of them.

“You're wanting a room I hear, sir,” the man said. “I have a little house
down the Old Kent Road, and my missus lets a room or two. It's quiet and
clean, I'll warrant you. We have one room vacant at present.”

“I'm sure that would suit me very well,” Frank said. “How much do you
charge a week?”

“Three and sixpence, sir, if you don't want any cooking done.”

Frank took the address, and leaving his portmanteau in charge of the
porter, who promised, unless he heard to the contrary, that he would bring
it home with him when he had done his work, he set off from the station.

Deal is one of the quietest and most dreary places on the coast of
England, and Frank was perfectly astounded at the crowd and bustle which
filled the street, when he issued from the railway approach, at the foot
of London Bridge. The porter had told him that he was to turn to his left,
and keep straight along until he reached the “Elephant and Castle.” He
had, therefore, no trouble about his road, and was able to give his whole
attention to the sights which met his eye. For a time the stream of
omnibuses, cabs, heavy wagons, and light carts, completely bewildered him,
as did the throng of people who hastened along the footway. He was
depressed rather than exhilarated at the sight of this busy multitude. He
seemed such a solitary atom in the midst of this great moving crowd.
Presently, however, the thought that where so many millions gained their
living there must be room for one boy more, somewhat cheered him. He was a
long time making his way to his place of destination, for he stared into
every shop window, and being, although he was perfectly ignorant of the
fact, on the wrong side of the pavement, he was bumped and bustled
continually, and was not long in arriving at the conclusion that the
people of London must be the roughest and rudest in the world. It was not
until he ran against a gentleman, and was greeted with the angry, “now
then, boy. Where are you going? Why the deuce don't you keep on your own
side of the pavement?” that he perceived that the moving throng was
divided into two currents, that on the inside meeting him, while the
outside stream was proceeding in the same direction as himself. After this
he got on better, and arrived without adventure at the house of the
porter, in the Old Kent Road.

It was a small house, but was clean and respectable, and Frank found that
the room would suit him well.

“I do not wait upon the lodgers,” the landlady said, “except to make the
beds and tidy the rooms in the morning. So if you want breakfast and tea
at home you will have to get them yourself. There is a separate place
downstairs for your coals. There are some tea things, plates and dishes,
in this cupboard. You will want to buy a small tea kettle, and a gridiron,
and a frying pan, in case you want a chop or a rasher. Do you think you
can cook them yourself?”

“Frank, amused at the thought of cooking and catering for himself, said
boldly that he should soon learn.

“You are a very young gentleman,” the landlady said, eyeing him
doubtfully, “to be setting up on your own hook. I mean,” she said, seeing
Frank look puzzled, “setting up housekeeping on your own account. You will
have to be particular careful with the frying pan, because if you were to
upset the fat in the fire you might have the house in a blaze in a
jiffey.”

Frank said that he would certainly be careful with the frying pan.

“Well,” she went on, “as you're a stranger to the place I don't know as
you could do better than get your tea, and sugar, and things at the
grocer's at the next corner. I deals there myself, and he gives every
satisfaction. My baker will be round in a few minutes, and, if you likes,
I can take in your bread for you. The same with milk.”

These matters being arranged, and Frank agreeing at once to the
proposition that as he was a stranger it would make things more
comfortable were he to pay his rent in advance, found himself alone in his
new apartment. It was a room about ten feet square. The bed occupied one
corner, with the washstand at its foot. There was a small table in front
of the fireplace, and two chairs; a piece of carpet half covered the
floor, and these with the addition of the articles in the cupboard
constituted the furniture of the room. Feeling hungry after his journey
Frank resolved to go out at once and get something to eat, and then to lay
in a stock of provisions. After some hesitation regarding the character of
the meal he decided upon two Bath buns, determining to make a substantial
tea. He laid in a supply of tea, sugar, butter, and salt, bought a little
kettle, a frying pan, and a gridiron. Then he hesitated as to whether he
should venture upon a mutton chop or some bacon, deciding finally in favor
of the latter, upon the reflection that any fellow could see whether bacon
were properly frizzled up, while as to a chop there was no seeing anything
about it till one cut it. He, therefore, invested in a pound of prime
streaky Wiltshire bacon, the very best, as the shopman informed him, that
could be bought. He returned carrying all his purchases, with the
exception of the hardware. Then he inquired of his landlady where he could
get coal.

“The green grocer's round the corner,” the landlady said. “Tell him to
send in a hundredweight of the best, that's a shilling, and you'll want
some firewood too.”

The coal arrived in the course of the afternoon, and at half past six the
porter came in with Frank's trunk. He had by this time lit a fire, and
while the water was boiling got some of his things out of the box, and by
hanging some clothes on the pegs on the back of the door, and by putting
the two or three favorite books he had brought with him on to the
mantelpiece, he gave the room a more homelike appearance. He enjoyed his
tea all the more from the novelty of having to prepare it himself, and
succeeded very fairly for a first attempt with his bacon.

When tea was over he first washed up the things and then started for a
ramble. He followed the broad straight road to Waterloo Bridge, stood for
a long time looking at the river, and then crossed into the Strand. The
lamps were now alight and the brightness and bustle of the scene greatly
interested him. At nine o'clock he returned to his lodgings, but was again
obliged to sally out, as he found he had forgotten candles.

After breakfast next morning he went out and bought a newspaper, and set
himself to work to study the advertisements. He was dismayed to find how
many more applicants there were for places than places requiring to be
filled. All the persons advertising were older than himself, and seemed to
possess various accomplishments in the way of languages; many too could be
strongly recommended from their last situation. The prospect did not look
hopeful. In the first place he had looked to see if any required boy
clerks, but this species of assistant appeared little in demand; and then,
although he hoped that it would not come to that, he ran his eye down the
columns to see if any required errand boys or lads in manufacturing
businesses. He found, however, no such advertisements. However, as he said
to himself, it could not be expected that he should find a place waiting
for him on the very day after his arrival, and that he ought to be able to
live for a year on his five and twenty pounds; at this reflection his
spirits rose and he went out again for a walk.

For the first week, indeed, of his arrival in London Frank did not set
himself very earnestly to work to look for a situation. In his walks about
the streets he several times observed cards in the window indicating that
an errand boy was wanted. He resolved, however, that this should be the
last resource which he would adopt, as he would much prefer to go to work
as a common lad in a factory to serving in a shop. After the first week he
answered many advertisements, but in no case received a reply. In one
case, in which it was stated that a lad who could write a good fast hand
was required in an office, wages to begin with eight shillings a week, he
called two days after writing. It was a small office with a solitary clerk
sitting in it. The latter, upon learning Frank's business, replied with
some exasperation that his mind was being worried out by boys.

“We have had four hundred and thirty letters,” he said; “and I should
think that a hundred boys must have called. We took the first who applied,
and all the other letters were chucked into the fire as soon as we saw
what they were about.”

Frank returned to the street greatly disheartened.

“Four hundred and thirty letters!” he said. “Four hundred and thirty other
fellows on the lookout, just as I am, for a place as a boy clerk, and lots
of them, no doubt, with friends and relations to recommend them! The
lookout seems to be a bad one.”

Two days later, when Frank was walking along the strand he noticed the
placards in front of a theater.

“Gallery one shilling!” he said to himself; “I will go. I have never seen
a theater yet.”

The play was The Merchant of Venice, and Frank sat in rapt attention and
interest through it. When the performance was over he walked briskly
homewards. When he had proceeded some distance he saw a glare in the sky
ahead, and presently a steam engine dashed past him at full speed.

“That must be a house on fire,” he said. “I have never seen a fire;” and
he broke into a run.

Others were running in the same direction, and as he passed the “Elephant
and Castle” the crowd became thicker, and when within fifty yards of the
house he could no longer advance. He could see the flames now rising high
in the air. A horrible fear seized him.

“It must be,” he exclaimed to himself, “either our house or the one next
door.”

It was in vain that he pressed forward to see more nearly. A line of
policemen was drawn up across the road to keep a large space clear for the
firemen. Behind the policemen the crowd were thickly packed. Frank
inquired of many who stood near him if they could tell him the number of
the house which was on fire; but none could inform him.

Presently the flames began to die away, and the crowd to disperse. At
length Frank reached the first line of spectators.

“Can you tell me the number of the houses which are burned?” Frank said to
a policeman.

“There are two of them,” the policeman said “a hundred and four and a
hundred and five. A hundred and four caught first, and they say that a
woman and two children have been burned to death.”

“That is where I live!” Frank cried. “Oh, please let me pass!”

“I'll pass you in,” the policeman said good naturedly, and he led him
forward to the spot where the engines were playing upon the burning
houses. “Is it true, mate,” he asked a fireman, “that a woman and two
children have been burned?”

“It's true enough,” the fireman said. “The landlady and her children. Her
husband was a porter at the railway station, and had been detained on
overtime. He only came back a quarter of an hour ago, and he's been going
on like a madman;” and he pointed to the porter, who was sitting down on
the doorsteps of a house facing his own, with his face hidden in his
hands.

Frank went and sat down beside him.

“My poor fellow,” he said, “I am sorry for you.”

Frank had had many chats with his landlord of an evening, and had become
quite friendly with him and his wife.

“I can't believe it,” the man said huskily. “Just to think! When I went
out this morning there was Jane and the kids, as well and as happy as
ever, and there, where are they now?”

“Happier still,” Frank said gently. “I lost my mother just as suddenly
only five weeks ago. I went out for a walk, leaving her as well as usual,
and when I came back she was dead; so I can feel for you with all my
heart.”

“I would have given my life for them,” the man said, wiping his eyes,
“willing.”

“I'm sure you would,” Frank answered.

“There's the home gone,” the man said, “with all the things that it took
ten years' savings of Jane and me to buy; not that that matters one way or
the other now. And your traps are gone, too, I suppose, sir.”

“Yes,” Frank replied quietly, “I have lost my clothes and twenty-three
pounds in money; every penny I've got in the world except half a crown in
my pocket.”

“And you don't say nothing about it!” the man said, roused into animation.
“But, there, perhaps you've friends as will make it up to you.”

“I have no one in the world,” Frank answered, “whom I could ask to give me
a helping hand.”

“Well, you are a plucky chap,” the man said. “That would be a knock down
blow to a man, let alone a boy like you. What are you going to do now?” he
asked, forgetting for the moment his own loss, in his interest in his
companion.

“I don't know,” Frank replied. “Perhaps,” he added, seeing that the
interest in his condition roused the poor fellow from the thought of his
own deep sorrow, “you might give me some advice. I was thinking of getting
a place in an office, but of course I must give that up now, and should be
thankful to get anything by which I can earn my bread.”

“You come along with me,” the man said rising. “You've done me a heap of
good. It's no use sitting here. I shall go back to the station, and turn
in on some sacks. If you've nothing better to do, and nowhere to go to,
you come along with me. We will talk it all over.”

Pleased to have some one to talk to, and glad that he should not have to
look for a place to sleep, Frank accompanied the porter to the station.
With a word or two to the nightmen on duty, the porter led the way to a
shed near the station, where a number of sacks were heaped in a corner.

“Now,” the man said, “I will light a pipe. It's against the regulations,
but that's neither here nor there now. Now, if you're not sleepy, would
you mind talking to me? Tell me something about yourself, and how you come
to be alone here in London. It does me good to talk. It prevents me from
thinking.”

“There is very little to tell,” Frank said; and he related to him the
circumstances of the deaths of his father and mother, and how it came that
he was alone in London in search of a place.

“You're in a fix,” the porter said.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You see you're young for most work, and you never had no practice with
horses, or you might have got a place to drive a light cart. Then, again,
your knowing nothing of London is against you as an errand boy; and what's
worse than all this, anyone can see with half an eye that you're a
gentleman, and not accustomed to hard work. However, we will think it
over. The daylight's breaking now, and I has to be at work at six. But
look ye here, young fellow, tomorrow I've got to look for a room, and when
I gets it there's half of it for you, if you're not too proud to accept
it. It will be doing me a real kindness, I can tell you, for what I am to
do alone of an evening without Jane and the kids, God knows. I can't
believe they're gone yet.”

Then the man threw himself down upon the sacks, and broke into sobs. Frank
listened for half an hour till these gradually died away, and he knew by
the regular breathing that his companion was asleep. It was long after
this before he himself closed his eyes. The position did, indeed, appear a
dark one. Thanks to the offer of his companion, which he at once resolved
to accept for a time, he would have a roof to sleep under. But this could
not last; and what was he to do? Perhaps he had been wrong in not writing
at once to Ruthven and his schoolfellows. He even felt sure he had been
wrong; but it would be ten times as hard to write now. He would rather
starve than do this. How was he to earn his living? He would, he
determined, at any rate try for a few days to procure a place as an errand
boy. If that failed, he would sell his clothes, and get a rough working
suit. He was sure that he should have more chance of obtaining work in
such a dress than in his present attire.

Musing thus, Frank at last dropped off to sleep. When he woke he found
himself alone, his companion having left without disturbing him. From the
noises around him of trains coming in and out, Frank judged that the hour
was late.

“I have done one wise thing,” he said, “anyhow, and as far as I can see
it's the only one, in leaving my watch with the doctor to keep. He pointed
out that I might have it stolen if I carried it, and that there was no use
in keeping it shut up in a box. Very possibly it might be stolen by the
dishonesty of a servant. That's safe anyhow, and it is my only worldly
possession, except the books, and I would rather go into the workhouse
than part with either of them.”

Rising, he made his way into the station, where he found the porter at his
usual work.

“I would not wake you,” the man said; “you were sleeping so quiet, and I
knew 'twas no use your getting up early. I shall go out and settle for a
room at dinner time. If you will come here at six o'clock we'll go off
together. The mates have all been very kind, and have been making a
collection to bury my poor girl and the kids. They've found 'em, and the
inquest is tomorrow, so I shall be off work. The governor has offered me a
week; but there, I'd rather be here where there's no time for thinking,
than hanging about with nothing to do but to drink.”

CHAPTER VI: THE FIRST STEP

All that day Frank tramped the streets. He went into many shops where he
saw notices that an errand boy was required, but everywhere without
success. He perceived at once that his appearance was against him, and he
either received the abrupt answer of, “You're not the sort of chap for my
place,” or an equally decided refusal upon the grounds that he did not
know the neighborhood, or that they preferred one who had parents who
lived close by and could speak for him.

At six o'clock he rejoined the porter. He brought with him some bread and
butter and a piece of bacon. When, on arriving at the lodging of his new
friend, a neat room with two small beds in it, he produced and opened his
parcel, the porter said angrily, “Don't you do that again, young fellow,
or we shall have words. You're just coming to stop with me for a bit till
you see your way, and I'm not going to have you bring things in here. My
money is good for two months, and your living here with me won't cost
three shillings a week. So don't you hurt my feelings by bringing things
home again. There, don't say no more about it.”

Frank, seeing that his companion was really in earnest, said no more, and
was the less reluctant to accept the other's kindness as he saw that his
society was really a great relief to him in his trouble. After the meal
they sallied out to a second hand clothes shop. Here Frank disposed of his
things, and received in return a good suit of clothes fit for a working
lad.

“I don't know how it is,” the porter said as they sat together afterwards,
“but a gentleman looks like a gentleman put him in what clothes you will.
I could have sworn to your being that if I'd never seen you before. I
can't make it out, I don't know what it is, but there's certainly
something in gentle blood, whatever you may say about it. Some of my mates
are forever saying that one man's as good as another. Now I don't mean to
say they ain't as good; but what I say is, as they ain't the same. One man
ain't the same as another any more than a race horse is the same as a cart
horse. They both sprang from the same stock, at least so they says; but
breeding and feeding and care has made one into a slim boned creature as
can run like the wind, while the other has got big bones and weight and
can drag his two ton after him without turning a hair. Now, I take it,
it's the same thing with gentlefolks and working men. It isn't that one's
bigger than the other, for I don't see much difference that way; but a
gentleman's lighter in the bone, and his hands and his feet are smaller,
and he carries himself altogether different. His voice gets a different
tone. Why, Lord bless you, when I hears two men coming along the platform
at night, even when I can't see 'em, and can't hear what they says, only
the tone of their voices, I knows just as well whether it's a first class
or a third door as I've got to open as if I saw 'em in the daylight. Rum,
ain't it?”

Frank had never thought the matter out, and could only give his general
assent to his companion's proposition.

“Now,” the porter went on, “if you go into a factory or workshop, I'll bet
a crown to a penny that before you've been there a week you'll get called
Gentleman Jack, or some such name. You see if you ain't.”

“I don't care what they call me,” Frank laughed, “so that they'll take me
into the factory.”

“All in good time,” the porter said; “don't you hurry yourself. As long as
you can stay here you'll be heartily welcome. Just look what a comfort it
is to have you sitting here sociable and comfortable. You don't suppose I
could have sat here alone in this room if you hadn't been here? I should
have been in a public house making a beast of myself, and spending as much
money as would keep the pair of us.”

Day after day Frank went out in search of work. In his tramps he visited
scores of workshops and factories, but without success. Either they did
not want boys, or they declined altogether to take one who had no
experience in work, and had no references in the neighborhood. Frank took
his breakfast and tea with the porter, and was glad that the latter had
his dinner at the station, as a penny loaf served his purposes. One day in
his walks Frank entered Covent Garden and stood looking on at the bustle
and flow of business, for it happened to be market day. He leaned against
one of the columns of the piazza, eating the bread he had just bought.
Presently a sharp faced lad, a year or two younger than himself, came up
to him.

“Give us a hit,” he said, “I ain't tasted nothing today.”

Frank broke the bread in half and gave a portion to him.

“What a lot there is going on here!” Frank said.

“Law!” the boy answered, “that ain't nothing to what it is of a morning.
That's the time, 'special on the mornings of the flower market. It's hard
lines if a chap can't pick up a tanner or even a bob then.”

“How?” Frank asked eagerly.

“Why, by holding horses, helping to carry out plants, and such like. You
seems a green 'un, you do. Up from the country, eh? Don't seem like one of
our sort.”

“Yes,” Frank said, “I'm just up from the country. I thought it would be
easy to get a place in London, but I don't find it so.”

“A place!” the boy repeated scornfully. “I should like any one to see me
in a place. It's better a hundred times to be your own master.”

“Even if you do want a piece of bread sometimes?” Frank put in.

“Yes,” the boy said. “When it ain't market day and ye haven't saved enough
to buy a few papers or boxes of matches it does come hard. In winter the
times is bad, but in summer we gets on fairish, and there ain't nothing to
grumble about. Are you out of work yourself?”

“Yes,” Frank answered, “I'm on the lookout for a job.”

“You'd have a chance here in the morning,” said the boy, looking at him.
“You look decent, and might get a job unloading. They won't have us at no
price, if they can help it.”

“I will come and try anyhow,” Frank said.

That evening Frank told his friend, the porter, that he thought of going
out early next morning to try and pick up odd jobs at Covent Garden.

“Don't you think of it,” the porter said. “There's nothing worse for a lad
than taking to odd jobs. It gets him into bad ways and bad company. Don't
you hurry. I have spoken to lots of my mates, and they're all on the
lookout for you. We on the platform can't do much. It ain't in our line,
you see; but in the goods department, where they are constant with vans
and wagons and such like, they are likely enough to hear of something
before long.”

That night, thinking matters over in bed, Frank determined to go down to
the docks and see if he could get a place as cabin boy. He had had this
idea in his mind ever since he lost his money, and had only put it aside
in order that he might, if possible, get some berth on shore which might
seem likely in the end to afford him a means of making his way up again.
It was not that he was afraid of the roughness of a cabin boy's life; it
was only because he knew that it would be so very long before, working his
way up from boy to able bodied seaman, he could obtain a mate's
certificate, and so make a first step up the ladder. However, he thought
that even this would be better than going as a wagoner's boy, and he
accordingly crossed London Bridge, turned down Eastcheap, and presently
found himself in Ratcliff Highway. He was amused here at the nautical
character of the shops, and presently found himself staring into a window
full of foreign birds, for the most part alive in cages, among which,
however, were a few cases of stuffed birds.

“How stupid I have been!” he thought to himself. “I wonder I never thought
of it before! I can stuff birds and beasts at any rate a deal better than
those wooden looking things. I might have a chance of getting work at some
naturalist's shop. I will get a directory and take down all the addresses
in London, and then go around.”

He now became conscious of a conversation going on between a little old
man with a pair of thick horn rimmed spectacles and a sailor who had a
dead parrot and a cat in his hand.

“I really cannot undertake them,” the old man said. “Since the death of my
daughter I have had but little time to attend to that branch. What with
buying and selling, and feeding and attending to the live ones, I have no
time for stuffing. Besides, if the things were poisoned, they would not be
worth stuffing.”

“It isn't the question of worth, skipper,” the sailor said; “and I don't
say, mind ye, that these here critturs was pisoned, only if you looks at
it that this was the noisiest bird and the worst tempered thievingest cat
in the neighborhood—though, Lord bless you, my missus wouldn't allow
it for worlds—why, you know, when they were both found stiff and
cold this morning people does have a sort of a suspicion as how they've
been pisoned;” and he winked one eye in a portentous manner, and grinned
hugely. “The missus she's in a nice taking, screeching, and yelling as you
might hear her two cables' length away, and she turns round on me and will
have it as I'd a hand in the matter. Well, just to show my innocence, I
offers to get a glass case for 'em and have 'em stuffed, if it cost me a
couple of pounds. I wouldn't care if they fell all to pieces a week
afterwards, so that it pacified the old woman just at present. If I can't
get 'em done I shall ship at once, for the place will be too hot to hold
me. So you can't do it nohow?”

The old man shook his head, and the sailor was just turning off when Frank
went up to him:

“Will you please wait a moment? Can I speak to you, sir, a minute?” he
asked the old man.

The naturalist went into his shop, and Frank followed him.

“I can stuff birds and animals, sir,” he said. “I think I really stuff
them well, for some which I did for amusement were sold at ten shillings a
case, and the man who bought them of me told me they would be worth four
times as much in London. I am out of work, sir, and very very anxious to
get my living. You will find me hard working and honest. Do give me a
chance. Let me stuff that cat and parrot for the sailor. If you are not
satisfied then, I will go away and charge nothing for it.”

The man looked at him keenly.

“I will at any rate give you a trial,” he said. Then he went to the door
and called in the sailor. “This lad tells me he can stuff birds. I know
nothing about him, but I believe he is speaking truthfully. If you like to
intrust them to him he will do his best. If you're not satisfied he will
make no charge.”

Much pleased at seeing a way out of his dilemma, the sailor placed the
dead animals on the counter.

“Now,” the old man said to Frank, “you can take these out into the back
yard and skin them. Then you can go to work in that back room. You will
find arsenical soap, cotton wool, wires, and everything else you require
there. This has been a fine cat,” he said, looking at the animal.

“Yes, it has been a splendid creature,” Frank answered. “It is a
magnificent macaw also.”

“Ah! you know it is a macaw!” the old man said.

“Of course,” Frank said simply; “it has a tail.”

The old man then furnished Frank with two or three sharp knives and
scissors. Taking the bird and cat, he went out into the yard and in the
course of an hour had skinned them both. Then he returned to the shop and
set to work in the room behind.

“May I make a group of them?” he asked.

“Do them just as you like,” the old man said.

After settling upon his subject, Frank set to work, and, except that he
went out for five minutes to buy and eat a penny loaf, continued his work
till nightfall. The old man came in several times to look at him, but each
time went out again without making a remark. At six o'clock Frank laid
down his tools.

“I will come again tomorrow, sir,” he said.

The old man nodded, and Frank went home in high spirits. There was a
prospect at last of getting something to do, and that in a line most
congenial to his own tastes.

The old man looked up when he entered next morning.

“I shall not come in today,” he remarked. “I will wait to see them
finished.”

Working without interruption till the evening, Frank finished them to his
satisfaction, and enveloped them with many wrappings of thread to keep
them in precisely the attitudes in which he had placed them.

“They are ready for drying now, sir,” he said. “If I might place them in
an oven they would be dried by morning.”

The old man led the way to the kitchen, where a small fire was burning.

“I shall put no more coals on the fire,” he said, “and it will be out in a
quarter of an hour. Put them in there and leave the door open. I will
close it in an hour when the oven cools.”

