About the middle of the afternoon the rain cleared off, and as the river was wide and open, I lowered the tilt and took to the paddle, so making up somewhat in the latter part of the day for the delays of the morning; and I continued my voyage thus until the sun began to dip behind the trees. Then, having found a secure anchorage on the slack side of the river, I made all snug for the night, and turned in soon after the darkness had set in.
As soon as the daylight appeared, I put my head out of the tilt-opening to take a look at the weather. But I very quickly drew it in again; for within a yard of my face was the massive and unlovely snout of a hippopotamus.
Recovering somewhat from the start he had given me I cautiously peered out again. The huge brute was standing in the shallow water, gazing at the canoe with a fat, stolid smile of conscious superiority that I found highly offensive, and I wished he would go away. Such, however, did not seem to be his intention; he had never seen a canoe like this before, and apparently he was making the most of the experience, for he stood motionless, with his absurd little eyes fixed on me, breathing softly like a blacksmith’s bellows, with an exasperating air of contentment.
If I hoisted my anchor, the canoe would drift right on to him, and a sudden movement on his part would be enough to send me to the bottom. It was excessively awkward, for I was anxious to start, and equally anxious to get away from his immediate neighbourhood. I thought of trying the effect of a sudden shout, but I could not tell how he would take it, and he was so very large. Presently he yawned, offering for my inspection a most remarkable collection of very yellow teeth, and I hoped he was becoming bored; but when he closed his cavernous mouth, he resumed his consideration of the canoe with unabated interest.
As he was apparently a fixture, I set about extricating myself from my unpleasant position. Putting the helm hard over and lashing it, I began to slowly haul in the cable until the canoe swung round across the current, clear of the hippopotamus. Then I dropped the sinker and pulled up the anchor, and immediately my bark began to move obliquely down stream and out into the main current.
The hippopotamus gazed regretfully at the retreating canoe, and when it had passed some distance, to my dismay, he walked into the deeper water and began to swim slowly after it. It was not long before he came abreast and passed, when he turned his head up-stream and floated down with his eyes fixed on the canoe, from which he maintained a distance of a few yards. Clearly his intentions were not hostile; but, although prompted apparently by mere curiosity, his proceedings caused me considerable uneasiness, and I continued to watch him so closely that I had drifted into a new danger without observing it.
Half-way down the reach that I had just entered, a long canoe was putting off from the bank, and the eight or nine men in her had evidently noticed my canoe, for they were standing up, staring in my direction and pointing, while they shouted to some people on the shore. As I came nearer I could see quite a considerable crowd on the bank, and it was manifest that my vessel and its strange companion were the objects of keen curiosity, for the people on the bank as well as those in the canoe gazed steadily at the approaching phenomenon. The hippopotamus floated on, stern foremost, all unconscious of the spectators, while I, crouching inside the tilt (although the rain had ceased), was concealed from view; but, as the native canoe was being poled up on the shallow side of the river, apparently with the object of intercepting my vessel, I thought it time to make my appearance. I therefore tied on my wig (the horns of which rendered it highly inconvenient inside the tilt), and as the canoe pushed off to meet me, I thrust my head out through the opening.
The first person who saw me was a man in the bow of the dug-out, and he announced his discovery by upsetting three of his companions in a frantic attempt to get to the other end of the craft, and finally falling on top of them yelling like a maniac.
For a short time, the dug-out was a scene of wild confusion, every man endeavouring to seize a pole or paddle; but she soon reached the bank and was empty in a twinkling, and when I drifted past the landing-place not a soul was in sight.
At the first outburst of noise, the hippopotamus had dived, and I now saw him near the top of the reach going up stream at a speed that filled me with envy.
The remainder of the day passed with little incident. When the rain fell, I set up the tilt and lowered the drag, and when it was fine I lowered the tilt and paddled. Once I had to unload the canoe to take her down some rapids, but this caused only a trifling delay; and by the time I let go my anchor for the night in the shelter of a sandbank, I reckoned I had travelled over sixty miles since daybreak.
The next two days saw a repetition of the experiences I have recorded above. One or two unloadings and restowings, one actual portage of a couple of hundred yards, a little paddling, and a great deal of drifting in the heavy rain, would be the principal items in my log. I saw surprisingly few people, a fact that was probably accounted for by the almost incessant rain—for the African is not more partial to getting wet than other people; nor was I troubled any more by animals until the latter half of the fifth day, when the crocodiles began to be unpleasantly numerous and of portentous size. Even these reptiles did not actually molest me, but they were very disagreeable objects to look at, under the circumstances, as they lay on the bank with their enormous jaws agape, while the little spur-winged plover ran round them and peered into the yawning cavities in search of leeches.
I turned in that night with much less feeling of security than I had hitherto experienced, for I felt that if one of these immense brutes should take it into his ugly head to climb on to the canoe, he would either capsize it or scratch a hole through the skin. But nothing untoward happened in the night, and I woke in the morning in high spirits and full of hope.
Indeed, the greater, and by far the most perilous, part of my voyage was over, for the great width of the river, as well as the time I had been on my journey, told me that the coast could not be far off; and once on the coast, was I not in the protected territory of His Britannic Majesty? In a land of incorruptible police and district commissioners without spot or wrinkle?
Up to the present there had been no opportunity for using the sail, for the river had been so shut in by the forest that the air was nearly motionless; but now the great width of the stream allowed a light breeze to steal up from the south. This was a head wind, it is true, but with my leeboards down and the swift current running to windward I could afford to sail very close, and if I gained little in speed, it was more amusing to sail than to drift. So I stepped the mast, bent the halyard on to the yard and hoisted the sail. Even in that gentle breeze the grey, wrinkled sail gave quite an encouraging pull on the sheet; and when I let down one leeboard and sailed the canoe pretty full across the river, I was delighted to see the way in which the floating rubbish slipped past her side.
Having made this trial of her speed, I put her as close to the wind as she would go, and tacked to and fro across the river; and thus made nearly as much headway as if I had been working with the paddle.
The weather was very pleasant on this morning—the sixth of my solitary voyage; showery, but bright and sunny in the intervals, and as I sat lazily grasping the tiller, I could not but note with admiration the beauty of the scene. On either bank the rich, soft foliage crowded down to the very water’s edge, an impenetrable mass of living green, while the slender trunks and branches of the great trees, snow-white in the sunlight, soaring away above the lesser vegetation, spread abroad their leafy canopies. Fantastic lianas drooped in strange festoons from tree to tree, orchids blossomed on the boughs, ferns nestled in the undergrowth, and at the margin of the river, its form faithfully repeated in the still water under the bank, the oil-palm lifted its plumy head with indescribable loveliness and grace.
It was wonderfully beautiful, this exuberant life and warm luxuriance of the forest; but I was tired of it—tired of its silence and gloom, its steamy, humid air, its vastness and its loneliness; and I longed for the hum of human life, the bustle and clamour of men at work, and the familiar voice of the sea.
