As the cutter drew near, however—for she was drawing near—it became evident she was no pirate. Indeed, she made no secret of what she was, for the British flag was run out to her peak, at once proclaiming her a British vessel of war. It is true a pirate might have used that signal for a decoy; but, considering the time and place, it was not likely, and the Pandora's people did not entertain the thought of its being one. The cutter was a British cruiser beyond doubt. That was their full belief and conviction.

No flag could have been more unwelcome to the eyes of the slaver's crew than the one now spread to the breeze from the peak of the cutter's main-sail. Had it been the Portuguese ensign, or the Spanish, or even the French, they would have dreaded it less; for, notwithstanding the promises of these nations to aid in putting a stop to the slave-trade, it is well-known that they have acted with great lukewarmness in the matter. Indeed, worse than that—since the governors of their Transatlantic possessions—even the captains of their ships of war—have been known, not only to connive at the slave-traffic, but actually to assist in carrying it on! Had it been a ship of one of these nations the Pandora would have been less desirous of escaping from her. She would have been brought-to, perhaps; and after a slight examination— with a word or two of secret intelligence between her captain and the commander of the war-vessel—allowed to go about her business; and this would have ended the affair. But no such an easy conge would be given by the commandant of a British cutter; for, to the honour of the British officers be it said, that in all such cases they have performed their duty, and carried out with energy the designs of their government.

The crew of the barque, therefore, on perceiving that it was in reality a British cruiser that was in the wake, were put into the greatest confusion and trouble. I say in the wake, for long since the Pandora had turned stern towards the strange vessel, and was making all sail to escape.

It was evident that the cutter was a fast sailer, and knew it—else she would have used more strategy in making her first approach. On the contrary, she had taken no pains whatever to conceal her character; but, setting her head right for the Pandora, had given chase at once. The barque had been equally prompt in showing her stern; and for some hours a regular tail-on-end run was kept up between the two vessels.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

For my part, I awaited the result with the deepest interest. I watched the two ships as they sped; and, with my eye, kept constantly measuring the sea between them. My heart was full of hope, and beat joyfully as I observed that the distance was gradually decreasing, and the cutter each minute seemed larger upon the waves.

There was but one drawback to the exultation which I felt—and that was a serious one. Brace had confessed to me that he was a deserter from the Royal Navy. If taken he might be recognised. The stripes upon his back would lead to suspicion—for there are brands almost peculiar to the navy—proofs of his desertion would be sought—perhaps easily obtained, and then I knew the terrible punishment he would have to undergo. For my own sake I wished the cutter to capture us. For the sake of my friend—the preserver of my life—I wanted the Pandora to escape. I wavered between two hopes—now my own horrid situation was before me—the disgust I felt for the life I was compelled to lead, the hopelessness of getting away from it; and when these thoughts came into my mind I looked with longing eyes towards the pursuer, and wished her nearer and nearer. Then my eyes would rest upon poor Brace, as he hurried over the decks—Using all his efforts to aid the Pandora's speed—my thoughts would undergo a complete revulsion, and my late hopes would suddenly change into fears. For a long while I awaited the result, with this singular alternation of contradictory emotions.

During all this time there was a stiff breeze blowing, and this it was that gave the cutter the advantage. As already intimated to me by Brace the barque was a "crank" vessel, and carried sail badly under a wind; though, in fair weather, or with a light breeze, she was one of the fastest sailers on the sea. It was for this quality she had been chosen for the peculiar trade in which she was employed—for swiftness, not stowage, are the points of advantage in a slave-ship. The poor negro is usually packed as closely as any other species of merchandise, and a large cargo of them can be stowed in a small space—for it is rare that the slightest consideration of humanity enters the thoughts of their inhuman stevedore.

The barque then had been built for fast sailing—but more especially in light winds, such as those denominated "trade-winds," and others that are usually encountered between the tropics and the "line."

The cutter, also, sailed well in a light wind, but equally well in a stiff breeze—when under the stronger impetus of a gale—and as it had now freshened almost to a gale the latter vessel was having the advantage. Even under such a wind she still continued to carry most of her sail—her main and second jibs above being hauled down, along with her gaff-topsail while her storm, spitfire, and third jibs were still kept bent to the breeze.

