"Get the muskets ready, Garth!" he cried out. "We shall soon be near enough to send a shower of bullets among those fellows, and they will then, I have a notion, heave to pretty quickly."

Scarcely, however, had he spoken than the breeze freshened up, and to his disappointment he found that the boat was no longer gaining on the dhow. Still he kept firing the gun, hoping that a fortunate shot might bring down her yard. Some way ahead, on the south side of the river, he observed a small bay, where the bank was steeper than in any other place and free of trees; the dhow appeared to be edging away towards it. "I must knock away that fellow's yard. I'd give a hundred guineas to see it come down," he exclaimed, as he again fired.

The shot wounded the yard, for he could see the splinters fly from it, but it still remained standing; at any moment, however, it might go. The Arabs seemed to think so likewise, for the dhow was now steered directly for the little bay. Before another shot was fired at her, she was close up to the bank, and a black stream of human beings was seen issuing forth from her decks, and winding, like a long black snake, up among the grass and bushes, while the Arabs could be distinguished by their dress urging on the fugitives with their spears.

"We must stop those fellows, and turn them back," exclaimed Rhymer, and resuming the tiller, he steered the boat for the shore at the nearest spot above the dhow where a landing could be effected.

"Meadows, do you remain by the boat with a couple of hands, the rest of you follow me," he exclaimed as he leapt on shore.

It was now seen that the blacks, of whom there appeared to be nearly two hundred, were becoming divided, some going off in one direction, some in another, while others, mostly women and children, were sinking down on the ground, unable to keep up with their companions. Rhymer on this made chase with most of his crew after the larger party; but he had not got far when he ordered Ned, with the coxswain, Dick Morgan by name, and two other hands, to pursue another who were going off to the left.

Ned, as directed, started away at full speed, and soon outstripped his followers, who, as they overtook smaller parties of the blacks, tried to turn them back. The negroes on hearing the shouts of the sailors, and seeing them flourish their cutlasses, more frightened than ever, sank down to the ground. In vain the seamen endeavoured to make them rise, assuring them that they meant them no harm. Much time was lost in the attempt. Ned, in obedience to his orders, had got ahead of one party of the blacks and was seen by Dick Morgan making signs to induce them to stop running. When, however, Dick looked again, he could nowhere discover his young officer, while the slaves were scampering off at a rate which made it almost hopeless to overtake them.

"Lads, we must not let Mr Garth be carried off by those niggers, for it seems to me that they have somehow or other got hold of him," exclaimed Dick, shouting to his companions.

Away they dashed after the fugitives. They had got some distance when they heard Mr Rhymer hailing them to come back. Dick pointed in the direction where he had last seen the midshipman; but Mr Rhymer not understanding his signs, peremptorily ordered him and his companions to retreat to the boat. It was time indeed to do so, for a large party of well-armed Arabs appeared on the hill just before them, and with threatening gestures were advancing evidently with the intention of recovering the slaves they had captured. Rhymer saw at once that were he to remain he should run the risk of having his whole party cut off, and that his only safe course was to retreat as fast as possible to the boat; he accordingly gave the word to face about, and by threatening to fire, he kept the Arabs in check. Their object was evidently not so much to attack the English, as to get possession of the slaver. Had the boat been nearer the dhow, Rhymer might have boarded her and set her on fire, but in endeavouring to do so, he might expose his whole party to destruction. Had there been time even to get hold of any of the blacks, they could not have been taken into the boat, and Rhymer had therefore to make the best of his way down to her without securing a single one of them. The Arabs, who advanced more rapidly as they saw the English retreating, soon got under shelter of some trees, whence they opened a hot fire from matchlocks and gingalls. Rhymer ordered his men to fire in return, but their exposed position on the bank of the river, and their inferior numbers, rendered the combat unequal.

Rhymer, who was as brave as most men, at first hoped to drive the enemy from their shelter, but he soon saw that he might lose many of his men in the attempt, and that his only prudent course was to get on board and shove off as fast as possible. Three of his men had already been hit; should he remain longer the crew might be so weakened as to be unable to pull the boat down the river. Charley, who had run the boat in ready to receive them when he saw them coming, was dismayed at not discovering Ned among the party.

"Where is Mr Garth?" he exclaimed. "Have none of you seen him?"

Rhymer repeated the question.

Dick Morgan was the only man who could answer it: he replied that he had last set eyes on him while trying to induce the blacks to return to the dhow.

"Have they killed him, do you think?" asked Charley, in a tone which showed his anxiety.

"Can't say, sir; but if not, it is more than likely that those Arab fellows have got hold of him, and I'm afraid they'll not be treating him over well."

Just then, however, there was no time to make further inquiries. The first thing to be done was to get out of reach of the Arabs' matchlocks.

Rhymer gave the word to shove off, and the boat pulled away from the bank. He was vexed at the utter failure of the enterprise, and the blame which might be attributed to him for the loss of Ned. He might still, however, destroy the dhow. The Arabs, well aware of the long range of the boat's gun, were still keeping at a distance. There would be time to get up to the dhow and to set her on fire. Rhymer accordingly steered in where she lay, with the boat's gun ready to send a shot into the midst of any party who might venture to show themselves. Almost before the Arabs were aware of what was intended, the boat was up to the dhow, matches had been got ready, and the seamen springing on board, in less than a minute had set her on fire fore and aft. The combustible materials with which she was fitted quickly blazed up, and her destruction was inevitable. The men leapt back into the boat, which now pulled away out of gun-shot into the middle of the stream.

"Surely we are not to leave Garth without going to look for him!" exclaimed Charley. "Perhaps he may be hiding himself somewhere, and will, when the Arabs retire, make his way down to the margin of the river expecting to be taken off."

"Very little chance of that; but, depend on it, I'll not show my face on board without him if I can help it," answered Rhymer.

Charley was obliged to be content with this promise. As he watched the shore through his telescope he could see the Arabs collecting the unfortunate slaves and driving them on before them, though he in vain searched for Ned among the former. Had he been made a prisoner he would probably have been seen. This made him hope that he might still be recovered. At length Rhymer began to grow impatient. The last of the slaves had been carried off, and the Arabs themselves had disappeared behind the hill. Charley now entreated Rhymer to pull in for the shore. "If you will let me I will land with any of the men who will volunteer, and we will search round in every direction for Garth; he may possibly have been wounded, and have crawled under some bushes to hide himself from the Arabs."

Rhymer hesitated. "If I let you go you may be caught also, and I shall have to report the loss of two midshipmen instead of one."

"O no, no! Do let me go!" cried Charley, in a beseeching tone. "The Arabs have gone away, and we will keep a good look-out not to be surprised. I am sure that some of the men will be ready to go with me."

"I will!" exclaimed Dick Morgan.

"And I, and I, and I," added others, until the whole boat's crew volunteered.

At last Rhymer, feeling that he might be accused of deserting the midshipman, consented, allowing Morgan with three other men to accompany Charley.

The boat accordingly returned to the shore. While Charley and his men pushed forward, Rhymer and the remainder having landed, advanced a short distance to support him in case he should have to retreat. Charley led the way to a spot pointed out by Morgan, where Ned had last been seen. They hunted about among the bushes, but no trace of him could they discover.

"Ned Garth, Ned Garth! where are you?" shouted Charley again and again, forgetting in his anxiety that the Arabs might hear, but no answer reached him. There were traces, however, of the course the blacks had taken, wherever the ground was soft enough to receive impressions of their feet. Charley was tempted to follow, and the men, regardless of consequences, accompanied him. He had not gone far when he came upon two children who had evidently been let fall by those who were carrying them. Both were dead, and their shrunken little forms showed that they had died from starvation. The top of the hill was reached. Charley at length stopped and looked round, but neither Arabs nor blacks were anywhere visible. Though, had he consulted his own feelings, he would have gone on still farther, he remembered his promise to be cautious, and exclaimed with a heavy heart—

"We must go back; we may still find him, but I dare not push on further."

The men appeared to share his feelings, for Ned was a favourite with all of them. They made their way towards the boat, searching the bushes as they went along, dreading that at any moment they might discover Ned's body. At length they met Rhymer.