The next day Frank was again at work. It took him all day to get fur and
feather to lie exactly as he wished them. In the afternoon he asked the
naturalist for a piece of flat board, three feet long, and a perch, but
said that instead of the piece of board he should prefer mounting them in
a case at once. The old man had not one in the shop large enough, and
therefore Frank arranged his group temporarily on the table. On the board
lay the cat. At first sight she seemed asleep, but it was clearly only
seeming. Her eyes were half open, the upper lip was curled up, and the
sharp teeth showed. The hind feet were drawn somewhat under her as in
readiness for an instant spring. Her front paws were before her, the
talons were somewhat stretched, and one paw was curved. Her ears lay
slightly back. She was evidently on the point of springing. The macaw
perch, which had been cut down to a height of two feet, stood behind her.
The bird hung by its feet, and, head downwards, stretched with open beak
towards the tip of the cat's tail, which was slightly uplifted. On a piece
of paper Frank wrote, “Dangerous Play.”

It was evening before he had finished perfectly to his satisfaction. Then
he called the naturalist in. The old man stopped at the door, surveying
the group. Then he entered and examined it carefully.

“Wonderful!” he said. “Wonderful! I should have thought them alive. There
is not a shop in the West End where it could have been turned out better,
if so well.

“Lad, you are a wonder! Tell me now who and what are you? I saw when you
first addressed me that you were not what you seemed to be, a working
lad.”

“I have been well educated,” Frank said, “and was taught to preserve and
stuff by my father, who was a great naturalist. My parents died suddenly,
and I was left on my own resources, which,” he said, smiling faintly,
“have hitherto proved of very small avail. I am glad you are pleased. If
you will take me into your service I will work hard and make myself useful
in every way. If you require references I can refer you to the doctor who
attended us in the country; but I have not a single friend in London
except a railway porter, who has most kindly and generously taken me in
and sheltered me for the last two months.”

“I need no references,” the old man said; “your work speaks for itself as
to your skill, and your face for your character. But I can offer you
nothing fit for you. With such a genius as you have for setting up
animals, you ought to be able to earn a good income. Not one man in a
thousand can make a dead animal look like a live one. You have the knack
or the art.”

“I shall be very content with anything you can give me,” Frank said; “for
the present I only ask to earn my living. If later on I can, as you say,
do more, all the better.”

The old man stood for some time thinking, and presently said, “I do but
little except in live stock. When I had my daughter with me I did a good
deal of stuffing, for there is a considerable trade hereabout. The sailors
bring home skins of foreign birds, and want them stuffed and put in cases,
as presents for their wives and sweethearts. You work fast as well as
skillfully. I have known men who would take a fortnight to do such a group
as that, and then it would be a failure. It will be quite a new branch for
my trade. I do not know how it will act yet, but to begin with I will give
you twelve shillings a week, and a room upstairs. If it succeeds we will
make other arrangements. I am an old man, and a very lonely one. I shall
be glad to have such a companion.”

Frank joyfully embraced the offer, and ran all the way home to tell his
friend, the porter, of the engagement.

“I am very glad,” the man said; “heartily glad. I shall miss you sorely. I
do not know what I should have done without you when I first lost poor
Jane and the kids. But now I can go back to my old ways again.”

“Perhaps,” Frank suggested, “you might arrange to have a room also in the
house. It would not be a very long walk, not above twenty or five and
twenty minutes, and I should be so glad to have you with me.”

The man sat silent for a time. “No,” he said at last, “I thank you all the
same. I should like it too, but I don't think it would be best in the end.
Here all my mates live near, and I shall get on in time. The Christmas
holiday season will soon be coming on and we shall be up working late. If
you were always going to stop at the place you are going to, it would be
different; but you will rise, never fear. I shall be seeing you in
gentleman's clothes again some of these days. I've heard you say you were
longing to get your books and to be studying again, and you'll soon fall
into your own ways; but if you will let me, I'll come over sometimes and
have a cup of tea and a chat with you. Now, look here, I'm going out with
you now, and I'm going to buy you a suit of clothes, something like what
you had on when I first saw you. They won't be altogether unsuitable in a
shop. This is a loan, mind, and you may pay me off as you get flush.”

Frank saw he should hurt the good fellow's feelings by refusing, and
accordingly went out with him, and next morning presented himself at the
shop in a quiet suit of dark gray tweed, and with his other clothes in a
bundle.

“Aha!” said the old man; “you look more as you ought to do now, though
you're a cut above an assistant in a naturalist's shop in Ratcliff
Highway. Now, let me tell you the names of some of these birds. They are,
every one of them, foreigners; some of them I don't know myself.”

“I can tell all the family names,” Frank said quietly, “and the species,
but I do not know the varieties.”

“Can you!” the old man said in surprise. “What is this now?”

“That is a mockingbird, the great black capped mockingbird, I think. The
one next to it is a golden lory.”

So Frank went round all the cages and perches in the shop.

“Right in every case,” the old man said enthusiastically; “I shall have
nothing to teach you. The sailor has been here this morning. I offered him
two pounds for the cat and bird to put in my front window, but he would
not take it, and has paid me that sum for your work. Here it is. This is
yours, you know. You were not in my employment then, and you will want
some things to start with, no doubt. Now come upstairs, I will show you
your room. I had intended at first to give you the one at the back, but I
have decided now on giving you my daughter's. I think you will like it.”

Frank did like it greatly. It was the front room on the second floor. The
old man's daughter had evidently been a woman of taste and refinement. The
room was prettily papered, a quiet carpet covered the floor, and the
furniture was neat and in good keeping. Two pairs of spotless muslin
curtains hung across the windows.

“I put them up this morning,” the old man said, nodding. “I have got the
sheets and bedding airing in the kitchen. They have not been out of the
press for the last three years. You can cook in the kitchen. There is
always a fire there.

“Now, the first thing to do,” he went on when they returned to the shop,
“will be for you to mount a dozen cases for the windows. These drawers are
full of skins of birds and small animals. I get them for next to nothing
from the sailors, and sell them to furriers and feather preparers, who
supply ladies' hat and bonnet makers. In future, I propose that you shall
mount them and sell them direct. We shall get far higher prices than we do
now. I seem to be putting most of the work on your shoulders, but do not
want you to help me in the shop. I will look after the birds and buy and
sell as I used to do; you will have the back room private to yourself for
stuffing and mounting.”

Frank was delighted at this allotment of labor, and was soon at work
rummaging the drawers and picking out specimens for mounting, and made a
selection sufficient to keep him employed for weeks. That evening he
sallied out and expended his two pounds in underlinen, of which he was
sorely in need. As he required them his employer ordered showcases for the
window, of various sizes, getting the backgrounds painted and fitted up as
Frank suggested.

Frank did not get on so fast with his work as he had hoped, for the fame
of the sailor's cat and macaw spread rapidly in the neighborhood, and
there was a perfect rush of sailors and their wives anxious to have birds
and skins, which had been brought from abroad, mounted. The sailor himself
looked in one day.

“If you like another two pounds for that 'ere cat, governor, I'm game to
pay you. It's the best thing that ever happened to me. Every one's wanting
to see 'em, and there's the old woman dressed up in her Sunday clothes
a-sitting in the parlor as proud as a peacock a showing of 'em off. The
house ain't been so quiet since I married. Them animals would be cheap to
me at a ten pound note. They'll get you no end of orders, I can tell you.”

The orders, indeed, came in much faster than Frank could fulfill them,
although he worked twelve hours a day; laying aside all other work,
however, for three hours in order to devote himself to the shop cases,
which were to be chef d'oeuvres.

CHAPTER VII: AN OLD FRIEND

For three months Frank passed a quiet and not unpleasant life with the old
naturalist in Ratcliff Highway. The latter took a great liking to him, and
treated him like a son rather than an assistant. The two took their meals
together now, and Frank's salary had been raised from twelve to eighteen
shillings a week. So attractive had the cases in the windows proved that
quite a little crowd was generally collected round them, and the business
had greatly augmented. The old naturalist was less pleased at this change
than most men would have been in his position. He had got into a groove
and did not care to get out of it. He had no relatives or any one
dependent on him, and he had been well content to go on in a jog trot way,
just paying his expenses of shop and living. The extra bustle and push
worried rather than pleased him.

“I am an old man,” he said to Frank one day, as after the shop was closed
they sat over their tea. “I have no motive in laying by money, and had
enough for my wants. I was influenced more by my liking for your face and
my appreciation of your talent, than by any desire of increasing my
business. I am taking now three times as much as I did before. Now I
should not mind, indeed, I should be glad, if I thought that you would
succeed me here as a son would do. I would gladly take you into
partnership with me, and you would have the whole business after my death.
But I know, my boy, that it wouldn't do. I know that the time will come
when you will not be content with so dull a life here. You will either get
an offer from some West End house which would open higher prospects to
you, or you will be wandering away as a collector. In any case you would
not stop here, of that I am quite sure, and therefore do not care, as I
should have done, had you been my son, for the increase of the business.
As it is, lad, I could not even wish to see you waste your life here.”

Frank, after he was once fairly settled at his new work, had written to
his friend the doctor, at Deal, telling him of the position he had taken,
and that he was in a fair way to make at least a comfortable living, and
that at a pursuit of which he was passionately fond. He asked him,
however, while writing to him from time to time to give him news of his
sister, not to tell any one his address, as although he was not ashamed of
his berth, still he would rather that, until he had made another step up
in life, his old schoolfellows should not know of his whereabouts. He had
also written to his friend Ruthven a bright chatty letter, telling him
somewhat of his adventures in London and the loss of his money, and saying
that he had now got employment at a naturalist's, with every chance of
making his way.

“When I mount a bit higher,” he concluded, “I shall be awfully glad to see
you again, and will let you know what my address may then be. For the
present I had rather keep it dark. If you will write to me, addressed to
the General Post Office, telling me all about yourself and the fellows at
school, I shall be very, very glad to get your letter. I suppose you will
be breaking up for Christmas in a few days.”

Christmas came and went. It was signalized to Frank only by the despatch
of a pretty present to Lucy, and the receipt of a letter from her written
in a round childish hand. A week afterwards he heard somebody come into
the shop. His employer was out, and he therefore went into the shop.

“I knew it was!” shouted a voice. “My dear old Frank, how are you?” and
his hand was warmly clasped in that of Ruthven.

“My dear Ruthven,” was all Frank could say.

“I had intended,” Ruthven exclaimed, “to punch your head directly I found
you; but I am too glad to do it, though you deserve it fifty times over.
What a fellow you are! I wouldn't have believed it of you, running away in
that secret sort of way and letting none of us know anything about you.
Wasn't I angry, and sorry too, when I got the letter you wrote me from
Deal! When I went back to school and found that not even Dr. Parker, not
even your sister, knew where you were, I was mad. So were all the other
fellows. However, I said I would find you wherever you had hidden
yourself.”

“But how did you find me?” Frank asked greatly moved at the warmth of his
schoolfellow's greeting.

“Oh! it wasn't so very difficult to find you when once I got your letter
saying what you were doing. The very day I came up to town I began to hunt
about. I found from the Directory there were not such a great number of
shops where they stuffed birds and that sort of thing. I tried the places
in Bond Street, and Piccadilly, and Wigmore Street, and so on to begin
with. Then I began to work east, and directly I saw the things in the
window here I felt sure I had found you at last. You tiresome fellow! Here
I have wasted nearly half my holidays looking for you.”

“I am so sorry, Ruthven.”

“Sorry! you ought to be more than sorry. You ought to be ashamed of
yourself, downright ashamed. But, there, I won't say any more now. Now,
can't you come out with me?”

“No, I can't come out now, Ruthven; but come into this room with me.”

There for the next hour they chatted, Frank giving a full account of all
he had gone through since he came up to town, while Ruthven gave him the
gossip of the half year at school.

“Well,” Ruthven said at last, “this old Horton of yours must be a brick.
Still, you know, you can't stop here all your life. You must come and talk
it over with my governor.”

“Oh, no, indeed, Ruthven! I am getting on very well here, and am very
contented with my lot, and I could not think of troubling your father in
the matter.”

“Well, you will trouble him a great deal,” Ruthven said, “if you don't
come, for you will trouble him to come all the way down here. He was quite
worried when he first heard of your disappearance, and has been almost as
excited as I have over the search for you.

“You are really a foolish fellow, Frank,” he went on more seriously; “I
really didn't think it of you. Here you save the lives of four or five
fellows and put all their friends under a tremendous obligation, and then
you run away and hide yourself as if you were ashamed. I tell you you
can't do it. A fellow has no more right to get rid of obligations than he
has to run away without paying his debts. It would be a burden on your
mind if you had a heavy debt you couldn't pay, and you would have a right
to be angry if, when you were perfectly able to pay, your creditor refused
to take the money. That's just the position in which you've placed my
father. Well, anyhow, you've got to come and see him, or he's got to come
and see you. I know he has something in his mind's eye which will just
suit you, though he did not tell me what it was. For the last day or two
he has been particularly anxious about finding you. Only yesterday when I
came back and reported that I had been to half a dozen places without
success, he said, 'Confound the young rascal, where can he be hiding? Here
are the days slipping by and it will be too late. If you don't find him in
a day or two, Dick, I will set the police after him—say he has
committed a murder or broken into a bank and offer a reward for his
apprehension.' So you must either come home with me this afternoon, or you
will be having my father down here tonight.”

“Of course, Ruthven,” Frank said, “I would not put your father to such
trouble. He is very kind to have taken so much interest in me, only I hate—”

“Oh, nonsense! I hate to see such beastly stuck up pride, putting your own
dignity above the affection of your friends; for that's really what it
comes to, old boy, if you look it fairly in the face.”

Frank flushed a little and was silent for a minute or two.

“I suppose you are right, Ruthven; but it is a little hard for a fellow—”

“Oh, no, it isn't,” Ruthven said. “If you'd got into a scrape from some
fault of your own one could understand it, although even then there would
be no reason for you to cut your old friends till they cut you. Young
Goodall, who lives over at Bayswater, has been over four or five times to
ask me if I have succeeded in finding you, and I have had letters from
Handcock, and Childers, and Jackson. Just as if a fellow had got nothing
to do but to write letters. How long will you be before you can come out?”

“There is Mr. Horton just come in,” Frank said. “I have no doubt he will
let me go at once.”

The old naturalist at once assented upon Frank's telling him that a friend
had come who wished him to go out.

“Certainly, my dear boy. Why, working the hours and hours of overtime that
you do, of course you can take a holiday whenever you're disposed.”

“He will not be back till late,” Ruthven said as they went out. “I shall
keep him all the evening.”

“Oh, indeed, Ruthven, I have no clothes!”

“Clothes be bothered,” Ruthven said. “I certainly shall end by punching
your head, Frank, before the day's out.”

Frank remonstrated no more, but committed himself entirely to his friend's
guidance. At the Mansion House they mounted on the roof of an omnibus
going west, and at Knightsbridge got off and walked to Eaton Square, where
Ruthven's father resided. The latter was out, so Frank accompanied his
friend to what he called his sanctum, a small room littered up with books,
bats, insect boxes, and a great variety of rubbish of all kinds. Here they
chatted until the servant came up and said that Sir James had returned.

“Come on, Frank,” Ruthven said, running downstairs. “There's nothing of
the ogre about the governor.”

They entered the study, and Ruthven introduced his friend.

“I've caught him, father, at last. This is the culprit.”

Sir James Ruthven was a pleasant looking man, with a kindly face.

“Well, you troublesome boy,” he said, holding out his hand, “where have
you been hiding all this time?”

“I don't know that I've been hiding, sir,” Frank said.

“Not exactly hiding,” Sir James smiled, “only keeping away from those who
wanted to find you. Well, and how are you getting on?”

“I am getting on very well, sir. I am earning eighteen shillings a week
and my board and lodging, and my employer says he will take me into
partnership as soon as I come of age.”

“Ah, indeed!” Sir James said. “I am glad to hear that, as it shows you
must be clever and industrious.”

“Yes, father, and the place was full of the most lovely cases of things
Frank had stuffed. There was quite a crowd looking in at the window.”

“That is very satisfactory. Now, Frank, do you sit down and write a note
to your employer, asking him to send down half a dozen of the best cases.
I want to show them to a gentleman who will dine with me here today, and
who is greatly interested in such matters. When you have written the note
I will send a servant off at once in a cab to fetch them.”

“And, father,” Dick continued, “if you don't mind, might Frank and I have
our dinner quietly together in my room? You've got a dinner party on, and
Frank won't enjoy it half as much as he would dining quietly with me.”

“By all means,” Sir James said. “But mind he is not to run away without
seeing me.

“You are a foolish lad,” he went on in a kind voice to Frank; “and it was
wrong as well as foolish to hide yourself from your friends. However
independent we may be in this world, all must, to a certain extent, rely
upon others. There is scarcely a man who can stand aloof from the rest and
say, 'I want nothing of you.' I can understand your feeling in shrinking
from asking a favor of me, or of the fathers of the other boys who are,
like myself, deeply indebted to you for the great service you have
rendered their sons. I can admire the feeling if not carried too far; but
you should have let your schoolfellows know exactly how you were placed,
and so have given us the opportunity of repaying the obligation if we were
disposed, not to have run away and hidden yourself from us.”

“I am sorry, sir,” Frank said simply. “I did not like to seem to trade
upon the slight service I rendered some of my schoolfellows. Dr. Bateman
told me I was wrong, but I did not see it then. Now I think, perhaps he
was right, although I am afraid that if it happened again I should do the
same.”

Sir James smiled.

“I fear you are a stiff necked one, Master Frank. However, I will not
scold you any further. Now, what will you do with yourselves till dinner
time?”

“Oh, we'll just sit and chat, father. We have got lots more things to tell
each other.”

The afternoon passed in pleasant talk. Frank learned that Ruthven had now
left Dr. Parker's for good, and that he was going down after the holidays
to a clergyman who prepared six or eight boys for the army. Before dinner
the footman returned with half a dozen of the best cases from the shop,
which were brought up to Dick's room, and the latter was delighted with
them. They greatly enjoyed their dinner together. At nine o'clock a
servant came up and took down the cases. Five minutes later he returned
again with a message, saying that Sir James wished Mr. Richard and his
friend to go down into the dining room. Frank was not shy, but he felt it
rather a trial when he entered the room, where seven or eight gentlemen
were sitting round the table, the ladies having already withdrawn. The
gentlemen were engaged in examining and admiring the cases of stuffed
birds and animals.

“This is my young friend,” Sir James said, “of whom I have been speaking
to you, and whose work you are all admiring. This, Frank, is Mr.
Goodenough, the traveler and naturalist, of whom you may have heard.”

“Yes, indeed,” Frank said, looking at the gentleman indicated. “I have Mr.
Goodenough's book on The Passerine Family at home.”

“It is rather an expensive book too,” the gentleman said.

“Yes, sir. My father bought it, not I. He was very fond of natural history
and taught me all I know. He had a capital library of books on the
subject, which Dr. Bateman is keeping for me, at Deal, till I have some
place where I can put them. I was thinking of getting them up soon.”

Mr. Goodenough asked him a few questions as to the books in the library,
and then put him through what Frank felt was a sort of examination, as to
his knowledge of their contents.

“Very good indeed!” Mr. Goodenough said. “I can see from your work here
that you are not only a very clever preparer, but a close student of the
habits and ways of wild creatures. But I was hardly prepared to find your
scientific knowledge so accurate and extensive. I was at first rather
inclined to hesitate when Sir James Ruthven made me a proposal just now. I
do so no longer. I am on the point of starting on an expedition into the
center of Africa in search of specimens of natural history. He has
proposed that you should accompany me, and has offered to defray the cost
of your outfit, and of your passage out and home. I may be away for two
years. Of course you would act as my assistant, and have every opportunity
of acquiring such knowledge as I possess. It will be no pleasure trip, you
know, but hard work, with all sorts of hardships and, perhaps, some
dangers. At the same time it would be a fine opening in a career as a
naturalist. Well, what do you say?”

“Oh, sir!” Frank exclaimed, clasping his hands, “it is of all things in
the world what I should like most. How can I thank you enough? And you,
Sir James, it is indeed kind and thoughtful of you.”

“We are not quits yet by any means, Frank,” Sir James said kindly. “I am
glad indeed to be able to forward your wishes; and now you must go
upstairs and be introduced to my wife. She is most anxious to see you. She
only returned home just before dinner.”

Frank was taken upstairs, where he and his cases of birds were made much
of by Lady Ruthven and the ladies assembled in the drawing room. He
himself was so filled with delight at the prospect opened to him that all
thought of his dark tweed suit being out of place among the evening
dresses of the ladies and gentlemen, which had troubled him while he was
awaiting the summons to the dining room, quite passed out of his mind, and
he was able to do the honors of his cases naturally and without
embarrassment. At eleven o'clock he took his leave, promising to call upon
Mr. Goodenough, who was in lodgings in Jermyn Street, upon the following
morning, that gentleman having at Sir James' request undertaken to procure
all the necessary outfit.

“I feel really obliged to you, Sir James,” Mr. Goodenough said when Frank
had left. “The lad has a genius for natural history, and he is modest and
self possessed. From what you tell me he has done rather than apply for
assistance to anyone, he must have plenty of pluck and resolution, and
will make a capital traveling companion. I feel quite relieved, for it is
so difficult to procure a companion who will exactly suit. Clever
naturalists are rare, and one can never tell how one will get on with a
man when you are thrown together. He may want to have his own way, may be
irritable and bad tempered, may in many respects be a disagreeable
companion. With that lad I feel sure of my ground. We shall get on
capitally together.”

On his return to the shop Frank told his employer, whom he found sitting
up for him, the change which had taken place in his life, and the opening
which presented itself.

Mr. Horton expressed himself as sincerely glad.

“I shall miss you sadly,” he said, “shall feel very dull for a time in my
solitary house here; but it is better for you that you should go, and I
never expected to keep you long. You were made for better things than this
shop, and I have no doubt that a brilliant career will be open before you.
You may not become a rich man, for natural history is scarcely a lucrative
profession, but you may become a famous one. Now, my lad, go off to bed
and dream of your future.”

The next morning Frank went over, the first thing after breakfast, to see
his friend the porter. He, too, was very pleased to hear of Frank's good
fortune, but he was too busy to talk much to him, and promised that he
would come over that evening and hear all about it. Then Frank took his
way to Jermyn Street, and went with Mr. Goodenough to Silver's, where an
outfit suited for the climate of Central Africa was ordered. The clothes
were simple. Shirts made of thin soft flannel, knickerbockers and Norfolk
jackets of tough New Zealand flax, with gaiters of the same material.

“There is nothing like it,” Mr. Goodenough said; “it is the only stuff
which has a chance with the thorns of an African forest. Now you will want
a revolver, a Winchester repeating carbine, and a shotgun. My outfit of
boxes and cases is ready, so beyond two or three extra nets and collecting
boxes there is nothing farther to do in that way. For your head you'd
better have a very soft felt hat with a wide brim; with a leaf or two
inside they are as cool as anything, and are far lighter and more
comfortable than the helmets which many people use in the tropics.”

“As far as shooting goes,” Frank said, “I think that I shall do much
better with my blowgun than with a regular one. I can hit a small bird
sitting nineteen times out of twenty.”

“That is a good thing,” Mr. Goodenough answered. “For shooting sitting
there is nothing better than a blowgun in skillful hands. They have the
advantage too of not breaking the skin; but for flying a shotgun is
infinitely more accurate. You will have little difficulty in learning to
shoot well, as your eye is already trained by the use of your blowpipe.
Will you want any knives for skinning?”

“No, sir. I have a plentiful stock of them.”

“Are you going back to Eaton Square? I heard Sir James ask you to stop
there until we start.”

“No,” Frank replied; “I asked his permission to stay where I am till
tomorrow. I did not like to seem in a hurry to run away from Mr. Horton,
who has been extremely kind to me.”

“Mind, you must come here in three days to have your things tried on,” Mr.
Goodenough said. “I particularly ordered that they are to be made easy and
comfortable, larger, indeed, than you absolutely require, but we must
allow for growing, and two years may make a difference of some inches to
you. Now, we have only to go to a bootmaker's and then we have done.”

When the orders were completed they separated, as Mr. Goodenough was going
down that afternoon to the country, and was not to return until the day
preceding that on which they were to sail. That evening Frank had a long
chat with his two friends, and was much pleased when the old naturalist,
who had taken a great fancy to the honest porter, offered him the use of a
room at his house, saying that he should be more than paid by the pleasure
of his company of an evening. The offer was accepted, and Frank was glad
to think that his two friends would be sitting smoking their pipes
together of an evening instead of being in their solitary rooms. The next
day he took up his residence in Eaton square.

