Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

they but gazed on the expedition as it passed along with thelack-lustre eyes of chronic apathy.

  It was evident that here was a tribe or people slowly but surely dyingoff the face of the earth. Harry soon found that they were cannibals,and that they actually ate their dead. They had no king, no law, noorder; they were socialists, nihilists, and soon, doubtless, to beannihilated.

  Harry sought out an open space under the shelter of a splendid spreadingtree.

  This tree was really a thing of beauty. It was larger than any oak, andits branches were literally bathed in the beauty of trailing flowers,while colonies of bees and birds made sweet soft music in its foliage.Harry thought if he was a bird, it would not be anywhere near thisvillage he would build his nest and make his home.

  Presently a native or two came round and stood up to stare, and after atime one with more alacrity than the rest brought some squash-apples anda chattee of beautiful honey.

  There was something human after all even in this degraded race. Harrydid not care to eat honey from the hands of a cannibal, so he gave it tohis people.

  The intelligent native soon squatted down beside Raggy, and from hisrolling eyes and woebegone face it was evident he was telling the boy adismal story.

  "What is it, Raggy?" said Harry.

  "Ebery night, sah, it is de same," replied Raggy. "He come now fohmore'n tree week, and ebery night he take somebody."

  "What are you driving at, boy?"

  "De lion, sa! De lion what come here ebery night, gobble up some poorsoul, den smack his lips and go away back to de jungle."

  Now though much against his inclination, Harry had not the heart to goaway and leave this wretched tribe to the mercy of a relentlessman-eater.

  This lion was evidently some very old and wily king of the forest, tooold to stalk bigger game. In this village he had "struck oil," as theYankees say, and was making the very best of it.

  Harry determined to "spoil his game."

  All day he wandered about this swamp-island, wondering at the beauty ofthe flowers and the richness of their perfume, and admiring the manystrange birds and their nests.

  When night began to fall he prepared to watch for the foe.

  The lion invariably walked on to the stage at the same spot. When shownthis, to his horror he found a poor boy there tied to a stake, agonydepicted in his staring eyes, and the sweat standing in beads on hisbrow and draggling his curly hair.

  The poor lad was a sop for Cerberus, and every night it seemed to be thecustom thus to sacrifice one poor victim to save others in the village.Whether they drew lots for it, or how it was arranged, Harry could notfind out.

  There was little fog here to-night, but it lay low down all over themarsh, which thus looked like one vast sheet of water glimmering in thestarlight. Harry lay in concealment behind a tree, the two riflesloaded and ready, with Jack, Raggy, and the guide spear-armed and notfar off.

  He had released the boy, who looked quite bewildered on first gaininghis freedom, but soon regained his presence of mind, and went offscampering and shouting into the village.

  Hours and hours passed by.

  Harry was often startled by noises above him, and looking up sawgigantic bats flitting from tree to tree.

  Would the lion never come?

  Hark! a footstep deep down in the marsh; soft though it was, it could beheard distinctly enough creeping nearer and nearer, pausing often as ifto listen, then coming on and on again through the rustling grass.

  At last he is in sight.

  A monster white-muzzled he-lion.

  For a moment he stands 'twixt Harry and the starlight.

  Our hero's hand is shaking. All his nerves are a-quiver, for truth ishe is far from well, and the night air is damp and chilly.

  Will he miss? The starlight is confusing.

  He takes steady aim and fires.

  The lion stands erect roaring, maddened with pain.

  Quick as a thought Harry seizes the other rifle, and while the lion isstill half erect fires again, and the man-eater staggers forward,falling first on his knees, then on his nose, and there remaining--dead.

  Harry was a god now in the eyes of these poor people.

  In the midst of a large clearing in this swamp-island stood a strangeforked, withered tree. Up in this tree a fire was built and lit. Intothe open space the dead lion was dragged, and with many an eldritchshout and scream, for hours and hours these savages danced round thedead lion, and the fire that burned in the tree-top.

