Harry Milvaine Part 19

From the training s.h.i.+p, in good time, after having pa.s.sed a very creditable examination indeed, he was duly entered into the grand old service.

His first s.h.i.+p--if s.h.i.+p it could be called--was H.M. gunboat, the _Bunting_.

Harry was going to a part of the world where he was bound soon to get the gilt rubbed off his dirk.

Book 2--CHAPTER THREE.

H.M. GUNBOAT "BUNTING" IN CHASE--A DARK NIGHT'S DISMAL WORK.

It was a night of inky darkness. All day it had been squally, with a more or less steady breeze blowing between each squall, and the sea had been greatly troubled; but now the wind had nearly fallen, the waves were crestless, foamless, but still they tossed and tumbled about so that the motion on board Her Majesty's gunboat the _Bunting_ was anything but an agreeable one. There could be but little danger, however, for she was well off the land, pretty far out, indeed, in the Indian Ocean.

Every now and then there was the growling of distant thunder; every now and then a bright flash of lurid lightning. But between these flashes was a darkness that could be felt, and never a star was visible. Nor could there be, for at sunset the clouds seemed a good mile thick.

The _Bunting_ had been in chase most of the afternoon, but nightfall put an end to it.

It was in the days--not so long ago--when Said Maja reigned Sultan of Zanzibar, and all the coast line from near Delagoa Bay in the south to beyond Bareda in the north was more or less his sea-board. It was in the days when the slave trade in this strange wild city of the coast was flouris.h.i.+ng in all its glory, the Sultan having liberty from our government to take slaves from any one portion of his dominions to another. Hundreds of dhows, nay, but thousands, then covered that portion of the Indian Ocean which laves the forest sh.o.r.es of Eastern Africa. They were either laden with slaves, or returning empty to fetch another cargo.

Our cruisers boarded all they met, but it was but seldom one fell into our hands as a prize, for these cruel and reckless dealers in human flesh found no difficulty in obtaining a permit from the Sultan's ministers to carry on their inhuman traffic. A bribe was all that was necessary, and the words, "Household slaves of H.M. the Sultan," in the certificate, were all that was necessary to set British law and British cruisers at defiance.

These dhows were and are still manned and officered by Arabs--gentlemen Arabs they term themselves. Many of these men are exceedingly handsome.

I have often admired them in the slave market, both the old and the young. Let me try to describe them:

Here, then, is a young gentleman Arab, probably about twenty-five years of age.

He wears a kind of gilded night-dress of snow-white linen, which reaches some distance below the knee; around the waist of this is a gilded and jewelled sword-belt, supporting a splendid sword, and probably jewelled pistols. Over this linen garment may be a little jacket of crimson with gold braid, worn loose, and hardly visible, because over all is an immense flowing toga of camel's hair of some dark colour. This is also worn open.

On the head is a gigantic turban, gilded or even jewelled, and the naked feet are placed in beautiful sandals.

He is very tall, lithe, wiry, and stately, and his face is goodly to behold, his nose being well chiselled, and mouth not large.

His colour is usually white or brown, though sometimes black, and dark hair in beautiful ringlets, escaping from under the turban, flows down nearly to the waist.

In his hand he bears a tall spear, on which he leans or touches the ground withal when walking, as a Highland mountaineer does with his long crook.

The carriage and walk of this Arab is grace itself, and gives the individual a n.o.ble and majestic appearance, which it is difficult to describe.

Except the Scottish costume, I know of no dress half so picturesque as that of the gentleman Arab and slave-owner.

But here is an old gentleman. Is he bent and decrepit? Nay, but st.u.r.dy and stately as his son, he walks with the same bold grace, is dressed in the same fas.h.i.+on, keeps quite as firm a hold of his spear, and could draw his powerful sword and wield it with equal if not greater skill and agility.

But his long beard and moustache are as white as the paper on which I am writing. His brow is wrinkled, and the eyes that glint and glare from beneath the bushy eye-brows are as quick and fierce as those of a golden eagle.

Those Arabs hate the English with a deadly hatred. Even the sight of a blue-jacket makes them scowl. I have pa.s.sed--more than once--a doorway in Zanzibar, in which one of these men stood, and I have seen him gnash his teeth at the sight of my uniform, and finger his sword or knife, nervously, restlessly, as if he hardly could keep from plucking it out and plunging it into my heart.

It was in pursuit of one of the dhows manned by such gentleman Arabs that the _Bunting_ had been all the previous afternoon.