Meditating thus, I tacked my little bark across and across, down the wide reaches by wooded promontories and shady bays, for a couple of hours. And then, as if in obedience to my unspoken wishes, there came a change in the scene. The lofty forest began to recede from the river, and at the water’s edge there appeared scattered clumps of bushes of a colourless sagy green. At first they were few and wide apart, but soon they drew together, creeping out into the shallows and hiding the banks, while the forest retreated farther and farther, until it vanished behind their summits.
Then all the beauty of the river was gone, and I looked upon a bare expanse of yellow water, bounded on each side by a low wall of sage-green foliage, monotonous and ugly, but yet to me most welcome.
It was the mangrove.
As I coasted inshore, peering into the gloom among the hideous, skeleton roots of this amphibious forest, I passed, now and again, the mouths of little creeks or channels that appeared to penetrate the swamp. Presently I encountered an island of mangrove, separated from the main swamp by a comparatively broad channel, and reflecting that this creek must open again into the river lower down, I thought I might take this opportunity to examine the interior of a mangrove swamp. So I lowered the sail and mast, and putting the canoe into the channel, allowed her to drift along on the current, which I now noticed had grown quite sluggish, while I tied on my wig, in case I should unexpectedly meet any of the natives.
Soon the channel grew much narrower, but as it was still open ahead, I let the canoe drift on while I looked about me and marvelled at the strangeness of the scene. The trees—if I may call them by that name—appeared to be mere confused tangles of branches, without trunks and standing upon high stilt-like roots that arched and twisted in the most astonishing manner. Moreover, fresh roots appeared, springing from the most unexpected places, some even from the very highest branches, and these dropped down as straight as a plumb-line with their round ends pointing at the water like attenuated fingers.
Before I had drifted very far, the foliage closed completely over the creek, converting it into a dim and gloomy tunnel, and producing a most extraordinary illusion; for the stillness inside the swamp was so absolute that the surface of the water was invisible, the reflections of the trees being quite continuous with the trees themselves, and the one indistinguishable from the other. Overhead was a tangle of branches and leaves, and a similar tangle appeared at an equal distance underneath, while the strange, contorted roots merged above and below into the branches. Thus, as I drifted along, I appeared to be suspended in mid-air in the axis of a large tube of foliage, and the weird, fantastic effect was not lessened when I looked overboard and was confronted by a hideous, horned apparition peering up at me from below.
Such animal life as there was, was in keeping with the ghostly unreality of the scene. Big, piebald kingfishers sat motionless and silent on the roots, with an inverted duplicate perching on the inverted roots below; and purple-bodied crabs crawled along the branches overhead, squinting horribly and seeming to grin with secret amusement at their incongruous position.
I was so much engrossed by the strangeness and novelty of my surroundings that I hardly noticed the passage of time; and I had been drifting along near upon half an hour before I realised how great a delay had been caused by my entering this creek. Then indeed I suddenly became anxious, and even thought of turning back, but reflecting that I should have to return against the current and might possibly miss my way, I decided to push on. So I took my paddle and struck out vigorously, covering the mirror-like surface with ripples and shattering the reflections into a labyrinth of waving zigzags. The canoe now slid through the tortuous tunnel at a good pace, and after traversing a half-mile or so of devious windings, I came in sight of a wide opening; and as my little craft shot through this out into the light of day, I could have shouted for joy, for straight ahead was no forest-clad bank or dingy mangrove, but an ocean-like expanse of grey water, stretching away to the horizon and beyond.
At last I was out of the river and on the great Eyi lagoon; beyond that grey horizon were the sand dunes of Appolonia; behind the sand dunes was the Sea!
My exultation received a check at the outset, although not a serious one, for I had barely emerged from the creek when I felt my paddle strike the bottom, and a minute later the canoe ran aground. The explanation was at once obvious: the still water of the mangrove swamp had allowed a mud-flat to form, and the waves of the lagoon, striking the edge of this, had enclosed it with a chain of sand-banks. No doubt there was a passage out, but as the sand-banks were but a little way ahead and I could see the small waves breaking on the farther side, it would be simpler to pull the canoe over the banks and launch her into the deep water beyond. So, taking a look round to see that no small crocodiles were lurking in the shallows, I stepped overboard and took hold of the painter. Relieved of my weight the canoe floated again, and I was able to tow her forward thirty or forty yards, when she once more took the ground. I hauled with all my strength on the painter, but could not drag her more than a few feet, and it was clear that she must be, at least, partly unloaded before I could pull her over the banks; so without more ado I lifted out a couple of bunches of manillas and ran forward with them to the nearest sand-bank, where I laid them down.
As each instalment of the cargo was removed, the canoe floated higher and could be drawn nearer to the sand-bank, and by the time she was half empty I had pulled her near enough to get her on to the rollers. To lay down the lines and set the rollers was but the work of a minute, and I now found that on the very gentle slope I could haul her along without further unloading.
The distance was quite short, and as the lines stood well on the hard sand, I soon had her over the bank and launched her into the little popple of waves on the other side. The heap of manillas—only half of my treasure—looked very precious and shining as they lay on the sand at my feet, and I realised their immense value now in a way I had never done before. But this was no time for gloating over my riches; more than half the day was gone, the broad lagoon lay before me, and I had yet to find some secure haven for the night. So I picked up the jingling bunches and stowed them in their places along the floor of the canoe, and sitting on the deck washed the mud and sand from my feet before getting into the well.
At this moment I experienced a terrible shock, for there came to my ear a single, distinct splash; and looking in the direction whence the sound seemed to come, I noticed a small creek penetrating the mangrove. It was very dark inside, but, looking at it attentively, I could just make out the blunt end of a native canoe a short distance from the entrance.
Here, at the end of my journey, my customary caution had forsaken me. I had spread out the heap of shining gold in the broad daylight in such perfect confidence in there being no onlookers, that I had taken not the slightest precaution. And there could hardly be any doubt that my treasure had been seen, although the occupant of the canoe was invisible to me. It was more than provoking, for it might mean disaster, and as I stepped the mast and pushed off from the shore, I cursed my folly in making so unpardonable a slip.
But when once the sail was up and the leeboard down I felt more comfortable, for a fine fresh breeze blew in from the sea, and the canoe thrashed through the water at a pace that gave me confidence in her powers. In a few minutes the shore was well astern, and I began to hug myself with the belief that the occupant of the native canoe was only some harmless fisherman gathering oysters from the mangrove roots. But, from time to time, my eyes wandered uneasily to the opening of the creek, until presently I saw the canoe emerge and, coasting rapidly down inside the sand-banks, pass through some opening out into the lagoon.
There was one man in the canoe and, oyster-gatherer as he probably was, his appearance suggested something less unsophisticated than a common fisherman, for he wore a velvet smoking-cap and a jacket and trousers of coloured cotton—habiliments that seemed to savour of the native trader or “scholar man.”
