Chapter Twenty.
The History of certain Distressed Damsels.
Meanwhile Seketulo, the chief in command of king M’Bongwele’s household cavalry, returned to the village in due course, and lost no time in dismissing his men, chuckling to himself as he reflected that, after all, he had beaten his monarch in the race homeward.
Time passed on; the sun set; the evanescent twilight faded out of the sky; the stars twinkled forth in all the mellow radiance characteristic of the tropics; and still the adventurous M’Bongwele and his wondrous prize came not. Hour after hour lagged slowly away; and at length the expectant villagers, who had poured into the open air to witness the triumphant arrival of the king, returned to their huts—their transient enthusiasm overcome by their habitual apathy and indolence—and surrendered themselves willingly enough to the blandishments of sleep. All, with the exception, that is to say, of the guard detailed to watch over the prisoners, the anxious Lualamba, and Seketulo. These were all wakeful enough, the latter perhaps even more so than any of the others. For, as the night waxed and the great full moon rolled slowly upward into the sky, the powerful chief, who had won for himself the envied position of commander of the king’s cavalry (a position equivalent to that of commander-in-chief of the whole army), felt the hope growing within him that the foolhardy king and those with him had been carried off to the nether regions for a permanency by the wondrous Thing of which they had so audaciously sought to secure the possession. And in that case (M’Bongwele being without sons, and having, in order to avoid possible future complications, carefully slaughtered all his brothers and other relations on his accession to the throne) there would be a vacancy in that particular country for a king, which vacancy Seketulo believed himself powerful enough to secure and fill.
Giving free rein to these ambitious ideas and aspirations, the chief paced thoughtfully to and fro in a retired corner of the village until about ten o’clock that night, when his impatience could no longer be curbed, and he felt that he must sally forth to ascertain, if possible, the fate of M’Bongwele and his party. Accordingly, mounting his horse, he took his way out of the village, passing through the principal gateway, and heading for the ruins at a gallop. He was greatly disconcerted, on reaching his destination, to discover that the Flying Fish still peacefully reposed in her usual berth; and his disgust was supreme when he further noticed, crouched on her lofty deck, a disconsolate-looking group, which his fears only too truly assured him must be the king and his companions. His first impulse was to retire and leave them to their merited fate; but the unwelcome reflection suggesting itself to him that they might possibly be discovered and rescued in the morning, he altered his purpose, and, making a virtue of what was almost a necessity, advanced with the intention of proffering a respectful inquiry as to whether any unfortunate accident had delayed the royal return. He was, however, forestalled by the king and his party, who, the instant they saw him, hailed his appearance with joyous shouts and an almost piteous entreaty to him to replace the ladder. This he, still making a virtue of necessity, at once attempted to do; but the clumsy construction proved too much for his strength. A happy idea, however, now flashed through the mind of one of the party; and, unstringing their bows, they joined the strings together into one continuous line, which, luckily for them, reached the ground; and Seketulo bending the lower end on to the ladder, the latter was soon, by the exertions of all hands, reared into position. The party, thoroughly crestfallen, now lost no time in making their way to the ground, when M’Bongwele at once requisitioned Seketulo’s horse, and galloped off homeward at top speed, the chief and the rest of the party being left to plod back to the village at their leisure and as best they could.
Notwithstanding this most dismal failure, M’Bongwele still entertained hopes of being able to possess himself of the coveted ship; and early next morning every available man and woman was marched to the scene of the preceding day’s discomfiture to attempt the task of carrying the Flying Fish to the village! This attempt, it is scarcely necessary to say, also resulted in complete failure, and with this failure king M’Bongwele was at last compelled to recognise himself as beaten. It became clear to him that the mysterious beings whose persons he had so rashly seized possessed certain peculiar and wonderful powers; and the only course now open to him seemed to be to make the best terms he could with them for their co-operation in the furtherance of his schemes. And he felt heartily glad—pluming himself at the same time upon his prudence—that he had not taken advantage of their seemingly helpless condition, when brought to the village, to attempt the putting of a period to their existence.
Meanwhile, Seketulo, though greatly chagrined at the turn of affairs, by no means abandoned hope. He felt that though disappointment had for once overtaken him, it by no means followed that such would always be the case; and if his ambitious dreams could not be realised in one way, they still might be in another. The king, unfortunately, had not been carried off to perdition; but, figuratively speaking, that seemed to be his ultimate and speedy destination. For, had he not pitted his own power against that of the mysterious strangers, and lost the game? He had inflicted a most grievous outrage upon them, and had ineffectually attempted to seize their wonderful ship; yet not a particle of gain or advantage of any description had been secured, and the wrath of these strangers had yet to be faced; the penalty of his audacious deeds had yet to be paid. Did not all this point to M’Bongwele’s speedy downfall? And if such a state of things should happily be in the near future, would it not be worth his (Seketulo’s) while to approach the strangers in a friendly spirit and (after cautiously feeling his way) with offers of assistance? He decided that it undoubtedly would, and that he would forthwith adopt that line of policy, cautiously, yet without losing a single favourable opportunity.
So far as M’Bongwele was concerned, he found himself in a greater strait than ever. He had not only failed completely in his ambitious schemes, but he had also lost prestige with his own people and had made enemies of the strangers. His situation was distinctly worse than if he had done nothing at all; and how to make his way out of the imbroglio he knew not, nor could any of his ministers advise anything. He now fervently wished he had adopted other and more friendly measures with his visitors; but it was too late; he fully recognised that, with the odium of failure fresh upon him, any attempt at conciliation would be utterly hopeless; the only course still open to him appearing to be that of “masterly inactivity.” This would, at all events, leave time for events to shape themselves, and afford him an opportunity of regulating his conduct in accordance therewith; and this course he accordingly determined to pursue; at the same time issuing the most imperative orders that the prisoners were to be treated with the utmost courtesy and consideration consistent with their safe-keeping.