"He must have been made prisoner and carried off by the Arabs," cried Charley; "that is the only consolation we have."

"Well, I suppose they would scarcely have taken the trouble to carry him off if he had been killed; and we must report to the commander that such is the conclusion we have arrived at, after making diligent search for him in all directions."

Charley felt somewhat indignant that Rhymer did not express more regret at the loss of their young messmate; he, however, said nothing. They once more embarked, and shoving off, proceeded down the river. It was important to get over the bar before dark, and make the best of their way back to the ship, for the wounded men, now that the excitement was over, began to complain of their hurts, and it was, of course, necessary that they should be attended to by the surgeon with as little delay as possible. As the wind blew almost up the river, it was necessary to get the oars out and pull the boat over the bar. This was a heavy task with a diminished crew, but Rhymer sent one of the wounded men to the helm, while he took one oar and Charley another.

They got down very well to the mouth, but the heavy foam-topped rollers which came tumbling in threatened to prevent them getting into the open sea beyond.

"It must be done," exclaimed Rhymer. "To-morrow it may be worse, and we shall have a whole fleet of Arab boats coming down upon us."

Twice, however, he pulled up to the inner roller, and backed the boat off again. For some minutes he stood up watching the seas; at length he exclaimed, "Now, my lads, now or never, give way," and all hands bending their backs to the oars, pulled on as British seamen are wont to do in cases of emergency. It was a struggle truly for life and death. Had the boat been caught broadside by one of those treacherous undulations, she would have been thrown over and over, and not a man on board could have escaped. Had an oar broken, or the men relaxed in their efforts, no power could have saved them. Three rollers had been passed, there were still two more to be encountered. The fourth advanced with a crest of foam. The boat had almost reached the summit, when the water came rushing over her bows, half-filling her; but the crew persevered, and the wounded men began bailing away with might and main.

"Pull away, pull away, lads!" shouted Rhymer; "there's only one more, and we shall be clear of them."

Again the boat rose, the water rushing aft, but the poor fellows seated there, in spite of their hurts, continued to heave it out. The next minute, having forced their way over the last roller, the boat was free. They had still a long pull before them until the boat could obtain a good offing, so that they might make sail and stand to the northward. At length the sails were set. By this time it was perfectly dark, yet, having a compass, a proper course could be kept. As the wind was light, it was not until near morning that they reached the island where they had left their tent and stores. As there was a moon they were able to steer into the bay. On landing they hurried up to where the tent had stood.

"Why, where is it?" exclaimed Rhymer.

They hunted about, neither their tent nor any of their stores could they discover.

"Some fellows have been here and carried them off, no doubt about that," observed Charley; "but who they are is more than I can say."

"The rascally crew of a dhow probably," answered Rhymer. "How the villains must have laughed at us when they saw our boat sailing away."

A further search in no way cleared up the mystery, and all they could do was to light a fire and cook some provisions, which had fortunately been kept on board the boat. On the return of daylight they found the marks of numerous naked feet on the sand; but whether of blacks or Arabs they were unable to determine, though Charley suspected that they were those of a party of blacks who had come across from the mainland.

This loss made it still more important for them to get back to the ship. As soon as they had taken a hurried breakfast, Rhymer ordered all hands on board, and once more they made sail to the northward.

The old mate, as may be supposed, was in an especial ill-humour, which he vented on poor Charley, who required comforting for the loss of his friend. For three days he had to endure all the abuse heaped on him, but he bore it without complaint, resolving not again, if he could help it, to take a long cruise with Rhymer. At length a sail was seen ahead, standing towards them. As she drew nearer—

"That's her, that's the old ship!" cried Morgan, who was on the look-out.

Dick was right, and in another hour the ship hove to and the boat got alongside. Rhymer's downcast countenance showed that he had unsatisfactory intelligence to communicate. The commander listened to his report, but made no remark; he then desired to hear Charley's account.

"We can't let the poor boy be lost without a further effort to recover him!" observed Captain Curtis.

He sent for Mr Hanson, and they held a consultation. The result was that the commander determined, having already picked up the other boats, to proceed to the mouth of the river and to send them in to inquire from the first Arabs they could meet with what had become of the missing midshipman and to insist on his liberation.

There was a chance also of their capturing a dhow laden with the slaves which had been landed. The ship came off the mouth of the river at night, and the boats were got ready to go in over the bar as soon as there was light sufficient to see their way, by which time also the flood would have made. Mr Hanson begged to have charge of the expedition, as he felt an especial interest in the recovery of Ned. The boats pulled up at a rapid rate, and soon reached the spot where the encounter had taken place. Charley, who had accompanied Mr Hanson, kept a look-out along the bank, half expecting to see a signal made by Ned. No one appeared, and if there were any inhabitants, they kept out of sight. The boats pulled up the river for ten miles or more, till Mr Hanson's, which was leading, grounded. No trace of the missing midshipman was discovered, and, much disappointed, the expedition returned to the ship.

The weather proving fine, the "Ione" remained at anchor. Every day a boat was sent in ready to receive the midshipman should he appear, but returned with the same unsatisfactory report.

The commander, considering that everything possible had been done to recover the midshipman, then ordered the ship to be got under weigh, and she stood for Zanzibar, where he hoped, by other means, to be more successful, although the general opinion on board was that poor Garth had been killed, and that nothing more would be heard of him.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

The "Ione" had been upwards of three years on the station, and of late the sick list had been greatly increased, still the commander persevered in his efforts to capture slavers; but the Arabs, grown cautious, managed to avoid him, and for some time not a single dhow had been taken.

One morning, as the ship lay becalmed on the shining ocean, with the sun's rays beaming down as from a furnace on the heads of the crew, the smoke of a steamer was seen coming from the southward. She rapidly approached, and coming nearer, made her number. She was a man-of-war. Had she came out to relieve the "Ione"? Every eye on board watched her eagerly. Stopping her way a boat was lowered; her commander came on board. No sooner were the contents of the despatch he brought known than cheers rose from fore and aft, joined in by the poor fellows in their hammocks. The "Ione" was to return home immediately. Before long a breeze sprang up, the two ships parted, and the corvette, under all sail, steered for the Cape.

"The only thing I regret is going home without nearing of young Garth," observed the commander, as he walked the deck with his first lieutenant; "I would have given much to find him, but I fear that when he fell into their hands, the rascally Arabs killed him."

"I am inclined to your notion, sir," answered Mr Hanson; "but I still have a lingering hope that by some means or other he may have escaped, although, as, notwithstanding all our inquiries and the rewards offered, no tidings of him had reached Zanzibar when we left the island, it is, I confess, very faint indeed."

Charley Meadows was the only person in the midshipmen's berth who would not abandon all expectation of again seeing his friend, and who would very gladly have remained another year on the station with the chance of hearing of Ned. He dreaded also the melancholy duty which might fall to his lot of informing Lieutenant Pack and Miss Sarah and sweet Mary of Ned's fate.

As the ship drew near England he thought over and over again of what he should say; no one had written, as the commander had been unwilling to alarm the boy's friends while any uncertainty existed. They would, therefore, on seeing the announcement in the papers of the "Ione's" return, be looking out eagerly for him. The corvette had a rapid passage, and on reaching Portsmouth was at once paid off. Charley Meadows had written to his father, who was still commander of the coast-guard station at Longview, giving an account of what had occurred, and begging him to break the intelligence to Lieutenant Pack. As soon as he was at liberty he hurried home. One of the first questions he put on his arrival was, "Have you told them, father, about poor Ned?"

"No; for I only received your letter yesterday, and have been unable to get over and see our friends. It will be sad news to them. Whenever I have called on Pack and his sister, their nephew was always the subject of their conversation."

Charley thus found that, after all, he must be the first to carry the sad intelligence to his friends. He, however, possessed the most valuable description of courage; he was morally, as well as physically, brave. The duty had to be performed, and he resolved to do it forthwith. As his father could not go, he set out by himself. Now and then he stopped to consider what he should say, and then hurried on, wishing to say it at once. Just before he reached Triton Cottage, he saw Mr Pack coming along the road; the old lieutenant stopped and looked at Charley as he approached, putting out his hand.