As soon as he had gained the open lagoon, he headed his craft straight into my wake, and the energy and purpose with which he plied his pole left me in little doubt that he was following me; from which two unpleasant corollaries might be deduced, viz. that he had seen the gold, and that he cared not a fig for my horns and beard, having detected the white man under the disguise.
Soon the water grew too deep for his pole and he had to take to the paddle, much to my satisfaction—for the paddle is a comparatively feeble appliance for driving a large heavy dug-out—and as a result, he soon began to fall astern; but he worked with a will, and soon I saw that I should have great difficulty in shaking him off.
The behaviour of my canoe gave me unbounded satisfaction. She bore her sail well, and would have carried more with ease, even in this fresh breeze; her speed was fully up to my expectations, and, with her leeboard down, she made hardly any leeway. She was quite dry, too, although the lagoon was very choppy, and the sharp, hollow waves struck her with great force; but I was glad I had put a high coaming round the well, for the water splashed freely across the deck.
It was greatly against me in the race with my unknown pursuer that I knew next to nothing of the locality and that I had no settled destination, for had I only had some refuge to make for, I could have drawn ahead of him without difficulty. As it was, my goal was the south shore of the lagoon, which I knew ran parallel to the sea shore, but how wide was the strip of land separating the lagoon from the sea, I could not tell. It might be a few hundred yards or it might be several miles.
I had not been sailing very long before a few scattered cocoa-nut palms appeared above the horizon ahead and soon the south shore was well in sight, running apparently due east and west; and as the wind blew from the south-west, I had to sail pretty close-hauled to head due south, in which, however, I was assisted by the current from the river, which ran sluggishly to the west.
As I approached the shore, I rapidly turned over the alternatives it presented. I could go about and sail due west towards Assiní, where there was a European Station—French, I believed. But Assiní was a long way off—from twenty to thirty miles—and I should have to sail all night in unknown waters to reach it, while my pursuer would certainly follow with reinforcements. Then I could go straight on shore and investigate; or lastly, I could sail eastward with the wind and look for a suitable place to land.
I chose the last plan, as it gave me the advantage of a fair wind, and when I had come within a few hundred yards of the shore I turned sharply to the east and ran along at fine speed in the smooth water, with my sheet well out.
The appearance of the shore was not encouraging. The longed-for boom of the surf was indeed audible, but it sounded a long way off, as if a wide stretch of land lay between me and the sea; and straight ahead, at a distance of a few miles, a headland jutted out far into the lagoon.
Just as I was beginning to despair of getting to the sea, I opened a small bay, at the head of which a rather wide creek could be seen, winding away in a southerly direction. Without a moment’s hesitation I put down my helm and, heading up the bay, entered the creek. It appeared to be a temporary or recent opening through the land, probably caused by the overflow of the lagoon at the first burst of the rains, for its banks were destitute of vegetation and covered with shingle; and I was in momentary dread of coming to the end of it, especially as I noticed that the water was quite still and stagnant.
Finding the creek too narrow to sail in, I lowered the sail and mast and took to the pole, with which I drove the canoe rapidly through the sinuous channel, my hopes rising as reach after reach was passed. But the banks gradually closed in, and the water grew shallower until presently an ominous grating sensation told me that the keel was on the bottom, and the next moment the canoe stopped dead.
I was now among a range of old grass-covered sand dunes, and the hollow throb of the surf seemed close at hand, so, leaping ashore, I ran up one of the dunes and looked south. But a few hundred yards away was a bare and open beach with the snowy surf and the blue ocean beyond; a mile to the west a small cluster of huts marked a fishing village, but not a creature was in sight.
Turning my gaze northward, I swept the wide expanse of lagoon. On all that great stretch of water I could see but a single human figure—that of my pursuer, poling furiously (for he was now in the shallows), and just entering the bay.
I ran quickly along the dwindling creek to its termination among the sand-hills. From the foot of the dunes a level space of loose, blown sand extended for a couple of hundred yards, then the actual beach sloped down pretty steeply right into the surf.
If it had not been for this fellow who was dogging me so suspiciously, my task would have been simple enough—until I launched into the surf; and for a moment the idea of ridding myself of this enemy by a thrust of my spear crossed my mind. But instantly dismissing it, I set about unloading the canoe with all speed. There was no time to make any arrangements for carrying the gold; I could only take up a pair of bunches in each hand and stagger off with them to the foot of the sand-hills, drop them there and return for more. But this took up a considerable time, besides being very fatiguing, and I had only made five journeys when, as I returned, I saw the velvet-capped head of my pursuer over the land, zigzagging along the next reach but one.
By this time my canoe was well afloat again, so catching the painter I ran off, towing her after me, and got her nearly a hundred yards before she went aground again. As she did so, the dug-out suddenly appeared round the bed of the creek, and the man, pole in hand, jumped ashore and ran up into the sand-hills, where he disappeared.
Whether he was hiding to spy on me, or was preparing to take me unawares, it was evidently impossible to continue the unloading, and I was inclined to take the offensive and pursue him; but time was pressing, for the afternoon was well advanced, so I got out my lines and holding two of them on the bottom with my feet, pushed a roller under the canoe’s fore-foot. With some difficulty I dragged her forward a little distance, and then slipped another roller under, and so managed to haul her right on to the rails, and when she was fairly on the rollers, I drew her along quite easily, a good deal of the weight being still borne by the water. I had pulled her along some distance when I noticed a large shell on the bottom, and thinking this might cut her skin, I stooped quickly to pick it up. As I did so, a big stone whizzed past, a few inches above my head. Had I been standing upright I should have been knocked senseless.
This sort of thing would not do, at any rate, I thought, so snatching my catapult, stone-bag and spear from the canoe, I ran to a sand-hill opposite the one from which the missile had appeared to come, and creeping up it, crouched behind a high tussock of reedy grass. For nearly a minute my antagonist remained invisible. Then a head was warily advanced from behind the shoulder of the hill and slowly followed by the body.
I fitted a good sized stone into my catapult and waited. Finding that I made no sign, he crept farther forward, and I saw that he held a large stone in one hand and a reserve of similar ones in the other. Suddenly I perceived that he was about to fling a stone at the canoe, possibly to draw me from my concealment; which it did, for I instantly let fly the pebble from my catapult, hitting him on the bone of the elbow; and as he leaped to his feet with a howl of rage, I caught up my spear and charged down the slope at him. Before he could recover himself I was so near that further dodging was out of the question, and he turned tail and ran for his life down the sand-hills and out on to the sandy flat, while I followed at his heels shouting like a Bedlamite. But I could not waste time in pursuit, so I stopped and taking careful aim, sent another pebble after him, which struck him a very audible rap on the back of his head, making him run even faster; and I continued to take shots at him (lest he should irresolutely turn back) until he took to the wet beach, and was evidently going off for assistance.
Returning to the canoe, I continued the work of hauling her along, and managed without much difficulty until I came to the end of the creek, and laid my lines on the soft, blown sand, when I found it necessary to lighten her further.