CHAPTER VIII: TO THE DARK CONTINENT

After spending two or three days going about London and enjoying himself
with his friend Dick, Frank started for Deal, where he was pleased to find
his sister well and happy. He bade goodbye to her, to the doctor, and such
of his schoolfellows as lived in Deal, to whom his start for Central
Africa was quite an event. Dr. Bateman handed over to him his watch and
chain and his blowgun, which he had taken care of for him, also his
skinning knives and instruments. The same evening he returned to town, and
spent the days very pleasantly until the afternoon came when he was to
depart. Then he bade farewell to his kind friends Sir James and Lady
Ruthven. Dick accompanied him in the cab to Euston station, where a minute
or two later Mr. Goodenough arrived. The luggage was placed in a carriage,
and Frank stood chatting with Dick at the door, until the guard's cry,
“Take your places!” caused him to jump into the carriage. There was one
more hearty handshake with his friend, and then the train steamed out of
the station.

It was midnight when they arrived at Liverpool, and at once went to bed at
the Station Hotel. On coming down in the morning Frank was astonished at
the huge heap of baggage piled up in the hall, but he was told that this
was of daily occurrence, as six or eight large steamers went out from
Liverpool every week for America alone, and that the great proportion of
the passengers came down, as they had done, on the previous night, and
slept at the Station hotel. Their own share of the baggage was not large,
consisting only of a portmanteau each, Mr. Goodenough having sent down all
his boxes two days previously. At twelve o'clock they went on board the
Niger, bound for the west coast of Africa. This would carry them as far as
Sierra Leone, whence Mr. Goodenough intended to take passage in a sailing
ship to his starting point for the interior.

Frank enjoyed the voyage out intensely, and three days after sailing they
had left winter behind; four days later they were lying in the harbor of
Funchal.

“What a glorious place that would be to ramble about!” he said to Mr.
Goodenough.

“Yes, indeed. It would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast than
between this mountainous island of Madeira and the country which we are
about to penetrate. This is one of the most delightful climates in the
world, the west coast of Africa one of the worst. Once well in the
interior, the swamp fevers, which are the curse of the shores, disappear,
but African travelers are seldom long free from attacks of fever of one
kind or the other. However, quinine does wonders, and we shall be far in
the interior before the bad season comes on.”

“You have been there before, you said, Mr. Goodenough?”

“Yes, I have been there twice, and have made excursions for short
distances from the coast. But this time we are going into a country which
may be said to be altogether unknown. One or two explorers have made their
way there, but these have done little towards examining the natural
productions of the country, and have been rather led by inducements of
sport than by those of research.”

“Did you have fever, sir?”

“Two or three little attacks. A touch of African fever, during what is
called the good season, is of little more importance than a feverish cold
at home. It lasts two or three days, and then there is an end of it. In
the bad season the attacks are extremely violent, sometimes carrying men
off in a few hours. I consider, however, that dysentery is a more
formidable enemy than fever. However, even that, when properly treated,
should be combated successfully.”

“Do you mean to hire the men to go with you at Sierra Leone?”

“Certainly not, Frank. The negroes of Sierra Leone are the most indolent,
the most worthless, and the most insolent in all Africa. It is the last
place in the world at which to hire followers. We must get them at the
Gaboon itself, and at each place we arrive at afterwards we take on
others, merely retaining one of the old lot to act as interpreter. The
natives, although they may allow white men to pass safely, are exceedingly
jealous of men of other tribes. I shall, however, take with me, if
possible, a body of, say six Houssas, who are the best fighting negroes on
the coast. These I shall take as a bodyguard; the carriers we shall obtain
from the different tribes we visit. The Kroomen, whom you will see at Cape
Palmas, are a magnificent set of men. They furnish sailors and boatmen to
all the ships trading on these shores. They are strong, willing, and
faithful, but they do not like going up into the interior. Now we will
land here and get a few hours' run on shore. There are one or two
peculiarities about Madeira which distinguish it from other places. To
begin with we will go for a ride in a bullock cart without wheels.”

“But surely it must jolt about terribly,” Frank said.

“Not at all. The roads are paved with round, knubbly stones, such as you
see sometimes in narrow lanes and courts in seaside places at home. These
would not make smooth roads for wheeled vehicles; but here, as you will
see, the carts are placed on long runners like those of sledges. These are
greased, and the driver always has a pound of candles or so hanging to the
cart. When he thinks that the runners want greasing he takes a candle,
lays it down on the road in front of one of the runners, and lets this
pass over it. This greases it sufficiently, and it glides along over the
stones almost as smoothly as if passing over ice.”

Frank thoroughly enjoyed his run on shore, but was surprised at the air of
listlessness which pervaded the inhabitants. Every one moved about in the
most dawdling fashion. The shopkeepers looked out from their doors as if
it were a matter of perfect indifference to them whether customers called
or not. The few soldiers in Portuguese uniform looked as if they had never
done a day's drill since they left home. Groups sat in chairs under the
trees and sipped cooling drinks or coffee. The very bullocks which drew
the gliding wagons seemed to move more slowly than bullocks in other
places. Frank and his friend drove in a wagon to the monastery, high up on
the mountain, and then took their places on a little hand sledge, which
was drawn by two men with ropes, who took them down the sharp descent at a
run, dashing round corners at a pace which made Frank hold his breath. It
took them but a quarter of an hour to regain the town, while an hour and a
half had been occupied in the journey out.

“I shall buy a couple of hammocks here,” Mr. Goodenough said. “They are
made of knotted string, and are lighter and more comfortable than those to
be met with on the coast. I will get a couple of their cane chairs, too,
they are very light and comfortable.”

In the afternoon they again embarked, and then steamed away for Sierra
Leone. After several days' passage, they arrived there at daylight, and
Frank was soon on deck.

“What a beautiful place!” he exclaimed. “It is not a bit what I expected.”

“No,” Mr. Goodenough said; “no one looking at it could suppose that bright
pretty town had earned for itself the name of the white man's grave.”

Sierra Leone is built on a somewhat steep ascent about a mile up the
river. Freetown, as the capital is properly called, stands some fifty feet
or so above the sea, and the barracks upon a green hill three hundred feet
above it, a quarter of a mile back. The town, as seen from the sea,
consists entirely of the houses of the merchants and shopkeepers, the
government buildings, churches, and other public and European buildings.
The houses are all large and bright with yellow tinged whitewash, and the
place is completely embowered in palms and other tropical trees. The
native town lies hidden from sight among trees on low ground to the left
of the town. Everywhere around the town the hills rise steep and high,
wooded to the summit. Altogether there are few more prettily situated
towns than the capital of Sierra Leone.

“It is wonderful,” Mr. Goodenough said, “that generations and generations
of Europeans have been content to live and die in that wretchedly
unhealthy place, when they might have established themselves on those
lofty hills but a mile away. There they would be far above the malarious
mists which rise from the low ground. The walk up and down to their
warehouses and offices here would be good for them, and there is no reason
why Sierra Leone should be an unhealthy residence. Unfortunately the
European in Africa speedily loses his vigor and enterprise. When he first
lands he exclaims, 'I certainly shall have a bungalow built upon those
hills;' but in a short time his energy leaves him. He falls into the ways
of the place, drinks a great deal more spirits than is good for him, stops
down near the water, and at the end of a year or so, if he lives so long,
is obliged to go back to Europe to recruit.

“Look at the boats coming out.”

A score of boats, each containing from ten to twelve men, approached the
ship. They remained at a short distance until the harbor master came on
board and pronounced the ship free from quarantine. Then the boats made a
rush to the side, and with shouts, yells, and screams of laughter
scrambled on board. Frank was at once astonished and amused at the noise
and confusion.

“What on earth do they all want?” he asked Mr. Goodenough.

“The great proportion of them don't want anything at all,” Mr. Goodenough
answered, “but have merely come off for amusement. Some of them come to be
hired, some to carry luggage, others to tout for the boatmen below. Look
at those respectable negresses coming up the gangway now. They are
washerwomen, and will take our clothes ashore and bring them on board
again this afternoon before we start.”

“It seems running rather a risk,” Frank said.

“No, you will see they all have testimonials, and I believe it is
perfectly safe to intrust things to them.”

Mr. Goodenough and Frank now prepared to go on shore, but this was not
easily accomplished, for there was a battle royal among the boatmen whose
craft thronged at the foot of the ladder. Each boat had about four hands,
three of whom remained on board her, while the fourth stood upon the
ladder and hauled at the painter to keep the boat to which he belonged
alongside. As out of the twenty boats lying there not more than two could
be at the foot of the ladder together, the conflict was a desperate one.
All the boatmen shouted, “Here, sar. This good boat, sar. You come wid me,
sar,” at the top of their voices, while at the same time they were hard at
work pulling each other's boats back and pushing their own forward. So
great was the struggle as Frank and Mr. Goodenough approached the gangway,
so great the crowd upon the ladder, that one side of the iron bar from
which the ladder chains depend broke in two, causing the ladder to drop
some inches and giving a ducking to those on the lower step, causing
shouts of laughter and confusion. These rose into perfect yells of
amusement when one of the sailors suddenly loosed the ladder rope, letting
five or six of the negroes into the water up to their necks. So intense
was the appreciation by the sable mind of this joke that the boatmen
rolled about with laughter, and even the victims, when they had once
scrambled into their boats, yelled like people possessed.

“They are just like children,” Mr. Goodenough said. “They are always
either laughing or quarreling. They are good natured and passionate,
indolent, but will work hard for a time; clever up to a certain point,
densely stupid beyond. The intelligence of an average negro is about equal
to that of a European child of ten years old. A few, a very few, go beyond
this, but these are exceptions, just as Shakespeare was an exception to
the ordinary intellect of an Englishman. They are fluent talkers, but
their ideas are borrowed. They are absolutely without originality,
absolutely without inventive power. Living among white men, their
imitative faculties enable them to attain a considerable amount of
civilization. Left alone to their own devices they retrograde into a state
little above their native savagery.”

This was said as, after having fixed upon a boat and literally fought
their way into it, they were rowed towards the shore. On landing Frank was
delighted with the greenness of everything. The trees were heavy with
luxuriant foliage, the streets were green with grass as long and bright as
that in a country lane in England. The hill on which the barracks stand
was as bright a green as you would see on English slopes after a wet
April, while down the streets clear streams were running. The town was
alive with a chattering, laughing, good natured, excitable population, all
black, but with some slight variation in the dinginess of the hue.

Never was there such a place for fun as Sierra Leone. Every one was
brimful of it. Every one laughed when he or she spoke, and every one
standing near joined freely in the conversation and laughed too. Frank was
delighted with the display of fruit in the market, which is probably
unequaled in the world. Great piles there were of delicious big oranges,
green but perfectly sweet, and of equally refreshing little green limes;
pineapples and bananas, green, yellow, and red, guava, and custard apples,
alligator pears, melons, and sour sops, and many other native fruits.

Mr. Goodenough purchased a large basket of fruit, which they took with
them on board the ship. The next morning they started down the coast. They
passed Liberia, the republic formed of liberated slaves, and of negroes
from America, and brought up a mile or two off Monrovia, its capital. The
next day they anchored off Cape Palmas, the headquarters of the Kroomen. A
number of these men came off in their canoes, and caused great amusement
to Frank and the other passengers by their fun and dexterity in the
management of their little craft. These boats are extremely light, being
hollowed out until little thicker than pasteboard, and even with two
Kroomen paddling it is difficult for a European to sit in them, so
extremely crank are they. Light as they are the Krooboy can stand up and
dive from his boat without upsetting it if he take time; but in the hurry
and excitement of diving for coppers, when half a dozen men would leap
overboard together, the canoes were frequently capsized. The divers,
however, thought nothing of these mishaps, righting the boats and getting
in again without difficulty. Splendidly muscular fellows they were.
Indeed, except among the Turkish hamals it is doubtful whether such
powerful figures could be found elsewhere.

“They would be grand fellows to take with us, Mr. Goodenough,” Frank said.

“Yes, if they were as plucky as they are strong, one could wish for
nothing better; but they are notorious cowards, and no offer would tempt
them to penetrate into such a country as that into which we are going.”

Stopping a few hours at Cape Coast Castle, Accra, and other ports they at
last arrived at Bonny.

“It is not tempting in appearance,” Frank said, “certainly.”

“No,” Mr. Goodenough replied, “this is one of the most horribly unhealthy
spots in Africa. As you see, the white traders do not dare to live on
shore, but take up their residence in those old floating hulks which are
thatched over, and serve as residences and storehouses. I have a letter
from one of the African merchants in London, and we shall take up our
abode on board his hulk until we get one of the coasting steamers to carry
us down. I hope it will not be many days.”

The very bulky luggage was soon transferred to the hulk, where Frank and
Mr. Goodenough took up their residence. The agent in charge was very glad
to receive them, as any break in the terrible monotony of such a life is
eagerly welcomed. He was a pale, unhealthy looking man, and had just
recovered from an unusually bad attack of fever. Like most of the traders
on the coast he had an immense faith in the power of spirits.

“It is the ruin of them,” Mr. Goodenough said to Frank when they were
alone. “Five out of six of the men here ruin their constitutions with
spirits, and then fall an easy prey to the fever.”

“But you have brought spirits with you, Mr. Goodenough. I saw some of the
cases were labeled Brandy.'”

“Brandy is useful when taken as a medicine, and in moderation. A little
mixed with water at the end of a long day of exhausting work acts as a
restorative, and frequently enables a worn out man to sleep. But I have
brought the brandy you see for the use of others rather than myself. One
case is of the very best spirits for our own use. The rest is common stuff
and is intended as presents. Our main drink will be tea and chocolate.
These are invaluable for the traveler. I have, besides, large quantities
of calico, brass stair rods, beads, and powder. These are the money of
Africa, and pass current everywhere. With these we shall pay our carriers
and boatmen, with these purchase the right of way through the various
tribes we shall meet. Moreover it is almost necessary in Africa to pass as
traders. The people perfectly understand that white men come here to
trade; but if we said that our object was to shoot birds and beasts, and
to catch butterflies and insects, they would not believe us in the
slightest degree, but would suspect us of all sorts of hidden designs. Now
we will go ashore and pay our respects to the king.”

“Do you mean to say that there is a king in that wretched looking
village?” Frank asked in surprise.

“Kings are as plentiful as peas in Africa,” Mr. Goodenough said, “but you
will not see much royal state.”

Frank was disappointed indeed upon landing. Sierra Leone had given him an
exalted idea of African civilization, but this was at once dispelled by
the appearance of Bonny. The houses were constructed entirely of black
mud, and the streets were narrow and filthy beyond description. The palace
was composed of two or three hovels, surrounded by a mud wall. In one of
these huts the king was seated. Mr. Goodenough and Frank were introduced
by the agent, who had gone ashore with them, and His Majesty, who was an
almost naked negro, at once invited them to join him in the meal of which
he was partaking. As a matter of courtesy they consented, and plates were
placed before them, heaped with a stew consisting of meat, vegetables, and
hot peppers. While the meal went on the king asked Mr. Goodenough what he
had come to the coast for, and was disappointed to find that he was not
going to set up as a trader at Bonny, as it was the custom for each
newcomer to make a handsome present to him. When the meal was over they
took their leave.

“Do you know what you have been eating?” the agent asked Frank.

“Not in the least,” Frank said. “It was not bad; what was it?”

“It was dog flesh,” the agent answered.

“Not really!” Frank exclaimed with an uncomfortable sensation of sickness.

“Yes, indeed,” the agent replied. “Dog's meat is considered a luxury in
Bonny, and dogs are bred specially for the table.”

“You'll eat stranger things than that before you've done, Frank,” Mr.
Goodenough continued, “and will find them just as good, and in many cases
better, than those to which you are accustomed. It is a strange thing why
in Europe certain animals should be considered fit to eat and certain
animals altogether rejected, and this without the slightest reason. Horses
and donkeys are as clean feeders as oxen and sheep. Dogs, cats, and rats
are far cleaner than pigs and ducks. The flesh of the one set is every bit
as good as that of the other, and yet the poorest peasant would turn up
his nose at them. Here sheep and oxen, horses and donkeys, will not live,
and the natives very wisely make the most of the animals which can do so.”

Frank was soon tired of Bonny, and was glad to hear that they would start
the next day for Fernando Po in a little steamer called the Retriever. The
island of Fernando Po is a very beautiful one, the peak rising ten
thousand feet above the sea, and wooded to the very summit. Were the trees
to some extent cleared away the island might be very healthy. As it is, it
is little better than the mainland.

There was not much to see in the town of Clarence, whose population
consists entirely of traders from Sierra Leone, Kroomen, etc. The natives,
whose tribal name is Adiza, live in little villages in the interior. They
are an extremely primitive people, and for the most part dispense
altogether with clothing. The island belongs to Spain, and is used as a
prison, the convicts being kept in guard ships in the harbor. After a stay
of three days there Mr. Goodenough and Frank took passage in a sailing
ship for the Gaboon.

CHAPTER IX: THE START INLAND

After the comforts of a fine steamer the accommodation on board the little
trader was poor indeed. The vessel smelt horribly of palm oil and was
alive with cockroaches. These, however, Mr. Goodenough and Frank cared
little for, as they brought up their mattresses and slept on deck. Upon
their voyage out from England Frank, as well as several of the other
passengers, had amused himself by practicing with his rifle at empty
bottles thrown overboard, and other objects, and having nothing else to do
now, he resumed the practice, accustoming himself also to the use of his
revolver, the mark being a small log of wood swung from the end of a yard.

“I told you,” Mr. Goodenough said, “that your skill with the blowgun would
prove useful to you in shooting. You are as good a shot as I am, and I am
considered a fair one. I have no doubt that with a little practice you
will succeed as well with your double barrel. The shooting of birds on the
wing is a knack which seems to come naturally to some people, while
others, practice as they will, never become good shots.”

The ship touched twice upon its way down to the Gaboon. Once at the
Malimba river, the second time at Botauga, the latter being the principal
ivory port in equatorial Africa.

“Shall we meet with any elephants, do you think?” Frank asked his friend.

“In all probability,” Mr. Goodenough said. “Elephant shooting, of course,
does not come within our line of action, and I should not go at all out of
my way for them. Still, if we meet them we will shoot them. The ivory is
valuable and will help to pay our expenses, while the meat is much prized
by the natives, who will gladly assist us in consideration of the flesh.”

On the sixteenth day after leaving Fernando Po they entered the Gaboon. On
the right hand bank were the fort and dwellings of the French. A little
farther up stood the English factories; and upon a green hill behind, the
church, school, and houses of an American mission. On the left bank was
the wattle town of King William, the sable monarch of the Gaboon. Mr.
Goodenough at once landed and made inquiries for a house. He succeeded in
finding one, consisting of three rooms, built on piles, an important point
in a country in which disease rises from the soil. At Bonny Mr. Goodenough
had, with the assistance of the agent, enlisted six Houssas. These people
live much higher up on the coast, but they wander a good deal and may be
met with in most of the ports. The men had formed a guard in one of the
hulks, but trade having been bad the agent had gone home, and they were
glad to take service with Mr. Goodenough. They spoke a few words of
English, and, like the Kroomen, rejoiced in names which had been given
them by sailors. They were called Moses, Firewater, Ugly Tom, Bacon,
Tatters, and King John. They were now for the first time set to work, and
the goods were soon transported from the brig to the house.

“Is anything the matter with you, Frank?” Mr. Goodenough asked that
evening.

“I don't know, sir. My head feels heavy, somehow, and I am giddy.”

Mr. Goodenough felt his pulse.

“You have got your first touch of fever,” he said. “I wonder you've been
so long without it. You had better lie down at once.”

A quarter of an hour afterwards Frank was seized with an overpowering
heat, every vein appearing to be filled with liquid fire; but his skin,
instead of being, as usual, in a state of perspiration, was dry and hard.

“Now, Frank, sit up and drink this. It's only some mustard and salt and
water. I have immense faith in an emetic.”

The draught soon took its effect. Frank was violently sick, and the
perspiration broke in streams from him.

“Here is a cup of tea,” Mr. Goodenough said; “drink that and you will find
that there will be little the matter with you in the morning.”

Frank awoke feeling weak, but otherwise perfectly well. Mr. Goodenough
administered a strong dose of quinine, and after he had had his breakfast
he felt quite himself again.

“Now,” Mr. Goodenough said, “we will go up to the factories and mission
and try and find a really good servant. Everything depends upon that.”

In a short time an engagement was made with a negro of the name of Ostik.
He was a Mpongwe man, that being the name of the tribe on the coast. He
spoke English fairly, as well as two or three of the native languages. He
had before made a journey some distance into the interior with a white
traveler. He was a tall and powerfully built negro, very ugly, but with a
pleasant and honest face. Frank felt at once that he should like him.

“You quite understand,” Mr. Goodenough explained, “we are going through
the Fan country, far into the interior. We may be away from the coast for
many months.”

“Me ready, sar,” the man answered with a grin. “Mak no odds to Ostik. He
got no wife, no piccanniny. Ostik very good cook. Master find good grub;
he catch plenty of beasts.”

“You're not afraid, Ostik, because it is possible we may have trouble on
the way?”

“Me not very much afraid, massa. You good massa to Ostik he no run away if
fightee come; but no good fight whole tribe.”

“I hope not to have any fighting at all, Ostik; but as I have got six
Houssas with me who will all carry breech loading guns, I think we should
be a match for a good sized tribe, if necessary.”

Ostik looked thoughtful. “More easy, massa, go without Houssas,” he said.
“Black man not often touch white traveler.”

“No, Ostik, that is true; but I must take with me trade goods for paying
my way and hiring carriers, and if alone I should be at the mercy of every
petty chief who chose to plunder and delay me. I am going as a peaceful
traveler, ready to pay my way, and to make presents to the different kings
through whose territories I may pass. But I do not choose to put myself at
the mercy of any of them. I do not say that eight men armed with breech
loaders could defeat a whole tribe; but they would be so formidable, that
any of these negro kings would probably prefer taking presents and letting
us pass peacefully to trying to rob us. The first thing to do, will be to
hire one large canoe, or two if necessary. The men must agree to take us
up into the Fan country, as far as the rapids on the Gaboon. Then we shall
take carriers there, and the boat can return by itself. These are the
things which will have to go.”

The baggage consisted of ten large tin cases, each weighing about eighty
pounds. These contained cotton cloths, powder, beads, tea, chocolate,
sugar, and biscuits. There were in addition three bundles of stair rods,
each about the same weight as the boxes. These were done up in canvas.
There was also a tent made of double canvas weighing fifty pounds, and two
light folding tressel beds weighing fifteen pounds apiece. Thus fourteen
men would be required as carriers, besides some for plantains and other
provisions, together with the portmanteaus, rugs, and waterproof sheets of
the travelers. There were besides six great chests made of light iron.
Four of these were fitted with trays with cork bottoms, for insects. The
other two were for the skins of birds. All the boxes and cases had strips
of India rubber where the lids fitted down, in order to keep out both damp
and the tiny ants which are the plague of naturalists in Africa.

Four or five days were occupied in getting together a crew, for the
natives had an abject fear of entering the country of the cannibal Fans.
Mr. Goodenough promised that they should not be obliged to proceed unless
a safe conduct for their return was obtained from the King of the Fans. A
large canoe was procured, sufficient to convey the whole party. Twelve
paddlers were hired, and the goods taken down and arranged in the boat.
The Houssas had been, on landing, furnished with their guns, which were
Snider rifles, had been instructed in the breech loading arrangement, and
had been set to work to practice at a mark at a hundred and fifty yards
distance—the stump of an old tree, some five feet in height, serving
for the purpose. The men were delighted with the accuracy of their pieces
and the rapidity at which they could be fired. Mr. Goodenough impressed
upon them that unless attacked at close quarters, and specially ordered to
fire fast, they must aim just as slowly and deliberately as if using their
old guns, for that in so long a journey ammunition would be precious, and
must, therefore, on no account whatever, be wasted. In the boxes were six
thousand rounds of ammunition, a thousand for each gun, besides the
ammunition for the rifles and fowling pieces of Mr. Goodenough and Frank.

In order to render the appearance of his followers as imposing as
possible, Mr. Goodenough furnished each of the Houssas with a pair of
trousers made of New Zealand flax, reaching to their knees. These he had
brought from England with him. They were all found to be too large, but
the men soon set to work with rough needles and thread and took them in.
In addition to these, each man was furnished with a red sash, which went
several times round the waist, and served to keep the trousers up and to
give a gay aspect to the dress. The Houssas were much pleased with their
appearance. All of them carried swords in addition to the guns, as in
their own country they are accustomed to fight with these weapons.