In accordance with these orders, the prisoners found that, after the second day of their seizure, they had very little of which to complain beyond the actual loss of their liberty. They were abundantly supplied with provisions of all kinds within the resources of the village; the four young women originally detailed to watch over them during their drugged slumber were permanently appointed to attend upon them, do their cooking, keep their hut clean, and so on; and they were allowed to take unrestricted exercise within the bounds of the compound. Their attendants and guards were allowed to answer any questions except such as related to the king’s recent attempt to possess himself of their property; and hints were freely offered to the effect that M’Bongwele was most anxious to secure their friendship, and would gladly afford them an audience whenever they might desire it. But they had no intention whatever of seeking an audience with the king; they had a very shrewd suspicion of what had actually taken place; and having by this time formed a tolerably accurate estimate of the royal character, they felt convinced that their only chance of advantageously dealing with M’Bongwele lay in forcing upon him the character of a suitor to them.
Thus matters stood for nearly a fortnight from the date of their seizure—Seketulo doing his best to effectually ingratiate himself in the strangers’ favour before venturing to tender his proposed offer of assistance; and M’Bongwele waiting with daily growing impatience for overtures from his prisoners—when an event occurred which, simple though it seemed at the moment, was destined to have an important bearing on the fortunes of certain other white prisoners then in the king’s power.
It happened thus. The quartette were sitting under the verandah of their hut one morning, whining away the very last remains of their carefully hoarded stock of tobacco, when a soft thud, followed by a low startled cry of pain and terror from one of their female attendants caused them to glance hastily round. The sight which then met their eyes was startling enough to make them spring instantly to their feet. A snake fully seven feet long, and of the most deadly venomous kind (which had evidently just dropped out of the thatch of the hut), had flung its coils round the bare leg of one of the women, and, before help could be rendered, had struck its fangs deep into the flesh. The cruel heart-shaped head, with its wicked eyes glowing like a couple of carbuncles, was already drawn back to repeat the stroke when Lethbridge sprang forward, and, seizing a small pliant rattan which happened to be handy at the moment, dealt the reptile a swift downward cut across the body, dividing the creature almost in two; following up the blow by a rapid dart of his hand, grasping the reptile by the neck and tearing the quivering coils away from the wounded limb. Another second, and the head was being fiercely ground into the dust under the thick solid leather of his boot-heel, the wounded body twisting and writhing in the most horrible contortions meanwhile.
Two out of Lethbridge’s three companions stood helplessly aghast whilst this tragedy was in progress; but the professor, ever alert in the interests of science, promptly compelled the wounded girl to lie down, and instantly applied his lips to the wound made by the poisonous fangs of the snake, sucking vigorously until he had induced as copious a flow of blood as could reasonably be expected from the two tiny punctures. Then, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket, he drew forth a small stick of lunar caustic (with which he had some time previously provided himself in anticipation of possible snake-bites) and effectually cauterised the wound. The result of which prompt treatment was that the girl, after enduring some three hours’ slight suffering and inconvenience from the pain and subsequent swelling of the wound, recovered, and in a day or two was as well again as ever.
This incident was, as might be expected, much talked about in the village, and it very soon reached M’Bongwele’s ears. That monarch happened, just then, to be plunged into a state of serious domestic affliction; and, inspired by the above occurrence with a brilliant idea, he, after much painful cogitation, resolved to seek the aid of his prisoners. Briefly stated, the difficulty was this. His youngest and favourite wife had just added another to his already too numerous family of daughters, thus disgusting and seriously disappointing the king, who had confidently looked forward to being this time blessed with a son. This was by no means the first disappointment of the kind that the monarch had been called upon to endure; and it had been his wont, on such occasions, to banish the offending wife from his presence, replacing her with a new one. He proposed to follow the same rule upon the present occasion; and the only difficulty which lay in his way consisted in suitably filling up the vacancy. There were, of course, hundreds of sable damsels within the limits of his dominions who would gladly have accepted the responsibilities of the position, but that would no longer suit king M’Bongwele; the women of his own race had, one and all, so far as he had tried them, failed disgracefully in their duty of providing him with an heir, and he was now determined to try elsewhere. He happened to have in his possession, as prisoners, four white women, one of whom was somewhat elderly, whilst the remaining three were young, and, though by no means sufficiently embonpoint to be strictly handsome, from an African savage’s point of view, still attractive enough to justify his choice of either of them as a wife. The difficulty with these women was that they were unfortunately all insane—a circumstance which (in accordance with one of the many superstitious beliefs of the natives, and quite apart from the equally important objection of consequent unsuitability) effectually precluded any resort to threats or compulsion for enabling the king to carry out his plans. And it was for the purpose of securing these unfortunate creatures’ restoration to reason that M’Bongwele now resolved to invoke the potent aid of his new prisoners. When making up his mind to this course he was at first greatly puzzled as to how he should approach the individuals he had so basely betrayed, and how explain and excuse his conduct; but at last the happy idea suggested itself of ignoring his ill-behaviour altogether; and acting upon this, and without giving himself time for further consideration, he hurried off to the hut and presented himself before his prisoners.