A little more than half the gold was now unshipped, and in this trim I was able to haul the canoe, foot by foot, across the level sand flat; but it was slow work, since the lines and rollers had to be continually shifted forward, and it seemed a long time before the shore was reached. At last, however, I had the satisfaction of giving the final push that sent the canoe’s bow clear of the little cliff where the blown sand was undermined by the wash of the surf, and was able to set a pair of lines on the hard sand of the beach.
What little tide there is on the West Coast of Africa seemed to be full, for when the canoe had rolled down a single length of the lines, her forward half was on the wet sand, and washed by the edge of each wave that rushed up the steep slope of the beach. Further than this I could not lower her until she was loaded, as the breaking water would have lifted her and thrown her broadside on to the shore.
All this time I kept a sharp look-out up and down the beach, but the solitude was still unbroken save by the solitary figure of my assailant, which had now dwindled to a mere speck in the distance, and seemed to be close to the fishing hamlet.
Having removed all the rollers but the middle one (so that the canoe should not run away down the beach), I made my first journey to the sand-hills, bringing back with me four bunches of manillas, which I stowed and tied in their places—for it would be madness to venture into the surf with this ponderous cargo unsecured. Then I returned for a fresh load, and as I crossed the flat, noted that my enemy had disappeared into the village. The transport of this quantity of gold over so great a distance was a rather formidable task, and could not be got over quickly. Four bunches of manillas represented about eighty pounds, and there were some thirty bunches on the sand-hills.
As I toiled over the soft, blown sand with my fourth load I observed with some alarm, but little surprise, a number of black specks issuing from the village. My friend was returning with reinforcements.
The village was but a mile distant, and I had yet four more loads to carry. It looked as if I should have to leave some of my spoil behind, and as I ran panting to the sand-hills and tottered back, sweating under my burden, I watched with growing anxiety the increasing size of the spots of darkness on the yellow beach.
By the time I had stowed the seventh instalment, the spots had clearly resolved themselves into figures advancing at a rapid run, and I debated for an instant whether I should not abandon the three bunches that remained. Only for an instant, however. Greed and reluctance to leave sixty pounds weight of good yellow gold to these thieving rascals settled the question, and for the last time I raced across the loose sand. Catching up the three bunches, I set out for the beach at a kind of stumbling trot, and as I appeared from behind the sand-hills, the approaching party saw me, and burst into a shout.
Then followed a mad race for the canoe.
The natives came on, kicking up clouds of sand in their furious haste, shouting and brandishing long knives; while I, panting and sweating, with my heart pounding like a steam-hammer, staggered forward jingling like a team of sleigh-horses.
At last I reached the canoe, and, flinging in the manillas, threw down the second pair of lines ahead, stood on them that they should not wash away, and slipping a roller under the forefoot of the canoe, dragged her on to it. Instantly she began to move forward with such weight that I could hardly hold her back. But the waves were, for the moment, small, and barely reached over my ankles; so I slipped another roller under her stem, and eased her slightly forward.
A glance to seaward showed me a great comber just about to break. A glance ashore revealed a dozen men, not a hundred yards distant, racing wildly forward, shouting and flourishing knives and matchets. A boom from the sea and a yell from the land came simultaneously to my ears. The wave had broken, and its shattered fragments came driving forward in a snowy, roaring avalanche, but so slowly, that the men were almost upon me before I felt it boil up around my feet.
Then I let go, and the canoe rumbled down with gathering momentum, and as her bow plunged into the foam, I leaped into the well and snatched up the paddle. With such weight did she fly down the slope, that she hardly checked when she met the on-rushing flood, but swam clear into the seething brine, and moved steadily forward. The men were close behind, and I could hear them splashing into the water as I wildly plied my paddle.
The water paused in its movement for a few brief seconds, and I waited to know my fate. Then, with a resounding roar, the great mass swept back in the undertow, hurling the canoe forward with breathless velocity. I had just time to pull the apron round me when there came a crashing shock, a thump on my chest, and a blinding cataract of spray. She had dived into the recoil wave, and for a moment I thought she had gone under; but as the water streamed off my face, I saw that her weight had carried her through the wave.
Breathless as I was, I plied my paddle vigorously to avoid being flung back on to the beach, and steered cautiously towards the surf.
Another great comber had rolled in, and the pile of foaming water was sweeping inshore, looking very high and threatening from my position. I put the canoe straight on to it, and got up what speed I could, expecting such a sousing as I had just had; but she was now on an even keel, and her weight was mostly stowed amidships, so when the great mass of water struck her she merely flung her bows up into the air, and sent a fountain of spray on either side. I continued to paddle cautiously forward towards the line of breaking waves until I was as near as I dared to go; then I waited for the interval that comes periodically in the surf, and only paddled enough to hold my ground, whilst the broken water struck me blow after blow, and tended to sweep me inshore.
At length, as a great wave curled over and burst with a dull explosion, I looked over the wall of foam, and could see no following crest.
Now was my time, while the brief lull lasted, and digging the paddle deep into the water, I charged straight forward at the advancing wall of foam. As I met it, the canoe nearly stood on end, and the spray flew up in a cloud, but the ballast prevented me from being thrown back, and as the bubbling water swept past, I paddled for my life. If I failed to dodge the surf now I must inevitably be swamped.
As I drew near the main line of the surf, the brief lull came to an end, and I saw a huge wave sweeping towards me, growing higher as it approached, like a moving mountain. Onward it came, all in a tremble, rearing its colossal bulk above me until I could see the sky through its green crest. Then a spot of white appeared on its summit with a hissing murmur; the edge began to turn over, and as the canoe soared upward, the murmur swelled into a roar. In the midst of a blinding cloud of spray I felt the canoe check and begin to turn, and with the energy of despair I plied my paddle to keep her head to the sea.
For an instant my fate hung trembling in the balance, but a moment later the full explosion of the bursting wave boomed from just astern, and the canoe sank into the rear hollow.
But I was not yet safe, for my bark had been thrown back some distance, and I dug my paddle viciously into the water as I struggled to regain my place. Another immense wave came rolling in shorewards, and as the canoe flew upward with a velocity that took away my breath, the crest crumbled into foam, and blinded me with a shower of spray. But it held the canoe only for a moment, and then I slid down the back of the wave. A dozen more strokes of the paddle carried me out of immediate peril, for the next wave, though it towered above me in a most terrifying manner, only whisked me up into the sky, and dropped me on its farther side, without so much as a sprinkle of spray. I was safely through the surf, and when I had paddled for yet a few minutes more, to get a proper offing (for this was a lee shore), I ventured to look about me, and to see how my late pursuers were faring.
I could only see the beach at intervals, when I was lifted on the shoreward face or summit of a wave, and when I looked at the place whence I had put off, my pursuers were nowhere to be seen. It was only when I turned my gaze westward, towards the village, that I made out a constellation of black specks on the beach near to it. And then I saw something else. Another group of moving specks surrounded some larger object, with which they were moving towards the sea. The villagers were launching a fishing canoe, and I could have little doubt of their object.
