Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

ashes,but a far more artistic method was adopted in grilling the steak: atriangle of green wood was built over the fire as soon as it had dieddown to red embers, across the triangle bars were fastened, and on thiswere hung the pieces of juicy flesh. When the bars were nearly burnedthrough, and the wooden triangle itself falling to pieces, then thesteak was cooked.

  They had fresh air and exercise, and consequently the appetite of mightyhunters. It is hardly necessary, therefore, to add that they reallyenjoyed their dinners. Fruit followed, then water, which was not alwaysgood.

  The country they traversed now, though a hilly and fertile one, was,strange to say, deserted.

  Still, this is not so strange when we remember that in all probabilityit has been depopulated by the Arab slaver. Indeed, many parts of theforest gave evidence of having been ravished by fire.

  Bravery, I take it, is not a very uncommon quality in the human breastof any inhabitant of our British islands, yet he is the bravest man who_knows_ his danger and still does not fear to face it. In the matter ofdanger, where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise. Yourfirst-voyage sailor will retain his presence of mind and coolness, attimes when old seafarers are pale with the coldness of a coming evil.Why? Because he does not know the worst. This is not bravery. It is--nothing.

  If, however, one is so positioned as to know there is danger, butremains in ignorance as to its amount or extent, then he has a boldheart who can quietly meet or court it. I have hinted before in thistale of mine that I claim for my wayward boy, Harry, no _extraordinary_qualities of mind, and that he had his faults just as you have, reader;so now I need not apologise for him when I confess to you that in thewild African jungle there were many times that his heart beat high withfear. Especially was this so at first. All bold, brave natures arefinely strung and sensitive. Harry's was. He did not like the dangersof the darkness, and he dreaded snakes. At the commencement, then, ofhis wanderings on the dark continent he expected to see one whenever abunch of grass quivered or moved, though only a mole might have been atthe bottom of it. And I believe at night he heard sounds and saw sightsin the bush and on the plains, that had no existence except in his ownfervid imagination.

  However, a month or two of nomad life hardened him. He noticed thateven serpents do not go out of their way to bite people, and that youhave only to observe a certain amount of caution, then you may put yourhands in your pockets and whistle.

  As far as that goes, I believe you might put your hands in your pocketsand go whistling up to a lion "on the roam." My illustrious countryman,the great General Gordon, did this or something very like it once. _I_would not, nor would I advise you to do so, reader; but I have to say,as regards my hero, Harry, that familiarity bred in him a contempt fordanger that led him to grief.

  I will tell you the story after making just one remark. It is this--andhappy I would be this minute if I thought you would lay it to heart andremember it. We are apt to pray to our Father to keep us from evil, andthen, when something occurs to us, some accident, perhaps, turn roundand murmur and say--

  "Oh! my prayers have not been heard. God loves me not."

  How know you, I ask, that He in His mercy has not allowed this _little_misfortune to befall us in order to save us from a _greater_?

  Harry was carelessly walking one evening--he was waiting for dinner--ina grove of rugged euphorbias. The evening was very beautiful, the sundeclining in the west towards a range of high hills which they had thatday passed. There was a great bank of purple-grey clouds loftier thanthe hills; these were fringed with pale gold, else you could not havetold which was mountain and which was cloud. There was also a breezeblowing, just enough to make a rustling sound among the cactuses andscrub. This it was probably that prevented Harry from hearing thestealthy footsteps of an enormous lion, until startled by a roar thatmade the blood tingle in his very shoes.

  There he was--the African king of beasts--not twenty yards away--crouched, swishing his tail on the grass, and preparing for a spring.

  Harry stood spellbound.

  Then he tried to raise his rifle.

  "No, you don't," the lion must have thought. For at that very moment hesprang, and next Harry was down under him.

  He remembered a confused shout, and the sharp ring of a rifle. Then allwas a mist of oblivion till he found himself lying near the camp-fire,with Jack kneeling by his side holding his arm.

  "I'm not hurt, am I?" said Harry.

  "Oh, massa, you am dun killed completely," sobbed little Raggy. "All deblood in you body hab run out. You quite killed. You not lib. Whatden will poor Raggy do?"