Seating himself jauntily upon one of the bedsteads, he opened the negotiations by explaining that he had come to express his admiration of, and his thanks for, the wonderful manner in which the woman had been saved from the deadly effects of the snake-bite; and then, without affording an opportunity for interruption, he went on to state, in full detail, his further business.
The indignation excited in the breasts of his listeners by the cool impudence of the king soon subsided under the influence of the interesting news that four white women were captives in the village; and when M’Bongwele closed his explanation and proffered his request, the professor, instead of loading his captor with reproaches, followed the latter’s example of ignoring all cause for unpleasantness, and simply stated that no promise of any kind could be made until the four friends had been afforded an interview with the afflicted women. To this proposition the king eagerly assented, overjoyed at so unexpected a measure of success, indeed he volunteered to personally conduct the quartette into the presence of his female prisoners; but this was promptly negatived, the professor declaring that if he and his friends went to see the women at all they must go entirely unattended, and at such time as might be most convenient to themselves. It would have suited M’Bongwele very much better to have been present at this interview, for he was suspicious to a really absurd degree; but, finding the white men firm upon this point, and, apparently, wholly indifferent in the matter, and being also unable to discover any cause for suspicion in their conduct, he at length yielded his assent and retired, giving the necessary instructions to the guard as he passed out of the hut.
The next morning, about eleven o’clock, having previously talked this curious matter carefully over together, they paid their promised visit; the women’s prison (to which they were carefully escorted by their entire guard) being situated close to the principal opening in the palisading which surrounded the village; the same guard being apparently made to serve for both the prison and the gateway. The building was an almost exact facsimile of their own place of confinement, both in shape and dimensions; but at the very threshold the visitors encountered evidences of female delicacy and refinement in the shape of finely woven grass curtains or portières across the otherwise unclosed entrance, and these trifling elegances were multiplied a hundred-fold in the interior, converting the little building into a veritable miniature palace in comparison with their own unadorned domicile.
But these little interior adornments did not attract the visitors’ notice until later on; their whole attention was at once claimed, upon their entrance, by the occupants of the building, or at least by the fairer portion of them. There were eight altogether—four white and four black, the ebony damsels evidently filling the position of attendants. Of the white women three were young—that is to say, they apparently ranged between nineteen and twenty-five years of age—whilst the fourth seemed to be somewhere between forty and fifty. This lady was of medium height, with a figure slightly inclined toward stoutness, brown hair with just a single streak of silver discernible here and there amongst it, a complexion still in fairly good preservation, a pair of keen but kindly grey eyes, an excellent set of teeth, shapely hands and feet, and a pleasant smile which at once prepossessed the beholder in its possessor’s favour. Of the three younger women, two, aged respectively twenty-one and nineteen, were sisters; whilst the third, aged twenty-five, was their cousin, the elderly lady being aunt to all three.
On entering the hut, in response to the cry of “Come in” which followed their knock on the framework of the portal, the visitors at once found themselves face to face with the four ladies, who had risen to their feet to meet them; the sable attendants crouching at the rear end of the apartment with a grin of sympathetic curiosity overspreading their shining visages.
“You are most welcome, gentlemen,” said the elderly lady, advancing and offering her hand to each of her visitors in succession. “We have been expecting you. Allow me to perform the ceremony of introduction. I am Mrs Scott, widow of Brigadier-general Scott of her majesty’s forces in India. This lady is Miss Sabine, my niece and the only daughter of Major-general Sabine; and these are respectively Miss Rose and Miss Lucilla Lumsden, the daughters of an Indian judge.”
The gentlemen bowed low as each name was mentioned, and, upon Mrs Scott making a somewhat significant pause, the baronet took up his parable, remarking:
“We are greatly honoured and delighted, ladies, at thus unexpectedly making your acquaintance in this out-of-the-way spot, and we sincerely hope that the acquaintanceship will redound to our mutual advantage. I am Sir Reginald Elphinstone. This gentleman is Colonel Lethbridge; this is Lieutenant Mildmay, of her majesty’s navy; and, last but by no means least, this gentleman is Professor von Schalckenberg, an eminent German scientist, a most delightful companion, and a man clever enough, I firmly believe, to help us all out of our present difficulties.”
A general shaking of hands ensued; and then Mrs Scott laughingly invited the gentlemen to seat themselves on the four bamboo pallets which occupied opposite sides of the apartment, apologising at the same time for the lack of suitable sitting accommodation.
“And now,” said Mrs Scott laughingly, “to which of you gentlemen are we to look for the cure of our madness?”
“It is expected, I believe,” said Sir Reginald, “that we shall each aid, to the best of our ability, in the good work. But,” he continued in a lower and more cautious tone of voice, “is it not rather imprudent of you to behave in so very sane a manner before these women?”
“Oh,” said Mrs Scott, “they are all right. They are perfectly trustworthy—indeed, they are actively aiding and abetting us in the exceedingly disagreeable but necessary deception we are practising upon king M’Bongwele. The wretch!” she continued, starting indignantly to her feet. “Would you believe it? He actually has the audacity and impudence to—to—to—”
“To aspire to a matrimonial alliance with one, if not all, of you. Yes, I am aware of his ambition,” said the baronet with a smile; “and whilst we are here to-day, at his request, to remove the obstacle which your most deplorable insanity interposes, I hope that the ultimate result will be your speedy deliverance, with our own, from his power. We are, like yourselves, prisoners, but we are by no means hopeless of escape, and I pledge you my word that we will not leave until we can take you all with us.”