The barque, on the other hand, had to haul down both royals and topgallant-sails, and close-reef her topsails. She was thus far from going at her fastest, but it blew so freshly it would have been dangerous for her to have spread another inch of canvas, and her people well knew it.

Under these circumstances the cutter was evidently gaining upon her; and if the breeze should continue at the same rate for two hours more the Pandora must certainly be overhauled and captured.

As soon as her crew became convinced of this, they set to work to hide all the implements of their nefarious trade. The manacles and shackles were put into a cask and headed up. The hatch-gratings, which the carpenter had been so long in making, were broken up and disfigured—so that their purpose could not be recognised—and the muskets, pistols, and cutlasses were stowed away in some secret part of the hold. There was no intention of making use of these, and showing fight against such an adversary. Small as was the cutter in comparison with the barque, the crew of the latter knew very well that that of the former would far outnumber them, and that any attempt at resistance to such a well-armed, sharp-toothed little ship of war would only bring her guns upon them, and end the conflict in the loss of at least half their number. They entertained no hope, therefore—except to escape by fast sailing—and as this was now well-nigh given up, they set to work to prepare themselves for passing an examination. Several of the crew actually hid themselves in order to avoid the suspicion which their numbers might create; for, as I had already observed, there were too many hands for a ship engaged in the ordinary way of commerce.

At a last measure the old skipper had got out his "ship's papers," which, of course, had been prepared for such an emergency, and which were to show that he was "all right."

In this way the Pandora now awaited the nearer approach of her hostile pursuer.

The cutter had gained rapidly, and had at length got within less than a mile's distance, when a gun was fired from her bow-ports that sent the shot ricochetting over the water, and close to the hull of the barque. A signal was also hoisted for the latter to "lay-to."

My heart beat wildly within my breast. It seemed as if the hour of my deliverance had arrived; and yet I felt a contrary belief—a presentiment that it was not yet to be! Alas! that presentiment proved too true. With all the appearances in favour of our being captured it was not to be. The destiny of the Pandora was different.

Almost as if the firing of the gun had been a signal to the weather, and the wind suddenly began to lull, and at each moment grew lighter and lighter—till it was no longer a gale, but a soft and gentle breeze. The sun, that was now setting, no doubt had caused the change and in a few minutes' time the sails became relaxed and fell flapping against the yards.

With a quick eye the change was observed by the crew of the Pandora, and the advantage understood. Instead, therefore, of yielding obedience to the signal from the cutter, all hands rushed quickly aloft—the topsails were unreefed to their fullest spread—topgallants and royals were unfurled, and even the studding-sails bent, till the whole rigging of the barque was covered with canvas.

The effect was almost immediately perceptible. Although the cutter now fired her guns as fast as she could load them, I could perceive that she was every moment losing ground, and her shots now fell short of the barque.

In another hour she was miles in our wake; and ere the darkness of night closed over the sea, and hid the little vessel altogether from my sight, I saw, with a sad heart, that she had dwindled to a mere speck upon the edge of the horizon!



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

The chase, which had lasted for nearly the whole of a day, carried the Pandora a hundred miles out of her course before she had fairly distanced the cutter; but she had to run still fifty miles further to make sure that the latter had lost sight of her, and, of course, abandoned the pursuit. The last part of the run, however, was made in a direction diagonal to that in which she had been chased; and as the morning broke, and there were no signs of the cutter nor any other sail, the slaver once more headed in for the coast. She was now so far to the south of the line on which she had encountered the cruiser, that, whether the latter kept on in the pursuit, or returned as she had come, in either case she would be too distant from the barque to make her out. The darkness of the night had also favoured the slaver's escape, and, when morning came, her commander felt quite sure that the cutter was cruising far to the north of him, and beyond the range of the most powerful telescope.

The deviation which the Pandora had made from her course did not signify much to such a light sailer as she. She soon made up the loss; for next day the wind had veered round so as to answer for her course; and, as it blew but lightly, she was able to go under studding-sails, at the rate of ten and twelve knots an hour.