  But Harry was glad when morning came, and happy indeed when next eveninghe found himself once more among the tree-clad mountains with the marshfar in the rear.

  When he lay down to sleep that night he tried to think of the lake withits hundred isles, and of the feast of flowers, but even in his dreamshe was haunted by the scenes he had recently passed through, and--

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  THE VILLAGE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP.

  Book 4--CHAPTER TWO.

  WEARY WANDERINGS--PRISONER IN A SAVAGE LAND--THE ESCAPE BY NIGHT--DOWNWITH FEVER IN THE MARSH.

  Nearly a whole year has passed away since the events described in lastchapter, and the wayward, wandering Harry has seen many strange sights,had many a wild adventure, and been among many strange tribes andpeoples.

  He would hardly have travelled so far, he would have returned muchsooner towards the east had he not been following up a will-o'-the-wisp.For again and again he was told by natives with whom he came in contactof white men who were held captive by kings of tribes, sometimes itwould be to the north, at other times to the south or to the west.

  He hoped against hope, and never failed to hunt up these tribes, butdisappointment had always been his lot.

  So, tired and disheartened at last, he had determined to return, and tostrike once more for the lake of the hundred isles.

  This returning, however, was not such an easy matter as he hadanticipated. For in journeying westwards he found the chiefs with whomhe came in contact not unwilling to let him go onwards because heassured them he was coming back. This, and gifts of buttons, etc,procured him liberty to advance, though several times he had to fallback on his rifle, and usually succeeded in scaring warlike chieftainsout of their wits.

  But on his way back every effort was made to detain him as a slave tillhe should die, or, as the kings phrased it, "for ever and for ever."

  All this resulted in very slow progress indeed in his backward journey,and constituted a far greater danger than even that from wild beasts.

  As an instance of how quickly an African chief can change his tactics, Imay tell you of a really warlike tribe whom Harry encountered, who dweltamong the hills in the middle of a vast forest land.

  At first the chief of this clan hardly knew how kind to be to Harry andhis people. He feted them and feasted them, brought presents of roastedgoat-flesh, of honey, fruit, and of cocoanut beer. Harry much preferredthe feasts to the fetes, for these hardly ever passed without a humansacrifice. He could not tell whether the victims were politicaloffenders or not.

  However that may be, had the doomed wretches been simply beheaded itwould not have been so awful, but they were first tortured.

  In one instance a living chain was made by tying seven unhappy beingshead to heels. The tallest branch of a kind of lithe poplar tree wasthen by great force bent to the ground. To this the living, writhingchain was attached; the branch was then let suddenly free, and up thevictims swung.

  It is to be hoped they did not suffer long, but they appeared to.

  I would not horrify my young readers by describing the orgies that tookplace at some of those dreadful fetes. The little I have said willsurely suffice to make them thank God they are born in a favoured land,and to pray the Father to hasten the time when the dark continent shallbe opened up to commerce, and all such dreadful scenes become things ofthe gloomy past.

  But this chief, when he found that Harry was determined to go, t
urnedhis back upon him, and went and shut himself up for a whole day in histent.

  The wanderer well knew what this meant. He knew the chief would sendfor him next day and give him an ultimatum, and on his refusingcompliance therewith would at once slay his followers and put Harry inchains.

  But Harry determined to take time by the forelock, and to escape thatvery evening.

  He communicated his intentions to his people, and all were ready. Noone slept, though all pretended to.

  The night was very dark; a storm was brewing; the sky was covered with adeep, solid canopy of slowly moving clouds, but never a star wasvisible.

  About midnight, when all was still in the camp, Harry arose and touchedhis men. They knew the signal. He then crawled to the back of the tentand with his knife cut a hole in it and crept out. On their hands andtheir knees they glided along till they came to the palisade, which theyproceeded to mount one by one.

  Here lay the greatest danger, and this was soon apparent enough, for thelast man stumbled, and slight though the sound he made was, it was quitesufficient to awake the whole camp.

  As the