"Glad to welcome you, my lad. I saw that the 'Ione' had arrived and was to be paid off, so was looking out for you; but where is Ned? I thought you would have come down together."

Now came the moment Charley had dreaded.

"I will tell you how it happened, sir, directly, but Ned is not with us. I don't believe he is lost, and no one saw him dead; but the Arabs got hold of him, and he has not since turned up."

"What! hasn't he come home with you?" exclaimed the lieutenant. "You don't mean to say that our Ned is dead?"

"No, sir; but he's lost, and we don't know what has become of him," and Charley then gave a full account of all that had occurred.

The old lieutenant listened attentively. "Poor Sally! poor Mary!" he murmured, as, leaning on Charley's shoulder, he walked back to the house. "It will well-nigh break their hearts to hear that he is dead, but I for one won't believe it; I tell you, Meadows, I can't believe it," his voice growing more husky as he spoke. "I expect to see Ned a commander before I die; he is sure to get on in the service. Sally won't believe it either; she's got too much good sense for that. Come along, however, you shall tell her and Mary about it, for I have not taken in all the particulars."

The lieutenant stumped on, but Charley felt the hand which rested on his shoulder press more and more heavily. They together entered the parlour, where Miss Sarah and Mary were seated.

"Ned, Ned!" cried Miss Sally, mistaking him for her nephew; but she quickly saw her mistake, while Mary knew him at once.

"Where is Ned?" they both inquired, after they had shaken hands, Mary looking up into his face with an inquiring glance.

"He hasn't come home with us," said Charley, "and Mr Pack will tell you what I have told him."

The lieutenant was glad of this opportunity to give his own version of the story, for he was afraid Charley would alarm his sister and Mary.

"You see Ned's not come home in the 'Ione,' and that's a disappointment, I'll own. That he is all right I have no doubt, somewhere out in Africa among some Arabs who got hold of him while performing his duty—you may be sure Ned would be always doing that—and he hasn't yet been able to make his way down to the coast, or at all events to get on board an English ship. He'll do so by-and-by though. You two must not fret about him in the meantime. I know what Ned's made of; he has a fine constitution, and is not likely to succumb to the climate; and as to the Arabs, except in the matter of slavery, they are not a bad set of fellows."

Thus the lieutenant ran on, until Miss Sarah, turning to Charley, asked him to give a more particular account. This he did, omitting no circumstance which might support the idea that Ned had escaped.

Miss Sarah every now and then interrupted him with an ejaculation or a question, but poor Mary sat looking very pale and anxious, with her eyes fixed upon his countenance all the time and not uttering a word. Tom Baraka had seen Charley arrive with the lieutenant, and guessing that he had belonged to the "Ione," and had brought news of Ned, waited outside, hoping to learn from him why Ned had not come home. At length, however, unable to endure the suspense, he took the privilege of a favoured servant and came into the room.

"You come from de 'Ione,' massa?" he said, looking at Charley. "Pray tell me why Massa Ned not come back. Hab him gone in nudder ship?"

Charley, who remembered Tom, briefly told him the particulars of Ned's disappearance.

"Den I go an' look for him!" exclaimed Tom. "He go search for my boy, what I do better dan go look for him?"

"O do, do!" cried Mary, springing up. "I would go too if I could be of any use."

"You do not know the character of the country, Miss Mary," said Charley; "but if Tom would go, if he escapes being caught by the Arabs, he would have a better chance of finding him than any one else. How to get there would be the difficulty, unless he could obtain a passage on board a man-of-war going out to the coast."

"Yes, yes, I go!" cried Tom; "I find a way, nebber fear."

"We must think the matter over, and consider what can be done," said the lieutenant. "Ask your father, Charley, to come here and give me the benefit of his advice, and I will write to Hanson, they'll have his address at the Admiralty, and he will come down here and tell us what he thinks best, or I'll go up to London myself and see their lordships. They would not wish a promising young officer to be lost without taking all possible steps for his recovery."

Charley's spirits rose as he found his friends even more sanguine than himself as to the finding of Ned. They talked on and on without any material alteration in their proposed plan. The lieutenant said that he would write to Mr Farrance, as in duty bound, to tell him of Ned's disappearance, and to ask his advice. "He has the means of helping us, and judging from the generous way in which he has acted towards Ned, I feel sure that we can rely on him," he observed.

Charley went back with a message to his father, who came over that evening, and the subject was again discussed in all its bearings, indeed the old lieutenant could think and talk of nothing else. He had, in the meantime, despatched his letters to Mr Farrance and the late first lieutenant of the "Ione," and determined, by the advice of Mr Meadows, to take no steps until he heard from them.

The next day Charley again came over, and greatly interested Mary and her aunt by the account he gave of their adventures in the Indian Ocean. He inspired Mary with a strong wish to see the horrible traffic in slaves put an end to.

"If I had a fortune I would devote it to that object," she exclaimed enthusiastically. "What sufferings the poor little children have to endure; and then the agony of their parents as they are dragged off from their homes to die on their way to the sea, or on board those horrible dhows, or to be carried into slavery, which must be worse than death."

Her remarks had greater influence on Charley than even the miserable state of the slaves on board the dhows had produced. "I will do all I can to try and get back to the coast as soon as possible, or if an expedition is formed to go up the country to look for Ned I'll get my father to allow me to join it; I am pretty well seasoned to the climate by this time—never had an hour's illness while I was away."

By return of post a letter was received from Mr Farrance. He sympathised with the lieutenant and his sister in their anxiety about their nephew; said that he would be glad to defray the expenses should any plan be formed for discovering him, and begged to see Mr Pack in town as soon as possible.

The old lieutenant accordingly at once made preparations for his journey. Fortunately, before he started, he received a letter from Mr Hanson, saying that in the course of three or four days he would come down.

"I shall be in time to stop him," observed the lieutenant, "and to talk the matter over with him before I see Mr Farrance, who will, of course, want all the information I can give him. I'll take Tom with me; he knows his own country, and his woolly pate contains as much good sense as many a white man's skull."

Tom could scarcely restrain the delight he felt on hearing of his master's decision.

"But who take care ob de house, de pigs, and de garden, and de poultry?" he exclaimed of a sudden, as if the idea had just struck him.

"The ladies and Jane will attend to them, and no one will think of robbing the house during our absence," was the answer.

The lieutenant and his black attendant set off the following morning and reached London in safety, arriving just in time to stop Mr Hanson from going down to Triton Cottage.

He doubted whether the Admiralty would consider themselves justified in sending out any special expedition, and they had already given directions to the vessels on the coast to make all inquiries in their power, but he thought that a private expedition such as his friend suggested might possibly succeed, although he was not very sanguine on the subject. Young Garth might possibly be alive, and until they had received proof positive of his death hope ought not to be abandoned. He was expecting his own promotion, but should he not obtain it, he should be ready to go out in command of a properly organised expedition. Trustworthy natives might be found, they were not all so black as generally described. A private vessel, which would remain on the coast while the expedition pushed inland, would entail considerable cost. Where were the funds to come from?

When the old lieutenant related Mr Farrance's offer to defray all expenses, his friend's countenance brightened.

"That alters the case; we will see him without delay, and if he has the means we are right to take advantage of his liberality," said Mr Hanson.

The two officers, therefore, accompanied by Tom Baraka, proceeded to the address of Mr Farrance in one of the fashionable parts of London. The old lieutenant was somewhat taken aback, as he expressed it, on finding himself in a handsome mansion, such as he had never before in his life entered; it appeared to him a perfect palace. He and his companion were at once ushered into a large study, where they found Mr Farrance, who, rising from his seat, welcomed them cordially. He expressed his sincere regret at hearing of the disappearance of his young friend, from whose commander, he said, he had received excellent accounts. "We must find him if he is to be found. What object the Arabs can have for keeping him in captivity, when a reward has been offered for his liberation, it is difficult to say. However, I am very glad to have the means of assisting to recover him."