The pursuit was not over yet.
As soon as I realised this, I lost no time in getting my mast stepped, and the halyard bent on to the yard, and, having done this, I lowered the port leeboard and the drop-rudder, and hoisted the sail.
The breeze that was blowing outside here was fresher than that on the lagoon, and, although the high waves partly becalmed the sail at times, the sheet pulled sturdily, and I could tell by the pressure of the tiller that my craft was slipping through the sea at a good pace. In spite of all her buffeting, she had taken in practically no water, thanks to the apron, and now she was going perfectly dry, for the big ocean waves on which she rose and fell were far easier than the quick, choppy waters of the lagoon.
When she was fairly under sail, I turned the canoe’s head obliquely out to sea, heading in a south-easterly direction, thus keeping the wind a little free; and having put her on her course, again turned my attention to my pursuers. From time to time I could catch a glimpse of them, and noticed that they looked smaller each time. I saw them launch their canoe from the beach, and watched its protracted struggles as it dodged and waited for the dangerous surf. But at last, after several trials and failures, it shot through, and fairly started in pursuit.
Meanwhile the afternoon had merged into evening. The cloudy horizon took on a coppery glow; and I had hardly seen the pursuing canoe head into my wake before the brief twilight faded, and left the sea in darkness.
To a small craft like mine, a passage by sea on a dark night is ordinarily an adventure full of peril and anxiety, and eye and ear must be constantly strained to catch the gleam of approaching lights or the warning throb of a propeller.
But in the lonely waters of the Gulf of Guinea there is—at any rate at this season of the year—only one great danger—the surf-bound shore; and the navigator who keeps a good offing and attends to the lead, has little to fear.
Hence, as I crouched in the well with my few rags drawn round me for warmth, I steered forward quite confidently, although I could not see a hundred yards ahead, for I had laid my course obliquely off the land, and, even making a liberal allowance for leeway, I must be drawing pretty rapidly out to sea.
I had, indeed, no compass, nor was any star visible in the black vault, but I could feel the wind and the run of the sea, and these I knew to be constant enough to steer by quite safely. So I sailed on, rising and falling easily on the great round swell, enjoying a strange and novel sense of security; for ahead of me were no unknown rapids or cataracts, no sunken rocks or hidden snags, but only a waste of waters on which the morning light might show some friendly sail.
As to my pursuers, I had almost forgotten them. They had certainly put off to follow me, but I had so long a start that I felt no fear of their overtaking me, and thought it probable that they had already given up the pursuit and put back.
When I had been sailing—as I judged—a little over an hour, the moon struggled faintly through the clouds in the west, illuminating the sky around and throwing a broad, unsteady wake of light. And right in the middle of the wake, far away and small, but quite sharp and distinct, I could see the black silhouette of the pursuing canoe, and could even make out the paddles, rising and falling with machine-like regularity.
My confidence was shattered at a blow, for, far away as the canoe appeared, it had shortened considerably the distance that at first separated us. The chase bid fair to be a long one, and I might even tire out my pursuers; but I knew the strength and endurance of the Gold Coast canoe-men, and my hopes declined once more.
The moon soon sank below the horizon, and the pursuing craft was again invisible in the darkness; but I knew she was there and that she was creeping slowly up to me, and I looked often and anxiously into the obscurity astern, although, of course, I could see nothing. I turned over several plans of escape, but rejected them all. I thought of changing my course by going closer to the wind on the chance that the canoe-men might miss me in the darkness, and I even considered lowering my sail to render my vessel still more difficult to see, and then paddling straight out to sea. But I had so often had proof of the amazing keenness of eyesight of African natives—especially of their ability to see in almost complete darkness—that I did not trust either of these plans, and they would both greatly diminish my speed.
On the other hand, if I turned more off the wind I should sail faster, but then I might easily run ashore in the darkness; so, in the end, I decided to hold on as I was going, and trust to tiring out the canoe-men before they could overtake me, or fighting them when they did.
Some little time had elapsed since the setting of the moon had hidden my enemies from my sight, when a faint sound from astern made me prick up my ears. Presently it was repeated, and I now clearly distinguished voices—probably raised in altercation, but too distant to be intelligible. Clearly the canoe was overhauling me, and I listened intently to try if I could make out the thud of the paddles. It was not yet audible, and the voices had now died away; but even as I was listening, I was startled by a new sound that broke out loud and clear in the stillness of the dark sea—a sound that instantly revived my drooping hopes.
It was an accordion, raucously blurting out the rollicking air of “Finnigan’s Wake.”
I peered about me in astonishment, but the darkness around was impenetrable, until I lifted the boom and looked out under the foot of the sail; then my heart bounded with joy, for out of the obscurity shone a bright red light that sent a wavering thread of reflection along the surface of the water.
A sailing vessel was approaching me on the opposite tack and the glimmer of her port light must have been visible for some time (for she was quite near now) but had been hidden from me by my sail; and but for that unmelodious instrument I might not have seen her until she had passed out of hail.
I instantly put up my helm and sheered down towards her, and as the light shone straight over my bows, I raised my voice in a mighty shout.
“Oh! the ship ahoy!”
The accordion stopped abruptly and I listened for an answer, but, as none came, I hailed again.
“Ship ahoy!”
“Hallo!” shouted a voice in return.
“Heave-to and pick us up,” I sang out.
“Who are you?” demanded the invisible speaker.
“Shipwrecked seaman!” I bellowed at the top of my voice.
“Where away?” inquired the other.
“On your port bow,” I replied; and immediately I heard the voice—presumably that of the look-out—repeating my answer to the officer of the watch.
In a few seconds a new voice hailed me.
“Boat ahoy!”
“Hallo!” I roared.
“I’m going to heave-to. Come alongside as sharp as you can.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” I answered, and I certainly felt no temptation to dawdle under the circumstances.
The red light grew rapidly brighter, and soon there loomed above it in the darkness a great shape of deeper shade, which, as I approached, took on the definite outline of the masts and sails of a brig. She was hove-to with the fore-topsail aback, but was moving slowly forward.
I lowered my sail and ran alongside just as a rope ladder was tumbled over about amidships, and to the rope side of this I immediately made fast my painter with a “fisherman’s bend” so that the canoe should not pull adrift.
“He’s alongside, sir,” a voice reported to the officer, who immediately sang out—
“Swing the yards and sheet home the foresail.”
There was a tramp of feet followed by the squeak of parrel and sheave, and the flapping of canvas, and then the voice of the officer sounded from above:
“Come, tumble up, my man; I’ve got under way.”
“One moment, sir, while I make all fast,” I replied, for I was just lowering and securing my mast.
When I had done this, I lashed the tiller over a little to give the canoe a cast off from the vessel, so that she should tow clear without bumping, and then I secured the well cover, as she would splash a good deal while towing, and might take in a serious amount of water.
“Now then!” shouted the officer impatiently, “are you going to be all night there? Here, give me the lantern and let’s have a look at him.”