Mrs Scott shook her head somewhat doubtfully. “We are all infinitely obliged to you for your generous promise,” she said with a sigh; “but I greatly fear you are somewhat overrating your powers. The difficulties of escape—in the first place, from this village, and, in the next place, from the country itself—are so formidable that we have almost given up all hope. May I ask what strange accident brought you hither?”
“Assuredly,” answered the baronet. “And when I have informed you of the facts, you will see that the difficulties of escape are, after all, not so very enormous, and I trust that you will all take heart once more.”
Sir Reginald then proceeded to give a detailed description of the Flying Fish; and of his own and his companions’ adventures in her; winding up with an account of their capture—so far as they were aware of its details—and a recital of the grounds upon which they founded their hopes of escape.
The ladies listened to Sir Reginald’s singular story with an astonishment which they vainly strove to conceal, and had it been uncorroborated, they would probably have suspected in him a touch of the same malady with which they were supposed to be afflicted; but, as matters were, they had no choice but to credit the tale, and very much gratified they were to learn that there existed a means of conveyance affording, if they could but once gain access to it, a safe, easy, and speedy escape from the realms of king M’Bongwele.
Sir Reginald, having brought his story to an end, requested that he and his companions might be favoured with an account of the manner in which the ladies had fallen into the hands of the savages, which request Mrs Scott complied with, somewhat in the following terms:
“It is, to a great extent, my fault that these poor girls find themselves in the unfortunate position which they occupy to-day. I have been a widow for nearly seven years; but, having been early left an orphan, with no friends in England and many in India, I did not, as many newly-made widows do, turn my face homeward immediately on my husband’s death; on the contrary, I determined rather to remain in the country of my adoption, and, being left in tolerably comfortable circumstances, made arrangements to reside alternately in Delhi and Simla. These arrangements I duly carried into effect, and nothing occurred to disturb them until about a year ago, when my brother, Sir James Lumsden, died, leaving his motherless daughters—Rose and Lucilla here—in my care, with an earnest entreaty that I would convey them, at my earliest convenience, home to their grandfather, who owns a very fine place in Hampshire, and who would, doubtless, be glad to receive them. I, of course, very willingly undertook the duty—not the less so, perhaps, from the fact that I was myself somewhat ailing, and had been strongly urged by my medical adviser to try the effect of change and a long sea voyage. Our preparations were soon completed, and we journeyed down to Bombay, at which place I happened to meet my brother-in-law, General Sabine. He, poor man, was in a great difficulty just then, being under orders to proceed at once to Afghanistan, and not knowing what to do with his daughter, who, I ought to explain, has been motherless from her infancy. The best way I could see out of the difficulty was for her to take the trip home to Europe with us, and, upon my making the proposal, it was joyfully adopted. So far all was well; but at this point our difficulties were to begin. We, unfortunately, took passage for London in a sailing ship for my health’s sake. We, or the ship rather, had to call at the Cape, and, three weeks after we sailed, the captain died. The chief mate then assumed the command of the vessel, and in a few days afterwards we found that he was giving way to drink. That was, doubtless, the cause of the disaster which followed, for on a dark and stormy night, whilst the chief mate—or captain, rather, I suppose I ought to call him—was lying in his berth in a state of almost helpless intoxication, and the ship was flying before the rising gale under all the sail the sailors could spread, we struck! the masts snapped short off at the deck, and in a moment all was confusion and panic. The mate, or captain, staggered up on deck to see what was the matter, and he had scarcely reached the poop when a breaker swept down upon the wreck and washed the unhappy wretch overboard, never to be seen again. The next officer—a brave energetic young fellow - then took command, and by his coolness and courage soon restored order among the crew. He commanded the lead-line to be dropped overboard, and by its means ascertained that the ship was being rapidly driven shoreward by the force of the waves. Meanwhile the shocks of the ship striking against the ground gradually grew less and less severe, until they ceased altogether, and the vessel became motionless save for an occasional sickening lurch when an exceptionally heavy wave struck her. By this time it was ascertained that the hold was nearly full of water, a circumstance from which the young officer in charge came to the conclusion that the hull was irretrievably damaged, and he then gave orders to lower the boats. This task the sailors with great difficulty accomplished, and then, there being at the moment no immediate prospect of the wreck going to pieces, the boats were secured under the shelter of the ship, and it was determined to defer until daylight our attempt at landing, when the dangers of the enterprise could be distinctly seen and more easily avoided. About two hours elapsed between the first striking of the vessel and the launching of the boats, during which time I and my nieces were on deck in our night-dresses, supplemented by such wraps as we had been able to hastily snatch on the moment of the first alarm. But when the boats had been safely lowered into the sea and secured, Mr Snelgrove (the young officer who had last assumed the command) came to us, and, in the kindest manner possible, begged us to retire to our cabins, assuring us that we might do so with perfect safety, and that we might depend on him to summon us in good time to attempt a landing with the rest of the crew. We accordingly took his advice, glad to get back to the shelter of the saloon, where we at once discarded our wet garments and proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as the circumstances permitted. Day broke at length, and then Mr Snelgrove made his appearance in the saloon, informing us that the weather had moderated, the sea gone down a good deal, and the tide had ebbed, rendering it a favourable moment to attempt a landing, which he believed might be effected without much danger; he further added that the seamen were then passing provisions and water into the boats, and that he would allow us ten minutes wherein to select and pack a small bundle of such clothing and effects as might be deemed by us most necessary. At length the eventful moment arrived for us to pass down into the boats, and though we were assured by the sailors that there was no danger, I never was so thoroughly frightened in my life, for the sea was still very rough, leaping, curling, and foaming all round us. However, we all managed to embark without accident, and then our boat (which was the second to make the attempt) pushed off and made for the shore. The breakers were appalling, and the boat was turned round with her bow pointing seaward, and ‘backed’—I think they called it—toward the shore. The sea broke over us several times, half filling the boat; but two men were kept constantly baling with buckets, and at length—thanks to Mr Snelgrove’s admirable management—we safely reached the beach, but wet to the skin as a matter of course. Meanwhile, the first boat, in charge of the boatswain, had discharged her cargo on the beach, and was now sent back with four men to the wreck to bring on shore the remainder of the crew and whatever of value they could lay their hands upon. This going to and fro between the beach and the ship lasted nearly all day, and by nightfall we had quite a large quantity of provisions, water, canvas, spars, and other matters, and last, but not least, all my nieces’ and my own boxes. The sailors constructed two tents in a sheltered spot high up on the beach—one for themselves and one for us—and we at length retired to spend our first night in the character of castaways.