Mr Farrance, after putting numerous questions to the two officers and Tom, observed, "We will consider the matter settled. I have two objects in view; besides the recovery of our young friend, I am sure the more the natives are brought into intercourse with white men who show that they come for the purpose of benefiting them, the sooner will the slave trade be put a stop to and the Arabs driven out of the country. Not until then will the negroes be able to enjoy the blessings of peace, and the possibility of advancing in civilisation and embracing the truths of Christianity. As you, Lieutenant Pack, know those seas and are willing to take charge of a vessel, I shall be glad to obtain for you the command of one suited for the purpose; and I conclude, as you would find it inconvenient to travel—indeed you should not make the attempt—you would remain on board while the rest of the party penetrate into the interior. You, I dare say, Mr Hanson, can get some trustworthy men among your late crew to accompany you; but we must rely chiefly on the natives for furnishing a sufficient force."

Mr Hanson was delighted with the readiness shown by Mr Farrance to forward their object, and he and his brother officer at once promised to under take the arrangement of an expedition.

"No time then must be lost," replied Mr Farrance. "I give you and Lieutenant Pack authority to obtain such a vessel as you consider fit for the purpose, and to engage a crew for her, and companions for your land journey. You will, I conclude, select a small craft which can keep close in with the coast or run up rivers, as every mile you can go by water will save you so much, or probably a still greater distance of land journey."

Further arrangements having been made, the two officers and Tom Baraka took their departure, promising to report progress.

Mr Hanson was not a man to let the grass grow under his feet, and the old lieutenant was even more eager than his friend to get under weigh.

Within three days they paid another visit to Mr Farrance. They had purchased a schooner of about 150 tons, which had once been a yacht—a fast craft. Hands had been engaged, chiefly from the crew of the "Ione"; three men from Cowes accustomed to fore and aft vessels, one of whom was to act as mate. The fitting out of the schooner would be an easy matter, but the preparations for the land journey required more time and consideration. The only two people who had as yet undertaken to go were Charley Meadows and Tom Baraka. Two stout Africans who had lately arrived in England on board a ship from India, and who stated that when boys they had been captured on the east coast, but had escaped from Madagascar, to which island they had been carried, to an English merchantman, appeared well suited for the undertaking. Mr Hanson was only waiting until he could hear more about them.

Being satisfied with their testimonials he engaged them, and the next day, as he was prosecuting his search in the neighbourhood of the docks, he met with an Arab and three Lascars, of whom, on inquiry of the masters of the ships who brought them home, he obtained a favourable report. The Lascars were brave and useful fellows, while the Arab spoke English fairly, and he had already penetrated some way into the interior of Africa.

Both officers, assisted by Charley Meadows, who had been sent for, were engaged from morning until night in superintending the preparations. The old lieutenant when he quitted home had expected to return, but as the "Hope" was ready for sea, he changed his purpose and wrote to his sister explaining his reasons.

"I don't want to go through another parting, Sally," he said. "You know I love you and Mary with all my heart, but that heart is not so tough as it ought to be perhaps, and I could not bear saying 'good-bye' again, when I have said it already, although I didn't think it was for long. If Ned is found, and I make no doubt about the matter, we shall have, I pray God, a happy meeting, and I expect to find Mary grown at least an inch taller, tell her. Don't either of you fret; whatever happens all will be for the best—of that you may be sure. Should it please Him who governs all things to call me away—and I do not shut my eyes to the possibility—you will find my will in my desk. I have provided, as far as I can, for you and Mary."

This letter was received the very morning the "Hope" was to sail. It caused considerable disappointment to Aunt Sally and Mary, but they could not help confessing that after all it was for the best.

"My good brother always acts wisely," said Aunt Sally. "It would have cost us a good deal to say 'good-bye,' when we knew he was going away to that terrible country Africa!"

"Perhaps the 'Hope' will come off here," observed Mary; "we shall then see uncle and Tom Baraka, and perhaps Mr Hanson and Charley, and be able to send messages by them to Ned. As they sailed this morning, they may be off here in a couple of days."

Mary, as may be supposed, kept a constant look-out through the lieutenant's telescope, but time went by and no schooner appeared. Some days afterwards a letter, which had been landed by a pilot vessel, brought information that the "Hope" was already in the chops of the channel and all well. Aunt Sally and Mary at first felt a great blank in their existence. The lieutenant's cheery voice was no longer heard, and his chair stood vacant at their daily meals, while, instead of the master, Miss Sally led the morning and evening prayer to the diminished household. Tom Baraka's merry laugh was also missed, for in spite of his one absorbing thought, he was merry when he gave way to his natural disposition.

Aunt Sally and Mary did not, however, neglect their usual avocations. They had plenty of work now that Jane had not time to assist them.

The garden had to be attended to, and they persevered in their visits to the neighbouring poor. Mary very frequently went to see Mr Shank. The old man received her with more apparent gratitude than he used before to exhibit, and willingly listened when she read to him. He was evidently deeply interested in the account she gave him of the expedition in search of Ned, as also when she repeated the information she had received from Charley Meadows about Africa and the slave trade.

"Terrible, terrible," he muttered, "that men should sell each other for gold and produce all this suffering, and yet—" he was silent and seemed lost in thought. Mary did not for some minutes again speak. She then continued—

"It is the duty of all who have the means to try and put a stop to this fearful state of things, and to assist in sending missionaries of the Gospel and artisans to teach Christianity to the poor blacks, and to instruct them in the useful arts of civilised life."

"The Government should do that," said Mr Shank. "We pay them taxes."

"The Government do their part by sending out ships-of-war to stop the dhows and the Arabs who steal the slaves, making the trade so difficult and dangerous a one that many will be compelled to give it up—so uncle says—and what more than that can the Government do? Private people must carry on the rest of the work, and a more noble and glorious one I am sure cannot be found. If I had ever so much money, I should like to spend it in that way."

"But you would get no interest, you would see no result," said the old man.

Mary pointed to the Bible she had brought, and from which she had previously been reading. "There is a verse there which tells us that we are to lay up riches in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through and steal," she answered in an unaffected tone. "I should not expect interest, and I am very sure that I should be satisfied with the result."

The old man again mused, this time far longer than before. "And so you want to make Christians and civilised men of those black Africans of whom you spoke?" he observed.

"Yes; it is the only way to make them become happy here and happy hereafter," she said, energetically. "I am sure of it. If all the money that is hoarded up or spent uselessly were devoted to such a work, how soon might the condition of the unfortunate negroes be changed for the better."

"Then do you blame those who hoard up money?" asked the old man.

"Yes, indeed I do. I think they are wicked, very wicked, and are not making a good use of the talents committed to them. They are just as wicked as those who throw it away or spend it badly."

"You are a severe censor, Miss Mary," said the old man. "But you are right, very right." He placed his hand on his brow.

Mary took her leave, feeling more drawn towards Mr Shank than she had ever before been, he seemed so softened and so sad, and very much weaker than he had before appeared.

Mary told her aunt.

"He suffers from want of food," observed Miss Sally. "You shall go again to-morrow and take him another pudding, and say that I will send one for him, if he wishes it, every day."

Mary reached Mr Shank's door. She heard him feebly approaching to withdraw the bolts; as soon as he had done so, he tottered back, panting, to his seat.

"I am glad you have come, Mary, or I might have been found stiff and cold on my bed. I am very ill, I fear, for I have never felt before as I do now," he said, in so low and trembling a voice that Mary had to draw closer to hear him.

She begged him to eat the food she had brought, hoping that it might restore his strength. He followed her advice, lifting the spoon slowly to his mouth.

After he had finished the food he appeared somewhat stronger.

"Thank you, Mary," he said. "I owe you a great deal more than I can now tell you, for I have something else to say. I want you to bring me a lawyer, an honest man, if such is to be found, and his clerk must come to witness my signature. I'll try to keep alive until he arrives, for, Mary, do you know I think that I am dying."

"O no, I hope not, Mr Shank. You are only weak from want of food," exclaimed Mary, who, however, was much alarmed. "I will go on to where Mr Thorpe lives, I know the way perfectly, and have heard uncle say that he is a good and honest man, and is trusted by all the people round."

"Go then, Mary, go!" said the old man. "Don't allow any one to stop you; and if Mr Thorpe is out, write a message requesting him to come on here immediately."

Mary, promising Mr Shank that she would obey his wishes, hastened away. She observed that he did not close the door behind her as usual. She found Mr Thorpe at home and gave her message.