They started early in the morning, and after four hours' paddling passed
Konig Island, an abandoned Dutch settlement. Here they stopped for an hour
or two, and then the sea breeze sprang up, a sail was hoisted, and late at
night they passed a French guardship placed to mark the boundary of that
settlement at a point where a large tributary called the Boqui runs into
it. Here is a little island called Nenge Nenge, formerly a missionary
station, where the natives are still Christians. At this place the canoe
was hauled ashore. The Houssas had already been instructed in the method
of pitching the tent, and in a very few minutes this was erected. It was a
double poled tent, some ten feet square, and there was a waterproof sheet
large enough to cover the whole of the interior, thus preventing the
miasma from arising from the ground within it. The beds were soon opened
and fixed, two of the large cases formed a table and two smaller ones did
service as chairs. A lamp was lit, and Frank was charmed with the comfort
and snugness of the abode.

The men's weapons were fastened round one of the poles to keep them from
the damp night air. Ostik had at once set to work on landing, leaving the
Houssas to pitch the tent. A fire was soon blazing and a kettle and
saucepans suspended over it. Rice was served out to the men, with the
addition of some salt meat, of which sufficient had been purchased from
the captain of the brig to last throughout the journey in the canoe. The
men were all in high spirits at this addition to their fare, which was
more than had been bargained for, and their songs rose merrily round the
fire in the night air.

In the morning, after breakfast, they again took their places in the
canoe. For twelve miles they paddled, the tide at first assisting them,
but after this the water from the mountains ahead overpowered it.
Presently they arrived at the first Fan village, called Olenga, which they
reached six hours after starting. The natives crowded round as the canoe
approached, full of curiosity and excitement, for never but once had a
white man passed up the river. These Fans differed widely from the coast
negroes. Their hair was longer and thicker, their figures were slight,
their complexion coffee colored, and their projecting upper jaws gave them
a rabbit mouthed appearance. They wore coronets on their heads adorned
with the red tail feathers of the common gray parrot. Most of the men had
beards, which were divided in the middle, red and white beads being strung
up the tips. Some wore only a strip of goatskin hanging from the waist, or
the skin of a tigercat, while others had short petticoats made of cloth
woven from the inner bark of a tree. The travelers were led to the hut of
the chief, where they were surrounded by a mob of the cannibals. The
Houssas had been strictly enjoined to leave their guns in the bottom of
the canoe, as Mr. Goodenough desired to avoid all appearance of armed
force. The chief demanded of Ostik what these two white men wanted here,
and whether they had come to trade. Ostik replied that the white men were
going up the river into the country beyond to shoot elephants and buy
ivory, that they did not want to trade for logwood or oil, but that they
would give presents to the chiefs of the Fan villages. A score of cheap
Birmingham muskets had been brought from England by Mr. Goodenough for
this purpose. One of these was now bestowed upon the chief, together with
some powder and ball, three bright cotton handkerchiefs, some gaudy glass
beads, and two looking glasses for his wives. This was considered
perfectly satisfactory.

The crowd was very great, and at Mr. Goodenough's dictation Ostik informed
the chief that if the white men were left quiet until the evening they
would show his people many strange things. On the receipt of this
information the crowd dispersed. But when at sunset the two travelers took
a turn through the village, the excitement was again very great. The men
stood their ground and stared at them, but the women and children ran
screaming away to hide themselves. The idea of the people of Central
Africa of the whites is that they are few in number, that they live at the
bottom of the sea, and are possessed of great wealth, but that they have
no palm oil or logwood, and are, therefore, compelled to come to land to
trade for these articles. They believe that the strange clothes they wear
are manufactured from the skins of sea beasts.

When night fell Mr. Goodenough fastened a sheet against the outside of the
chief's hut, and then placed a magic lantern in position ten paces from
it. The Fans were then invited to gather round and take their seats upon
the ground. A cry of astonishment greeted the appearance of the bright
disk. This was followed by a wilder yell when this was darkened, and an
elephant bearing some men sitting on his back was seen to cross the house.
The men leaped to their feet and seized their spears. The women screamed,
and Ostik, who was himself somewhat alarmed, had great difficulty in
calming their fears and persuading them to sit down again, assuring them
that they would see many wonderful things, but that nothing would hurt
them.

The next view was at first incomprehensible to many of them. It was a ship
tossing in a stormy sea; but some of those present had been down to the
mouth of the river, and these explained to the others the nature of the
phenomenon. In all there were twenty slides, all of which were provided
with movable figures; the last two being chromatropes, whose dancing
colors elicited screams of delight from the astonished natives. This
concluded the performance, but for hours after it was over the village
rang with a perfect Babel of shouts, screams, and chatter. The whole thing
was to the Fans absolutely incomprehensible, and their astonishment was
equalled by their awe at the powers of the white men.

The next two days they remained at Olenga, as word was sent up to
Itchongue, the next town, asking the chief there for leave to come
forward. The people had now begun to get over their first timidity, and
when Frank went out for a walk after breakfast he was somewhat embarrassed
by the women and girls crowding round him, feeling his clothes and
touching his hands and face to assure themselves that these felt like
those of human beings. He afforded them huge delight by taking off his
Norfolk jacket and pulling up the sleeves of his shirt to show them that
his arms were the same color as his hands, and so elated were they with
this exhibition that it was with great difficulty that he withstood their
entreaties that he would disrobe entirely. Indeed, Ostik had at last to
come to his rescue and carry him off from the laughing crowd by which he
was surrounded.

After dinner Mr. Goodenough invited the people to sit down in a vast
circle holding each other's hands. He then told them that he should at a
word make them all jump to their feet. Then taking out a small but
powerful galvanic battery, he arranged it and placed wires into the hands
of the two men nearest to him in the great circle.

“Now,” he said, “when I clap my hands you will find that you are all
obliged to jump up.”

He gave the signal. Frank turned on the battery, and in an instant the two
hundred men and women, with a wild shriek, either leapt to their feet or
rolled backward on the ground. In another minute not a native was to be
seen, with the exception of the chief, who had not been included in the
circle. The latter, at Mr. Goodenough's request, shouted loudly to his
subjects to return, for that the white men would do them no harm; but it
was a long time before, slowly and cautiously, they crept back again. When
they had reassembled Mr. Goodenough showed them several simple but
astonishing chemical experiments, which stupefied them with wonder; and
concluded with three or four conjuring tricks, which completed their
amazement. A long day's paddling took them to Itchongue, where they were
as well received as at Olenga. Here they stopped for two days, and the
magic lantern was again brought out, and the other tricks repeated with a
success equal to that which they had before obtained. As another day's
paddling would take them to the rapids Mr. Goodenough now set up a
negotiation for obtaining a sufficient number of carriers. After great
palaver, and the presentation of three guns to the chief to obtain his
assistance, thirty men were engaged. These were each to receive a yard of
calico or one brass stair rod a day, and were to proceed with the party
until such time as they could procure carriers from another tribe.

The new recruits were taken up in another canoe. Several villages were
passed on the way. The river became a mere rapid, against which the canoes
with difficulty made their way. They had now entered the mountains which
rose steeply above them, embowered in wood. Two days of severe work took
them to the foot of the falls. Here the canoes were unloaded. The men
hired on the coast received their pay, and turned the boat's head down
stream. The other canoe accompanied it, and the travelers remained with
their bodyguard of Houssas and their carriers.

“Now,” Mr. Goodenough said, “we are fairly embarked on our journey, and we
will commence operations at once. I have heard the cries of a great many
birds which are strange to me today, and I expect that we shall have a
good harvest. We may remain here for some time. The first thing to do is
to find food for our followers. We have got six sacks of rice, but it will
never do to let our men depend solely upon these. They would soon come to
an end.”

“But how are we to feed forty people?” Frank asked in astonishment.

“I pointed out to you today,” Mr. Goodenough said, “the tracks of
hippopotami in various places. One of these beasts will feed the men for
nearly a week. There were, too, numbers of alligators' eggs on the banks,
and these creatures make by no means bad eating. Your rifle will be of no
use against such animals as these. You had better take one of the Sniders.
I have some explosive shells which will fit them. My own double barrelled
rifle is of the same bore.”

After dinner Mr. Goodenough told two of the Houssas to accompany them with
their rifles, together with three or four of the Fans. He made his way
down the stream to a point where the hills receded, and where he had
observed a great many marks of the river horses. As they approached the
spot they heard several loud snorts, and making their way along as quietly
as possible they saw two of the great beasts standing in the stream. At
this point it widened a good deal and was shallow and quite near the bank.
The Fans had been told to stay behind directly the snorting was heard, and
Mr. Goodenough and Frank, rifle in hand, crept forward, with the Houssas
as still and noiseless as cats close behind them.

CHAPTER X: LOST IN THE FOREST

The hippopotami were playing together, floundering in the shallow water,
and the noise they made prevented their hearing the stealthy approach of
their enemies.

“You take the one nearest shore, Frank, I will take the other. Aim at the
forehead between the eyes. I will make a slight sound to attract their
attention.”

Frank knelt on one knee and took steady aim. Mr. Goodenough then gave a
shout, and the two animals turning their heads stood staring at the
foliage, scarce a dozen yards away, in which the travelers were concealed.
The guns flashed at the same moment, and as if struck by lightning the
hippopotami fell in the stream. The explosive balls had both flown true to
the mark, invariably a fatal one in the case of the river horse. Frank as
he fired had taken another rifle which the Houssas held in readiness for
him, but there was no occasion for its use. The Fans came running up, and
on seeing the great beasts lying in the stream, gave a shout of joy.

“That will do for this evening,” Mr. Goodenough said. “They are large
beasts, and will give food enough for a week or ten days.”

They then returned to the camp which, at the news brought by one of the
Fans, had already been deserted. Before the natives retired to sleep the
hippopotami had been cut up and carried to the camp. Portions were already
frizzling over the fires, other parts set aside for the consumption of the
next two days, and the rest cut up in strips to be dried in the sun. The
tongue of one was cut up and fried as a great luxury for the white men's
supper by Ostik. It is not often that the natives of equatorial Africa are
able to indulge in meat, and the joy of the Fans at this abundant supply,
and the prospect afforded them of further good eating, raised their
spirits to the highest extent.

Next morning at daybreak Mr. Goodenough and Frank set out from the camp.
Each carried a double barreled gun, and was accompanied by one of the
Houssas carrying his rifle and a butterfly net, and when three hours later
they returned to the camp for breakfast and compared their spoils they
found that an excellent beginning had been made. Nearly a score of birds,
of which several were very rare, and five were pronounced by Mr.
Goodenough to be entirely new, had been shot, and many butterflies
captured. Frank had been most successful in this respect, as he had come
across a small clearing in which were several deserted huts. This was just
the place in which butterflies delight, for, although many kinds prefer
the deep shades of the forest, by far the greater portion love the bright
sunlight.

After breakfast they again set out, Frank this time keeping along the edge
of the stream, where he had observed many butterflies as he came up, and
where many birds of the kingfisher family had also been seen. He had been
very successful, and was walking along by the edge of the water with his
eyes fixed upon the trees above, where he had a minute before heard the
call of a bird, when he was startled by a shout from the Houssa behind
him. He involuntarily sprang back, and it was well he did so; for on the
instant something swept by within an inch or two of his head. Looking
round he saw, at the edge of the stream below him, a huge alligator. This
had struck at him with its tail—the usual manner in which the
alligator supplies itself with food—and had it not been for the
warning cry of the Houssa, would have knocked him into the stream. Its
mouth was open and Frank, as if by instinct, fired the contents of both
barrels into its throat. The animal rolled over on to its back in the
water and then turned as if to struggle to regain the bank. The Houssa,
however, had run up, and, placing the muzzle of his gun within a foot of
its eye, fired, and the creature rolled over dead, and was swept away by
the stream.

The Houssa gave a loud shout which was answered in the distance. He then
shouted two or three words, and turning to Frank said: “Men get
alligator,” and proceeded on his way without concerning himself further in
the matter.

On his return to camp in the evening Frank found that the alligator had
been discovered and fished out, and that its steaks were by no means bad
eating. Frank told Mr. Goodenough of the narrow escape he had had, and the
latter pointed out to him the necessity of always keeping his eyes on the
watch.

“Alligators frequently carry off the native women when engaged in
washing,” he said, “and almost invariably strike them, in the first place,
into the river with a blow of their tails. Once in the water they are
carried off, drowned, and eaten at leisure. Sometimes, indeed, a woman may
escape with the loss of a foot or arm, but this is the exception.”

“What is the best thing to do when so attacked?” Frank asked. “I don't
mean to be caught napping again, still it is as well to know what to do if
I am.”

“Men when so attacked have been known frequently to escape by thrusting
their thumbs or fingers into the creature's eyes. If it can be done the
alligator is sure to lose his hold, but it demands quickness and great
presence of mind. When a reptile is tearing at one's leg, and hurrying one
along under water, you can see that the nerve required to keep perfectly
cool, to feel for the creature's eyes, and to thrust your finger into them
is very great. The best plan, Frank, distinctly is to keep out of their
reach altogether.”

After remaining for a fortnight at their camp they prepared for a move.
Another hippopotamus was killed, cut up and dried, and the flesh added to
the burdens. Then the tent was struck and they proceeded farther into the
mountains. Two days later they halted again, the site being chosen beside
a little mountain rivulet. They were now very high up in the hills, Mr.
Goodenough expecting to meet with new varieties of butterflies and insects
at this elevation. They had scarcely pitched their camp when Frank
exclaimed:

“Surely, Mr. Goodenough, I can hear some dogs barking! I did not know that
the native dogs barked.”

“Nor do they. They may yelp and howl, but they never bark like European
dogs. What you hear is the bark of some sort of monkey or baboon.”

This opinion was at once confirmed by the Fans.

“We will sally out with our guns at once,” Mr. Goodenough said.

“I don't like the thought of shooting monkeys,” Frank muttered, as he took
up his Winchester carbine.

“They are very excellent eating,” Mr. Goodenough continued, “superior in
my opinion, and, indeed, in that of most travelers, to any other meat. We
shall meet with no other kind of creature fit for food up here. The birds,
indeed, supply us amply, but for the men it is desirable that we should
obtain fresh meat when we have the chance. These baboons are very
mischievous creatures, and are not to be attacked with impunity. Let four
of the Houssas with their guns come with us.”

Following the direction of the sounds they had heard, the travelers came
upon a troupe of great baboons. It was a curious sight. The males were as
big as large dogs, some were sitting sunning themselves on rocks, others
were being scratched by the females. Many of these had a baby monkey
clinging on their necks, while others were playing about in all
directions.

“I'd rather not shoot at them, Mr. Goodenough,” Frank said.

“You will be glad enough to eat them,” Mr. Goodenough answered, and
selecting a big male he fired. The creature fell dead. The others all
sprang to their feet. The females and little ones scampered off. The
males, with angry gestures, rushed upon their assailants, barking, showing
their teeth, and making menacing gestures. Mr. Goodenough fired again, and
Frank now, seeing that they were likely to be attacked, also opened fire.
Six of the baboons were killed before the others abstained from the attack
and went screaming after the females. The dead baboons were brought down,
skinned, and two were at once roasted, the others hung up to trees. It
required a great effort on Frank's part to overcome his repugnance to
tasting these creatures, but, when he did so, he admitted that the meat
was excellent.

That night they were disturbed by a cry of terror from the men. Seizing
their rifles they ran out.

“There are two leopards, sar,” Ostik said; “they have smelt the monkeys.”

The shouts scared the creatures away, and the natives kept up a great fire
till morning.

“We must get the skins if we can,” Mr. Goodenough said. “The skins of the
equatorial leopard are rare. If we can get them both they will make a fine
group for you to stuff when you get back, Frank.”

“Are you thinking of following their trail?” Frank asked.

“That would be useless,” Mr. Goodenough answered. “In soft swampy ground
we might do so, but up here it would be out of the question. We must set a
bait for them tonight, but be careful while you are out today. They have
probably not gone far from the camp, and they are very formidable beasts.
They not unfrequently attack and kill the natives.”

The Fans were much alarmed at the neighborhood of the leopards, and none
would leave the camp during the day. Two of the Houssas were left on
guard, although Mr. Goodenough felt sure that the animals would not
attempt to carry off any meat in the daylight, and two Houssas accompanied
each of the travelers while out in search of butterflies.

Nothing was heard of the leopards during the day. At nightfall a portion
of one of the monkeys was roasted and hung up, so as to swing within four
feet of the ground from the arm of a tree, a hundred yards from the camp.
Mr. Goodenough and Frank took their seats in another tree a short distance
off. The night was fine and the stars clear and bright. The tree on which
the meat hung stood somewhat alone, so that sufficient light penetrated
from above to enable any creatures approaching the bait to be seen.
Instead of his little Winchester, Frank had one of the Sniders with
explosive bullets. The Houssas were told to keep a sharp watch in camp, in
case the leopards, approaching from the other side, might be attracted by
the smell of meat there, rather than by the bait. The Fans needed no
telling to induce them to keep up great fires all night.

Soon after dark the watchers heard a roaring in the forest. It came from
the other side of the camp.

“That is unlucky,” Mr. Goodenough said. “We have pitched on the wrong
side. However, they will probably be deterred by the fire from approaching
the camp, and will wander round and round: so we may hope to hear of them
before long.”

In answer to the roar of the leopards the natives kept up a continued
shouting. For some hours the roaring continued at intervals, sometimes
close at hand, sometimes at a considerable distance. Frank had some
difficulty in keeping awake, and was beginning to wish that the leopards
would move off altogether. Two or three times he had nearly dozed off, and
his rifle had almost slipped from his hold. All at once he was aroused by
a sharp nudge from his companion. Fixing his eyes on the bait he made out
something immediately below it. Directly afterwards another creature stole
forward. They were far less distinct than he had expected.

“You take the one to the left,” Mr. Goodenough whispered; “Now!”

They fired together. Two tremendous roars were heard. One of the leopards
immediately bounded away. The other rolled over and over, and then,
recovering its feet, followed its companion, Mr. Goodenough firing his
second barrel after him.

“I'm afraid you missed altogether, Frank,” he said.

“I don't think so, sir. I fancied I saw the flash of the shell as it
struck him, but where, I have not the remotest idea. I could not make him
out clear enough. It was merely a dim shape, and I fired as well as I
could at the middle of it.

“Shall we go back to the camp now?” Frank asked.

“Yes, we can safely do so. You can tell by the sound of the roars that
they are already some distance away. There is little chance of their
returning tonight. In the morning we will follow them. There is sure to be
blood, and the natives will have no difficulty in tracking them.”

The rest of the night passed quietly, although roars and howling could be
heard from time to time in the distance.

Early in the morning they started with the Houssas.

“We must be careful today,” Mr. Goodenough said, “for a wounded leopard is
a really formidable beast.”

There was no difficulty in taking up the traces.

“One of them at least must be hard hit,” Mr. Goodenough remarked; “there
are traces of blood every yard.”

They had gone but a short distance when one of the Houssas gave a sudden
exclamation, and pointed to something lying at the edge of a clump of
bushes.

“Leopard,” he said.

“Yes, there is one of them, sure enough. I think it's dead, but we cannot
be too cautious. Advance very carefully, Frank, keeping ready to fire
instantly.”

They moved forward slowly in a body, but their precaution was unnecessary.
There was no movement in the spotted, tawny skin as they advanced, and
when they came close they could see that the leopard was really dead. He
had been hit by two bullets. The first had struck his shoulder and
exploded there, inflicting so terrible a wound that it was wonderful he
had been able to move afterwards. The other had struck him on the back,
near the tail, and had burst inside him. Frank on seeing the nature of the
wounds was astonished at the tenacity of life shown by the animal.

“I wonder whether I hit the other,” he said.

“I have no doubt at all about it,” Mr. Goodenough answered, “although I
did not think so before. It seemed to me that I only heard the howls of
one animal in the night, and thought it was the one I had hit. But as this
fellow must have died at once, it is clear that the cries were made by the
other.”

A sharp search was now set up for the tracks of the other leopard, the
Houssas going back to the tree and taking it up anew. They soon found
traces of blood in a line diverging from that followed by the other
animal. For an hour they followed this, great care being required, as at
times no spots of blood could be seen for a considerable distance. At last
they seemed to lose it altogether. Mr. Goodenough and Frank stood
together, while the Houssas, scattered round, were hunting like well
trained dogs for a sign. Suddenly there was a sharp roar, and from the
bough of a tree close by a great body sprang through the air and alighted
within a yard of Frank. The latter, in his surprise, sprang back, stumbled
and fell, but in an instant the report of the two barrels of Mr.
Goodenough's rifle rang out. In a moment Frank was on his feet again ready
to fire. The leopard, however, lay dead, its skull almost blown off.

“You have had another narrow escape,” Mr. Goodenough said. “I see that
your ball last night broke one of his hind legs. That spoilt his spring.
Had it not been for that he would undoubtedly have reached you, and a blow
with his paw, given with all his weight and impetus, would probably have
killed you on the spot. We ought not to have stood near a tree strong
enough to bear him when in pursuit of a wounded leopard. They will always
take to trees if they can, and you see this was a very suitable one for
him. This bough on which he was lying starts from the trunk only about
four feet from the ground, so that even with his broken leg he was able to
get upon it without difficulty. Well, thank God, you've not been hurt, my
boy. It will teach us both to be more careful in future.”

That afternoon Frank was down with his second attack of fever, a much more
severe one than the first had been. Mr. Goodenough's favorite remedy had
its effect of producing profuse perspiration, but two or three hours
afterwards the hot fit again came on, and for the next four days Frank lay
half delirious, at one time consumed with heat, and the next shivering as
if plunged into ice water. Copious doses of quinine, however, gradually
overcame the fever, and on the fifth day he was convalescent. It was,
nevertheless, another week before he was sufficiently recovered to be able
to resume his hunting expeditions. They again shifted their camp, and this
time traveled for three weeks, making short journeys, and halting early so
as to give half a day from each camping place for their work.

Frank was one day out as usual with one of the Houssas. He had killed
several birds when he saw a butterfly, of a species which he had not
before met with, flitting across a gleam of sunshine which streamed in
through a rift in the trees. He told his Houssa to wait where he was in
charge of the two guns and birds, and started off with his net in pursuit
of the butterfly. The creature fluttered away with Frank in full pursuit.
Hither and thither it flitted, seemingly taking an impish delight in
tantalizing Frank, settling on a spot where a gleam of sunlight streamed
upon the bark of a tree, till Frank had stolen up within a couple of paces
of it, and then darting away again at a pace which defied Frank's best
attempts to keep up with it until it chose to play with him again. Intent
only upon his chase Frank thought of nothing else. At last, with a shout
of triumph, he inclosed the creature in his net, shook it into the wide
pickle bottle, containing a sponge soaked with chloroform, and then, after
tightly fitting in the stopper, he looked around. He uttered an
exclamation of dismay as he did so. He saw by the bands of light the sun
was already setting, and knew that he must have been for upwards of an
hour in chase of the butterfly. He had not the slightest idea of the
direction in which he had come. He had, he knew, run up hill and down, but
whether he had been traveling in a circle or going straight in one
direction, he had not the least idea. He might be within a hundred yards
of the spot where he had left the Houssa. He might be three or four miles
away.

He at once drew out his revolver, which he always carried strapped to his
belt, and discharged the six chambers, waiting for half a minute between
each shot, and listening intently for an answer to his signal. None came.
The stillness of the wood was unbroken, and Frank felt that he must have
wandered far indeed from his starting place, and that he was completely
lost. His first impulse was to start off instantly at the top of his
speed, but a moment's thought convinced him that this would be useless. He
had not an idea of the direction which he should pursue. Besides the sun
was sinking, twilight is short in the tropics, and in half an hour it
would be as dark as midnight in the forest. Remembering his adventure with
the leopard he determined to climb into a tree and pass the night there.
He knew that an active search would be set on foot by his friends next
morning, and that, as every step he took was as likely to lead him from as
towards the camp, it was better to stay where he was.

He soon found a tree with a branch which would suit his purpose, and,
climbing up into it, lit his pipe and prepared for an uncomfortable night.
Frank had never smoked until he reached Africa, but he had then taken to
it on the advice of Mr. Goodenough, who told him that smoking was
certainly a preventive, to some extent, of fever in malarious countries,
and, although he had not liked it at first, he had now taken kindly to his
pipe, and smoked from the time when the evening mists began to rise until
he went to bed.