She was now heading directly for the African coast, and, before the sun had set, my eyes rested on the land—that land so long famous, or rather infamous, for its commerce in human beings—for the hunt, and the barter, and sale of men, women, and children!

During the night the barque stood off and on at several miles' distance from the shore, and with the earliest light of morning ran close in.

There was no port nor town. Not even a house was in sight. The land was low, scarce rising above the sea-level, and appeared to be covered with a dense forest to the water's edge. There was neither buoy nor beacon to direct the course of the vessel, but, for all that, the captain knew very well where he was steering to. It was not his first slaving expedition to the coast of Africa nor yet to the very port he was now heading for. He knew well where he was going; and, although the country appeared to be quite wild and uninhabited, he knew that there were people who expected him not far off.

One might have fancied that the Pandora was about to be run ashore, for, until she was within a few cables' length of the beach, neither bay, nor landing-place presented itself to our view, and no orders had been given to drop anchor. It is true that most of her sails had been hauled down, and she was moving but slowly through the water, but still fast enough to strike with violence if permitted to approach much nearer.

Several of the crew, who were on their first voyage to this coast, began to express their surprise; but they were laughed at by the older hands who had been there before.

All at once the surprise was over. A little wooded point was rounded, and the line of the beach—which but the moment before had appeared continuous—was now seen to be broken by a long, narrow reach of water, that ran far back into the land. It proved to be the mouth of a small but deep river; and, without reconnoissance or hesitation, the barque entered across its bar, and, standing up stream, came to anchor about a mile inland from the sea.

Opposite to where we had anchored I could perceive a strangely-built hut standing near the bank, and another and larger one further back, and partially screened by the trees. In front of the former, and close to the water's edge, was a group of dark-looking men, making some signals which were answered by the mate of the Pandora. Other men were down in a long canoe that was riding upon the water, and some were getting into it, as if about to be rowed out to us.

I saw the palms upon the bank—they were the first trees of this kind I had ever seen growing, but I easily recognised them by the pictures I had seen in books. There were other large trees, not less singular in their appearance, and differing altogether from the kinds I had been accustomed to look upon at home; but my attention was soon drawn from the trees by observing that the men in the canoe had parted from the shore and were paddling towards us.

The river was not over two hundred yards in width, and as the barque was anchored about midway, of course the canoe had not far to come. In a few seconds it was alongside, and I had a fair and full view of its dusky rowers.

As I regarded them the reflection passed through my mind, that if these were a fair specimen of their countrymen, the less acquaintance with them the better; and I could now comprehend the remark of Brace, that to desert from the ship on the African coast would be sheer madness. "Bad," said he, "as are these fellows on board the Pandy, still they have white skins and something human about them; but as for the rascals we are to meet over yonder they are devils, both soul and body—you shall see 'em, my boy, and judge for yourself." These remarks my patron had made some days before, when we were talking of our intention to escape; and as I looked into that long canoe, and scanned the faces of the half-score of men that sat within it, I was forcibly struck with the truthfulness of the assertion. A more ferocious set of men I never looked upon—very devils did they appear!

There were eleven of them in all, and most of them were as black as shoe-leather, though there was a variety of colour, from jet-black to a bad tawny-yellow. It was evident they were not all of one race, for there is scarcely any part of the western coast of Africa where there is not an admixture of different races,—arising, no doubt, from the long-continued slave-traffic between the coast and the interior. If these eleven gentlemen differed slightly in colour, there were other points in which they differed not at all. All of them had thick lips, beetle-brows, short kinky wool upon their heads, and the most ferocious and brutal expression upon their faces. Eight out of the eleven were naked as at the hour of their birth, with the exception of a narrow swathing of cotton cloth around their hips and thighs. These eight used the paddles, and I could perceive that they had spears and old muskets in the boat beside them. The other three were of superior class. Two of them were better clad than the eight rowers—but no better looking— while the third presented to the eye an aspect at once so hideously tierce, and yet so ludicrous, that it was difficult to determine whether you ought to laugh at or to fear him.