"What! old Shank the miser? I suspect that he has something worth leaving behind," observed the lawyer. "I'll be with him immediately, depend on that. But how are you going to get back, young lady?"

"Oh, I can walk perfectly well," said Mary.

"No; let me drive you as far as old Shank's, and if you like to remain I will take you on to Triton Cottage. Miss Sally will not know what has become of you."

Mary was glad to accept this offer, and the lawyer's gig being brought round, she took her seat between him and his clerk.

"I will wait outside," she said when they reached Mr Shank's door. "I can look after your horse and see it doesn't run away, for Mr Shank may have something particular to tell you which he might not wish me to hear."

The lawyer, appreciating Mary's delicacy, agreed, though he did not give her the charge of his horse, as the animal was well accustomed to stand with its head fastened to a paling while he visited his clients. Mary waited and waited, sometimes walking about, at others standing beside the gig, or sitting on the hillside, on the very spot which had often been occupied by Ned. Her thoughts naturally flew away to him. Where could he be all this time? Would Mr Hanson and Charley discover him, or would they return without tidings of his fate?

The lawyer at last appeared, and, directing his clerk to return home with some papers he held in his hand, he begged Mary to get into the gig.

"I must run in to see old Mr Shank first," she said, "and learn if there is anything aunt or I can do for him."

"You will find him more easy in his mind than he was when I arrived; but in regard to assistance, he doesn't require it as much as you suppose. He has consented to let me send a doctor, and a respectable woman to attend on him. He is not in a fit state to be left by himself."

Mary was surprised at these remarks. Not wishing to delay the lawyer she hurried in. Mr Shank, who was still seated in his arm-chair, put out his shrivelled hand and clasped hers.

"Thank you, Mary, thank you!" he said. "You deserve to be happy, and Heaven will bless your kindness to a forlorn old man. I may live to see you again, but my days are numbered, whatever the lawyer may say to the contrary."

Mary explained that Mr Thorpe was waiting for her, and saying that she was glad to hear he was to have some one to attend on him, bade him good-bye.

During the drive to Triton Cottage the lawyer did not further allude to Mr Shank, and Mary very naturally forbore to question him.

Aunt Sally, who had become somewhat anxious at her long absence, was greatly surprised at seeing Mr Thorpe, and not being influenced by the same motive as Mary, inquired what the old man could possibly have desired to see him about.

"To make his will, Miss Sally," answered the lawyer; "it has been signed, sealed, and delivered in the presence of myself and John Brown, my clerk, and its contents are to remain locked in our respective breasts and my strong box until the due time arrives for its administration. That he has made a will argues that he has, as you may suppose, some property to leave, and that the people in our neighbourhood were not so far wrong in calling him a miser; but he has hoarded to some purpose, and I wish that all misers would leave their gold in as satisfactory a manner as he has done."

In vain Miss Sally endeavoured to elicit further information; the lawyer laughed and rubbed his hands, but not a word more could she get out of him than he chose to say. Then turning the subject, he steadily declined again entering on it, though he made himself agreeable by conversing in a cheerful tone on various others.

Mary's anxiety prompted her to visit Mr Shank the next day, and her aunt not objecting she set off by herself. A respectable-looking woman opened the door, and courtesied to her as she did so.

"How is Mr Shank?" asked Mary.

"He is not worse than he was yesterday; he has been asking for you ever so many times, miss, and has made me go to the door to see if you were coming. He'll be main glad to see you. I have been working hard to make the house look a little tidy, but it is in a sad mess; it is a wonder the whole of it didn't come down and crush the old man before this—"

The woman would have continued to run on in the same strain had not Mary begged to be allowed to enter. She found Mr Shank seated in his arm-chair, looking, as she thought, very pale and weak. He thanked her, much in his usual way, for again coming to see him, and for bringing him another of Miss Sally's puddings, but Mary remarked that he no longer spoke of his poverty.

"I wanted very much to see you, my dear," he said, in a gentle tone, which contrasted greatly with that in which he used formally to speak; "but I don't want listeners, Mrs Mason, I will request you to retire and busy yourself at the further end of the house, or out of doors."

The old woman looked somewhat astonished, but obeyed without replying.

Mary could not fail to be surprised at the tone of authority in which he spoke, as if he had been accustomed all his life to give directions to an attendant.

"Mary," he said, as he sat with his hands clasped, leaning back in his chair, and glancing half aside at her fair countenance, as if a feeling of shame oppressed him, "you have been my good angel. I owe you much, more than I can ever repay. Had it not been for you, I should have gone down to my grave a miserable, wretched being, with no one to care for me; but you awoke me to a sense of better things. I have not always been as I am now, but care and disappointment came upon me, and those I loved were lost through my fault, by my hard treatment. I see it now, but I thought then they were alone to blame. I once had wealth, but it was dissipated almost, not all, and I feared lest the remainder would be lost; then I became what you have known me, a wretched, grovelling miser. I had a daughter, she was young and fair, and as bright as you are, but she desired to live as she had been accustomed to, not aware of my losses, and I stinted her of everything except the bare necessaries of life. She had many admirers: one of them was wealthy, but Fanny regarded him with dislike; the other, a fine youth, was, I thought, penniless. She returned his affection, and I ordered him never again to enter my doors. My child bore my treatment meekly, but one day she came into my presence, and in a calm but firm voice said she would no longer be a burden to me; that she was ready to toil for my support were it requisite, but that she was well aware that I was possessed of ample means to obtain the comforts as well as the necessaries of life. Enraged, I ordered her, with a curse, to quit my house, declaring that I would never see her again. She obeyed me too faithfully, and became the young man's wife, and she and her husband left England. I heard shortly afterwards that the ship in which they sailed had been wrecked. That such was the case I had every reason to believe as from that day I lost all trace of them. Hardhearted as I was, I believed that my child had met her just doom for the disobedience into which I myself had driven her, and having no one to care for, I sank into the wretched object you found me. You will think of me, Mary, with pity rather than scorn when I am gone?"

"Do not speak so, Mr Shank; I have long, long pitied you," said Mary, soothingly. "You are not what you were; you mourn your past life, and you know the way by which you can be reconciled to a merciful God."

The old man gazed at her fair countenance. "No other human being could have moved me but you," he said; "you reminded me from the first of my lost child, and I listened to you as I would have listened to no one else. Bless you! bless you!"

Mary had already spent a longer time than she had intended listening to the old man's history. She rose to go away. He kept her small hand in his shrivelled palms.

"I should wish my last gaze on earth to be on your face, Mary; I should die more easily, and yet I do not fear death as I once did when I strove to put away all thoughts of it. I know it must come before long; it may be days, or weeks, and you will then know how my poor wretched heart has loved you."

Mary, not understanding him, answered—

"You have shown me that already, Mr Shank, and I hope you may be spared to find something worth living for."

"Yes, if I had health and strength I should wish to assist in benefiting those poor Africans of whom you have so often told me, and putting an end to the fearful slave trade; but I cannot recall my wasted days, and I must leave it to you, Mary. If you have the means to try and help them, you will do so, I know, far better than I can."

"I shall be thankful if I can ever benefit the poor Africans," said Mary, smiling at what appeared to her so very unlikely. "But I must stop no longer, or Aunt Sally will fancy that some harm has befallen me."

Mary wished him good-bye, summoning Mrs Mason as she went out.

On Mary's return to Triton Cottage she found Lieutenant Meadows, who had come to wish her and her aunt good-bye, his turn of service on the coast-guard having expired.

He inquired whether they had received any news of the "Hope."

"She must have been round the Cape long ago. Hanson and his people should by this time have landed, so that you would get letters from the Cape, or perhaps even from Zanzibar, in the course of a week or two. You will write to me and say what news you receive in case Charley's letters should miscarry." Miss Sally promised, without fail, to write as Mr Meadows requested, and he gave her his address. When he was gone, Miss Sally and Mary had no one to talk to on the subject nearest their hearts. They discussed it over and over again by themselves, in spite of Aunt Sally's declaration that it was of no use, and that they had better not speak about the matter; yet she was generally the first to begin, and Mary would bring out the map, and they both would pore over it, the elder lady through her spectacles, as if they could there discover by some magical power where Ned was, and the point the "Hope" had reached. They were cheerful and happy, though nothing occurred to vary the monotony of their everyday life, until the post one morning brought a letter addressed to Miss Sarah Pack.