The time passed very slowly. The cries of wild creatures could be heard in
the woods, and although Frank did not expect to be attacked, it was
impossible to sleep with these calls of leopards, with which the forest
seemed to abound, in his ears. He had reloaded his revolver immediately
after discharging it, and had replaced it in his pouch, and felt confident
that nothing could climb the tree. Besides, he had heard that leopards
seldom attack men unless themselves attacked. Sleep, however, was out of
the question, for when he slept he might have fallen from his seat in the
crotch of the tree. Occasionally, however, he dozed off, waking up always
with an uncomfortable start, and a feeling that he had just saved himself
from falling. With the earliest dawn of morn he descended, stiff and
weary, from the tree. Directly the sun rose he set off walking. He knew at
least that he was to the south of the camp, and that by keeping the sun on
his right hand till it reached the zenith he must get in time to the
little stream on which it was pitched. As he walked he listened intently
for the sound of guns. Once or twice he fancied that he heard them, but he
was quite unable to judge of the direction. He had been out with the
Houssa about six hours before he strayed from him in the pursuit of the
butterfly, and they had for some time been walking towards the camp, in
order to reach it by nightfall. Thus he thought, that at that time, he
could only have been some three or four miles distant from it. Supposing
that he had run due south, he could still be but eight miles from the
stream, and he thought that in three hours' walking he might arrive there.
In point of fact, after leaving the Houssa the butterfly had led him
towards the southeast, and as the stream took a sharp bend to the north a
little distance above the camp, he was many miles farther from it than he
expected. This stream was one of the upper tributaries of the Gaboon.

After walking for two hours the character of the forest changed. The high
trees were farther apart, and a thick undergrowth began to make its
appearance, frequently causing him to make long detours and preventing his
following the line he had marked out for himself. This caused him much
uneasiness, for he knew that he had passed across no such country on his
way from the camp, and the thought that he might experience great
difficulties in recovering it, now began to press upon him.

CHAPTER XI: A HOSTILE TRIBE

Every step that he went the ground grew softer and more swampy, and he at
length determined to push on no farther in this direction, but turning to
his left to try and gain higher ground, and then to continue on the line
he had marked out for himself.

His progress was now very slow. The bush was thick and close, thorny
plants and innumerable creepers continually barred his way, and the
necessity for constantly looking up through the trees to catch a glimpse
of the sun, which was his only guide, added to his difficulty. At length,
when his watch told him it was eleven o'clock, he came to a standstill,
the sun being too high overhead to serve him as a reliable guide. He had
now been walking for nearly six hours, and he was utterly worn out and
exhausted, having had no food since his midday meal on the previous day.
He was devoured with thirst, having merely rinsed his mouth in the black
and poisonous water of the swamps he had crossed. His sleepless night,
too, had told on him. He was bathed in perspiration, and for the last hour
had scarcely been able to drag his feet along.

He now lay down at the foot of a great tree, and for three or four hours
slept heavily. When he awoke he pursued his journey, the sun serving as a
guide again. In two hours' time he had got upon higher ground. The
brushwood was less dense, and he again turned his face to the north, and
stepped forward with renewed hopes.

It was late in the afternoon when he came upon a native path. Here he sat
down to think. He did not remember having crossed such a path on the day
before. Probably it crossed the stream at some point above the encampment.
Therefore it would serve as a guide, and he might, too, come upon some
native village where he could procure food. By following it far enough he
must arrive somewhere. He sat for a quarter of an hour to rest himself,
and then proceeded along the path, whose direction seemed to be the
northwest.

For an hour he proceeded and then paused, hearing a sudden outcry ahead.
Scampering along the path came a number of great baboons, and Frank at
once stepped aside into the bush to avoid them, as these are formidable
creatures when disturbed. They were of a very large species, and several
of the females had little ones clinging around their necks. In the
distance Frank could hear the shouts of some natives, and supposed that
the monkeys had been plundering their plantations, and that they were
driving them away. The baboons passed without paying any attention to him,
but Frank observed that the last of the troop was carrying a little one in
one of its forearms.

Frank glanced at the baby monkey and saw that it had round its waist a
string of blue beads. As a string of beads is the only attire which a
negro child wears until it reaches the age of ten or eleven years old, the
truth at once flashed upon Frank that the baboons were carrying off a
native baby, which had probably been set down by its mother while she
worked in the plantation. Instantly he drew his pistol, leaped into the
road, and fired at the retreating ape. It gave a cry, dropped the baby and
turned to attack its aggressor.

Frank waited till it was within six feet, and then shot it through the
head. He sprang forward and seized the baby, but in a moment he was
attacked by the whole party of baboons, who, barking like dogs, and
uttering angry cries, rushed at him. Frank stood his ground, and
discharged the four remaining barrels of his revolver at the foremost
animals. Two of these dropped, but the others who were only wounded sprang
upon him. Frank struck out with the butt end of his pistol, but in a
minute he was overpowered.

One monkey seized him by the leg with his teeth, while another bit his
arm. Others struck and scratched at him, and he was at once thrown down.
He tried to defend his face with his arms, kicking and struggling to the
best of his power. With one hand he drew the long knife for skinning
animals, which he wore at his belt, and struck out fiercely, but a baboon
seized his wrist in its teeth, and Frank felt that all was over, when
suddenly his assailants left him, and the instant afterwards he was lifted
to his feet by some negroes.

He had, when attacked by the apes, thrown the baby into a clump of ferns
close by, in order to have the use of both his hands, and when he looked
round he found that a negress had already picked it up, and was crying and
fondling it. The negroes appeared intensely astonished at Frank's color,
and he judged by their exclamations of surprise that, not only had they
not seen a white man before, but that they had not heard of one being in
the neighborhood.

Frank had been too severely bitten and mauled by the baboons to be able to
walk, and the negroes, seeing this, raised him, and four of them carried
him to their village, which was but a quarter of a mile distant. Here he
was taken to the principal hut, and laid on a bed. His wounds were dressed
with poultices formed of bruised leaves of some plant, the natives
evincing the utmost astonishment as Frank removed his clothes to enable
these operations to be performed.

By pointing to his lips he indicated that he was hungry and thirsty. Water
was brought to him, and cakes made from pounded yams pressed and baked.
Having eaten and drank he closed his eyes and lay back, and the natives,
who had before been all noisily chattering together, now became suddenly
silent, and stealing away left the strange white visitor to sleep.

When Frank woke he could see by the light that it was early morning. A
woman with a child in her lap, whom Frank recognized as the negress who
had picked up the baby, was sitting on a low stool by his side. On seeing
him open his eyes she came to the bed, took his hand and put it to her
lips, and then raised the baby triumphantly and turned it round and round
to show that it had escaped without damage. Then when Frank pointed again
to his lips she brought him a pineapple, roughly cut off the skin, and
sliced it. Frank ate the juicy fruit, and felt immensely refreshed, for
the West Coast pineapple is even more delicious than that found in the
West Indies. Then the woman removed the bandages and applied fresh
poultices to his wounds, talking in low soft tones, and, as Frank had no
doubt, expressing sorrow at their cause.

Frank now endeavored to explain to her that he had a white companion in
the woods, but the woman, not understanding, brought in two or three other
natives, who stood round the couch and endeavored to gather what he wished
to say.

Frank held up two fingers. Then he pointed to himself and shut down one
finger, keeping the other erect, and then pointed all round to signify
that he had a friend somewhere in the wood. A grin of comprehension stole
over the faces of the negroes, and Frank saw that he was understood.

Then he again held up his two fingers, and taking the hands of the negress
raised all her fingers by the side of the white ones to signify that there
were many natives with them. Then he took aim, with an imaginary gun, up
at the roof of the hut, and said “Bang” very loud, and a chorus of
approving laughter from the negroes showed that he was understood. Then
one of them pointed towards the various points of the compass, and looked
interrogatively at Frank. The sun was streaming in through the doorway,
and he was thus able to judge of the direction in which the camp must lie.
He made a sweep with his hand towards the northwest, signifying that they
were somewhere in that direction.

That afternoon fever set in, and for the two next days Frank was
delirious. When he recovered consciousness he found Mr. Goodenough sitting
beside him. The latter would not suffer him to talk, but gave him a strong
dose of quinine and told him to lie quiet and go to sleep.

It was not till the next day that Frank learned what had happened in his
absence. The Houssa had not returned until long after nightfall. He
reported that Frank had told him to wait with the guns, and that he had
waited until it grew nearly dark. Then he had fired several times and had
walked about, firing his gun at intervals. Obtaining no responses he had
made his way back to the camp, where his arrival alone caused great
consternation.

It was impossible to do anything that night, and the next morning Mr.
Goodenough, accompanied by five of the Houssas, one only remaining to keep
guard over the camp, had gone to the place where Frank had last been seen.
Then they scattered in various directions, shouting and firing their guns.
The search had been continued all day without success, and at nightfall,
disheartened and worn out, they had returned to the camp. The next day the
search had been continued with an equal want of success, and the fears
that a leopard had attacked and killed Frank became stronger and stronger.
On the third day the whole of the carriers were sent out with instructions
to search the woods for native paths, to follow these to villages, and to
enlist the natives in the search. One of these men had met one of the
villagers on the search for the party of the white man.

It was another ten days before Frank was sufficiently recovered from his
fever and wounds to march back to the camp. After a stay there of two or
three more days, to enable him completely to regain his strength, the
party started again on their journey.

In another three weeks they had descended the hills, and the Fans
announced their unwillingness to travel farther. Mr. Goodenough, however,
told them quietly that they had promised to go on until he could obtain
other carriers, and that if they deserted him he should pay them nothing.
They might now expect every day to meet people of another tribe, and as
soon as they should do so they would be allowed to depart. Finding that he
was firm, and having no desire to forfeit the wages they had earned, the
Fans agreed to go forward, although they were now in a country entirely
unknown to them, where the people would presumably be hostile. They had,
however, such faith in the arms carried by the white men and Houssas, that
they felt comparatively easy as to the result of any attack which might be
made upon them.

The very day after this little mutiny, smoke was seen curling up from the
woods. Mr. Goodenough deemed it inexpedient to show himself at once with
so large a number of men. He, therefore, sent forward Ostik with two of
the Fans, each of whom could speak several native dialects, to announce
his coming. They returned in an hour saying that the village was a very
large one, and that the news of the coming of two white men had created
great excitement. The people spoke of sending at once to their king, whom
they called Malembe, whose place, it seemed, was a day's march off.

They now prepared to enter the village. Ostik went first carrying himself
with the dignity of a beadle at the head of a school procession. Two of
the Houssas walked next. Mr. Goodenough and Frank followed, their guns
being carried by two Fans behind them. Then came the long line of bearers,
two of the Houssas walking on each side as a baggage guard. The villagers
assembled in great numbers as they entered. The head man conducted the
whites to his hut. No women or children were to be seen, and the
expression of the men was that of fear rather than curiosity.

“They are afraid of the Fans,” Mr. Goodenough said. “The other tribes all
have a species of terror of these cannibals. We must reassure them as soon
as possible.”

A long palaver then took place with the chief, with whose language one of
the Fans was sufficiently acquainted to make himself understood. It was
rather a tedious business, as each speech had to be translated twice,
through Ostik and the Fan.

Mr. Goodenough informed the chief that the white men were friends of his
people, that they had come to see the country and give presents to the
chiefs, that they only wished to pass quietly through and to journey
unmolested, and that they would pay handsomely for food and all that they
required. They wished to obtain bearers for their baggage, and these they
would pay in cloth and brass rods, and as soon as they procured carriers
the Fans would return to their own country.

The chief answered expressing his gratification at seeing white men in his
village, saying that the king would, no doubt, carry out all their wishes.
One of the boxes was opened and he was presented with five yards of bright
colored calico, a gaudy silk handkerchief, and several strings of bright
beads. In return a large number of plantains were presented to the white
men. These were soon distributed among the Fans.

“Me no like dat nigger,” Ostik said. “Me think we hab trouble. You see all
women and children gone, dat bad. Wait till see what do when king come.”

That day and the next passed quietly. The baggage had been piled in a
circle, as usual, in an open space outside the village; the tent being
pitched in the center, and Ostik advised Mr. Goodenough to sleep here
instead of in the village. The day after their arrival passed but heavily.
The natives showed but little curiosity as to the newcomers, although
these must have been far more strange to them than to the people nearer
the coast. Still no women or children made their appearance. Towards
evening a great drumming was heard in the distance.

“Here is his majesty at last,” Mr. Goodenough said, “we shall soon see
what is his disposition.”

In a short time the village was filled with a crowd of men all carrying
spears and bows and arrows. The drumming came nearer and nearer, and then,
carried in a chair on the shoulders of four strong negroes, while ten
others armed with guns marched beside him, the king made his appearance.

Mr. Goodenough and Frank advanced to meet him. The king was a tall man
with a savage expression of countenance. Behind Mr. Goodenough, Ostik and
the Fan who spoke the language advanced. The king's chair was lowered
under the shade of a tree, and two attendants with palm leaf fans at once
began to fan his majesty.

“Tell the king,” Mr. Goodenough said, “that we are white men who have come
to see his country, and to pass through to the countries beyond. We have
many presents for him, and wish to buy food and to hire carriers in place
of those who have brought our things thus far.”

The king listened in silence.

“Why do the white men bring our enemies into our land?” he asked angrily.

“We have come up from the coast,” Mr. Goodenough said; “and as we passed
through the Fan country we hired men there to carry our goods, just as we
wish to hire men here to go on into the country beyond. There were none of
the king's men in that country or we would have hired them.”

“Let me see the white men's presents,” the king said.

A box was opened, a bright scarlet shirt and a smoking cap of the same
color, worked with beads, a blue silk handkerchief and twenty yards of
bright calico, were taken out. To these were added twelve stair rods, five
pounds of powder, and two pounds of shot.

The king's eye sparkled greedily as he looked at the treasures.

“The white men must be very rich,” he said, pointing to the pile of
baggage.

“Most of the boxes are empty,” Mr. Goodenough said. “We have brought them
to take home the things of the country and show them to the white men
beyond the sea;” and to prove the truth of his words, Mr. Goodenough had
two of the empty cases opened, as also one already half filled with bird
skins, and another with trays of butterflies and beetles.

The king looked at them with surprise.

“And the others?” he asked, pointing to them.

“The others,” Mr. Goodenough said, “contain, some of them, food such as
white men are accustomed to eat in their own country, the others, presents
for the other kings and chiefs I shall meet when we have passed on.

“The fellow is not satisfied,” he said to Ostik, “give him two of the
trade guns and a bottle of brandy.”

The king appeared mollified by these additional presents, and saying that
he would talk to the white men in the morning, he retired into the
village.

“I don't like the looks of things,” Mr. Goodenough said. “I fear that the
presents we have given the king will only stimulate his desire for more.
However, we shall see in the morning.”

When night fell, two of the Houssas were placed on guard. The Fans slept
inside the circle formed by the baggage. Several times in the night the
Houssas challenged bodies of men whom they heard approaching, but these at
once retired.

In the morning a messenger presented himself from the king, saying that he
required many more presents, that the things which had been given were
only fit for the chief of a village, and not for a great king. Mr.
Goodenough answered, that he had given the best he had, that the presents
were fit for a great king, and that he should give no more.

“If we are to have trouble,” he said to Frank, “it is far better to have
it at once while the Fans are with us, than when we are alone with no one
but the Houssas and the subjects of this man. The Fans will fight, and we
could hold this encampment against any number of savages.”

A quarter of an hour later the drums began beating furiously again. Loud
shouts and yells arose in the village, and the natives could be seen
moving excitedly about. Presently these all disappeared.

“Fight come now,” Ostik said.

“You'd better lower the tent at once, Ostik. It will only be in our way.”

The tent was speedily lowered. The Fans grasped their spears and lay down
behind the circle of boxes and bales, and the six Houssas, the two white
men and Ostik, to whom a trade musket had been entrusted, took their
places at regular intervals round the circle, which was some eight yards
in diameter. Presently the beat of the drums again broke the silence, and
a shower of arrows, coming apparently from all points of the compass, fell
in and around the circle.

“Open fire steadily and quietly,” Mr. Goodenough said, “among the bushes,
but don't fire fast. We must tempt them to show themselves.”

A dropping fire commenced against the invisible foe, the fire being no
more frequent than it would have been had they been armed with muzzle
loading weapons. Presently musketry was heard on the enemy's side, the
king's bodyguard having opened fire. This was disastrous to them, for,
whereas the arrows had afforded but slight index as to the position of
those who shot them, the puffs of smoke from the muskets at once showed
the lurking places of those who used them, and Mr. Goodenough and Frank
replied so truly that in a very short time the musketry fire of the enemy
ceased altogether. The rain of arrows continued, the yells of the natives
rose louder and louder, and the drums beat more furiously.

“They will be out directly,” Mr. Goodenough said. “Fire as quickly as you
can when they show, but be sure and take good aim.”

Presently the sound of a war horn was heard, and from the wood all round a
crowd of dark figures dashed forward, uttering appalling yells. On the
instant the dropping fire of the defenders changed into an almost
continuous fusillade, as the Sniders of the Houssas, the breech loading
rifle of Mr. Goodenough, and the repeating Winchester of Frank were
brought into play at their full speed. Yells of astonishment broke from
the natives, and a minute later, leaving nearly a score of their comrades
on the ground, the rest dashed back into the forest.

There was silence for a time and then the war drums began again.

“Dey try again hard dis time, massa,” Ostik said. “King tell 'em he cut
off deir heads dey not win battle.”

This time the natives rushed forward with reckless bravery, in spite of
the execution made among them by the rapid fire of the defenders, and
rushed up to the circle of boxes. Then the Fans leaped to their feet, and,
spear in hand, dashed over the defenses and fell upon the enemy.

The attack was decisive. Uttering yells of terror the natives fled, and
two minutes later not a sound was to be heard in the forest.

“I tink dey run away for good dis time, sar,” Ostik said. “Dey hav' 'nuf
of him. Dey fight very brave, much more brave than people down near coast.
Dere in great battle only three, four men killed. Here as many men killed
as we got altogether.”

This was so, nearly fifty of the natives having fallen between the trees
and the encampment. When an hour passed and all was still, it became
nearly certain that the enemy had retreated, and the Houssas, who are
splendid scouts, divested themselves of their clothing and crawled away
into the wood to reconnoiter. They returned in half an hour in high glee,
bearing the king's chair.

“Dey all run away, sar, ebery one, de king an' all, and leab his chair
behind. Dat great disgrace for him.”

A council was now held. The Fans were so delighted with the victory they
had won, that they expressed their readiness to remain with their white
companions as long as they chose, providing these would guarantee that
they should be sent home on the expiration of their service. This Mr.
Goodenough readily promised. After discussing the question with Frank, he
determined to abstain from pushing farther into the interior, but to keep
along northward, and then turning west with the sweep of the coast to
travel slowly along, keeping at about the same distance as at present from
the sea, and finally to come down either upon Cape Coast or Sierra Leone.

This journey would occupy a considerable time. They would cross countries
but little known, and would have an ample opportunity for the collection
of specimens, which they might, from time to time, send down by the
various rivers they would cross, to the trading stations at their mouths.

It was felt that after this encounter with the natives it would be
imprudent in the extreme to push further into the interior. They would
have continual battles to fight, large numbers of the natives would be
killed, and their collecting operations would be greatly interfered with.
As a lesson to the natives the village was burnt to the ground; the
presents, which the king in the hurry of his flight had left behind him,
being recovered.

A liberal allowance of tobacco was served out as a “dash” or present to
the Fans, and a bright silk handkerchief given to each. Then they turned
off at right angles to the line they had before been pursuing and
continued their journey.

Two days later Mr. Goodenough was prostrated by fever, and for several
days lay between life and death. When he became convalescent he recovered
strength very slowly. The heat was prodigious and the mosquitos rendered
sleep almost impossible at night. The country at this place was low and
swampy, and, weak as he was, Mr. Goodenough determined to push forward. He
was, however, unable to walk, and, for the first time, a hammock was got
out and mounted.

There is no more comfortable conveyance in the world than a hammock in
Africa. It is slung from a long bamboo pole, overhead a thick awning keeps
the sun from the hammock. Across the ends of the pole boards of some three
feet long are fastened. The natives wrap a piece of cloth into the shape
of a muffin and place it on their heads, and then take their places, two
at each end of the pole, with the ends of the board on their heads. They
can trot along at the rate of six miles an hour, for great distances,
often keeping up a monotonous song. Their action is perfectly smooth and
easy, and the traveler in the hammock, by shutting his eyes, might imagine
himself swinging in a cot on board ship on an almost waveless sea.

After two days traveling they got on to higher ground, and here they
camped for some time, Mr. Goodenough slowly recovering strength, and Frank
busy in adding to their collections. In this he was in no slight degree
assisted by the Fans, who, having nothing else to do, had now come to
enter into the occupation of their employers. A good supply of muslin had
been brought, and nets having been made, the Fans captured large
quantities of butterflies, the great difficulty being in convincing them
that only a few of each species were required. They were still more
valuable in grubbing about in the decaying trunks of fallen trees, under
loose bark, and in broken ground, for beetles and larvae, a task which
suited them better than running about after butterflies, which, moreover,
they often spoilt irreparably by their rough handling. Thus Frank was able
to devote himself entirely to the pursuit of birds, and although all the
varieties more usually met with had been obtained, the collection steadily
increased in size.

Frank himself had severe attacks of fever, but none of these were so
severe as that which he had had on the day of the death of the leopards.

At the end of a month Mr. Goodenough had recovered his strength, and they
again moved forward.

CHAPTER XII: A NEGRO'S STORY

On arriving at a large village one day, they were struck as they
approached by the far greater appearance of comfort and neatness than
generally distinguish African villages. The plots of plantations were
neatly fenced, the street was clean and well kept. As they entered the
village they were met by the principal people, headed by an old white
haired negro.

“Me berry glad to see you, white men,” he said. “Long time me no see white
men.”

“And it is a long time,” said Mr. Goodenough, shaking hands with him,
“since I have heard the sound of my own tongue outside my party.”

“Me berry glad to see you,” repeated the negro. “Me chief of dis village.
Make you berry comfortable, sar. Great honor for dis village dat you come
here. Plenty eberyting for you, fowl, and eggs, and plantain, and sometime
a sheep.”

“We have, indeed, fallen into the lap of luxury,” Mr. Goodenough said to
Frank; and they followed the negro to his hut. “I suppose the old man has
been employed in one of the factories upon the coast.”

The interior of the hut was comfortably furnished and very clean. A sort
of divan covered with neatly woven mats extended round three sides. In the
center was an attempt at a table. A doubled barreled gun and a rifle hung
over the hearth. A small looking glass and several colored prints in cheap
frames were suspended from the walls. A great chest stood at one end of
the room, while on a shelf were a number of plates and dishes of English
manufacture.

The negro begged his guests to be seated, and presently a girl entered,
bringing in a large calabash full of water for them to wash their hands
and faces. In the meantime the old negro had gone to his chest, and, to
the immense surprise of the travelers, brought out a snow white
tablecloth, which he proceeded to lay on the table, and then to place
knives, forks, and plates upon it.

“You must 'scuse deficiencies, sar,” he said. “We berry long way from
coast, and dese stupid niggers dey break tings most ebery day.”

“Don't talk about deficiencies,” Mr. Goodenough answered smiling. “All
this is, indeed, astonishing to us here.”

“You berry good to say dat, sar, but dis chile know how tings ought to be
done. Me libed in good Melican family. He know berry well how tings ought
to be done.”

“Ah, you have traveled a good deal!” Mr. Goodenough said.

“Yes, sar, me trabel great deal. Me lib in Cuba long time. Den me lib
slave states, what you call Confederate. Den me lib Northern state, also
Canada under Queen Victoria. Me trabel bery much. Now, sar, dinner come.
Time to eat not to talk. After dinner white gentlemen tell me what they
came here for. Me tell dem if they like about my trabels, but dat berry
long story.”

The dinner consisted of two fowls cut in half and grilled over a fire,
fried plantains, and, to the astonishment of the travelers, green peas,
followed by cold boiled rice over which honey had been poured. Their host
had placed plates only for two, but they would not sit down until he had
consented to join them.

Two girls waited, both neatly dressed in cotton, in a fashion which was a
compromise between European and negro notions.

After dinner the negro presented them with two large and excellent cigars,
made, as he said, from tobacco grown in his own garden, and the
astonishment of the travelers was heightened by the reappearance of one of
the girls bearing a tray with three small cups of excellent black coffee.

Their host now asked them for the story of their journey from the coast,
and the object with which they had penetrated Africa. Mr. Goodenough
related their adventures, and said that they were naturalists in search of
objects of natural history. When he had finished Ostik, in obedience to a
whisper from him, brought in a bottle of brandy, at the sight of which the
negro broke into a chuckle.

“Me tree months widout taste dat. Once ebery year me send down to coast,
get coffee, tea, sugar, calico, beads, and rum. Dis time de rum am finish
too soon. One of de cases get broke and half de bottles smash. Dat berry
bad job. Dis chile calculate dat six dozen last for a year, dat give him
one bottle each week and twenty bottles for presents to oder chiefs.
Eighteen bottles go smash, and as de oder chiefs expec' deir present all
de same, Sam hab ta go widout. De men start three weeks ago for coast. Me
hope dey come back in six weeks more.”