This man was a true negro,—black as gun powder, gross as a water-butt, and of enormous dimensions. His face was not so negrofied (if I may use the word) as some of his companions', but it had a still worse expression than that of the very thick-lipped kind, for it was not stupid like theirs. On the contrary, it exhibited a mixture of ferocity with a large share of cunning—a countenance, in fact, full of all wickedness. It resembled a good deal the faces I have afterwards observed in India,—among the fat despotic princes that are still permitted to misrule some portions of that unhappy land,—and a large black beard, whiskers, and moustache, added to the similitude.

It was not the face, nor the great size of the man that rendered him ridiculous. Quite the contrary. A glance at these had rather an opposite tendency. What was laughable about him was his costume; and if he had been done up for a farce upon the stage, or a Christmas pantomime, he could not have been dressed in a more ludicrous manner. Upon his body was a uniform coat of bright-scarlet cloth, the cut and facings of which told that it had once done duty in the army of King George. It had been a sergeant's full-dress coat, for the chevrons were still upon the cuffs,—and a stout sergeant he must have been,—one of the stoutest in the army. The coat was a large one, yet, withal, it was a tight fit for its present wearer, and did not come within a foot of buttoning upon him. The sleeves, moreover, were too short by inches, and the huge black wrists of the negro appeared in strange contrast with the bright sheen of the scarlet. Behind, the skirts forked widely apart, showing the huge buttocks of the wearer, that were covered by the tails of a striped sailor's shirt reaching a little below; and below this again, the huge, thick, black thighs and lower limbs were naked to the toes.

An old cocked-hat with faded lace and feathers, that no doubt had once graced the head of some admiral or commodore, sat high upon the woolly crown of her new acquaintance, and completed the absurd tout ensemble. There was a long knife stuck in his belt, and a large crooked sabre dangling between his limbs.

It would have been laughable enough—such a singular apparition under other circumstances—but I perceived on the part of the Pandora's crew no disposition to laugh. A strict order from the captain had been issued against such behaviour; and enjoining all on board to receive "His Majesty King Dingo Bingo" with all courtesy and respect.

So, then he of the tight coat and cocked-hat was a king—King "Dingo Bingo!" The two that were partially clad were his councillors, and the eight black canoe-men a portion of his bodyguard.

I did not make all these observations while the new comers were in the canoe. There had been no time for that. The moment they approached the side of the barque, ropes had been thrown to them, and the canoe was hauled close up. A ladder had already been let over the gangway, and up this "His Majesty" climbed, and was received on board with all the honours.

Joyful salutes passed between him and his well-known acquaintance, the captain; and, without more ado, the latter led the way across the quarter-deck, and conducted his majesty to the cabin with apparent formality, but yet in a frank and jovial manner that proved the two to be old friends—the best friends in the world.

The mate did his best to entertain the two "Councillors of State," while the men of the bodyguard remained below in the canoe. His majesty had no fear for his personal safety. He knew the slaver and her master. He had been expecting them, and therefore needed to ask no questions about country or character. The skipper and the king understood each other.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

I could not tell what was said between these two worthies, but I knew what was to be done. His majesty had a crowd of poor negroes not far off—no doubt shut up in the large building which could be partially seen through the trees. These he had procured from some back country in the interior—partly by traffic with other king-monsters like himself, and partly by means of man-hunting expeditions, which he had made with his ferocious troops. It was highly probable, too, that among the victims about to be transported were many who had been his own subjects; for these African potentates do not scruple to make merchandise of their own people, when cash or "cowries" run short, and their enemies have been too strong to be captured.