"Whom can it be from?" she exclaimed, adjusting her spectacles. "It is not from my brother; it bears only the English post mark. Give me my scissors, Mary." And she deliberately cut it open, though not the less eager to know its contents.

Mary watched her as she read, holding the letter up to the light, and murmuring, "Astonishing!"

"Very strange!"

"I cannot understand it!"

"And yet not impossible!"

"I don't know whether I ought to tell you the contents of this," she said, after she had read it twice over; "it may agitate you, my dear Mary, and raise expectations only to be disappointed. It is from Mr Farrance, and a very singular story he gives me."

These remarks could not fail to arouse Mary's curiosity.

"Is it about Ned? Has he been found? Is he coming back?" she exclaimed, her hand trembling in an unusual manner as she was about to pour out a cup of tea for her aunt.

"No, he does not give us any news of Ned. The letter has reference to you. I ought not to wish that anything to your advantage should not happen, but yet I almost dread lest Mr Farrance's expectations should be realised."

"Oh, do tell me, aunt, what Mr Farrance says!" exclaimed Mary. "I will nerve myself for whatever it may be; but I cannot even guess."

"Have you no suspicion on the subject?" asked Miss Sally, after a few moments' silence.

"None whatever," answered Mary.

Miss Sally looked at her earnestly with eyes full of affection, and then said, speaking very slowly—

"You know, my dear Mary, how my brother found you and Tom Baraka floating on a piece of wreck in the Indian Ocean, and how neither you nor Tom were able to give any account of yourselves—he not understanding English, and you being too young to remember what had occurred. From the day my brother brought you home we have ever loved you dearly, and supposing that your parents perished, we believed that no one would appear to take you away from us."

"Yes, indeed, dear aunt, and I have never wished to leave you," said Mary, in a gentle tone. "If Mr Farrance wishes me to do so, pray tell him that it is impossible."

"There may be one who has a greater right to claim you than we have, and should he prove his claim, we should be unable to hold you from him."

"But how can any one have a claim upon me? I don't understand, aunt," said Mary, completely puzzled. "Pray tell me what Mr Farrance does say."

"You shall hear his letter, and then judge for yourself, my dear child," said Miss Sally, and again holding the letter before her spectacles, she read—

"My Dear Miss Pack,—I lose no time in informing you during your good brother's absence of a circumstance which may possibly greatly affect your young charge Mary. I must tell you that I had a brother who, at an early age, having married imprudently, left England, and that I and the rest of his family long supposed him dead. Two days ago a gentleman, who said that he had just returned to this country after having resided for many years in one of the Dutch East India settlements, called upon me. After some conversation he inquired whether I suspected who he was, and, greatly to my astonishment, he announced himself as my long-lost brother. He was so changed by time and a pestiferous climate, and sorrow and trials of all sorts, that I had a great difficulty in recognising him, though I was at length satisfied that he was my brother, and as such welcomed him home. While he was yesterday evening narrating the events of his life, he mentioned having sent his wife, whose health required a change of climate, and their only child, a little girl, on board a ship bound for the Cape of Good Hope, where a correspondent of his house had promised to receive them, but that the ship was lost and that all on board, it was believed, had perished. On hearing this it at once struck me as possible, and remember I say barely possible, that the child picked up by Lieutenant Pack might be my brother's daughter. On comparing dates I found, as nearly as I can calculate, that they agree. Of course I do not forget that there might have been several children of the same ago on board the ship. Even should the wreck Mr Pack fell in with have been a portion of the ill-fated ship, yet some other child instead of my brother's might have been saved. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to identify her. My brother is more sanguine than I am on the subject, and is anxious to come down with me as soon as his health will allow, if you will give us permission, to see your young charge. You may possibly have preserved the clothes she had on and any ornaments about her which might assist in her identification. Although my brother might not be able to recognise them, he tells me that a black girl, who was a nurse in his family and much attached to the child, is still alive, and he proposes to send for her immediately. He has married again and has a large family. Though Mary may be pleased to find that she has a number of brothers and sisters, her position as to fortune will not be greatly altered; however on that point she will not concern herself as much as you and others, her elders, may possibly do, and we will take care that she is not the loser should the hopes we entertain be realised.

"I have written this, my dear madam, as you ought to receive the earliest information on the subject, and because you may think fit to prepare your young charge for what may otherwise prove so startling to her; but I leave that to your judgment, and hoping in the course of a few days to see you,

"I remain,

"Yours faithfully,

"J. Farrance."

Mary sat for some minutes, her hands clasped and apparently lost in thought, then she burst into tears, exclaiming, "My poor, poor mother! I cannot help picturing her on the deck of the sinking ship, while the fierce waves were foaming around her until she was carried away and lost."

It was strange she did not think so much of her supposed father and the new brothers and sisters she might find. Miss Sally endeavoured to calm her.

"My dear, dear Mary, I ought not to have read this letter to you," she exclaimed, "you must try to forget it; but I am afraid that you will not do that, and we must endeavour to wait patiently until Mr Farrance and his brother appear. They may find that they are mistaken, and then you will still be my little niece, and as much loved as ever."

Mary soon grew calm, and tried to follow Miss Sally's advice by waiting patiently for the appearance of their expected visitors. We, in the meantime, must go to a far off part of the world.



CHAPTER NINE.

No one will suppose that Ned Garth was dead, more than did his loving friends, although a long time had elapsed, and no tidings of him had been received.

When ordered by Mr Rhymer to try and prevent the escape of the slaves, he sprang forward without thinking of the risk he ran. He had succeeded in getting in front of a large party of the fugitives, endeavouring by all the significant gestures he could think of to induce them to turn back to the shore, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from behind. He retained sufficient consciousness, however, to be aware that he had been picked up and was being dragged along rapidly in the midst of a crowd of blacks. He could hear at first the shouts of his shipmates, but they gradually became less and less distinct. He felt that he was being carried forward further and further from the river, sometimes completely lifted off his feet. He could not, fortunately for himself, collect his scattered senses sufficiently to consider what would probably be his fate. His first idea, when he recovered from the blow, was the desire to try and escape, but he had neither the strength nor opportunity to get away. When he opened his eyes he saw a number of black faces scowling round him, and several well-dressed Arabs a little distance off, while on every side were other negroes being driven in like a flock of terrified sheep to a common centre. Presently a much larger party of Arabs than those who had formed the crew of the dhow made their appearance, and were welcomed with shouts of satisfaction.

The whole party now occupied themselves in binding the negroes, some with ropes round their necks and others with forked sticks, a treatment to which they appeared to submit without resistance. The blacks who guarded Ned were apparently free men, or at all events attached to the Arabs. They jabbered away and made signs, intimating that he was soon to be put to death; he prepared himself therefore for what he had too much reason to fear would be his fate. He knew that it would be useless to ask for mercy. Had he been able to speak their tongue, he would have told them that they would gain much more by delivering him up to his friends; but, as his arms were kept tight, he could not even make signs to that effect. He waited therefore, with as much calmness as he could command, for what would next follow. Several of the slaves had in the meantime attempted to escape, but were pursued by the Arabs and some of the free blacks. The least active, or those who had last started, were soon brought back; he heard, however, shots fired, and after a time the pursuers returned dragging along those they had recovered, two of whom were bleeding from gun-shot wounds in the shoulders. Whether any had been killed he could not then learn, but he afterwards ascertained that three had been shot as a warning to the rest. The slaves having at length been secured, the party moved forward towards the west, keeping the river in sight on their right hand. As evening approached, they encamped at some distance from the bank. Fires were lighted, but no food was cooked—for the best of all reasons, that the party were destitute of provisions. Ned observed that armed sentries were placed round the camp, but that was probably to prevent any of the slaves escaping rather than on account of an expected attack.