“Well,” Mr. Goodenough said, “you need not go without it till they come
back, for I can give you eight bottles which will last you for two months.
I have got a good supply, and as I never use it for trade unless a chief
particularly wants it, I can very well spare it.”

The old negro was greatly pleased, and when he had drank his glass of
brandy and water he responded to Mr. Goodenough's request, and, lighting a
fresh cigar, he began the story of his adventures.

“I was born in dis berry village somewhere about seventy years ago. I not
know for sure widin two or three year, for when I young man I no keep
account. My fader was de chief of dis village, just as I am now, but de
village was not like dis. It was not so big, and was berry dirty and berry
poor, just like the oder nigger villages. Well, sar, dere am nothing
perticlar to tell about de first years of my life. I jus' dirty little
naked nigger like de rest. Dose were berry bad times. Ebery one fight
against ebery one else. Ebery one take slabes and send dem down de river,
and sell to white men dere to carry ober sea. When I grow up to seventeen,
I s'pose, I take spear and go out wid de people of dis village and de oder
villages of dis part ob country under king, and fight against oder
villages and carry the people away as slabes. All berry bad business dat.
But Sam he tink nothing, and just do the same as oder people. Sometimes
oder tribes come and fight against our villages and carry our people away.
So it happened to Sam.

“Jus' when he about twenty years old we had come back from a long
'spedition. Dis village got its share ob slabes, and we drink and sing and
make merry wid de palm tree wine and tink ourselves berry grand fellows.
Well, sar, dat night great hullyballoo in de village. De dogs bark, de men
shout and seize deir arms and run out to fight, but it no good. Anoder
tribe fall on us ten times as many as we. We fight hard but no use. All de
ole men and de ole women and de little babies dat no good to sell dey
killed, and de rest of us, de men and de women and de boys and girls, we
tied together and march away wid de people dat had taken us.

“Berry bad time dat, sar. De season was dry and de water scarce. We make
long march ebery day, and berry little food given. Dey beat us wid sticks
and prod us wid spear to make us go. A good many ob de weak ones dey die,
but de most ob us arribe at mouth ob riber; me neber know what riber dat
was, but we were berry nigh two months in getting dere. By dis time Sam
arribe at the conclusion berry strong, dat de burning ob villages and
carrying off ob slabes berry bad affair altogether. Sam hab changed his
mind about a great many things, but about dat he am fixed right up to dis
time.

“Well, at de mouth ob dat riber Sam saw de white man for de first time;
and me tell you fair, sar, Sam not like him no way. Dey were Spanish men,
and de way dey treat us poor niggers was someting awful. We huddle up
night and day in a big shed dey call a barracoon. Dey gabe us berry little
food, berry little water. Dey flog us if we grumble. Dese men belong to
ships, and had bought us from dose who brought us down from up country.
Deir ship not come yet, and for a long time we wait in the barracoon
wishing dat we could die. At last de ship came, and we were taken on board
and huddled down below. Law, what a place dat was to be sure! Not more
than tree feet high, just high enough to sit up, and dere we chained to
deck. De heat, sar, was someting terrible. Some ob us yell out and scream
for air, but dey only come down and beat us wid whips.

“De day after we got on board de ship set sail. Tree hours after dat we
hear a great running about on deck, and a shouting by the white men. Den
we hear big gun fire ober head, almost make us jump out of skin wid de
noise. Den more guns. Den dere was a crash, and before we knew what was de
matter dere was a big hole in de side, and six niggers was killed dead.
Ebery one yelled berry loud. We tink for sure that de last day come. For a
long time de guns keep firing, and den everyting quiet again. At de time
no one could tink what de matter, but I s'pose dat British cruiser chase
us and dat de slaber sail away.

“Dat was an awful voyage, sar. At first de sea smoove, and de ship go
along straight. Den de ship begin to toss about jus' as nigger does when
he has taken too much palm wine, and we all feel berry bad. Ebery one
groan and cry and tink dat dey must have been poisoned. For tree days it
was a terrible time. De hatches were shut down and no air could come to
us, and dere we was all alone in de dark, and no one could make out why de
great house on de water roll and tumble so much. We cry and shout till all
breaff gone, and den lie quiet and moan, till jus' when ebery one tink he
dead, dey take off de hatch and come down and undo de padlocks and tell us
to go up on deck. Dat berry easy to say, not at all easy to do. Most of us
too weak to walk, and say dat we dead and cannot move. Den dey whip all
about, and it was astonishing, sar, to see what life dat whip put into
dead nigger. Somehow people feel dat dey could crawl after all, and when
dey get up on deck and see de blessed sun again and de blue sky dey feel
better. But not all. In spite ob de whip many hab to be carried up on
deck, and dere de sailor men lay 'em down and trow cold water ober dem
till dey open dere eyes and come to life. Some neber come to life. Dere
were about six hundred when we start, and ob dese pretty nigh a hundred
die in dose tree days.

“After dat tings not so bad. De weather was fine and no more English
cruisers seen, so dey let half ob us up on deck at once for tree or four
hours ebery day. Dey give us more food, too, and fatten us up. We talk dis
ober among ourselves, and s'pose dat dey going to eat us when we get to
land again. Some propose not to eat food, but when dey try dat on they get
de whip, and conclude dat if dey must be eaten dey might as well be eaten
fat as lean.

“At last we come in sight of land. Den we all sent below and stay dere
till night. Den we brought on deck, and find de vessel lying in a little
creek. Den we all land in boats, and march up country all night. In de
morning we halt. Tree or four white men come on horses and look at us. Dey
separate us into parties, and each march away into country again. Den we
separate again, till at last me and twenty oders arribe at a plantation up
in de hills. Here we range along in line before a white man. He speak in
berry fierce tones, and a nigger by his side tell us dat dis man our
master, dat he say if we work well he gib us plenty of food and treat us
well, but dat if we not work wid all our might he whip us to death. After
dis it was ebident that de best ting to do was to work hard.

“I was young and berry strong, sar, and soon got de name of a willing hard
working nigger. De massa he keep his word. Dose who work well not bad
treated, plenty ob food and a piece of ground to plant vegetables and to
raise fowls for ourselves. So we passed two or tree year, plenty ob hard
work, but not berry much to grumble at. Den me and a gal of my own
village, who had been bought in de same batch wid me, we go to massa and
say we want to marry. Massa say, berry well. I fine strong nigger and work
well, so he gib de gal four yards ob bright cotton for wedding dress, and
a bottle ob rum to me, and we married.

“Two or tree years pass, and my wife hab two piccanninies. Den de massa go
home to Spain, and leab overseer in plantation. Berry bad man dat. Before,
if nigger work well he not beaten. Now he beaten wheder he work or not.
For two or tree months we 'tand it, but tings get worse and worse. De
oberseer he always drunk and go on like wild beast. One day he passed by
my wife hoeing de sugarcane and he gib her cut wid whip, jus' out of
'musement. She turn round and ask, 'What dat for?' He get mad, cut her wid
whip, knock her down wid de handle, and den seizing de chile dat she had
fastened to her back, he catch him by de leg and smash him skull against a
tree. Den, sar, I seize my hoe, I rush at him, and I chop him down wid all
my strength, cut his skull clean in sunder, and he drop down dead.

“Den I knew dat dat was no place for Sam, so I take my hoe and I run away
as fast as I could. No one try to stop me. De oder niggers dance and sing
when dey saw de oberseer fall dead. I ran all dat day up among de hills,
skirting round de different plantations till I get quite into de wild
part. Wheneber I came to stream I walk a long way in him till I get to
tree hanging ober. Den pull myself up into de branches, climb along and
drop at de farthest end, and den run again, for I knew dat dey would set
de bloodhounds after me.

“At last I tink dat it am quite safe, and when de night came on lie down
to sleep for a few hours. Before morning me off again, and by night get to
de center of de wild country. Here I light a fire, and sit down, and, just
as I 'spected, in two or tree hours five or six men come down to me. Dose
were niggers who had run away from plantations. I tell dem my story, dey
agree dat I did berry right in killing oberseer. Dey take me away to place
where dey hab little huts and patches of yams. Two or tree days pass and
no one come, so, we s'pose dat dey hab lost de scent. Me waited a month
and den determined to go down and see about wife. I journey at night, and
reach plantation in two days. Dere I hide till I see nigger come along
close to bush. I call him and he come. I tell him to tell my wife to steal
away when night come, and to meet me dere. He nod and go away. Dat night
my wife come wid de oder chile. We not talk much but start away for
mountains. Me berry much afraid now because my wife not berry strong, she
hurt by de blow and fretting after me. Howeber, we follow the way I had
gone before. I make shift to help her up into trees from the streams, and
dis time after tree days' travel we got back to hut in the mountain.

“Dere we lib berry happy for a year. Sometimes some ob us go down to
plantation and take down baskets and oder tings dat we had made and chop
dem for cotton. We had tobacco of our own, and some fowls which we got
from the plantations in de fust place. Altogether we did berry well.
Sometimes band of soldiers come and march trough the country, but we hab
plenty hiding places and dey never find us. More and more runway slabes
come, and at last we hear dat great 'spedition going to start to search
all de mountains. Dey come, two tree thousand ob dem. Dey form long
skirmishing line, five or six mile long, and dey go ober mountain. Ebery
nigger dey find who not surrender when dey call to him dey shoot. When I
heard ob deir coming I had long talk wid wife. We agree that it better to
leave de mountains altogether and go down and live in the bushes close to
the old plantation. Nobody look for us dere. So we make our way down and
lib there quiet. We get the yams out ob de plantations and lib very
comfortable. When we tink all ober in the mountain we go back.

“Well, sar, when we tink it all safe, and we get widin a mile ob de huts
whar we had libed, all at once we came upon a lot of soldiers in camp. Dey
see us and make shout. I call to my wife to run, when dey fire. A bullet
hit de baby, which she hab at her back, and pass through both deir bodies.
I did not run any more, but jus' stood looking at my wife and chile as if
my senses had gone. Dere I stood till the soldiers came up. Dey put a cord
round my arms and led me away. After a time I was taken down the country.
Dere I was claimed, and when it was known I had killed a white oberseer I
was tried. But de new oberseer did not want me to be hung, for I was a
strong slave and worth money, so he told a story about how it happen, and
after dey had flogged me very hard dey sent me back to plantation. Dere I
work for a long time wid a great log of wood chained to my ankle to
prevent me from running away again.

“For a time I not care whether I lib or die, but at last I made up my mind
to 'scape again. After six months dey took off de log, tinking dat I had
had enuf of de mountains and would not try to 'scape, and de log prevented
my doing so much work. De bery next night I ran away again but dis time I
determined to make for de town in hopes ob getting on board an English
ship, for I had heard from de oder slabes dat de English did not keep
black men as slabes, but dat, on de contry, dey did what dey could to stop
de Spanish from getting dem away from Africa, and I understood now dat de
dreful noise we had heard on de first day we were on board ship was an
attack upon our vessel by an English cruiser.

“It was four days' journey down to de town by de sea. Dere was no
difficulty in finding de way, for de road was good, and I s'pose dat dey
only looked for me towards de hills. Anyhow I got dar safe, walking at
night and sleeping in the bushes by day. I got as near de town as I dar,
and could see seberal vessels lying near de shore. I could see dat some ob
dem had de Spanish flag—I knew dat flag—de oders had flags
which I did not know. When it was dark I walked boldly into the town; no
one asked me any question, and I make my way through de streets down to de
shore. Dere I get into a boat and lay quiet till all de town was asleep.
Den I get into water and swim off to a ship—one dat I had noticed
had a flag which was not Spanish. Dere was a boat alongside. I climb into
it and pull myself up by the rope on deck. Den some white men seize me and
say someting in language which I not understand. Den dey take me into
cabin and say someting to captain; me not know what it was, but de captain
laugh, and me not like his laugh at all. Howeber, dey give me someting to
eat, and den take me down into hold of ship and tell me to go to sleep on
some sacks of sugar, and throw some empty sacks ober me to cover me. Den
dey close up hatch and leab me alone.

“When I come on deck de land was gone and de vessel sailing along. I speak
to no one, for I only understand little Spanish, and dese people not speak
dat. We sail along for some time, and at last we come in sight of land
again. Den dey hoist flag and I see dat it a flag wid lots of red stars
and stripes upon him. I know now dat it was a 'Merican ship. Den I know
noting. We get to port and I want to land, but dey shake deir heads.

“De next day de captain he make sign to me to come wid him. I go along to
shore and he take me to a open space in town, where a man was standing on
a raised platform. He had a black woman by de side ob him. Seberal men
come up and look at her. De man he shout bery loud. Oder men say something
short. At last he knock on de table; a man tell de woman to come after him
and she walk away. Den a boy was put up, and den two more women, and ebery
time just de same ting was done. Den de man call out, and de captain push
his way through the crowd wid me, and tell me to climb up on platform. I
get up and look round quite surprised. Eberybody laugh. Den de man began
to holloa again. Den seberal men come up and feel my arms and my legs. Dey
point to de marks which de whip had left on my back, and dey laugh again.
Presently de man who was shouting bang his hand on the table again, and a
white man in the crowd, who had seberal times called out loud, come up to
me, take me by the arm, and sign to me to go wid him.

“I begin to understand now; dat rascally captain had sold me for a slabe,
and dat flag I had seen was not de English flag. However, it was no use to
say anyting, and I went along wid my new massa. He was a nice looking man,
and I thought it might not be so bery bad after all. He took me to a high
carriage wid two wheels and a fine horse. A negro, who was dressed up like
a white man, was holding de horse. He showed me to climb up behind, de
oders climb up in front, and we dribe away.”

CHAPTER XIII: A FUGITIVE SLAVE

“Well, sar, work bery much de same on plantation in Virginia and Cuba, but
de slabe much merrier in 'Merica, when de master am good. My new massa
bery good man. Slabes all treat bery kind, work not too hard. At night
dance and sing bery much. Den I marry again, dis time to one ob de girls
in de house. She favorite ob missy, and so when we marry, missy hab me
taken off de fields and put to garden. Bery fine garden dat was. Tree,
four of us work dar, Sam jus' as happy as man could be. Sometime, when der
am party, Sam come into the house to help at de table, dat how Sam know
how to do tings proper. De little massas dey bery fond ob me, and when dey
want to go out hunting de coon or fishing in de riber, dey always cry for
Sam.

“So fifteen years passed by, bery happy years, sar, den do ole massa die;
missy, too, soon after. De young massa not like him father. Me tink de ole
gentleman make mistake wid him when him chile, let him hab too much his
own way. I bery fond ob him because I had been wid him so much, but I
often shake my head when I tink de time come dat he be massa ob de
plantation. It was not dat his nature was bad; he get in rage sometime,
but dat all ober in no time, but he lub pleasure too much; go to de races
and 'top at de town weeks together, and play too much wid de cards. Dere
were two boys and two girls; de second boy, he go to West Point and become
officer in de army.

“After de death ob de ole people de house change bery much. Before dat
time we keep good company, gib sometimes grand balls, and all de fust
families ob Virginia in dat part visit dar. After dat always people in de
house. De young massa, when he go to Richmond, bring back six or eight
young men wid him, and dey laugh and drink and play cards half de night. I
tink de young missys speak to him about his ways. Anyhow, one day dere
great row, and dey off to lib wid an aunt in de city. After dat tings get
worse. One day missy come back from town and she gib my wife her papers of
freedom. You see, my wife was giben by de ole man to missy when her war a
little girl, and fortunate it was dat he had made out de papers all right
and presented dem to her. When missy gib her de papers ob freedom, she cry
bery much. 'Me 'fraid bad time coming, Sally,' she said. 'Me tink dat it
better for a time dat you clar out ob dis. Now you got de paper you free
woman, but you wife ob slabe; might be difficulty about it. Me fear dat
broder Dick ruined—de plantation and slabes to be sole;' and wid dat
she bu'st out crying wus dan eber. Ob course my wife she cry too.

“'Better you go norf, Sally,' missy say presently. 'I gib you letter to
friends dar, and tell dem you bery good nurse. Den if Sam get good master
you can come back to him again. If not, as you tell me dat when he slabe
before he run away, it jus' possible he do de same again.'

“'Don't you tink, missy,' de wife said, 'dat de young massa gib freedom to
Sam too. Sam wait on him a great many years, sabe him life when he tumbled
into water.'

“'I bery much afraid,' missy said, shaking her head, 'dat my broder not
able to do so if he wish. He borrow money on de plantation and de slabes,
and dat prevent him from making any ob dem free. De sale soon come now.
You go tell Sam; tell him not to say word to nobody. Den you pack up and
come right away wid me to de city. It bery much better you clar out ob dis
before dey come down and seize eberybody.'

“Well, sar, you guess when Sam heard dis he in fine taking. He often
grieve bery much dat he and Sally hab no children. Now he tank de Lord wid
all his heart dat dere no piccanniny, for dey would hab been sold, one one
way and one another, and we should neber hab seen dem again. Hows'ever, I
make great effort, and tell Sally she do jus' what missy say. I tell her
to go norf while she can, and promise dat some day or oder Sam join her
dar. 'Better for to be parted for ten year, Sally, dan to hab de risk ob
you being seize and sold to one master, me to anoder. You trus' Sam to
break out some day. He do bery well here for a time. He bery good strong
nigger, good gardner, good at de horses, good carpenter. Sam sure to get
good place, but, howeber good, when he see a chance he run away. If no
chance, he sabe up his money, and you sabe up your money, Sally, and buy
him freedom.'

“Well, sar, we bofe cry bery much, and den Sally go away wid de young
missy. A week after dat de bust up come. De officers dey come down and
seize de place, and a little while after dey sell all de slabes. Dat was a
terrible affair, to see de husbands and de wives and de children separated
and sold to different masters. De young massa he not dere at sale. Dey say
he pretty nigh break him heart, but he ought to hab thought ob dat before.
Me sure dat de ole gentleman and de ole missy pretty nigh turn in deir
grabe at de thought ob all de hands they was so kind to sold away.

“Dat de curse of slabery, sar. Me trabel a good deal, and me tink dat no
working people in de world are so merry and happy as de slabe in a
plantation wid a good massa and missy. Dey not work so hard as de white
man. Dey have plenty to eat and drink, dey hab deir gardens and deir
fowls. When dey are sick dey are taken care ob, when dey are ole they are
looked after and hab nothing to do. I have heard people talk a lot of
nonsense about de hard life of de plantation slabe. Dat not true, sar, wid
a good massa. De slabe hab no care and he bery happy. If all massas were
good, and dere were a law dat if a plantation were broken up de slabes
must be sold in families together, me tell you dat de life on a plantation
a thousand times happier dan de life ob a black man in his own country.
But all masters are not good. Some neber look after de slabes, and leabe
all to overseers, and dese bery often bad, cruel men. But worst of all is
when a sale comes. Dat terrible, sar. De husban' sold to Alabama, de wife
to Carolina, de children scattered trough de States. Dis too bad, sar, dis
make ob slabery a curse to de black men.

“Well, sar, we all sold. Me fetch high price and sold to a planter in
Missouri. Sam no like dat. Dat a long way from the frontier. Tree years
Sam work dar in plantation. Den he sold again to a man who hab boats on de
riber at New Orleans. Dar Sam work discharging de ships and working de
barges. Dar he come to learn for sure which de British flag. De times were
slack, and my massa hire me out to be waiter in a saloon. Dat place dey
hab dinners, and after dinner dey gamble. Dat war a bad place, mos' ebery
night quarrels, and sometimes de pistols drawn, and de bullets flying
about. Sam 'top dar six months; de place near de riber, and de captains ob
de ships often come to dine.

“One young fellow come bery often, and one day Sam saw tree or four men he
knew to be Texas horse dealers talking wid him. Now dis young captain had
been bery friendly wid Sam; always speak cibil and gib him quarter for
himself, and Sam sorry to see dose chaps get hold ob him. Dis went on for
two or tree days, till one ebening de captain, instead of going away after
dinner, stopped talking to dese follows. De play begin at de table, and
dey persuade him to join. He hab de debil's luck. Dey thought they going
to cheat him, and if dey had got him by demselves dey would have cleaned
him out sure. But dere were oder people playing and dey not able to cheat.

“Well, sar, he won all de money. Drinks had been flying about, and when at
last de man dat kep' de table said, 'De bank will close for tonight,' de
young fellow could scarce walk steady on his feet. His pockets were full
ob notes. I went up to him and said, 'Will you hab a bed here, sar, bery
good bed?' but he laugh and say, 'No, Sam, I may be a little fresh in de
wind, but I tink I can make de boat.' I saw dose fellows scowl when I
speak to him, and I make up my mind dey after no good. Well, sar, dey go
out fust. Den he go out wid some oder people and stand laughing and
talking at de door. Sam run up to him room, slip on his money belt, for he
had had a good deal giben him while he was dar, and was sabing up to buy
his freedom, and he didn't know what was going to happen. Den Sam look
into de kitchen and caught up a heavy poker and a long knife, den he run
down and turn out de lights ob de saloon and lock de door after him.

“He was jus' in time, for he saw at de corner, where de street go down on
to the wharves, de young captain separate from de men who had gone out wid
him and walk away by hisself. Sam kicked off his shoes and ran as fast as
he could to de end ob de street. De wharf was bery badly lighted, jus' a
lamp here and dere. Sam ran along till he got widin about thirty yards ob
de sailor, and den stole quiet along in de shadow ob de houses. Sudden he
see five men run out. Den Sam he leap forward like tiger and gibs a shout
to warn de captain. He turn round jus' in time. Sam saw an arm lifted and
de captain fall, and den at de same moment almost him poker come down wid
a crunch upon de top ob one of deir head. Den they turn on Sam, but, law
bless you, sar! what was de good ob dat? Bery strong negro wid heavy poker
in one hand and long knife in de oder more dan match for four men. He
knock dem ober like nine pin. Tree of dem, he tink he kill straight, the
poker fall on de top ob deir heads, de oder man give a dig in Sam's left
shoulder wid his knife, and de sudden pain shake Sam's aim a little and de
blow fall on him neck. He gib a shout and tumble down. None ob do oder
four had shouted or made any remark when Sam hit dem. Den Sam caught up de
captain and ran along de wharf. Presently he heard a hail. 'All right,'
Sam said.

“'Am dat you, captain?' some one say.

“'Me got a captain here,' Sam say; 'you come and see wheder he yours.'

“De men came up and look in de captain's face.

“'Hullo,' dey say; 'de captain am dead.'

“'Me no tink him dead,' I say. 'He had a fight, and Sam come to him aid
and beat de rascals off. You had better take him straight on board de
ship.'

“Dey put him in boat and Sam go wid him to ship. Dey examine de wound and
find it not bery serious. De captain was turning round when dey struck,
and de blow had glanced off, but it had made a ugly gash; and what wid de
surprise, and de loss ob blood, and knocking him head on de wharf, and de
liquor, de captain had lost his consciousness. He soon come round, and Sam
tell all about it. De captain shake Sam's hand bery much and call him his
preserver, and ask what he do for him.

“'You take me out ob dis country,' me said, 'and Sam be grateful.'

“'Sartain, I will,' he said; 'and now what am de best ting to do?'

“'Me not stop on board now. Dey come and search de vessel for sure in de
morning. When de four white men found, me hope five, den dere great
rumpus. If five dead no suspicion fall on Sam, but you're sure to be asked
questions. It would be known dat dey were gambling in de saloon, and it
would be known dat you had broken de bank and had gone away wid your
pockets stuffed full ob notes. People would suspec' dat likely enuff dey
had made an attack on you. Dis you couldn't deny, for you will be bandaged
up in de morning, and if you had killed dem no one would blame you. But it
a different ting wid Sam. All dose rascals friends together, and you be
bery sure dat some ob dem pay him off for it. If five men dead, all well
and good. Den you say you knocked down and know nufing furder. You s'pose
some people came up and take your side, and kill dose men, and carry you
to de boat, and gib you ober to de sailors, and den go away; but dat you
know nufing at all about it. If only four men killed den do oder, who will
be sure to go away and say nufing ob his share in de business, will tell
all his mates dat dis nigger intrude himself into de affair, and dat bad
for Sam. So, sar, propose dat I go ashore, and dat I go down de bank five
or six mile, and dere hide in de bush. When your ship come down you hoist
little white flag, so Sam sure ob de right ship. If Sam tink de coast am
clear he swim off. If you no see Sam when you get fifteen mile down de
riber, den you anchor, and at night send a boat ashore. Sam come down to
it for sure.'