I hauled on the painter and got on to the ladder, up which I ran nimbly. As my head came above the bulwark rail, a lantern flashed full in my face, and a startled voice exclaimed—
“Good God!”
The lantern was slapped down on the deck, there was a stamping of feet, and with a simultaneous bang, the forecastle scuttle and the doors of the companion hatch were slammed to. When I recovered from the blinding glare of the lantern and looked around, the deck was deserted.
I was struck dumb with amazement, but there was no time to marvel at this astonishing conduct of the ship’s company. The pursuing canoe must be close up by now, and I must look to the safety of my treasure.
Running across the deck, I looked out over the lee rail. The fishing canoe could be dimly seen a little distance away on the lee-bow, turning round and evidently making ready either to cross our bows or run alongside under our lee, and her crew were hailing the brig lustily. Now my canoe was towing on the weather side, so it was important that the pursuers should be prevented from crossing our bows, or they might dash alongside, cut my painter, and be off with the freighted canoe towards the shore, whither we could not follow them. So I took hold of the deserted wheel and put the helm a little up, bringing the brig back on her course (for she was nearly broaching-to); I then kept it up so that she fell off a little more, and so headed straight for the fishing-canoe.
By this manœuvre I not only ascertained beforehand which side the fishermen intended to board us, but left myself the means of dodging them on either side; for if they crossed our bows I could up helm and run before the wind, leaving them on the weather quarter, and luffing back gradually as they fell astern; while if they tried to run alongside under our lee, I could luff suddenly and leave them on the lee quarter.
As soon as the brig headed towards them, they backed a stroke or two, showing that they intended to board us on the lee-side, as is usual. I kept the helm a little up, edging imperceptibly more off the wind, and they continued to back their paddles to keep clear of the advancing vessel. As the brig approached them, they began to paddle forward to run alongside, but at this moment I jammed the helm hard up, and the brig swung round and charged straight at the canoe. The terrified fishermen, howling with fear, backed frantically for their lives to escape the on-rushing bows that towered above them, and in the midst of their confusion, I spun the wheel round in the opposite direction, putting the helm hard down. The brig immediately came round on to her course, presenting her stern to the fishermen, who must now have grasped the object of the manœuvre, for they paddled furiously in a wild effort to get alongside. But they were too late. They were now dead astern of the brig and travelling only half as fast, and before I could fairly get my breath, the darkness had hidden them from view.
All this time I had been conscious of confused noises and smothered mutterings from the companion hatch, and now the doors cautiously opened, revealing a huddle of heads standing black against the light that streamed up from the cabin.
“Mother of God!” exclaimed a hushed and awestricken voice. “He’s steering the ship! and phwhere will we be bound for, I’d like to know?”
Suddenly a loud familiar voice broke out from below:
“Now, what’s all this damned nonsense you’re talking. Here, let me come.” And as the heads were withdrawn, the companion doors flew open and a bulky form arose from the hatch.
Half-way up, however, it stopped abruptly, and I heard it hoarsely ejaculate:
“Great snakes!”
“Isn’t it the truth I was tellin’ ye, sorr?” asked a voice from below.
There was silence for a moment, and then the man in the companion demanded in a stern but shaky voice—
“Who’s that at the wheel?”
“Shoore anny fool can see who it is,” murmured the voice from below.
“It’s I, Captain Bithery,” I replied. “Your old purser, Richard Englefield.”
“Englefield!” exclaimed Bithery incredulously. “Then all I’ve got to say is that you’ve most damnably altered for the worse since I saw you last.”
He emerged slowly from the companion and stepped sideways across the deck, keeping his face towards me, until he came to the lantern, which he picked up and held above his head, advancing towards me with the extremest caution and a singular scowl of terrified suspicion on his face.
I gazed at him in blank amazement until it suddenly flashed upon me that I was still wearing my horned wig; when, with a shout of laughter, I untied the beard and, tearing off the hideous adornment, flung it down upon the deck.
“Good God, Englefield!” ejaculated Bithery, “what an awful start you gave me. What, in the name of fortune, induced you to come aboard in these devil’s trappings? You’ve frightened the ship’s company into fits.”
“I’m really very sorry, Captain,” said I, wiping away a tear with the back of my hand. “The fact is, I have only just escaped from the natives, and I had quite forgotten my ‘character costume.’ ”
“Well, Moloney’s not likely to forget it in a hurry,” responded Bithery, with one of his dear old familiar lopsided grins. “He was going round his rosary like a sprinter at Lillie Bridge when I came through the cabin. Here, Moloney!” he shouted, “it’s only Mr. Englefield. Come up and have a look at him.”
“Oi’ll see the gintleman in the morning,” replied Moloney faintly from the cabin; on which the skipper chuckled and invited me to come below.
“We can’t leave the wheel,” said I.
“No, that’s true,” replied Bithery, and catching up the lantern, he ran forward and pushed back the forecastle scuttle.
“Come up out of that, you infernal fools!” he bawled.
A man popped his head up through the opening and looked round the deck.
“Is he gone, sir?” he asked anxiously.
“Gone!” roared Bithery. “Why, you confounded idiot, it’s my old purser come aboard.”
“Dam funny-looking purser,” remarked the man, without offering to come up any further.
Hereupon the Captain entered into a brief explanation, and the men emerged one by one and reluctantly followed him down the deck.
“Whose trick at the wheel?” demanded Bithery.
“Bob Gummer’s, sir,” replied the men cheerfully, in chorus, and they immediately retreated forward, leaving the unfortunate Gummer standing alone.
“Take the wheel, Gummer,” said the Captain, and, as the man seemed unwilling, he added sharply—
“Catch hold of it, man! It won’t bite you.”
As I let go the spokes, and the alarmed Gummer took charge (on the opposite side of the wheel), Bithery again suggested that we should go below.
“I must unload my canoe first,” I said.
“Oh, hang your canoe,” replied the Captain. “Come and have some grub.”
“But I’ve got about half a ton of gold in her,” said I.
“Half a ton of gold!” ejaculated the skipper. “Are you mad or are you joking?”
“Neither,” I replied. “The fact is, I struck a fetish hoard and got off with part of it, and that’s the reason I appeared in that striking make-up.”
“Do you really mean it, Englefield? Half a ton! My eye!”
He ran to the bulwark and looked over at the canoe towing alongside; then he lifted up his voice in a lusty shout:
“All hands stand by to bout ship!”
That shout broke the spell that had lain upon the brig since my arrival. The afterguard came bundling out of the companion, the seamen ran to their stations by sheets and braces, and the steersman spun the wheel until its spokes were invisible.
“Helm’s a-lee!” roared Bithery.
The thunder of flapping canvas, mingled with the stamping of feet, filled the deck with noise and confusion, above which presently rose trumpet-like the voice of the skipper:
“Topsail haul!”
More thumping of sails and squealing of blocks, until the main-topsail filled and the brig drew off on the starboard tack.