Just such a crowd then had King Dingo Bingo got together; and the joyful smile that lighted up the jovial face of the skipper, as he reappeared upon deck, proved that it was a large crowd, and that he was sure of a full "cargo" without further trouble or delay. Often competition among the slave-vessels renders it difficult to obtain a full "freight;" and in such cases the white slave-dealers, who dwell upon the coast (for there are many such), and the native chiefs become terribly exacting. Then indeed, the first cost of the human merchandise forms an important item in the invoice, and the profits on the other side are proportionately diminished; but where there is no competition the price of the black is considered a mere trifle; and, taken in "barter" as he is, a whole ship's load of such "bales," as they are jocularly called among slavers (by the Spaniards termed "bultos"), is not such an expensive investment. The purchase of the vessel, the wages and keep of the crew (necessarily a large one), are the main items of outlay in the books of a slaver. As for the food of the living cargo, that counts for little. It is of the simplest and coarsest kind that can be procured, and usually consists of two staple articles; the African millet—known more commonly as a species of sago—and palm-oil. Both are easily obtained on any part of the western coast where the slave-trade exists; for there both these articles form the common food of the country. The millet is a well-known grain; but there are many sorts of grain in different parts of the world which go under this name, and yet are obtained from plants that are very distinct in character. As for the palm-oil, it is at present one of the most important items of African commerce, and thousands of tons of it are annually imported into England and France, where it is used in the manufacture of yellow soap. It is extracted from the nut of a large palm-tree, whole forests of which may be seen in the western countries of tropical Africa, with the fallen nuts lying scattered over the ground as thick as pebbles; and, up to a late period, scarce cared for by the native inhabitants. The demand for palm-oil, however, has of late years stimulated even the indolent negroes to the manufacture of the article, and these immense palm-orchards are now carefully preserved, and their fruit gathered at the proper season.

It is the pulpy covering of the nut that yields the oil, which becomes hard as soon as it cools—so hard that it requires to be cut with a knife, or scooped out by some sharp instrument. In this state it is used by the negroes just as we use butter, and forms a staple article of their daily diet.

Since both the millet-sago and the palm-butter can be purchased in Africa cheaper than any other food, of course these are shipped on board the slave-vessels for the consumption of the unfortunate captives, and beyond these no other food is thought of. Water alone is their drink, and to provide this, the hold of a slave-ship is usually crammed with large casks, as was the case with the Pandora. These casks serve as ballast on the return-trip, when the vessel is without her freight, and then they are kept full—generally with salt-water, as this in most ports is more conveniently got at; and on the coast of Africa, as the place of embarkation is usually a river, the salt-water is easily emptied out and fresh substituted. With these explanations I shall now return to our skipper and his royal guest.

It was plain that the former was in excellent humour. He had King Dingo Bingo all to himself, and was promised a full cargo. His majesty seemed not less pleased with the interview. He came forth out of the cabin staggering with partial intoxication, clutching in one hand a half-empty bottle of rum, while in the other he held various glittering trinkets and pieces of gaudy wearing apparel, which he had just received as presents from the captain. He swaggered about the deck, once or twice tripping upon his long steel scabbard. He talked in loud praise of his warlike achievements, boasting of the many villages he had sacked, of the captives he had made, and ever reminding his host of the fine cargo he had collected for him. There were five hundred of them, "young and strong." They were shut up safely in the "barracoon,"—such was the name of the large building—and to-morrow, that day, or whenever the captain was ready, he would deliver them over. So promised the king.

Of course the captain was not quite ready. His majesty's "plunder" had to be got out of the hold, and boated ashore; the water casks had to be emptied—for it was sea-water they contained—and then refilled from the river; and these things done the barque would then take on board her five hundred "bultos."

After a good deal more swaggering and swearing—for this African royalty could speak a little English, and knew most of its most blackguard phrases—his sable majesty once more betook himself to his boat, and was rowed back to the bank. The captain, taking his mate and some half-dozen of the sailors along with him, followed soon after in the gig to complete the debauch—for King Dingo Bingo had invited him to a royal entertainment in his timber palace upon the shore.

I looked after with longing eyes—not that I had any desire to be, of their company—far from it, indeed—but gazing upon the beautiful forms of vegetation that adorned the banks of this savage river, listening to the sweet music that came from a thousand bright-plumed songsters amid the woods, I longed once more to set my feet upon the firm earth; I longed to be alone, to wander alone and free, away under the shadow of those majestic trees.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

It is very probable I should have longed in vain—very probable I should not have been allowed to set foot upon the shore, but for my protector Brace. My work was still that of the swab and mop, and shoe-brush, and I was kept closely employed at such "chores" from morning to night. The others were permitted to go ashore almost at their pleasure—except during their working-hours, and then they were back and forward several times in the day, unloading the cargo of rum, and salt, and iron, that was forthwith delivered up to King Dingo Bingo.