“So de matter was arranged. De captain say he tree more days fill up his
ship, but dat no do for me come on board by daylight because dere would be
a pilot on board. Also he says little white flag no do, pilot tink him
strange, but would tell one ob de men to hang a red shirt, as if to dry,
up in de rigging. At night would show two lights ober de bow for me to
know which was de ship.

“Fust dey bind up de wound on my shoulder, den dey gib me food for four
days and a bottle of rum, and den row me ashore. Den Sam start, and before
morning he hid in de swampy bush ten miles down de riber. He wait dere two
days, den make him way down anoder four miles and dere stop. Late dat
afternoon he see a ship come down de riber wid a red shirt in de rigging.
He go on and on, and jus' as it got dark he anchor two miles furder down.
Sam make his way along through de bush and at last get facing de ship. At
twelve o'clock boat come along bery quiet. Sam go down and get in. De men
say, 'Hush, make no noise. De pilot am as watchful as a cat. Dey had tied
tings round de oars dat dey should make no noise, and when dey get to de
side ob de ship dey lay dem in very quiet, hook on de tackle and hoist her
up. De hatchway were off, and de men beckon to Sam, and two ob dem go down
wid him, and de hatchways closed down again.

“'I tink we hab tricked him,' one ob de sailors said. 'Dere great row at
New Orleans about de four men found dead dar. Dey come off and inquire ob
de captain ober and ober again. Dey know you missing, and dey find de
kitchen poker lying by de men, and tink you must have had a hand in it. A
thousand dollars reward have been offered, and dey searched de ship high
and low, and turn ober all de cargo. A guard stop on board till de last
ting to see no one come off. When de captain say he anchor de pilot say
no, but de captain say he in no hurry and not going to risk his ship by
sailing at night. Me tink pilot smell a rat, for ebery time he hear a
noise on deck he come out of his cabin and look round. We greased de falls
to make dem run quiet, and took off our shoes so as to make no noise while
we were lowering it. De men on deck was told to get de hatchway open when
dey saw us coming, and so we hoped dat de pilot heard nufing. Now we must
head you up in a cask. We hab bored some holes in it for de air. Den we
shall pile oder casks on de top and leabe you. Dey are as likely as not to
search de ship again when she goes past de forts, for de pilot will
suspect dat it am possible dat you have come on board tonight.'

“Me take my place in a big sugar cask. Dey give me some water and some
food, and den shut in de head ober me. Dere I remain two days. I heard
some men come below and make a great noise, moving de cargo about near de
hatchway, and dey hammered in all de casks ob de top tier to see if any ob
dem was empty. I felt bery glad when it was all ober, and de hold was
quiet again. I slept a great deal and did not know anything about time;
but at last I heard a noise again, and de moving of casks, and den de head
of de hogshead was taken out, and dere were de sailors and de captain. Dey
shook Sam very hearty by de hand, and told him dat de ship was safe out at
sea, and dat he was a free man.

“All through dat voyage dey bery kind to Sam. He libed de life ob a
gentleman; ate, and drank, and smoke plenty, and nufing at all to do. At
last we got to Liberpool, and dar de captain take Sam to a vessel bound to
New York, pay him passage across, and gib Sam a present ob fifty pound.
Dis chile had saved fifty beside, so he felt dat he was a rich man. Nufing
happen on passage, except great storm, and Sam thought dat de steamer go
to de bottom, but she got through all right, and Sam land at New York. Den
he journey to Philadelphia, dat the place where missy give Sam a card wid
a name and address written on it, for him to go to ask where Sally was
living. Well, sar, you could have knocked me down when I find a great bill
in de window, saying dat de house were to let. Sam almost go out ob his
mind. He ask a great many people, de servants at de doors, and de people
in de shops and at last find dat de family am gone to trabel in Europe,
and dat dey might be away for years.

“For two months Sam searched about Philadelphia, and looked at ebery black
woman he saw in de streets. He could see no signs whatsomeber ob Sally.
Den he took a place as waiter at an hotel, and he wrote to missy at
Richmond, to ask if she know Sally's address, but he neber got no answer
to dat letter, and s'posed that missy was either dead or gone away. After
he work dere for some months de idea came to Sam dat first class hotel
wasn't de best place in de world to look for black woman. Den Sam went to
warehouse and bought a lot of books and started to peddle them trough de
country. He walked thousands ob miles, and altogether saw thousands ob
black men, but nothing like Sally. Ebery black woman he could he spoke to,
and asked dem if dey knew her. It was a curious ting dat no one did. Me
did not find Sally, but me made a good deal of money, and tree more years
pass away at dis work. By dis time me was nigh forty-five years old, as
well as me could tell. Ebery few months me go back to Philadelphia and
search dere again.

“One day a woman, dressed bery plain, came up to me and said, 'I hab been
tole by my nurse dat you have been asking her if she had seen your wife.'
I s'pose I looked hopeful like for she said at once, 'Me know nothing ob
her, but I was interested about you. You are an escaped slabe, are you
not?'

“'Yes, ma'am,' me said. 'Dere is no law against me here.'

“'None at all,' she said. 'But I thought that you might, like me, be
interested in freeing slabes.'

“'Dat I am,' I said, 'dough I had neber thought much about it.'

“'You hab heard, p'raps,' she said, 'ob de underground railway.'

“'Yes, ma'am,' said I. 'Dat is de blessed 'stitution which smuggles slaves
across the frontier.'

“'Dat is it,' she said, 'and I belongs to it.'

“'Does you, missy?' me says. 'De Lord bless you.'

“'Now,' she said, 'we want two or three more earnest men, men not afraid
to risk deir libes, or what is worse deir freedom, to help deir follow
creatures. I thought that you, habing suffered so much yourself, might be
inclined to devote yourself to freeing oders from de horrors of slabery.'

“'Sam is ready, ma'am,' me says, 'It may be dat de Lord neber intends me
see my Sally again, but if I can be de means ob helping to get oder men to
join deir wives I shall be content.'

“'Very well,' she said. 'Come into my house now and we will talk about
it.'

“Den she 'splained the whole business to me. Dere were, principally in
lonely places, in swamps and woods, but sometimes libing in villages and
towns in de south, people who had devoted deir libes to de carrying out of
de purposes ob de underground railway. For de most part dese led libes
differing no way from deir neighbors; dey tilled de land, or kept stores
like oders, and none of dose around dem suspected in de slightest degree
deir mission in de south. To deir houses at night fugitive slabes would
come, guided by dose from de next post. De fugitives would be concealed
for twenty-four hours or more, and den passed on at night again to de next
station. Dose formed the larger portion ob de body.

“Dere were oders who lived a life in de swamps, scattered trough the
country. Deir place of residence would be known to de slabes ob de
neighborhood, but de masters had no suspicion dat de emissaries ob de
association were so near. To dese any negro, driben to desperation by
harsh treatment, would resort, and from dem instructions would be received
as to de route to be taken, and de places where aid could be obtained.
Dose people held deir life in deir hands. Had any suspicion fallen upon
dem ob belonging to de 'stitution dey would be lynched for sartin. De lady
set before me all de dangers ob de venture. She said it war a case whar
dere were no money to be earned, and only de chances of martyrdom. My mind
quite made up. Me ready to undertake any work dey like to give me. My life
ob no value to no one. De next day me saw some ob de oder people connected
wid de affair, and tree days afterwards I started for de south.”

CHAPTER XIV: A CHRISTIAN TOWN

“My share ob de business was to make my way down south and settle in de
swamps ob Carolina. I war to be taken down by trading schooner, to be
landed on de coast, and to make my way to a place in de center ob a big
swamp whar an ole nigger, named Joe, had been carrying on de work for four
years. He had sent to say dat he war bery ill wid de swamp fever and like
to die, dat he should not leabe de work as long as he libed, but hoped dat
dey would send anoder man out to take on his work after his death.

“Well, sar, I was landed, and I made my way to de place. It war no easy
matter. De niggers all say dey know no such person, but I found de next
post, and dere de man guided me to de path which led into de swamp. Dey
told me dey thought de ole man dead, for dat no one had come along to dem
from him for nigh two month. Well, sar, as I 'spected I found him dead,
and I buried him, and took up my place in de hut. Soon it became known
through de plantations round dat de hut was occupied again, and dey began
to come to me to ask for assistance. My 'structions war dat only to enable
a husband to join his wife, or a wife her husband, or in cases where de
masters were uncommon cruel, dat I was to send 'em along by de underground
railway. De risks was too great to be run often. If we had tried to help
ebery one to 'scape we should mighty soon hab been hunted down.

“Well, sar, I libed dere for three year. It was a lonesome life. I planted
a few yams round de hut, and de plantation hands would bring me tings dat
dey got hold of. It was my duty when I found dat a case was ob de proper
description to arrange for de flight, de man or de woman would come to my
hut, and I would guide dem through de swamps, twenty-five mile away, to de
house ob a clergyman, which was de next station. I would jus' knock in a
'ticular way at de door, and when dis was open leab de party dere and go
straight away back to de swamp. More dan once de planters got up hunts and
searched de swamp through and through for me wid dogs, and my hut was
twice burnt to de ground, but de slabes always brought me notice in time,
and I went away into de tickest part ob de swamp and lay dar till dey had
gone away.

“Well, sar, one time come, I bery busy, passed tree men away in two week.
One night me hear barking of dogs, and jump up jus' in time to see party
ob men coming out from de little path towards de hut. I ran for de swamp.
Dey fire at me and one ball hit me. Den I ran in to de swamp, de dogs dey
follow, but I get farder and farder away, and de swamp get deeper, and me
tink dey lose me altogether. I sit quiet on 'tump when I hear someting
splashing in swamp, and all of a sudden a big hound sprang on me, and fix
him teeth in my shoulder. I had no arms, for in de hurry I had not time to
catch dem up. De beast he growl and bite, and hold on like death. I saw
dere only one ting to do. I tumble forward into de swamp wid de dog
underneath me, and dere I lay, wid my mouf sometimes above de water
sometimes below, till de dog was drowned.

“Den I start for de next station. I was hit in de hip, and it took me tree
days to crawl dat twenty-five miles. On de tird ebening I knock at de door
ob de house, and when it was open I tumble down in faint inside. It war a
long time before I come to myself, two weeks dey tell me, and den I tink I
dream, for sitting by de side of de bed war dat woman Sally. Till she
spoke, me couldn't believe dat it war true, but she told me dat it war
her, sure enuf, and dat I war to ask no questions but to go off to sleep.

“Next day she told me all about it. She had stopped a year at Philadelphy.
Den she heard ob de underground railway, and was tole dat a clergyman, who
war just going down south to work a station, wanted a black nurse for his
children, who would help in de work. Sally she volunteer, and dar she had
been libing eber since, hoping all de time eider dat I should pass through
dere or dat she should hear from Philadelphy dat I had got dere. She used
to act as de guide ob de runaways to de next station, and ebery man who
came along she asked if they knew me; but, law bless you, sar, de poor
woman knew nufing ob places, or she would hab known dat she war hundreds
ob miles south of Virginia, and though she allowed she had heard I had
gone to Missouri, she s'posed dat de way from der might be by de sea
coast. I hab observed, sar, dat de gography ob women am bery defective.

“I stopped thar till I was cured. The clergyman knew someting of surgery,
and he managed to substract the ball from my hip. When I war quite well
Sally and me started for the norf, whar we had helped so many oders to go,
and, bress de Lord, we arribed dere safe. Den I told Sally dat I should
like to libe under de British flag, so we went up to Canada and dere we
libed bery comfortable for ten years together. Sally washed and I kep' a
barber's shop, and we made plenty ob money. Den she die, sar, de tought
come into my mind dat I would come back to Africa and teach dose poor
niggers here de ways ob de white men, and sar,” and he pointed to a Bible
standing on the chest, “de ways ob de Lord. So I came across the Atlantic,
and stopped a little while on de coast, for I had pretty nigh forgotten de
language ob de country. When I got it back again I started up for dis
place, wid plenty ob goods and presents.

“I had hard work at fust to get de people to know me. It war nigh forty
year since I had gone away, but at last some ob de ole people remember me,
dat I was de son ob de chief. As I had plenty goods, and dey did not like
de man dat was here, dey made me chief in my fader's place. I told dem dat
I no accept de place unless dey promise to behave bery well, to mind what
I said to dem, and to listen to my words; but dat if they do dat I gibe
dem plenty goods, I make dem comfortable and happy, and I teach dem de way
ob de Lord. Dey agree to all dis.

“I find de slave trade now all at an end, and dat de people not fight
often now. Still, de twenty muskets dat I bring make de people of oder
villages respec' us very much. Dey come ober to see de village. Dey see
dat de houses are comfortable, dat de gardens are bery well cultivated,
dat de people are well dressed, not like common nigger, dat dey are happy
and contented. Dey see dat dey no believe in fetish any more, but dat
ebery ebening when de work is ober, dey gadder under de big tree and
listen for half an hour while I read to dem and den sing a hymn. Once a
year I send down to de coast and get up plenty cloth, and hoes for de
gardens, and eberyting dey want. When I land here ten year ago I hab eight
hundred pound. I got five hundred ob him left here still. Dat more dan
enuf to last Sam if he libe to be bery, bery ole man. Dar are some good
men in de village who, when I am gone, will carry on de work ob de Lord
and dat's all, sar, dat I hab to tell you about Sam, and I am sure dat you
must be very tired and want to go to bed.”

The hour was, indeed, for Africa, extremely late, but the time had passed
unheeded, so interested were the listeners in the narrative of the fine
old negro. They remained at the village for a week, and were greatly
pleased with the industrious habits and happy appearance of the people,
and with the earnestness and fervor in which every evening, and twice on
Sunday, they joined in devotions under the great tree. At the end of that
time they said goodbye to their kind host, giving him a large amount of
cloth for distribution among his people. He was unable to furnish them
with bearers, as a considerable tract of uninhabited country extended
beyond his village, and the people on the other side were on bad terms
with his villagers, on account of an outstanding feud which had existed
long before his return from America, and which he had in vain attempted to
settle since he assumed the headship of the village.

On approaching the Niger they again came upon an inhabited country, but
the tribes here being accustomed to trade with the coast were friendly,
and at the first large village they came to no difficulty was experienced
in obtaining a fresh relay of bearers. This was a matter of great
satisfaction, for the Fans were regarded with extreme antipathy by the
natives. As soon as arrangements had been made to supply their place the
Fans were paid the four months' wages which they had earned. A large
“dash” of beads and other presents were bestowed upon them, three of the
remaining sacks of rice were given to them, and, greatly rejoicing, they
started for their own country, which, by making long marches, they would
regain in a fortnight's time. Although it was not probable that they would
meet with any enemies, six trade muskets, with a supply of powder and
ball, were given to them, as, although they would not be able to do much
execution with these weapons, their possession would exercise a powerful
influence over any natives they might meet.

In crossing the country to the Niger the white men were the objects of
lively curiosity, and the exhibition of the magic lantern, the chemical
experiments, and conjuring tricks created an effect equal to that which
they had produced among the Fans. On reaching the Niger a canoe was hired
with a crew of rowers. In this all the cases, filled with the objects they
had collected, were placed, the whole being put in charge of the Houssas,
Moses and King John, who had been seized with a fit of homesickness. These
were to deliver the cases to the charge of an English agent at Lagos or
Bonny, to both of whom Mr. Goodenough wrote requesting him to pay the sum
agreed to the boatmen on the safe arrival of the cases, and also to pay
the Houssas, who preferred taking their wages there, as it was not
considered advisable to tempt the cupidity of any of the native princes
along the river. Should they be overhauled the Houssas were told to open
the cases and show that these contained nothing but birds' skins and
insects, which would be absolutely valueless in the eyes of a native.

When the precious freight had fairly started, the party crossed the Niger
in a canoe, arrangements having already been made with the potentate of a
village on the opposite side for a fresh relay of carriers, twenty men
being now sufficient, owing to the gaps which had been made in the
provisions in the goods, by the payment of the carriers and presents, and,
in the cases, by the despatch of eight of the largest of these to the
coast. They had still, however, ample space for the collections they might
still make. The cases of goods and provisions were utilized for this
purpose as they were emptied.

For another two months they journeyed on, halting frequently and adding
continually to their stores. The country was fairly populated, and there
was no difficulty in buying plantains and fruit and in obtaining fresh
sets of carriers through the territories of each petty chief. They were
now approaching the Volta, when one day a native, covered with dust and
bathed in perspiration, came up to their camp, and throwing himself on the
ground before Mr. Goodenough poured out a stream of words.

“What does he say, Ostik?”

“Me not know, sar. P'r'aps Ugly Tom know. He been down near Volta
country.”

Ugly Tom was called, and after a conversation with the native, told Mr.
Goodenough that he was a messenger from Abeokuta, that the people there
were threatened by an attack by the King of Dahomey, and that they
implored the white men, who they heard were in the neighborhood, to come
to their aid.

“What do you say, Frank?” Mr. Goodenough asked.

“I don't know anything about it, sir,” Frank said. “I have heard of
Dahomey, of course, and its horrible customs, but I don't know anything
about Abeokuta.”

“Abeokuta is a very singular town,” Mr. Goodenough said. “Its people were
christianized many years ago, and have faithfully retained the religion.
The town lies not very far from Dahomey, and this power, which has
conquered and enslaved all its other neighbors, has been unable to conquer
Abeokuta, although it has several times besieged it. The Dahomey people
have every advantage, being supplied with firearms, and even cannon, by
the rascally white traders at Whydah, the port of Dahomey. Nevertheless,
the Abeokuta people have opposed an heroic resistance, and so far
successfully. Of course they know that every soul would be put to death
did they fall into the hands of the King of Dahomey; but negroes do not
always fight well, even under such circumstances, and every credit must be
given to the people of Abeokuta. What do you say? It will be a perilous
business, mind, for if Abeokuta is taken we shall assuredly be put to
death with the rest of the defenders.”

“I think we ought to help them, sir,” Frank said. “They must be a noble
people, and with our guns and the four Houssas we might really be of
material assistance. Of course there is a risk in it, but we have risked
our lives from fever, and in other ways, every day since we've been in the
country.”

“Very well, my lad. I am glad that is your decision. Tell him, Ugly Tom,
that we will at once move towards Abeokuta with all speed, and that they
had better send out a party of carriers to meet us, as you may be sure
that these men will not go far when they hear that the Dahomey people are
on the warpath. Learn from him exactly the road we must move by, as if our
carriers desert us we shall be detained till his people come up. How far
is it to Abeokuta?”

Ugly Tom learned from the native that it was about forty-five miles.

“Very well,” Mr. Goodenough said, “we shall march twenty this afternoon.
Where we halt they will most likely have heard the rumors of the war, and
I expect the carriers will go no farther, so they must send out to that
point.”

The Houssa translated the message, and the native, saying, “I shall be at
Abeokuta tonight,” kissed the hands of the white men and started at a
trot.

“Wonderful stamina some of these men have,” Mr. Goodenough said. “That man
has come forty-five miles at full speed, and is now going off again as
fresh as when he started.”

“What speed will he go at?” Frank asked.

“About six miles an hour. Of course he goes faster when he is running, but
he will sometimes break into a walk. Five miles an hour may be taken as
the ordinary pace of a native runner, but in cases which they consider of
importance, like the present, you may calculate on six.”

The camp was at once broken up, the carriers loaded, and they started on
their way. It was late in the evening when they reached a village about
twenty miles from their starting place. They found the inhabitants in a
great state of alarm. The news had come that a great army was marching to
attack Abeokuta, and that the King of Dahomey had sworn on his father's
skull that this time the place should be captured, and not a house or a
wall left remaining. As Abeokuta was certain to make a strong resistance,
and to hold out for some time, the villagers feared that the Dahomey
people would be sending out parties to plunder and carry away captives all
over the surrounding country. The panic at once extended to the bearers,
who declared that they would not go a foot farther. As their fears were
natural, and Mr. Goodenough was expecting a fresh relay from Abeokuta on
the following evening, he consented to their demand to be allowed to leave
immediately, and paying them their wages due, he allowed them to depart at
once on the return journey. The tent was soon pitched and supper prepared,
of fried plantains, rice, a tin of sardines, and tea. Later on they had a
cup of chocolate, and turned in for the night.

In the morning they were awakened just at daybreak by great talking.

“Men come for baggage, sar,” Ugly Tom said, putting his head in the tent
door.

“They have lost no time about it, Frank,” Mr. Goodenough exclaimed. “It
was midday yesterday when the messenger left us. He had forty-five miles
to run, and could not have been in till pretty nearly eight o'clock, and
these men must have started at once.”

There was no time lost. While the Houssas were pulling down and packing up
the tent Ostik prepared two bowls of chocolate with biscuit soaked in it.
By the time that this was eaten the carriers had taken up their loads, and
two minutes later the whole party started almost at a trot. Ugly Tom soon
explained the cause of the haste. The army of Dahomey was, the evening
before, but eight miles from Abeokuta, and was expected to appear before
the town by midday, although, of course, it might be later, for the
movements of savage troops are uncertain in the extreme, depending
entirely upon the whims of their leader. So anxious were the bearers to
get back to the town in time, that they frequently went at a trot. They
were the better able to keep up the speed as a larger number than were
required had been sent. Many of the cases, too, were light, consequently
the men were able to shift the heavy burdens from time to time. So great
was the speed, that after an hour both Mr. Goodenough and Frank, weakened
by the effect of fever and climate, could no longer keep up. The various
effects carried in the hammocks were hastily taken out and lifted by men
unprovided with loads. The white men entered and were soon carried along
at a brisk trot by the side of the baggage. When they recovered from their
exhaustion sufficiently to observe what was going on, they could not help
admiring the manner in which the negroes, with perspiration streaming from
every pore, hurried along with their burdens. So fast did they go, that in
less than six hours they emerged from the forest into the clearing, and a
shout proclaimed that Abeokuta was close at hand.

Ten minutes later the white men were carried through the gate, their
arrival being hailed with shouts of joy by the inhabitants. They were
carried in triumph to the principal building of the town, a large hut
where the general councils of the people were held. Here they were
received by the king and the leading inhabitants, who thanked them warmly
for coming to their assistance in the time of their peril. The travelers
were both struck with the appearance of the people. They were clad with
far more decency and decorum than was usual among the negro tribes. Their
bearing was quiet and dignified. An air of neatness and order pervaded
everything, and it was clear that they were greatly superior to the people
around.

Mr. Goodenough expressed to the king the willingness with which his friend
and himself took part in the struggle of a brave people against a cruel
and bloodthirsty foe, and he said, that as the four Houssas were also
armed with fast firing guns he hoped that their assistance would be of
avail. He said that he would at once examine the defences of the town and
see if anything could be done to strengthen them.

Accompanied by the king, Mr. Goodenough and Frank made a detour of the
walls. These were about a mile in circumference, were built of clay, and
were of considerable height and thickness, but they were not calculated to
resist an attack by artillery. As, however, it was not probable that the
Dahomey people possessed much skill in the management of their cannon, Mr.
Goodenough had hopes that they should succeed in repelling the assault.
They learnt that a large store of provisions had been brought into the
town, and that many of the women and children had been sent far away.

The spies presently came in and reported that there was no movement on the
part of the enemy, and that it was improbable that they would advance
before the next day. Mr. Goodenough was unable to offer any suggestions
for fresh defenses until they knew upon which side the enemy would attack.
He advised, however, that the whole population should be set to work
throwing up an earthwork just outside each gate, in order to shelter these
as far as possible from the effect of the enemy's cannonballs. Orders were
at once given to this effect, and in an hour the whole population were at
work carrying earth in baskets and piling it in front of the gates. In
order to economize labor, and to make the sides of the mounds as steep as
possible, Mr. Goodenough directed with brushwood, forming a sort of rough
wattle work. Not even when night set in did the people desist from their
labor, and by the following morning the gates were protected from the
effect of cannon shot, by mounds of earth twenty feet high, which rose
before them. The king had, when Mr. Goodenough first suggested these
defenses, pointed out that much less earth would be required were it piled
directly against the gates. Mr. Goodenough replied, that certainly this
was so, but that it was essential to be able to open the gates to make a
sortie if necessary against the enemy, and although the king shook his
head, as if doubting the ability of his people to take such a desperate
step as that of attacking the enemy outside their walls, he yielded to Mr.
Goodenough's opinion.

CHAPTER XV: THE AMAZONS OF DAHOMET

A spacious and comfortable hut was placed at the disposal of the white
men, with a small one adjoining for the Houssas. That evening Frank asked
Mr. Goodenough to tell him what he knew concerning the people of Dahomey.