He had some faint hope that Rhymer might have got back to the ship in time to give information of what had happened, and that the boats might be sent up to attempt his recapture. At length, overcome with fatigue, he lay down between the two blacks who had him in charge, and in spite of the disagreeable proximity of his guards, he was soon fast asleep; his slumbers, however, were troubled, but he continued dozing on until he was aroused by the Arabs summoning their followers to re-commence the march. Water had been brought from the river, but they started without food, and it was not till late in the day that, reaching a village, they compelled the inhabitants to supply them by threatening to burn their huts if they refused. Ultimately, crossing the river by a ford, they proceeded for some distance towards the north.

Ned did not fail to be on the watch for an opportunity of escaping; he thought that if he could hide himself away he might get down to the coast, and have a chance of falling in with one of the boats. He was, however, far too closely guarded, he discovered, for this to be possible. He was still unable to conjecture for what object the Arabs had carried him off. For three days they journeyed on, the whole party suffering greatly from want of food, and sometimes from thirst, when long stretches of barren ground were passed over without a drop of water to be found. At last he discovered that they were directing their course once more to the eastward, and in another day they came in sight of the sea. There was a high cliff on the right hand, sheltering a deep bay in which three dhows rode at anchor. On a signal being made the dhows stood in towards the inner part of the bay, where a small creek formed a harbour of sufficient size to contain them, so that they were able to moor close to the shore. Several Arabs landed from each of them. After the preliminary salaams had been gone through, business at once commenced, which terminated apparently in a bargain being struck for the purchase of the whole party of slaves, their price consisting of bales of cloth, coils of wire, beads, and other articles, which were at once landed; and this being done, the slaves were shipped on board the dhows. Ned almost hoped that he might be sent with them, as he thought that he might thus have a better opportunity of making his escape than he could expect to find should he be detained by his captors. He was greatly disappointed, therefore, on finding that he was still kept a prisoner. He looked seaward with a longing gaze, thinking it possible that either the ship or the boats might appear in search of the dhows; but not seeing them, he guessed that the cunning Arabs had taken the opportunity of shipping the slaves while they remained off the mouth of the river. Several other Arabs had joined their party, which now consisted of thirty well-armed men, besides nearly one hundred pagazis, or carriers, hired from the neighbouring villages to convey the goods into the interior. Among them was a finely-dressed individual wearing on his head a large turban, and round his waist a rich scarf, into which were stuck a dagger and a brace of silver-mounted pistols. He appeared to take the lead, and Ned discovered that he was called Mohammed-ibn-Nassib. He had not long joined the party when his eye fell on Ned. Pointing towards him he inquired who the young stranger was. The answer he received appeared to satisfy him, and he turned away without making any further remark. The party being marshalled the march began, the Arabs keeping a strict watch on the blacks carrying their goods.

At nightfall they halted near the banks of a stream which evidently fell into the main river. As Ned observed its course, the thought occurred to him that if he could find a canoe, or for want of one a log of timber, he might float down with the current and reach the boats, which he felt sure would be sent to look for him. To do this, however, he must first elude his guards, who were, he found to his satisfaction, less watchful than at first, being apparently satisfied that he would not attempt to escape.

It was terribly trying work to be alone, without any one to speak to who understood a word he said. Several fires were lighted in the camp, which served both for cooking provisions and scaring away the wild beasts. Ned was allowed to sit near one, round which Mohammed and the other Arabs collected. Hoping to throw them off their guard, he assumed as unconcerned an air as possible, endeavouring to make them believe that he was reconciled to his lot. He was still as much in the dark as ever as to what they intended to do with him. Their purpose could scarcely be to sell him as a slave, but possibly they thought that by exhibiting him as a prisoner to the black chiefs they might gain the credit of having defeated the English.

In a short time their evening meal was brought by the attendants, one of whom, when they were served, placed a bowl of rice, seasoned with red pepper and salt, before him. It was the food the slaves were fed upon. Though aware of this, he was too hungry to refuse it, and trying to look perfectly satisfied, he ate up the rice as if it was exactly the dish he preferred, and then put out the bowl to ask for more.

Mohammed shook his head to signify that he must be content with the share given him, while the rest seemed highly amused with his look of disappointment. After some time they retired to sleep in some rude huts, which their attendants had put up for them, when he was led away by his two watchful guards. He was placed as usual between them, and lay down, covering himself up with a piece of matting which one of the Arabs more kindly disposed than the rest had given him. Drawing the matting over his head, he pretended to go to sleep, but he kept his eye at a hole, through which he could partially see what was taking place.

He waited for some time watching his guards until their loud snores assured him that their slumbers were not feigned, and at length all sounds having ceased in the camp, he cautiously lifted up his head to ascertain whether any sentries had been placed near him, but he could see none either on the one side or the other. The fires had burnt low. "Some one will soon come to wake them up," he thought; "it will be imprudent to move yet." He waited for some time longer, but the flames got lower and lower, and at last the glare they had thrown on the neighbouring trees faded away.

"Now or never is my time to escape," he said to himself. Creeping out from under his mat, which he left raised up in the centre to appear as if he was still beneath it, he crawled along for some distance on his hands and knees. He stopped, however, every now and then to ascertain if any sentry, who might have been lying down, had risen to his feet and was likely to discover him. Thus advancing a few yards at a time, he made his way towards the river. His intention was then to continue down along it until he could find a canoe. He had nearly gained the water when cries, shrieks, and loud shouts reached his ear, followed by the sound of fire-arms. Several bullets came whistling close to his head; to avoid them he sprang behind the trunk of a large tree. Scarcely had he done so, when he heard close to him the crash of bushes, and a huge animal bounded by carrying in its jaws what, seen through the gloom, appeared to be the dead body of a man. He heard a faint cry as if from a human voice, followed by the continued crash of the underwood as the creature rushed along the very course he had intended to pursue. Hardly had it disappeared than the cries and shouts, growing nearer and nearer, showed him that a number of men from the camp were coming in pursuit of the animal, and that he could scarcely avoid being discovered. Even if this should happen, he had reason to be thankful that he had not attempted to make his escape sooner, or he would in all probability have met the lion and fallen a victim instead of the man who had been carried off. He crouched down among the thick roots of the tree, hoping that even now he might not be discovered; at the same time he felt that it would be madness to attempt to pursue the course he had intended down the river, as he should in all probability, if he did so, encounter the lion which had carried off the man. He waited, his heart beating quickly. The blacks came on, shouting at the top of their voices to keep up their courage and to frighten the lion, but did not discover him. He must now decide what to do, either to return to the camp and wait for another opportunity or to continue his flight. Every day would increase his distance from the coast and the difficulties he must encounter to reach it. The thought occurred to him that he might cross the river and go down on the opposite bank, though he did not fail to remember that crocodiles or hippopotami might be lying concealed in its bed, but he resolved to run the risk rather than again place himself in the power of the Arabs. Not a moment was to be lost. He sprang from his place of concealment and ran towards the bank. Scarcely had he reached it than he heard the men coming back, shouting as before to each other, for they had not ventured to follow the lion far, knowing that their companion must by that time have been dead. He did not therefore hesitate. Slipping into the water, he struck out across the stream. He had got nearly half-way over, when he became aware that the shouts he heard were directed at him. Not daring to look back, he swam on with all his strength, hoping that no one would venture to follow him.