I endeavoured several times to go with them in the boat, but was always repulsed by some one, usually by the mate or captain himself.

Every day as the sun rose over the glistening tree-tops, tinging their rich verdure with hues of gold, I sighed for liberty, and I would have given aught I possessed, to have been allowed to roam freely through those bright woods. Only one who has been for months cooped up within the confined boundaries of a ship, until tired to death of its monotonous life, can have any idea of the intense longings that I experienced. I was even worse off than one who may have been thus situated. I was not only cooped up but ill-treated. I was not only a prisoner, but a slave, harshly used, and thoroughly disgusted both with my master and associates. If but for a single hour, therefore, I would have made any sacrifice to have been permitted to take a stroll in yonder wild woods, that on both sides of the river stretched away as far as the eye could reach, for I had viewed them from the royal-mast-head, and saw that they were interminable.

I cannot tell why the captain and mate were so opposed to my going ashore. It might be that they were suspicious of me, and feared I might run away from the ship. Knowing the harsh treatment to which they were in the habit of submitting me, it is not strange they should suspect me of such an intention. My position could hardly be worse, even among savages; and, therefore, it was natural enough they should have their fears of my leaving them.

They had no desire to part with me on such terms. I had proved of great service to them in the capacity of cabin-boy and attendant; and they found my services very convenient. Though they would have cared little for drowning me, or knocking me on the head, to gratify a whim of their own, they would have been sadly grieved had I succeeded in running away from them; and, evidently suspecting that I might harbour such an intention, they took care that I should not have the slightest opportunity of carrying it out. I was not permitted, therefore, to set my foot in any of the boats that were constantly going and coming between the ship and the shore.

There was one other of the Pandora's crew who was dealt with in a similar manner, and this was poor "Dutchy", as the sailors called him. They might well suspect him of a design to run away. Bad as was the treatment I received, it was humane and civil when compared with the almost continuous cruelty practised upon the Dutchman; and instinct itself should have prompted him to flee from it at the very first opportunity that offered.

Unfortunately, instinct had this very effect; or rather, I might say, human flesh and blood could stand it no longer; and Dutchy determined to desert. I say unfortunately, for the attempt proved a failure, and had an awful termination. It ended in the death of this poor sailor—a death that was hideous and appalling.

I shall relate the incident in a few words:—

A few days after coming to anchor Dutchy had communicated to me his intention of deserting from the ship. He had made me his confidant, in hopes that I might join him in the enterprise—for the poor fellow knew there was not another on board who had ever spoken to him a word of sympathy. This I had done, and, consequently, had won his regard. He knew, moreover, that I, too was a persecuted victim; and, therefore, believed I might be as willing as himself to get away beyond the reach of the common tyrant. It is true I was so, but the advice of my patron Brace had rendered me content to wait for a better opportunity—to wait for our arrival upon the other side of the Atlantic. I had made up my mind to endure till then; knowing that a voyage from the west coast of Africa to the Brazils, the destination of the Pandora, would be but a few weeks in duration, and confident, from what Brace had promised me, that there I should part from the hated crew.

For these reasons I refused to accede to Dutchy's proposal, and endeavoured to dissuade him from his design; advising him also to wait for our arrival on the other side.

My counsels proved vain. Flesh and blood could stand it no longer. The poor fellow had been persecuted to the utmost limit of endurance, until he could endure no more; and, under the impulse of despair, he made his fatal attempt.

One night, when nearly all on board were asleep, a plunge was heard close by the side of the vessel, as of some one who had fallen or leaped into the water. The cry of "a man overboard!" was heard from the few who were awake on the watch; and echoed from mouth to mouth, till the sleepers—most of whom were on deck in their hammocks—were aroused.

The night was almost as clear as day—for there was a full round moon in the heavens; and up to this time there had been perfect stillness and silence. The men, wondering who had gone overboard, rushed to the side, and looked into the water. A small, black object above the surface indicated the head of a man. It was in motion, and a slight plashing noise, with the long ripple made upon the water, showed that some one was in the river and swimming with all his might for the shore.