“About an hour before daybreak we were rudely awakened—to find ourselves in the power of the savages. I am of opinion that we must have been watched during the whole of the previous day, for the surprise of the camp was complete; we had been noiselessly surrounded, and, whilst we unfortunate women were spared, the equally unfortunate men were, for the most part, slain in their sleep; not one had escaped—at least we never afterwards saw any of them alive. The camp was of course ransacked, and when every man had possessed himself of whatever happened to take his fancy, we were placed in the centre of the band and conveyed to this place, where we have been detained close prisoners ever since. The scattered contents of the camp must afterwards, I fancy, have been collected and brought to this village, for a few days later our boxes—broken open and the contents in a dreadfully soiled and disordered condition—were brought to us, and upon our replying in the affirmative to the questions put to us by signs as to whether they were our property, were left in our possession. I have only to add that the wreck, and the horrors which succeeded it, proved too much for poor Lucilla in her then somewhat weak state of health, and she fell into a low fever with delirium, which prostrated her for nearly three months, and from the effects of which she has even now not wholly recovered. It was during this dreadfully anxious period that those four poor black creatures were appointed to attend upon us. They have been most zealous and faithful in their efforts to help us; they have instructed us to some extent in their simple language; and they have informed us, not only that they are cast-off wives of the king, but that he was, and still is, anxious to secure one (if not more) of my nieces for a wife, and that the only hope of escape from such a fate lay in our simulating insanity, which, most reluctantly, we have been compelled to do whenever M’Bongwele or any of his emissaries have visited us. But, beyond our close confinement and this horrible ever-impending danger, we have no very great cause for complaint, all our expressed wants being instantly satisfied so far as the resources of the king will permit.”
Mrs Scott having thus brought her story to an end, the gentlemen expressed their sympathy and condolences, and the conversation gradually grew more general. At length, much as they would have liked to prolong the interview, they felt that they had already lengthened it out almost beyond the bounds of prudence, so they rose to take leave, uttering a few encouraging remarks, which Sir Reginald rounded off with an exhortation to them to be ever on the watch, and to hold themselves in readiness for flight at a moment’s notice, adding that one or other of the gentlemen would visit them as often as possible and keep them well informed upon the progress of events.
Chapter Twenty One.
Retribution overtakes King M’Bongwele.
King M’Bongwele had evidently been keenly on the watch for the return of the four prisoners, for they had scarcely had time to enter their hut when the monarch presented himself before them, and, with some little impatience of manner, began his interrogations with the single word:
“Well?”
“We can cure them,” briefly answered the professor.
“Good!” ejaculated the king, his impatience yielding to almost childish delight. “When is the cure to be performed?”
“Within one span of the sun’s journey through the sky after we have administered a certain medicine, which we must procure from the ship. Provide us each with a horse to go and fetch this medicine, and I promise you, that before you see the stars to-night those women shall be in as full possession of their reason as you are.”
“No,” said the king, eyeing the professor keenly, “I will arrange better than that. You shall tell Lualamba where to find this wonderful medicine, and he shall fetch it for you.”
“That will not do at all,” answered the professor. “Lualamba could never find the medicine; he could not even gain access to the ship. We must fetch it ourselves.”
M’Bongwele rested his chin in his hand for some minutes, pondering deeply. Then he rose to his feet and stalked out of the hut again without vouchsafing a word, either “yea” or “nay.”
“He is not quite such a fool as he looks,” was the baronet’s sole comment upon this strange behaviour, and then they sat down to luncheon.
The king, upon re-entering his palace, at once sent for Lualamba, and, upon that chief making his appearance, issued strict orders that every available man, woman, and child, not only in the village but in the entire district, should be mustered by noon next day, to make one grand and final attempt to move the ship to the village, pending which the king decided to hold no further communications with his prisoners. The attempt was made in due course, and, like the others, it proved, as might be expected, a miserable failure. Poor M’Bongwele was now completely at a loss; he knew not what to do. He was most anxious to have the white women cured; but he had a powerful presentiment that if those singular beings, whom he certainly to some extent had in his power, once again set foot upon that curious thing they called a “ship,” his power over them would be gone for ever. And in such a case he felt that his fate was certain; he had laid unholy hands upon them, and dire would be his punishment. No; he was convinced that at all costs they must be debarred from access to that terrible “ship,” unless he could first of all gain their forgiveness, amity, and good-will, and interest them in his fortunes to the extent of securing their active co-operation in his schemes of conquest and aggrandisement. How to do this was, however, the question which puzzled king M’Bongwele; and it puzzled him so long that—but stay, we must not forestall the story.