“Shorten sail and heave the brig to, Mr. Jobling,” said the skipper. “Mr. Englefield has some heavy stuff to unload from his canoe; and we shall want a dozen kernel bags.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Jobling; and recognising me for the first time, he exclaimed, “How d’ye do, Mr. Englefield?” and then added, “Good Lord! You are an ugly-looking beggar!”
The remark, if over candid, was not, I fear, without truth; for as I stood there, naked but for my kilt, emaciated, dirty, with a half-grown beard and a bristly poll, my appearance must have been unprepossessing in the extreme; and perhaps Bob Gummer was less unreasonable than I had at first thought him.
As soon as the canvas had been reduced and the brig hove-to, I took a couple of kernel bags and went down the ladder. Throwing back the well cover, I crawled in under the canoe’s deck and dragged a pair of bunches of manillas from the forward part of the cargo into the well; and as I was stuffing them into a bag, the skipper came down the ladder with a rope having a pair of sharp hooks spliced into an eye at the end.
“I’ve passed this through a snatch block above,” he explained; “but you had better follow each bag up the ladder, in case of accidents.”
I stuck the hooks through the neck of the strong canvas bag and gave the word to hoist, and as the first instalment went up I followed, holding on to it, until it swung in over the rail.
The skipper soon reappeared and was evidently greatly excited, for he came scuttling down the ladder, and leaning over the well, exclaimed—
“It’s all right, Englefield, they’re the right stuff. By gum! But you’ve struck it rich this time, and no mistake. It pays to be a lunatic.”
I had another bag ready by now, and the skipper convoyed this to the deck, sending down a couple of empty bags on the hooks.
So the unloading went on, the skipper’s wonder and delight increasing as bag after bag went aloft.
“You ought to see the stuff, my boy,” he chuckled when twenty-four had been trans-shipped. “I’ve stowed it on the lower bunk in the spare berth that you are to have. It’s a sight, I can tell you; reminds me of the Arabian Nights or the vaults of the Bank of England. Are these hooks secure? All right; heave up!” and away went number twenty-five over the rail.
The twenty-ninth was a light load with only one bunch in it, and this was the last of the cargo. As it vanished inboard, I drew up the drop-rudder and ascended the ladder.
“Is it all out?” asked the Captain, popping up out of the companion like a Jack-in-the-box.
“The cargo is all out,” I answered. “There is only the canoe to hoist in.”
“You don’t want the canoe, do you?” said Bithery. “Why not send her adrift?”
“I couldn’t do it, Captain,” I replied. “She’s as much to me as the Lady Jane is to you. You’ll understand when I spin you the yarn.”
“Very well,” said the skipper. “Get the canoe hoisted on deck, Mr. Jobling;” and the mate, with a gang of hands, got to work with such will that, in a few minutes, I had the satisfaction of seeing the trusty little craft, that had brought me through so many dangers, reposing peacefully on the deck.
“Where did you get this canoe, Englefield?” asked Bithery, sniffing round her with a puzzled air. “I didn’t know they made this sort of craft in these parts. I’ve seen nothing but dug-outs.”
“I built her myself,” I replied; “built her of bark and branches in the forest;” whereupon the skipper seized me by the arm and dragged me to the companion.
“Come below and pitch us the yarn,” said he. “I am in the humour to believe anything, and my flesh is beginning to creep in anticipation.”
So I went below, and having been furnished with a country cloth, put it on toga-wise, when I looked, as Bithery remarked, “like a Roman Emperor—a rather dirty one,” and thus sat down at the table.
How sumptuous the cabin looked, with its polished wood, its red silk curtains, its swinging lamp, and the white cloth, and glittering table appointments! Quite spacious, too, after my tiny lair on the island. But I am afraid my attention was principally concentrated on the eatables—the ox tongue, the boiled fowls, the yellow Canary potatoes, and other unfamiliar delicacies, at which I found myself glaring with wolfish enjoyment.
“My eye, Englefield,” exclaimed the Captain, as I sent up my plate for the fourth time, “you’ve got a pretty good twist on you. You won’t be long filling out at this rate.”
“How are the Pereiras?” I asked, disregarding his remark.
“Mister or Miss?” he inquired, eyeing me sideways, like a parrot examining a doubtful banana.
“Both,” I replied.
“Why, the fact is,” said he, “they have been worried to death about you. You see, there were all sorts of unpleasant rumours that seem to have reached them, I don’t quite know how, and made them very anxious and miserable; and then, only last week, we all got a very nasty knock. A fellow at Cape Coast (one of Miller Brothers’ people) bought a gold watch from some natives from the interior and he showed it to me. I noticed a Ramsgate jeweller’s name on the dial, and what I took to be your initials on the back—but you know what these infernal monograms are, all scrolls and flummery—so I bought it and showed it to Pereira, and he knew it at once. We couldn’t find out where the natives got it from, but there it was; and it so upset the Pereiras that they made up their minds to fit out an expedition and go up country to make inquiries.”
“You don’t mean that Pereira was going himself?”
“My impression was that they were both going. They seemed to think that you might be hung up somewhere in the interior, and that it might be possible to get you away by purchase or ransom. However, you seem to have ransomed yourself pretty completely.”
“Where are you bound now?” I asked with some anxiety.
“I was bound to Grand Bassam (I left Axim late this afternoon), but I was only going to look for chance cargo. I shall give up the trip now, and as soon as we have got enough offing to clear Cape Three Points, I shall put her nose straight for Quittáh. Mr. Jobling!” he bawled through the open skylight.
“Sir!” said the mate, taking a bird’s-eye view of the cabin through the opening.
“How’s her head, Mr. Jobling?”
“South by east a quarter east, sir,” replied the mate.
“Put her east by south and set the stu’nsails, and let me know when you see the light on Cape Three Points.”
The mate repeated the order and vanished, and I could soon feel by the altered motion of the vessel that we were heading east.
As soon as the table was cleared, and the spirits and cigars set on it, the Captain mixed a glass of grog, lit a cigar, and settled himself in a corner of the cushioned locker with the air of a man who is about to be entertained. The second mate had turned in and the mate was on deck, so we had the cabin to ourselves.
“Now, my boy,” said the Captain, “let’s have the yarn from the beginning.”
After all my exertions and the enormous meal I had made, I should have preferred to idle away the evening and turn in early; but the skipper’s curiosity had to be satisfied, so I plunged into the narrative of my adventures without preamble.
The account which I gave him was necessarily sketchy and condensed, but even so, eight bells had been struck and the watch changed before he rose to see me to my berth.
“You see I’ve covered the gold up for to-night,” he said, as he shook me by the hand. “To-morrow morning I will let you have an empty chest to stow it away in.”
I turned back the covering and gazed complacently at the glittering mass spread out on the bunk, and putting no little strain on its stout oak bottom. Fortune had favoured me at last. I was a rich man, and if only I prospered as well in the adventure that lay before me, I felt that I should indeed be a happy one.