Perhaps some one had seen poor Dutchy as he made this fatal plunge, for at that moment the cry was given out that it was he who was endeavouring to escape.

Both mate and captain were on the alert. On account of the heat they, too, had been sleeping in hammocks swung over the quarter-deck, and in a moment they had sprung out upon their feet. Both ran to arm themselves; and before the deserter had made half-way to the bank his tyrants were leaning over the side, each grasping a loaded musket.

Either would have been in good time to have sent a bullet through the unfortunate victim; but though his blood was to be on their heads, it was not destined that he should die by their hands.

Before either had time to take aim, a second ripple was observed in the water—running diagonally to that made by the swimmer—and at the head of this ripple, and causing it, was seen a long dark, monster-like form.

"A crocodile! a crocodile!" shouted the men upon the barque.

Both captain and mate held their fire, and lowered their muskets. They saw that the work would be done as well without them; and I am positive that I perceived at that moment a grim smile of satisfaction on the faces of both!

"Poor Dutchy!" cried a voice, "he'll never reach the bank! It's all up with him—he'll be swallowed whole, bones, body and all. See!"

It was almost literally as the man had predicted. As he uttered the final exclamation the dark monster—now within a few feet of its victim—made a rapid dash forward, its long, notched back rose high above the water; and seizing the swimmer between its strong, bony jaws, commenced dragging him under. A wild scream of agony pealed from the lips of the unfortunate man, that echoed afar into the surrounding woods; but before the echoes had died away, the monster with its victim had sunk beneath the surface; and a few bloodstained bubbles were all that remained to mark the spot where the terrible incident had occurred.

"Served him right!" vociferated the captain, with a fearful oath; "served him right, the good-for-nothing lumber—he's not much loss, we can spare him, I dare say."

"Ay, ay!" assented the mate, also with the embellishment of an oath, and then added:—

"A lesson to all runaways! If the son of a sea-cook had stayed where he was he'd have missed that; but if the fool likes better to be in the belly of a crocodile than the forecastle of a good ship, he's had his choice. All I've got to say is, it's a queer craft he's chosen to ship aboard o'."

The captain answered this sally with a horse laugh, in which he was joined by several of the unfeeling crew; and then both mate and captain, having restored their muskets to the rack, betook themselves once more to their hammocks and fell asleep. The sailors, grouping round the windlass, remained for awhile conversing upon the awful incidents that had transpired, but the tone of the conversation proved that the occurrence gave them but little concern. Some even laughed as they talked; and jests were uttered as to whether Dutchy had made a will, and who was to be heir to his "property." As the poor fellow in reality possessed no property—his whole effects consisting of a few tattered rags of dress, a tin platter, with an old knife, fork, and spoon—the joke was all the more piquant, and the fellows laughed heartily at it.

It was finally agreed upon that they should "raffle" for Dutchy's "kit" in the morning; and this point being settled, one by one dropped off, some to sleep in their bunks in the forecastle, and others upon the deck or in hammock slung to the spars and rigging.

All were soon asleep, and silence once more brooded over the scene. I alone could not sleep, but stood looking over the side of the vessel, my eyes fixed on the spot where the unfortunate man had been last seen. There was nothing to guide the eye—not a trace of the short, sanguinary struggle. The crimsoned froth had long since floated away, and the dark wafer flowed on without even a ripple upon its surface; but for all that I could still see with the eye of my fancy—that horrid picture—the hideous monster, with its victim grasped transversely between its horrid jaws, and I could still hear the scream of agony echoing far off in the woods.

Of course it was but fancy. There was no sound stirring even of wind or water. Above and around reigned an impressive stillness, as if Nature herself, by that dread event, had been awed into silence!



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

I was glad when morning dawned, for I slept but little that night. The sad fate of the poor sailor lay heavily upon my spirits during the whole of the next day, and I could not help thinking that some such ending might happen to myself. It was the constant dread I was in of the brutal violence of mate and captain that produced these unpleasant forebodings; for I regarded these men as the real murderers of the unfortunate man. The crocodile only came in as an accessory, and had no such creature appeared upon the scene the Dutchman would, no doubt, have perished all the same by the bullets of their muskets. The monster had only forestalled them, and hastened the event by a few seconds of time; and it was evident that had they shot the man instead—these reckless ruffians—they would have been equally disregardful of consequences— equally without remorse or regret. No wonder I felt that my life was insecure—no wonder my mind was filled with forebodings.