Thus engaged in a futile endeavour to discover a way out of his dilemma, the king kept himself strictly secluded in his palace day after day, allowing no one access to him unless upon business of the utmost urgency and importance. Meanwhile, Seketulo, deeming the period a favourable one for the furtherance of his own schemes, first exhibited an increased amount of precaution in the proper posting of the guard over the prisoners, and then a gradually growing disposition to converse with the prisoners themselves. From this he proceeded to develop an interest, which, after a suitable lapse of time, was allowed to merge into anxiety for their welfare and greater comfort, and, finding these cautious advances well received, he then set to work in real earnest upon the delicate task of unfolding his proposals. He was so very cautious, however, and took so long a time about this, that he missed his opportunity altogether, and that, too, through a very simple accident.
It happened one night that, after an unusually long, disjointed, and desultory conversation with this same chief, Mildmay failed to get to sleep with his usual promptitude, and he lay tossing restlessly upon his pallet until he became impatient and finally exasperated at his want of success. The hut felt hot and stuffy to the verge of suffocation, and the lieutenant at length came to the conclusion that there was no hope of his getting to sleep until he had taken a turn or two up and down the compound, in the comparatively cool night air.
He accordingly scrambled to his feet, and, groping his way in the intense darkness, made for the verandah. Here he paused for a moment, glancing upward to the sky, which he found to be obscured by a dense canopy of heavy black cloud, portending rain, which sufficiently accounted for the pitchy darkness. His eyes at length becoming accustomed to the obscurity, he looked round for the guard; and he eventually discovered the various members faithfully occupying their posts, but, one and all, squatted upon the ground evidently fast asleep. He stalked out toward the centre of the compound and took two or three turns up and down its length, his footsteps falling noiselessly upon the light sandy soil, and not one of the savages manifested the slightest consciousness of his presence. Then he gradually extended his walk until he reached the gate in the palisade, and here too the guard was fast asleep. An idea presented itself to him; and he was about to make an attempt to noiselessly remove the bars and open the gate, when prudence suggested another and a better plan. He tiptoed lightly back to the hut, and, gently awakening each of his companions in turn, whispered in their ears:
“Up at once! There is an opportunity for us to effect our escape!”
The aroused sleepers instinctively comprehended the situation and sprang to their feet. Another minute, and four shadowy shapes stole noiselessly across the compound, to vanish almost instantly in the deeper shadows of the palisading. The closed gate was reached and passed, and presently the fugitives found themselves in the angle of the compound most distant from the slumbering guard. Here Mildmay offered a “back” to the baronet, whispering:
“You go first.”
Without a word Sir Reginald complied, clambering first upon his companion’s back and thence noiselessly to the top of the palisading. In another second a faint thud on the outside told that the first adventurer had successfully scaled the barrier. “You go next,” whispered Mildmay to the colonel, “and remain on the top of the palisade to give the professor a hand.”
Up went the colonel, and up after him went the professor. The latter, with the baronet’s assistance from below on the outside, accomplished his descent in safety; and then the colonel, reaching as far down as he could, assisted Mildmay to the top. The rest was easy; and a minute later they were cautiously making their way up the road to the top end of the village, or that which was most thinly inhabited. At this moment down came the rain, a regular tropical deluge, which was undoubtedly a most fortunate circumstance for the fugitives, as they could otherwise have scarcely hoped to escape the vigilance of the numerous prowling curs belonging to the village, who, as it was, were driven by the rain to take refuge in their masters’ huts.
Five minutes sufficed the travellers to reach the stout lofty palisade which inclosed the village; and this, the framework all being on the inner side, they were easily enabled to surmount. Once outside this obstacle, Mildmay assumed the leadership, confidently declaring his ability to find the ship, though he had only once before, consciously, passed over the ground between the village and the ruins.
The party made their way in the first place along the outer side of the palisading until they reached the main entrance gate to the village; and from this point Mildmay “took his departure.” A well-defined pathway led for some distance down into the plain, and this they traversed until the lieutenant believed he had reached the point at which to turn off. Here he paused for a full minute, looking about him and peering into the darkness. The rain was still pelting down, though not so heavily as at first; and away to the eastward the clouds were already beginning to break, allowing a star to peep through here and there. At length Mildmay thought he had got his bearings right; and, selecting a star to steer by, away he plunged into the long thick wet grass, his companions following closely behind. A few minutes later the rain ceased, the clouds vanished from the sky, and the stars shone calmly out in all their beauty, affording an ample sufficiency of light to distinctly reveal to the wayfarers the nearer clumps of bush, trees, and other large objects. Mildmay now paused again, and, shading his eyes with his hand, once more keenly surveyed the horizon.
“All right,” he murmured. “We are going just right, I believe. I can indistinctly make out something away there on the horizon, just ahead, which I feel certain must be the ruins. Come along, my hearties; heave ahead!”
Again they pushed forward, dripping wet, drenched to the skin with the recent shower, and stumbling every now and then as their feet became entangled in the long matted grass; now swerving to the right to avoid a clump of bush, then to the left for the same purpose; but ever keeping one particular star, low down on the horizon, as nearly straight ahead as possible. Though the rest of the party felt themselves utterly lost, without the faintest notion of where they were going, and though neither of them could distinguish anything even remotely resembling the ruins, Mildmay still persisted that he was right; and he continued to press rapidly forward, the rest following him, since they could do no better. At length they struck a narrow path through the grass, and Mildmay at once announced his intention of following it.