  It was not so bad as Raggy made out, however. But Harry's wounds weredreadful enough, back and shoulder lacerated and arm bitten through.

  Harry had made it a point all the journey since leaving the hill hecalled Mount Andrew to camp each night on the same place Mahmoud hadleft days before, and to build the fire in the self-same spot, and ondeparting in the morning to leave nothing behind that could tell theArab's sharp-eyed Somalis the ground had been used.

  It was well he had taken this precaution, for now he was wounded andill, and must remain near this place for weeks at least.

  Jack, the Somali, was equal to the occasion.

  He went away to the forest, and was not long in finding a site for theinvalid's camp.

  Like that upon Mount Andrew, it was on a hill or eminence, from whichthe country eastwards could be seen for many, many miles. And here alsowas a shelter under a rock from the direct rays of the sun.

  Next day, and for several days, poor Harry tossed about on his couch ina raging fever.

  But Jack proved an excellent surgeon, and Raggy the best of nurses. Theformer applied cooling and healing antiseptic leaves to Harry's wounds,and bound them tenderly up with bundles of grass, while the latterhardly ever left his master's couch, except to seek for and bring himthe most luscious fruit the forest could afford.

  Long, long weary weeks passed away, but still Harry lay there in hiscave on the hillside too weak to stand, too ill to move.

  Between them his two faithful servants had built him a hut of branchesand grass, which not only defended him against the sun, but against therain as well--for the wet season had now set in. Thunders rolled overthe plains and reverberated from the mountain sides, and at times therain came down in terrible "spatters" that in volume far exceededanything Harry could ever have dreamt of.

  But the rain cooled and purified the atmosphere, and seemed to so reviveHarry, that his wounds took on what surgeons call the healing intention.

  Raggy was a joyful boy then, and honest Jack, the Somali--for he hadproved himself honest by this time--was doubly assiduous in hisendeavours to perfect a cure.

  One afternoon, while Jack was talking to his master, Raggy, who had beenin the forest, ran in breathless and scared.

  "Golly-mussy!" he cried, "dey come, dey come. Where shall we hide poormassa? Dey come, dey come."

  Book 3--CHAPTER FIVE.

  THE RETURN OF THE CARAVANS--NIGHT IN THE FOREST--THE DYING SLAVE BOY.

  Mahmoud had not found the slave-dealing king in quite so good a temperon this journey. The reason was not far to seek. A brother potentate,who dwelt just beyond a range of mountains to the east of him, had bysome means or other possessed himself of two white slaves--Greeks theywere, and had been brought from very far north. This king was hisgreatest enemy--near neighbours though they were--and many and deadlywere the combats that used to rage among the hills. In fact, their twoimperial highnesses lived in a state of continual warfare. Sentinels ofboth parties were placed day and night on the highest mountains, to spyout the actions of the opposite kingdoms. It was no unusual thing forthese sentinels to get to lighting on their own account, and when theydid they never failed to chew each other up, though not quite so much soas the Kilkenny cats, of which, as you know, nothing was left but twolittle morsels of fluff, one tooth and one toe-nail--but very nearly asbad as that. The rival kings did not care a bi
t; they looked upon theaffair as a natural _denouement_, and set more sentinels, while thevultures gobbled up whatsoever remained of the last.

  But this rival king beyond the hills owned those white slaves, and theking, who loved rum, was very jealous and greatly incensed inconsequence. Thrice he had made war upon him with a view of possessinghimself of the coveted Greeks, and thrice had he been hurled back withinfinite slaughter.

  Then Mahmoud had come to him, and the king stated his case while hedrank some rum, and Mahmoud promised that next time he returned he wouldbring him one or more white slaves, that would far outshine thosepossessed by the king beyond the hills, whose name, by the way, was KingKara-Kara.

  But behold Mahmoud had returned, and no white slave with him! Harry, aswe know, having escaped.

  No wonder, then, that King 'Ngaloo had raged and stormed. This he diddespite the fact that the Somalis were called to witness that it was nofault of Mahmoud's, and that their prisoner had