“The word Dahomey, or more properly Da-omi, means Da's belly. Da was, two
hundred and fifty years ago, the king of the city of Abomey. It was
attacked by Tacudona the chief of the Fois. It resisted bravely, and
Tacudona made a vow that if he took it he would sacrifice the king to the
gods. When he captured the town he carried out his vow by ripping open the
king, and then called the place Daomi. Gradually the conquerors extended
their power until the kingdom reached to the very foot of the Atlas range,
obtaining a port by the conquest of Whydah. The King of Dahomey is a
despot, and even his nobility crawl on the ground in his presence. The
taxes are heavy, every article sold in the market paying about one
eighteenth to the royal exchequer. There are besides many other taxes.
Every slave is taxed, every article that enters the kingdom. If a cock
crow it is forfeited, and, as it is the nature of cocks to crow, every
bird in the kingdom is muzzled. The property of every one who dies goes to
the king; and at the Annual Custom, a grand religious festival, every man
has to bring a present in proportion to his rank and wealth. The royal
pomp is kept up by receiving strangers who visit the country with much
state, and by regaling the populace with spectacles of human sacrifices.
The women stand high in Dahomey. Among other negro nations they till the
soil. In Dahomey they fight as soldiers, and perform all the offices of
men. Dahomey is principally celebrated for its army of women, and its
human sacrifices. These last take place annually, or even more often.
Sometimes as many as a thousand captives are slain on these occasions. In
almost all the pagan nations of Africa human sacrifices are perpetrated,
just as they were by the Druids and Egyptians of old. Nowhere, however,
are they carried to such a terrible extent as in Dahomey. Even Ashanti,
where matters are bad enough, is inferior in this respect. The victims are
mostly captives taken in war, and it is to keep up the supply necessary
for these wholesale sacrifices that Dahomey is constantly at war with her
neighbors.”

“But are we going to fight against women, then?” Frank asked horrified.

“Assuredly we are,” Mr. Goodenough answered. “The Amazons, as white men
have christened the force, are the flower of the Dahomey army, and fight
with extraordinary bravery and ferocity.”

“But it will seem dreadful to fire at women!” Frank said.

“That is merely an idea of civilization, Frank. In countries where women
are dependent upon men, leaving to them the work of providing for the
family and home, while they employ themselves in domestic duties and in
brightening the lives of the men, they are treated with respect. But as
their work becomes rougher, so does the position which they occupy in
men's esteem fall. Among the middle and upper classes throughout Europe a
man is considered a brute and a coward who lifts his hand against a woman.
Among the lower classes wife and woman beating is by no means uncommon,
nor is such an assault regarded with much more reprobation than an attack
upon a man. When women leave their proper sphere and put themselves
forward to do man's work they must expect man's treatment; and the foolish
women at home who clamor for women's rights, that is to say, for an
equality of work, would, if they had their way, inflict enormous damage
upon their sex.”

“Still,” Frank said, “I shan't like having to fire at women.”

“You won't see much difference between women and men when the fight
begins, Frank. These female furies will slay all who fall into their
hands, and therefore in self defense you will have to assist in slaying
them.”

The following day the sound of beating of drums and firing of guns was
heard, and soon afterwards the head of the army of Dahomey was seen
approaching. It moved with considerable order and regularity.

“Those must be the Amazons,” Mr. Goodenough said. “They are proud of their
drill and discipline. I do not think that any other African troops could
march so regularly and solidly.”

The main body of the army now came in view, marching as a loose and
scattered mob. Then twelve objects were seen dragged by oxen. These were
the cannon of the besiegers.

“How many do you think there are?” Frank asked.

“It is very difficult to judge accurately,” Mr. Goodenough said. “But
Dahomey is said to be able to put fifty thousand fighting men and women in
the field, that is to say her whole adult population, except those too old
to bear arms. I should think that there are twenty or twenty-five thousand
now in sight.”

The enemy approached within musket shot of the walls, and numbers of them
running up, discharged their muskets. The Abeokuta people fired back; but
Mr. Goodenough ordered the Houssas on no account to fire, as he did not
wish the enemy to know the power of their rifles.

The first step of the besiegers was to cut down all the plantations round
the town and to erect great numbers of little huts. A large central hut
with several smaller ones surrounding it was erected for the king and his
principal nobles. The Dahomans spread round the town and by the
gesticulation and pointing at the gates it was clear that the defenses
raised to cover these excited great surprise.

The wall was thick enough for men to walk along on the top, but being
built of clay it would withstand but little battering. Mr. Goodenough set
a large number of people to work, making sacks from the rough cloth, of
which there was an abundance in the place. These were filled with earth
and piled in the center of the town ready for conveyance to any point
threatened. He likewise had a number of beams, used in construction of
houses, sharpened at one end; stakes of five or six feet long were also
prepared and sharpened at both ends. That day the enemy attempted nothing
against the town. The next morning the twelve cannon were planted at a
distance of about five hundred yards and opened fire on the walls. The
shooting was wild in the extreme; many of the balls went over the place
altogether; others topped the wall and fell in the town; some hit the wall
and buried themselves in the clay.

“We will give them a lesson,” Mr. Goodenough said, “in the modern rifle.
Frank, you take my double barrel rifle and I will take the heavy, large
bored one. Your Winchester will scarcely make accurate firing at five
hundred yards.”

The Houssas were already on the wall, anxious to open fire. Mr. Goodenough
saw that their rifles were sighted to five hundred yards. The cannon
offered an easy mark. They were ranged along side by side, surrounded by a
crowd of negroes, who yelled and danced each time a shot struck the wall.

“Now,” Mr. Goodenough said to the Houssas, “fire steadily, and, above all,
fire straight. I want every shot to tell.”

Mr. Goodenough gave the signal, and at once Frank and the Houssas opened
fire. The triumphant yells of the Dahomans at once changed their
character, and a cry of wrath and astonishment broke from them. Steadily
Mr. Goodenough and his party kept up their fire. They could see that great
execution was being done, a large proportion of the shots telling. Many
wounded were carried to the rear, and black forms could be seen stretched
everywhere on the ground. Still the enemy's fire continued with unabated
vigor.

“They fight very pluckily,” Frank said.

“They are plucky,” Mr. Goodenough answered; “and as cowardice is punished
with death, and human life has scarcely any value among them, they will be
killed where they stand rather than retreat.”

For three or four hours the fight continued. Several officers, evidently
of authority, surrounded by groups of attendants, came down to the guns;
but as Frank and Mr. Goodenough always selected these for their mark, and—firing
with their guns resting on the parapet—were able to make very
accurate shooting, most of them were killed within a few minutes of their
arriving on the spot.

At the end of four hours the firing ceased, and the Dahomans retired from
their guns. The Abeokuta people raised a cry of triumph.

“I imagine they have only fallen back,” Mr. Goodenough said, “to give the
guns time to cool.”

While the cannonade had been going on a brisk attack had been kept up on
several other points of the wall, the enemy advancing within fifty yards
of this and firing their muskets, loaded with heavy charges of slugs, at
the defenders, who replied vigorously to them. Their cannonade was not
resumed that afternoon, the Dahomans contenting themselves with
skirmishing round the walls.

“They are disappointed with the result of their fire,” Mr. Goodenough
said. “No doubt they anticipated they should knock the wall down without
difficulty. You will see some change in their tactics tomorrow.”

That night Mr. Goodenough had a number of barrels of palm oil carried on
to the wall, with some of the great iron pots used for boiling down the
oil, and a supply of fuel.

“If they try to storm,” he said, “it will most likely be at the point
which they have been firing at. The parapet is knocked down in several
places, and the defenders there would be more exposed to their fire.”

It was at this point, therefore, that the provision of oil was placed. Mr.
Goodenough ordered fires to be lighted under the boilers an hour before
daybreak, in order that all should be in readiness in case an attack
should be made the first thing in the morning. The Abeokutans were in high
spirits at the effect of the fire of their white allies, and at the
comparative failure of the cannon, at whose power they had before been
greatly alarmed. Soon after daylight the Dahomans were seen gathering near
the guns. Their drums beat furiously, and presently they advanced in a
solid mass against the wall.

“They have got ladders,” Mr. Goodenough said. “I can see numbers of them
carrying something.”

The Houssas at once opened fire, and as the enemy approached closer, first
the Abeokutans who had muskets, then the great mass with bows and arrows,
began to fire upon the enemy, while these answered with their musketry.
The central body, however, advanced without firing a shot, moving like the
rest at a quick run.

Mr. Goodenough and Frank were not firing now, as they were devoting
themselves to superintending the defence. Ostik kept close to them,
carrying Frank's Winchester carbine and a double barreled shotgun.

“This is hot,” Mr. Goodenough said, as the enemy's slugs and bullets
whizzed in a storm over the edge of the parapet, killing many of the
defenders, and rendering it difficult for the others to take accurate aim.
This, however, the Abeokutans did not try to do. Stooping below the
parapet, they fitted their arrows to the string, or loaded their muskets,
and then, standing up, fired hastily at the approaching throng.

The walls were about twenty-five feet high inside, but the parapet gave an
additional height of some four feet outside. They were about three feet
thick at the top, and but a limited number of men could take post there to
oppose the storming party. Strong bodies were placed farther along on the
wall to make a rush to sweep the enemy off should they gain a footing.
Others were posted below to attack them should they leap down into the
town, while men with muskets were on the roofs of the houses near the
walls, in readiness to open fire should the enemy get a footing on the
wall. The din was prodigious.

The Dahomans, having access to the sea coast, were armed entirely with
muskets, these being either cheap Birmingham trade guns or old converted
muskets, bought by traders for a song at the sale of disused government
stores. It is much to be regretted that the various governments of Europe
do not insist that their old guns shall be used only as old iron. The
price obtained for them is so trifling as to be immaterial, and the great
proportion of them find their way to Africa to be used in the constant
wars that are waged there, and to enable rich and powerful tribes to
enslave and destroy their weaker neighbors. The Africans use very much
heavier charges of powder than those in used in civilized nations, ramming
down a handful of slugs, of half a dozen small bullets, upon the powder.
This does not conduce to good shooting, but the noise made is prodigious.
The Abeokutans, on the other hand, were principally armed with bows and
arrows, as, having no direct access to the sea coast, it was difficult for
them to procure guns.

The Dahomans poured up in a mass to the foot of the wall, and then a score
of rough ladders, constructed of bamboo, and each four feet wide, were
placed against the walls. Directly the point to be attacked was indicated,
Mr. Goodenough had distributed his cauldrons of boiling oil along the
walls, and had set men to work to pierce holes through the parapet at
distances of a couple of feet apart, and at a height of six inches from
the ground. A line of men with long spears were told to lie down upon the
ground, and to thrust through the holes at those climbing the ladders.
Another line of holes was pierced two feet higher, through which those
armed with muskets and bows were to fire, for when the enemy reached the
foot of the walls their fire was so heavy that it was impossible to return
it over the top of the parapet.

Immediately the ladders were placed, men with ladles began to throw the
boiling oil over the parapet. Shrieks and yells from below at once
testified to its effect, but it was only just where the cauldrons were
placed that the besiegers were prevented by this means from mounting the
ladders, and even here many, in spite of the agony of their burns, climbed
desperately upward.

When they neared the top the fight began in earnest. Those without were
now obliged to cease firing, and the besieged were able to stand up and
with sword and spear defend their position. The breech loaders of Mr.
Goodenough and the Houssas and Frank's repeating carbine now came into
play. The Dahomans fought with extraordinary bravery, hundreds fell shot
or cut down from above or pierced by the spears and arrows through the
holes in the parapet. Fresh swarms of assailants took their places on the
ladders. The drums kept up a ceaseless rattle, and the yells of the mass
of negroes standing inactive were deafening. Their efforts, however, were
in vain. Never did the Amazons fight with more reckless bravery; but the
position was too strong for them, and at last, after upwards of a thousand
of the assailants had fallen, the attack was given up, and the Dahomans
retired from the wall followed by the exulting shouts of the men of
Abeokuta.

The loss of the defenders was small. Some ten or twelve had been killed
with slugs. Three or four times that number were more or less severely
wounded about the head or shoulders with the same missiles. Frank had a
nasty cut on the cheek, and Firewater and Bacon were both streaming with
blood.

There was no chance of a renewal of the attack that day. Sentries were
placed on the walls, and a grand thanksgiving service was held in the open
space in the center of the town which the whole populace attended.

“What will be their next move, do you think?” Frank asked Mr. Goodenough.

“I cannot say,” Mr. Goodenough said; “but these people know something of
warfare, and finding that they cannot carry the place by assault, I think
you will find that they will try some more cautious move next time.”

For two days there was no renewal of the attack. At Mr. Goodenough's
suggestion the Abeokutans on the wall shouted out that the Dahomans might
come and carry off their dead, as he feared that a pestilence might arise
from so great a number of decomposing bodies at the foot of the wall. The
Dahomans paid no attention to the request, and, at Mr. Goodenough's
suggestion, on the second day the whole populace set to work carrying
earth in baskets to the top of the wall, and throwing this over so as to
cover the mass of bodies at its foot. As to those lying farther off
nothing could be done. On the third morning it was seen that during the
night a large number of sacks had been piled in a line upon the ground,
two hundred yards away from the wall. The pile was eight feet in height
and some fifty yards long.

“I thought they were up to something,” Mr. Goodenough said. “They have
been sending back to Dahomey for sacks.”

In a short time the enemy brought up their cannon, behind the shelter of
the sacks, regardless of the execution done by the rifles of Mr.
Goodenough's party during the movement. The place chosen was two or three
hundred yards to the left of that on which the former attack had been
made. Then a swarm of men set to work removing some of the sacks, and in a
short time twelve rough embrasures were made just wide enough for the
muzzles of the guns, the sacks removed being piled on the others, raising
them to the height of ten feet and sheltering the men behind completely
from the fire from the walls.

“They will make a breach now,” Mr. Goodenough said. “We must prepare to
receive them inside.”

The populace were at once set to work digging holes and securely planting
the beams already prepared in a semicircle a hundred feet across, behind
the wall facing the battery. The beams when fixed projected eight feet
above the ground, the spaces between being filled with bamboos twisted in
and out between them. Earth was thrown up behind to the height of four
foot for the defenders to stand upon. The space between the stockade and
the wall was filled with sharp pointed bamboos and stakes stuck firmly in
the ground with their points projecting outwards. All day the townspeople
labored at these defenses, while the wall crumbled fast under the fire of
the Dahomey artillery, every shot of which, at so short a distance, struck
it heavily. By five in the afternoon a great gap, fifty feet wide, was
made in the walls, and the army of Dahomey again gathered for the assault.
Mr. Goodenough with two of the Houssas took his place on the wall on one
side of the gap, Frank with the other two faced him across the chasm. A
large number of the Abeokuta warriors also lined the walls, while the rest
gathered on the stockade.

With the usual tumult of drumming and yells the Dahomans rushed to the
assault. The fire from the walls did not check the onset in the slightest,
and with yells of anticipated victory they swarmed over the breach. A cry
of astonishment broke from them as they saw the formidable defense within,
the fire of whose defenders was concentrated upon them. Then, with scarce
a pause, they leaped down and strove to remove the obstructions.
Regardless of the fire poured upon them they hewed away at the sharp
stakes, or strove to pull them up with their hands. The riflemen on the
walls directed their fire now exclusively upon the leaders of the column,
the breech loaders doing immense execution, and soon the Dahomans in their
efforts to advance had to climb over lines of dead in their front. For
half an hour the struggle continued, and then the Dahomans lost heart and
retired, leaving fifteen hundred of their number piled deep in the space
between the breach and the stockade.

“This is horrible work,” Frank said when he rejoined Mr. Goodenough.

“Horrible, Frank; but there is at least the consolation that by this
fearful slaughter of their bravest warriors we are crippling the power of
Dahomey as a curse and a scourge to its neighbors. After this crushing
repulse the Abeokutans may hope that many years will elapse before they
are again attacked by their savage neighbors, and the lessons which they
have now learned in defense will enable them to make as good a stand on
another occasion as they have done now.”

“Do you think the attack will be renewed?”

“I should hardly think so. The flower of their army must have fallen, and
the Amazon guard must have almost ceased to exist. I told you, Frank, you
would soon get over your repugnance to firing at women.”

“I did not think anything about women,” Frank said. “We seemed to be
fighting a body of demons with their wild screams and yells. Indeed, I
could scarce distinguish the men from the women.”

A strong guard was placed at night at the stockade, and Mr. Goodenough and
Frank lay down close at hand in case the assault should be renewed. At
daybreak the sound of a cannon caused them to start to their feet.

“They are not satisfied yet,” Mr. Goodenough exclaimed, hurrying to the
wall. In the night the Dahomans had either with sacks or earth raised
their cannon some six feet, so that they were able to fire over the mound
caused by the fallen wall at the stockade behind it, at which they were
now directing their fire.

“Now for the sacks,” Mr. Goodenough said. Running down, he directed the
sacks laden with earth, to whose necks ropes had been attached, to be
brought up. Five hundred willing hands seized them, and they were lowered
in front of the center of the stockade, which was alone exposed to the
enemy's fire, until they hung two deep over the whole face. As fast as one
bag was injured by a shot it was drawn up and another lowered to its
place. In the meantime the rifles from the walls had again opened fire,
and as the gunners were now more exposed their shots did considerable
execution. Seeing the uselessness of their efforts the Dahomans gradually
slackened their fire.

When night came Mr. Goodenough gathered two hundred of the best troops of
Abeokuta. He caused plugs to be made corresponding to the size of the
various cannonballs which were picked up within the stockade, which varied
from six to eighteen pounders.

About midnight the gate nearest to the breach was thrown open, and the
party sallied out and made their way towards the enemy's battery. The
Dahomans had placed sentries in front facing the breach, but anticipating
no attack in any other direction had left the flanks unguarded. Mr.
Goodenough had enjoined the strictest silence on his followers, and their
approach was unobserved until they swept round into the battery. Large
numbers of the enemy were lying asleep here, but these, taken by surprise,
could offer no resistance, and were cut down or driven away instantly by
the assailants.

Mr. Goodenough and Frank, with a party who had been told off specially for
the purpose, at once set to work at the cannon. These were filled nearly
to the muzzle with powder, and the plugs were driven with mallets tight
into the muzzles. Slow matches, composed of strips of calico dipped in
saltpetre, were placed in the touch holes. Then the word was given, and
the whole party fell back to the gate just as the Dahomans in great
numbers came running up. In less than a minute after leaving the battery
twelve tremendous reports, following closely one upon another were heard.
The cannon were blown into fragments, killing numbers of the Dahomey men
who had just crowded into the battery.

CHAPTER XVI: CAPTIVES IN COOMASSIE

Upon the morning following the successful sortie not an enemy could be
seen from the walls. Swift runners were sent out, and these returned in
two hours with news that the enemy were in full retreat towards their
capital. The people of Abeokuta were half wild with exultation and joy,
and their gratitude to their white allies was unbounded. Mr. Goodenough
begged them not to lose an hour in burying their slain enemies, and the
entire population were engaged for the two following days upon this
necessary but revolting duty. The dead were counted as they were placed in
the great pits dug for their reception, and it was found that no fewer
than three thousand of the enemy had fallen.

Mr. Goodenough also advised the Abeokutans to erect flanking towers at
short intervals round their walls, to dig a moat twenty feet wide and
eight deep at a few yards from their foot, and to turn into it the water
from the river in order that any future attack might be more easily
repelled.

The inhabitants were poor, but they would willingly have presented all
their treasures to their white allies. Mr. Goodenough, however, would
accept nothing save a few specimens of native cloth exquisitely woven from
the inner barks of the trees, and some other specimens of choice native
workmanship. He also begged them to send down to the coast by the first
opportunity the cases of specimens which had been collected since the
departure of the Fans.

A violent attack of fever, brought on by their exertions in the sun,
prostrated both the white travelers a few days after the termination of
the siege, and it was some weeks before they were able to renew their
journey. Their intention was to ascend the river for some distance, to
move westward into upper Ashanti, and then to make their way to Coomassie,
whence they would journey down to Cape Coast and there take ship for
England. As soon as they were able to travel they took leave of their
friends at Abeokuta, who furnished them with carriers for their cases and
hammock bearers for their journey as far as the Volta. This lasted for a
fortnight through an open and fertile country. Then they crossed the river
and entered Ashanti, the great rival empire of Dahomey. As Ashanti was at
peace with England they had now no fear of molestation on their journey.

Ashanti consisted of five or six kingdoms, all of which had been
conquered, and were tributary to it. The empire of Ashanti was separated
by the river Prah from the country of the Fantis, who lived under British
protection. The people drew their supplies from various points on the
coast, principally, however, through Elmina, a Dutch settlement, five
miles to the west of Cape Coast. The Ashantis could not be called
peaceable neighbors. They, like the Dahomans, delighted in human
sacrifices upon a grand scale, and to carry these out captives must be
taken. Consequently every four or five years, on some pretext or other,
they cross the Prah, destroyed the villages, dragged away the people to
slavery or death, and carried fire and sword up to the very walls of the
English fort at Cape Coast. Sometimes the English confined themselves to
remonstrance, sometimes fought, not always successfully, as upon one
occasion Sir Charles Macarthy, the governor, with a West Indian regiment
was utterly defeated, the governor himself and all his white officers,
except three, being killed.

In 1828 we aided the Fantis to defeat the Ashantis in a decisive battle,
the consequence of which was the signature of a treaty, by which the King
of Ashanti recognized the independence of all the Fanti tribes. In 1844,
and again in 1852, a regular protectorate was arranged between the British
and the Fantis, the former undertaking to protect them from enemies beyond
the borders, and in turn exercising an authority over the Fantis,
forbidding them to make war with each other, and imposing a nominal
tribute upon them.

In 1853 the Ashantis again crossed the Prah, but, being met with firmness,
retired again. After ten years' quiet, in 1863 they again invaded the
country, burnt thirty villages, and slaughtered their inhabitants.
Governor Price then urged upon the home authorities the necessity for the
sending out from England of two thousand troops to aid the native army in
striking a heavy blow at the Ashantis, and so putting a stop to this
constant aggression. The English government, however, refused to entertain
the proposal. In order to encourage the natives some companies of West
Indian troops were marched up to the Prah. The wet season set in, and,
after suffering terribly from sickness, the survivors returned five months
later to Cape Coast.

Up to this period the Dutch trading ports and forts upon the coast were
interspersed with ours, and as the tribes in their neighborhood were under
Dutch protection constant troubles were arising between the Dutch tribes
and our own, and in 1867 an exchange was effected, the Dutch ceding all
their forts and territory east of the Sweet river, a small stream which
falls into the sea midway between Cape Coast and Elmina, while we gave up
all our forts to the west of this stream. Similarly the protectorate of
the tribes inland up to the boundary of the Ashanti kingdom changed hands.
The natives were not consulted as to this treaty, and some of those
formerly under British protection, especially the natives of Commendah,
refused to accept the transfer, and beat off with loss the Dutch troops
who attempted to land. The Dutch men of war bombarded and destroyed
Commendah.

This step was the commencement of fresh troubles between the Ashantis and
the English. The Commendah people were Fantis, and as such the implacable
enemies of the Elmina people, who had under Dutch protection been always
allies of the Ashantis, and had been mainly instrumental in supplying them
with arms and ammunition. The Fantis, regarding the Elmina natives and the
Dutch as one power, retaliated for the destruction of Commendah by
invading the territory of the Elmina tribe, destroying their villages and
blockading the Dutch in their port. Another reason for this attack upon
the Elminas was that an Ashanti general, named Atjempon, had marched with
several hundred men through the Fanti country, burning, destroying, and
slaying as usual, and had taken refuge with his men in Elmina. From this
time the desultory war between the Elminas and their Ashanti allies, and
the Fantis of the neighborhood had never ceased. Our influence over our
allies was but small, for we in vain endeavored to persuade them to give
up the invasion of Elmina. We even cut off the supplies of powder and arms
to the Fantis, whose loyalty to our rule was thereby much shaken.

All these troubles induced the Dutch to come to the decision to withdraw
altogether, and they accordingly offered to transfer all their possessions
to us. The English government determined not to accept the transfer if it
should lead to troubles with the natives, and as a first step required
that the Ashanti force should leave Elmina. In 1870 the King of Ashanti
wrote to us claiming Elmina as his, and protesting against its being
handed over to us. According to native ideas the king of Ashanti's claim
was a just one. The land upon which all the forts, English, Dutch, Danish,
and French, were built had been originally acquired from the native chiefs
at a fixed annual tribute, or as we regarded it as rent, or as an annual
present in return for friendly relations. By the native customs he who
conquers a chief entitled to such a payment becomes the heir of that
payment, and one time the King of Ashanti upon the strength of his
conquest of the Fantis set up a claim of proprietorship over Cape Coast
and the other British forts.