“It is a little off our course,” he said, “but the walking is so much easier here that we shall gain more than we shall lose by following it; and I should not be surprised to find that it leads to the ruins.”
Half an hour later a brilliant star suddenly appeared in the dense darkness ahead. It shone steadily for nearly a minute, disappeared, and almost instantly appeared again.
“Hurrah!” ejaculated the lieutenant joyously, “there is the ship’s light. Now we know that we are right. Another hour’s tramp will, if all be well, take us alongside. How I wish I had a pipe of tobacco!”
“Don’t mention it!” fervently ejaculated the professor, who was an ardent lover of the weed. “However, in another hour, as you say—ah!”
The professor’s “ah!” was so very expressive of anticipated pleasure that his companions with one accord burst into a hearty laugh, which, however, was abruptly cut short by a low savage growl and a sudden rustling in the grass close by.
“What was that?” was the simultaneous inquiry as the party came abruptly to a dead halt.
“Push on, push on!” urged the professor. “It is some nocturnal animal prowling in search of prey. At this moment he is more frightened than we are; but if we wait here until he has regained his courage he will perhaps spring on one of us.”
The march was accordingly resumed, with perhaps some little precipitation; and at length Mildmay’s companions began to be conscious of the presence of certain shapeless blotches of blackness rising up against the sky ahead of them and occasionally obscuring for a few seconds the now brilliant light which gleamed from the top of the Flying Fish’s pilot-house. These shapeless blotches of blackness increased in size with almost startling rapidity; and in a few minutes the travellers, still following the footpath, found themselves in the midst of them, winding in and out between great blocks of masonry which suddenly rose up in front of them in the darkness, and stumbling over loose boulders and fragments of stone. At length they found themselves in the clear open space occupied by the Flying Fish; and in another quarter of an hour the party passed into the black tunnel formed by the bilge-keel and the side of the ship, and began to feel with their feet for the open trap-door. This was soon reached; the party entered the opening, closed the flap, and, with a murmured “Thank God, we are safe at last!” began to feel for the button which was to open the door giving access to the interior proper of the ship. Another second and this door swung open, and the party found themselves at the foot of the cylindrical staircase, in the full blaze of the electric lamps.
“Now,” said the baronet, “ten minutes in which to strip, rub down, and don dry garments, and then we will be off to the rescue of those poor women, after which I think we must give our friend M’Bongwele a salutary lesson on the evil and impolicy of treachery.”
The allotted ten minutes had not quite expired when the professor, the last of the party, made his appearance in the pilot-house, by which time the Flying Fish was some five hundred feet in the air, with her nose pointing in the direction of M’Bongwele’s village, and her propeller driving her ahead at full speed. The electric lights of the ship were all called into requisition for the illumination of the landscape, producing a weird and ghostlike effect as the trees and clumps of bush first caught the light and then brightened into full radiance as they flashed past, to instantly fade again into obscurity. A startled howl or two smote upon the ears of the travellers, and the forms of hastily retreating animals were momentarily caught sight of; but all eyes were intently directed ahead in anxious expectancy of catching sight of the village, and presently it came into view. The speed was at once reduced and the vessel’s flight directed earthward, and in another moment she dashed through the palisade, shivering the principal entrance gate to splinters, and (as was intended) frightening the guard clean out of their senses. With one shrill, piercing scream of terror, as they caught sight of the dazzling bow lights of the ship, the sable warriors took to their heels and vanished in the darkness, whilst the Flying Fish was dexterously brought to earth close alongside the hut tenanted by Mrs Scott and her nieces. That appalling yell effectually awakened the entire occupants of the hut; and whilst they were sitting up on their pallets, rubbing their eyes and wondering what the terrible sound might portend, the portière was pushed aside and the professor, bearing a hand-lamp, unceremoniously made his appearance before them with an earnest request that they would dress with all speed and join him on the outside of the hut, where he would await them, the hour of their deliverance having arrived.
A quarter of an hour later the bewildered ladies were conducted by von Schalckenberg in through the trapdoor in the bottom of the Flying Fish and up the cylindrical staircase to the saloon, where they were warmly welcomed by the other three gentlemen, who, after a few congratulatory remarks on their fortunate escape, retired to secure and convey on board the boxes containing the remainder of their guests’ wardrobes. This done, Mrs Scott and her nieces were conducted to the cabins assigned for their use, and the gentlemen then retreated to the pilot-house, where, over a keenly enjoyed pipe, a hasty council was held as to what should be done with M’Bongwele.
This question was settled just as the first faint streaks of approaching dawn began to brighten the eastern horizon, when the ship was moved up into the great square before the king’s house, where the whole of the king’s body-guard were drawn up under arms, and, beyond them, the remaining inhabitants of the village, a dense, surging, excited, squabbling crowd.
On the approach of the Flying Fish the latter flung themselves face downwards, in abject terror, to the ground, and the armed and mounted warriors betrayed a disposition to stampede which was only with the utmost difficulty checked and restrained by Seketulo. Even this chief found himself unable to wholly conceal the feeling of nervousness which agitated him; but he in this trying moment enjoyed a consciousness, unshared by any other man there present, of having done his best to make the erstwhile prisoners comfortable.