Had the wind fallen earlier, this dhow would soon have been a prize; but as it did not, she had shown them a clean pair of heels, and might now be anywhere.

That she was a slaver without papers there was not a doubt, and well laden too, for she was deep in the water.

I am going to make a terrible statement, but it is a true one, and if it only has the effect of causing even one of my readers to hate slavery half as much as I do, it will not be made in vain.

Just then, as American traders in crossing the Atlantic, when a dangerous gale comes on, lighten the s.h.i.+p by throwing the cattle overboard, so, at times, do these gentleman Arabs lighten their dhows when chased.

It is a terrible sight to see poor oxen hoisted up in straps with block and tackle and whirled into the storm-lashed ocean. O G.o.d, how mournfully they moan, how they seem to plead for mercy! That moan once heard can never, never be forgotten.

The loading of a slave-s.h.i.+p is a terrible sight, but ah! the ruthless cruelty of lightening a dhow of slaves. They are got up one by one or two by two. Children, poor young girls and boys, are pitched screaming into the sea, probably to be devoured by sharks next moment. And sharks speedily come to a feast of blood of this kind.

But whether men or women--if they struggle, and sometimes whether they struggle or not--they are ruthlessly slain on the deck before being thrown overboard. The knife across the neck is used for this terrible butchery. I have been told by eye-witnesses, themselves prisoners, and expecting every minute that their turn would come, that the victims are handed on deck to those who do the work, and that these latter think less about it than a farm servant does of killing a fowl, sometimes laughing and joking with their companions the while; and if telling a story of any kind, they do not even permit the murder they are committing from interrupting their discourse for a single moment.

It is far more unpleasant for me to write these lines than it can possibly be for any one to read them.

"I think," said Mr Dewar, the navigating sub-lieutenant, as he entered the captain's cabin after a preliminary service tap at the door--"I think I've done all for the best, and done right, sir."

"Well?" replied Captain Wayland--captain by courtesy, remember, for he really was but a first lieutenant by rank, though in command of the bold and saucy _Bunting_. He was seated now in his beautiful little saloon, which was situated right aft, right abaft the gun-room or ward-room--the _Bunting_ had, of course, only one living deck, under that being the holds, and above it the main or upper deck, with no other covering except the sky, and now and then a sun awning. This last was not only a luxury but a positive necessity in these seas, where the sun blisters the paint, causes the pitch in the seams to bubble and boil, and takes the skin as effectually off one's face as if a red-hot iron were pa.s.sed over it.

I have called Captain Wayland's quarters a beautiful little saloon. So it was, but do not imagine, dear reader, that the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty had anything to do with the decorating of it. No, they supplied a table, cus.h.i.+oned lockers, and a few chairs, also cus.h.i.+oned, but so hot and clumsy that sitting on one was like sitting on a large linseed-meal poultice.

Captain Wayland returned them to the dockyard, and bought himself others that could boast of elegance and comfort; he re-painted his saloon, too, and hung a few tasteful pictures in it and no end of curtains, to say nothing of a great punkah over the table, which was waving back and fore now, the propelling power being a little curly-headed n.i.g.g.e.r-boy who squatted in a far-off corner, string in hand.

"Well, sir," replied Mr Dewar, in answer to the captain's single word of inquiry, "I've douced every glim."

"In mercy's name," cried the captain, "do speak English, Mr Dewar!"

"Well, sir, pardon me, I quite forgot myself, but really we've got into a slangy habit in the ward-room; the only one who does speak decent English is young Milvaine, and he is a Highland Scotchman."

"Sit down," said the captain, "and have a gla.s.s of claret. You'll find it good."

"Raggy m.u.f.fin!" he continued, turning half round in his easy chair.

The n.i.g.g.e.r-boy let go the punkah string and sprang to his feet.

"Raggy m.u.f.fin stand befoh you, sah!" he said, bowing his towsie head.

"Right, Raggy. Now bring a bottle of claret."

"Right you are, sah. I fetchee he plenty quick."

"And I'll bring myself to an anchor," said Mr Dewar, "and have a gla.s.s of grog with pleasure."

Respect of person was not the crowning virtue of this warlike youth.

The captain fidgeted uneasily.

"Well, sir, I've douced--I mean I've put out all lights. I have men in the chains--not that we're likely to fall in with shoal water here, you know--"

"Oh, bother, you're right to be safe. The _Wasp_ ran aground in about this same place. Well, who's watch is it?"