On and on he went. Thoughts of crocodiles and hippopotami would intrude, but he trusted that the noise made by the blacks would drive them away. No shots were fired at him. Why this was he could not tell—perhaps he was no longer seen. Then the idea occurred that some one might be pursuing him: still, undaunted, he continued his course. Reeds flanked the opposite bank of the stream; should he be able to force his way through them? If he could, they would afford him concealment. He could distinguish them rising up like a wall before him; he at last reached them, and began to struggle through the barrier. It was hard work, for the water was still too deep to allow him to wade, and the reeds bent down as he clutched them; still, as those he first grasped yielded, he seized others, and hauled himself along. At length his feet touched the bottom, and he was able to make somewhat better progress. He had not time to consider what he should do when he had gained the firm ground. There might be other lions in the way, but he resolved not to be deterred by the fear of encountering them; he dreaded far more falling into the hands of the Arabs. He expected every moment to reach the shore, when one of his feet stuck fast in the mud. He endeavoured to obtain a firmer foothold by pressing down the reeds so that he might stand upon them, but this caused considerable delay, and in his efforts he was nearly falling on his face into the water. At length he succeeded in drawing out his foot, and once more he struggled on. The noise made by the bending reeds had prevented him from hearing a loud rustling at no great distance which now struck his ear. It might be caused by one of the huge inhabitants of the river. Should an hippopotamus have discovered him, he must seek for safety by climbing the nearest tree he could reach. The idea incited him to fresh exertions. He sprang forward, his hand touched the firm ground. He drew himself up the bank, but was so exhausted by his efforts that he had scarcely strength sufficient to run for a tree. As he stood for a few moments endeavouring to recover himself, he fixed on one a short distance off, a branch of which hung down sufficiently low to enable him to swing himself up by it. He took one glance also behind him. The darkness prevented him from seeing the figures of this Arabs on the opposite side, but he could hear their voices still shouting loudly. Having recovered his breath, he once more started off in the direction of the tree. Should he there find that he was not pursued, as he expected, he intended to continue his course along the bank of the river. He reached the tree, and was on the point of grasping the bough when he heard men shouting behind him, and, glancing over his shoulder, he distinguished amid the gloom three dark figures coming on at full speed. He hoped, however, that he might not have been seen, and that, if he could once get into the tree, they might pass by. He made frantic efforts to draw himself up, and had just succeeded when he felt his foot seized by a human hand. He in vain endeavoured to free himself. The gruff voice of a black shouted to him, and he recognised it as that of one of his former guards. The man pulled away at his leg with such force that he was compelled to let go his hold, and would have fallen heavily to the ground had not his other pursuers, who came up, caught him. Once more he found himself a prisoner. His captors, he judged by the way they spoke, were abusing him, though he could not understand what they said. Further resistance was useless, so he resigned himself to his fate. What they were going to do with him he could not tell; whether they would recross the river or remain on the side he had reached. They led him down to the bank, from which a large amount of shouting was exchanged. This finally ceased, and he found himself being led up the stream, as he concluded, towards a ford, or to some spot where a crossing might be more easily effected than at the place where he had swum over. He was right in his conjectures, for after some time torches appeared on the opposite side, and his captors, dragging him along, plunged into the stream, and began to wade across, shouting and shrieking at the top of their voices as they did so, and boating the water with some long sticks to drive away the crocodiles. Several Arabs and blacks with torches received the party as they landed, casting scowling looks at poor Ned, who had abundance of abuse heaped upon him for his futile attempt to escape. On being led back to the camp, however, he was allowed to dry his wet clothes before the fire, which he did by taking some of them off at a time.

It was a sore trial to him to be all alone without any human being to whom he could speak. At last the blacks led him back to the very spot from which he had escaped, and he was allowed to cover himself up again with his mat. He saw, however, that one of the men was sitting by his side to keep watch.

He was too much exhausted to think over his disappointment, or to fear any evil consequences from remaining so long wet. He soon fell into a deep slumber, from which he was aroused by one of the blacks shaking him by the shoulder, while another brought a bowl of rice and a cup of coffee.

On looking round he perceived that the caravan was preparing to march. The pagazis had shouldered their loads, and the Arabs were girding themselves for the journey. Knowing that he would have to accompany them, he got up ready to obey the summons to move. He was surprised to see Mohammed, the leader, approaching him. The Arab chief spoke a few words, laughing heartily, slapped him on the shoulder in a familiar way, and Ned concluded that he was complimenting him on the manner he had attempted his escape. He then lifted his gun as if about to shoot, and put it into his hands, making signs that he was to use it, and Ned surmised that it was intended he should fight for the Arabs.

After this Mohammed seemed much more friendly than before, and invited him frequently to march by his side. The river was crossed by the ford, and the caravan proceeded westward.

Ned cast many a lingering look behind as he got further and further from the stream by means of which he had hoped to rejoin his friends. He was too strictly watched, however, to have the slightest chance of escaping. The country near the coast had been almost depopulated, and very few villages or habitations of any description were passed. As the caravan advanced more people were met with, and several large villages were seen, to the chiefs of some of which the Arabs paid a sort of tribute in beads and wire, and occasionally cloth, for the sake of retaining their friendship.

Shortly afterwards they were joined by another caravan, containing even more men than their own, and together they formed a large party. He was introduced formally to the new-comers, who seemed to look at him with much interest and treat him with respect. Though allowed to wander in the neighbourhood of the camp he found that one of the blacks was always strictly watching him, and that even had he intended to escape he should have no opportunity of so doing. He now observed that the Arabs marched more cautiously than heretofore, that scouts were sent out and returned frequently to report what was going on in front. At last one day the caravan halted earlier than usual, and the pagazis were immediately set to work to cut down young trees, with which stockades were formed round the camp, and every man remained under arms. The Arab leaders, seated on carpets outside their huts, held long consultations, which, though Ned attended them, he was unable to understand a word that was said. He guessed, however, from their gestures and the expression of their countenances, that some were counselling peace and others war—that the advice of the latter prevailed he judged from the excited tones of their voices, while the chief's touched the hilts of their swords, or drew them from their scabbards and flourished them in the air. The opinion he came to from all he heard and saw was that some potentate or other, through whose country they desired to pass, had prohibited their progress, and that they had determined to force their onward way in spite of his opposition. That many of the chiefs had for some time been prepared for this Ned was convinced from the preparations they had made.

Leaving a garrison within the camp to guard their goods, the next morning the little army commenced its march, each chief dressed in his gayest attire, attended by a lad carrying his gun, drums beating, colours flying, and musical instruments emitting strange sounds, while the black followers of the Arabs chanted their various war songs in discordant tones. Mohammed had sent for Ned, and by signs made him understand that he was to be his armour-bearer, and to accompany him to battle. Ned was very much inclined to decline the honour. He questioned whether the Arabs had any right to insist on marching through a country claimed by others. Whatever quarrel might exist it was no concern of his. Then came the point, should he refuse, he would be looked upon with contempt and treated as a slave, and would have less chance of escaping; as to the danger, it did not enter into his calculations. "The Arab insists on my accompanying him, and will make me promise to fight, so fight I must," he thought. "I do not see how I can help myself." He therefore nodded and patted the gun handed him, showing that he knew well how to use it. The chiefs marched forward in high spirits, congratulating each other beforehand on the victory they expected to achieve. Ned kept by Mohammed's side, carrying the chief's gun as well as his own, an honour he would gladly have dispensed with.

About noon the force halted to dine, and two hours afterwards they came in sight, from the top of slightly elevated ground, of a stockaded enclosure, the interior filled with huts on the side of a gentle slope. The chiefs pointed towards it and addressed their followers, who replied with loud shouts. Ned guessed that it was the place about to be attacked. No other enemies had been seen, and the village did not appear capable of holding out against so formidable a force. The Arabs, expecting to gain an easy victory, advanced in loose order to the attack. While one party rushed at the gate to break it open, the remainder halting fired their muskets, but as the stockades were thick no injury was inflicted on the garrison. Not a missile was shot in return. Emboldened by this they were advancing close up to the stockade, when suddenly a shower of bullets, accompanied by a flight of arrows, came whistling about their heads. Several of the attacking party fell dead, pierced through and through, two or three of the chief Arabs being among them, while others were badly wounded.

Mohammed, taking his gun from Ned's hand and shouting his battle cry, rushed forward, firing as he advanced. In the meantime the gate had been opened. Many of the Arabs and a large number of their followers sprang in. No resistance was offered. Others were about to follow when the gate was shut, and directly afterwards the sharp rattle of musketry was heard, mingled with the shouts of the Arabs and the shrieks and cries of the negroes, but not a shot, was fired at those outside. Then there came an ominous silence. Suddenly it was broken by renewed firing, but this time the shots were directed towards the assailants, who were still pressing on to the walls. In vain they attempted to force the gate, numbers were falling; already half their number, with those cut to pieces inside the village, were killed or wounded, and Mohammed, calling his followers round him, retreated, leaving all the dead and many of the worst wounded behind to the mercy of the victors. They hurried on until they were beyond the range of the muskets of the fort, when they halted, and Mohammed asked whether they would renew the attack and revenge the loss of their friends or retreat.