As the huge ship settled quietly down in the centre of the great square a profound and deathlike silence suddenly succeeded the confused babbling sound which had hitherto prevailed, and when the four travellers stepped out from the pilot-house to the deck and appeared at the gangway a visible shudder ran through the entire concourse of people there assembled. They dreaded they knew not what, and their fears were only in a very trifling degree allayed by the promise of intercession on their behalf which Seketulo had made to them.
The professor was of course to be spokesman for the occasion; it was he, therefore, who broke the terrible silence by exclaiming, in a loud, commanding tone of voice:
“Seketulo, we are your friends. Advance, therefore, and listen to the commands which we are about to lay upon you!”
The reassured and now happy chief struck with his spurred heels the sides of his charger, and the animal, bounding and caracoling, advanced to within a few yards of the ship’s side, where his rider dismounted and, with bowed head and bended knee, waited for such communication as might be vouchsafed him.
“Listen, O Seketulo!” continued the professor. “We entered this country animated by feelings of the most amicable nature to its king and to every one of its inhabitants. We showed this by distributing presents of beads, cloth, and other matters when Lualamba and his warriors first visited us. And we asked for nothing in return save permission to examine and explore the ruins on yonder plain; offering to pay promptly and liberally for whatever assistance we might need. Is not this the truth?”
“It is, O most mighty wizard,” answered Seketulo humbly; some of the braver warriors also venturing to murmur:
“It is! It is!”
“And how have we been treated?” asked the professor. “Your king, not satisfied with our friendship and the presents we gave him, wickedly and treacherously devised a scheme to get us into his power—a scheme which, in order to try him, we permitted to succeed. And, having done that, he further attempted to gain possession of this ship,”—this fact having leaked out in Seketulo’s previous conversations—“profanely and audaciously thinking he could subdue her to his will and control her as we do. Now, therefore, be it understood by all present that, for his base treachery, M’Bongwele is dethroned, and Seketulo will, from this moment, reign in his stead. Let a detachment of the guard enter the palace and bring M’Bongwele forth to hear his sentence!”
In an instant Lualamba—anxious above all things to please the powers that be, and having, moreover, in revengeful remembrance many little gratuitous slights and insults which he had suffered at the king’s hands—dismounted a squadron of the guard, and, surrounding the palace, himself entered the building at the head of half a dozen men. Two or three minutes later the party reappeared with the dethroned monarch in their midst. They advanced until almost level with the spot occupied by Seketulo, when, at a sign from the professor, they halted; the guards disposing themselves round M’Bongwele in such a manner that, whilst to escape was an utter impossibility, he could still see and hear the individual who, perched far aloft in the gangway of the ship, was about to address him.
M’Bongwele never, perhaps, looked more kingly than whilst he thus stood to receive his sentence of dethronement. He was fully conscious of his treacherous behaviour to his guests, but he felt no shame thereat, for he had been schooled in the belief that treachery, falsehood, ay, even deliberate, cold-blooded murder, was perfectly justifiable in the pursuit of power. His only feeling was that he had played a bold game for a high stake and had lost it. The moment of reckoning had now arrived, the penalty of failure had to be paid, and though he knew not what that penalty might be—though his brain was teeming with all sorts of possible and impossible horrors—he never for a moment forgot that he was a monarch, that the eyes of his people were on him, noting his every look and gesture, and he summoned all his fortitude to his aid, in order that, since fall he must, he should fall as becomes a king.
So there he stood in the bright sunlight of the early morning—an unarmed man, surrounded by those who, whilst they would yesterday have poured out their heart’s blood at his command, were now prepared to hew him in pieces at the bidding of a white-skinned stranger—with arms folded across the muscular naked chest which throbbed visibly with the intensity of his hardly repressed emotions, his head thrown back, his brows knitted, his lips firmly closed over his rigidly set teeth, and his eyes unquailingly fixed upon the group of white men whom he recognised and tacitly acknowledged as his conquerors and judges. And when the sentence of dethronement, separation from his family, and instant banishment for life from his country, was pronounced upon him, he offered no plea for pardon or mitigation of his punishment; he urged nothing in extenuation or justification of his conduct, but simply bowed his head in token of his submission to the inevitable, and begged a respite of a few minutes in which to bid farewell to his family before setting out upon his journey to the frontier, whither he was to be escorted by a small well-armed party, in whom Seketulo knew he could place implicit trust.
This somewhat painful scene over, the troops and people there present were required to swear allegiance and fidelity to their new king, which they readily did with all the formalities customary among them on such occasions; after which the crown of gold and feathers worn by M’Bongwele was brought forward and placed upon Seketulo’s head; and the new king was then invited on board the ship to confer with—and in reality to receive instructions respecting his future policy and conduct from—the men who had raised him to the supreme dignity. The advice—given with sufficient firmness and emphasis to constitute a command—comprised many valuable hints for the wise and humane government of the nation, and was concluded with a powerful exhortation to treat with fairness, justice, humanity, and hospitality all strangers who might be brought by accident or otherwise into the country; to succour, nourish, and carefully protect them from molestation or spoliation of any and every kind whilst within its borders; and to afford them every help and facility to leave whensoever they might desire. And, finally, a satisfactory arrangement was made whereby the baronet and his companions were enabled to continue and complete their exploration and examination of the ruins.
The Flying Fish and her inmates remained in the country for rather more than three months from that date; quite long enough to satisfy the party that they had really acted wisely, and for the benefit of the nation, in deposing M’Bongwele; and long enough to enable them to make several most surprising and interesting discoveries among the ruins—discoveries which it is not necessary to describe or particularise here, since the professor has prepared, and is now revising for the press, an elaborate and exhaustive treatise upon the subject.