The whole of the next day we sailed parallel to the coast, and some twenty miles off the land; and as the brig sped on with all her flying kites abroad and the good Guinea current helping her along, I paced the deck with a buoyant heart, resplendent in one of Jobling’s white drill suits, and washed and shaven as became a civilised man of fortune.
By sunset we were well past Winnebah; before I turned in, the lights of the shipping in Accra roadstead were visible; and when I came on deck at daybreak, the low shore was full in sight and the roaring surf of Adda was under our lee. I looked shorewards at the spouting breakers with solemn interest, for that snowy surf marked the mouth of the great Firráo (or Volta) River, whose upper waters I had crossed so recently, a fettered captive, fresh from the horrors of the mine. And then I thought of the rascally Salifu and of honest Isaaku and his family, friends and foes now scattered abroad in the great continent; and of poor Aminé, so tender, so loving and so true, sleeping under her cairn in the lonely forest. And so I grew pensive and sad, while I watched the dreary shore of the Bight of Benin creep along the horizon until Cape St. Paul lay well on our quarter.
Then indeed I roused from my melancholy with a sudden burst of joyous anticipation; for the skipper had turned every rag out of the flag locker and was covering the brig from deck to truck with bunting.
A German steamer tugged at her anchor ahead; busy surf-boats crawled to and fro like many-legged beetles; and plain on our port bow were the white roofs and soft green palms of Quittáh.
The Lady Jane glided up the bay, taking in sail as she went; and as square after square of creamy white canvas was gathered up into wrinkled festoons, the men began to crowd out on to the yards, and the hoarsely-carolled strains of “Old Horse” and “Paddy Doyle” mingled with the music of running rigging. As the brig opened out the whitewashed fort from behind the trees, she slewed up into the wind; the report of the little brass gun on the poop rang out sharply, and the chain thundered out through the hawse-pipe.
No sooner was the anchor fairly down than the Captain commenced to spy inquisitively at the shore through his telescope, which he steadied against a shroud; nor were his observations long without result, for after about ten minutes’ spying he suddenly beckoned to me.
“Pereira’s boat has put off,” said he; “I know her by her white paint.”
“Is anyone coming with her?” I asked nervously.
“I can’t see yet—Yes I can, by Jove!—Yes, the old man’s on board; I can make out his black coat and topper.”
“No one else?”
“No, I can’t see anybody else. No, there’s only one chair in the boat, and the old man’s sitting in it.”
I drew a breath of relief.
I should have been sorry for my first meeting with Isabel to take place in public, for my position with regard to her was one of some delicacy and difficulty. That she loved me I had little doubt; but yet, since I had spoken no word to her, I could not take her love for granted, especially after so long an absence, and I looked to our first meeting to put an end to my suspense.
Bithery handed me the telescope, which I levelled at the approaching surf-boat. Already the quaint figure of my old friend was clearly distinguishable in his queer habiliments, and I could see him scrutinizing the brig with the aid of a binocular. As the boat came nearer, I leaped on to the rail and stood holding on by a backstay and waving my cap—or rather Jobling’s. He recognised me almost at once, for I saw him stand up and wave his hat in response, sitting down again with some suddenness as the boat gave a lurch.
As the surf-boat swept alongside he made a snatch at the ladder, and was on deck in a twinkling, fairly falling into my arms as he came over the rail.
“Now God be praised that I have been spared to see this day!” he exclaimed, in a voice that shook with agitation, “this blessed day that I had ceased to hope for.”
He stood, holding both my hands, while the tears chased one another down his sunken cheeks, though his face beamed with delight.
As for me, I was too much affected by the old man’s emotion and my own to be able to speak, until the skipper created a welcome diversion by loudly stigmatising the by-standing deck hands as “a pack of grinning apes,” and hustling them away forward.
“How is Isabel?” I asked, when I had recovered my composure a little.
“She is well, my dear boy, very well, thank God. Ah! and that reminds me; she must share our happiness at once. Captain, would you kindly fire the gun twice? It was to be the signal. We saw the brig come in all gay with flags, and I promised, if she brought good news, we would fire the gun once, and if our dear friend was on board, we would fire it twice. She is on the beach with the telescope now.”
Twice the little gun sang out its joyful note, and then Captain Bithery executed a diplomatic move, the brilliancy of which I have never ceased to admire.
“Look here, Englefield,” said he, “there is no need for you to stay here while I am pitching Pereira the yarn and letting him finger the gold. Yes, my friend, gold; good, yellow gold by the hundredweight; you cut ashore, and send the boat back for us, and tell Miss Pereira that we are all coming to breakfast.”
I glanced at my old friend to see how he took the proposal, and as he beamed approvingly, I lost no time, but dropped into the boat forthwith.
“Shove off,” I said to the boatswain, as I took my seat in the Madeira chair that was lashed to the thwart; and as the big boat sheered off, I caught a glimpse of Jobling’s face looking over the bulwark, wistfully regarding his best drill suit as it moved shoreward.
The canoe-men glanced at me curiously as we went along, having apparently gleaned some particulars from the natives on board, and presently they broke out into the classical Gold Coast boat song, “White man cummygain”—which was so apt to the circumstances, that I would have rewarded them with a substantial “dash,” but Jobling’s pockets were empty.
With a glance round, to make sure that Isabel was not on the beach, I ran across the sandy flat, and down the narrow streets, until I came to the compound gate. Here I paused a moment to get my breath, then I pushed open the creaking gate and entered.
She was standing on the verandah waiting for me, looking in her soft white dress, with its single spot of scarlet blossom, more daintily lovely even than the visions my memory had conjured up. I hurried across the compound, and ran up the stairs, at the head of which she met me with outstretched hands and a radiant smile of welcome.
In a moment all my fine speeches were forgotten; all my resolutions to consider the delicacy of our position vanished before the ingenuous love that sparkled in her eyes; and without a word I took her in my arms and kissed her.
She did not resent my bluntness, but only murmured some broken words of joy and relief at seeing me alive and well, till growing more conscious, she made as if she would gently disengage herself, and this with a very pretty confusion.
But possession is nine points of the law, and I would not give up my advantage.
“Isabel,” I whispered, “this is what I have thought of and longed for in all the long months of my wanderings—this, and to hear you say that you love me, that there is to be no more parting for us until the end.”
She looked up into my face with grave frankness.
“You may hear me say it now,” said she, “as you might have heard me months ago. When you went away my heart and my world went with you.”
“If I had, I should never have gone,” I said.
“Then would there have been saved a world of sorrow and heart-sickness in this house,” she replied; and with a sudden burst of emotion she exclaimed:
“Oh! my dear! how long the days have been! How dark and full of sickening dread, and hope dying into despair!”
Her eyes filled at the recollection, and laying her head on my shoulder, she wept silently.
I was touched with remorse at the thought of her sufferings, but yet my heart was singing with joy.
“Come, my dearest,” I said, “this is no time for weeping or thoughts of sorrow and sadness. Let us dry our eyes and rejoice; ‘for, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, and the time of the singing of birds is come.’ ”