During the whole of that day the death-scream of the poor sailor seemed to echo in my ears, in sad contrast with the coarse mirth and loud rude laughter that rang over the decks of the Pandora. On board it was a day of jubilee. King Dingo Bingo was entertained by the captain, and brought not only some of his chief men with him, but also his harem of black-skinned beauties, between whom and the rough men of the crew, love-making, dancing, and carousing was kept up to a late hour in the night.

The paltry cargo of goods which the barque had carried was by this time taken on shore and delivered to his commercial majesty; who, in return, had counted out his captives and made them over as slaves to the skipper. Before they could be taken aboard, however, the vessel required some alterations. New gratings were to be made—instead of those destroyed during the chase—and bulkheads were to be strengthened and repaired, for it was intended to partition off the males from the females. It was not any idea of decency that prompted this arrangement, but simply convenience. Moreover, the water-butts had to be emptied of the salt-water which they contained, and fresh substituted in its stead, all which work would require a considerable time for its performance. The last thing would be the embarkation of the cargo. This would be the easiest of all, as each "bale" was able to transport itself from shore to ship, and take its place without giving the least trouble. The stowage of such a cargo was accounted handy. The slaves, therefore, remained in the barracoon, and the preparations for their embarkation went on.

I still yearned to visit the shore. My heart was sick of the scenes daily witnessed on board, and I believed that if I could only get a day's excursion into the wild woods it would be a real happiness. I even fancied it would strengthen me to bear the voyage of the "middle way," of the horrors of which I had heard something, and about which I felt forebodings and apprehensions.

It was not even the prospect of my own sufferings that caused me this uneasiness. It was the thought of the tortures I should witness—the appalling spectacle of the crowded steerage—the endurance and misery of those hapless negroes, who were to be penned together with scarce room to sit down—not enough to lie down—who were to be kept thus for long, long weeks on scant food and drink—half famished—half dead with thirst—panting and fainting under tropic heat and foul air, many of them actually destined to perish from these causes! Such spectacles should I be called upon to witness—perhaps to take part in. It was this prospect that gave me pain, and no wonder it should.

My own life was wretched enough—full of regrets. It was not an absolute fondness for the profession of the sea that had lured me from home. It was rather an ardent desire to see foreign lands—in short, that longing for travel and adventure which every boy experiences to some degree, but which with me was a passion. I fancied that a sailor's life would enable me to indulge in this propensity; but, alas! here was I in Africa itself, in the midst of its wild and sublime scenery, and yet scarce allowed to look upon it! I was more like a prisoner gazing through the grating of his gaol upon the free world without—like a bird who sees through the wires of its cage the bright-green foliage, amidst which it would gladly disport itself.

But I was not without hopes of being able to gratify my longings. Brace had made me a promise, that as soon as he himself should be allowed a day to go ashore, he would try hard to get permission for me to accompany him. This was my hope, and I was cheered at the prospect, though not without doubts that my patron's request might be denied by the unfeeling brutes.

Meanwhile I made the most of my situation, and endeavoured as best I could to vary its miserable monotony by observing whatever of Nature could be seen around. Even within the circumference of my vision from the Pandora's deck, there was much that was new to me and interesting. The country around was entirely without inhabitants. The houses upon the banks of the river were mere temporary dwellings. They constituted the "factory" of King Dingo Bingo—that is, his slave-mart; but his majesty did not reside there. His town and palace were farther up the river, where the country was higher and more healthy—for here, near the sea, the climate was rife with malaria, and all the diseases for which the west coast of Africa is so notorious. The king only visited this place at "intervals," sometimes only once a year, when the Pandora or some other vessel came for her cargo of slaves—the chief product of King Dingo Bingo's dominions. Then would he descend the river with his "crop," gathered from all parts—the produce of many a sanguinary conflict—many a bloodstained man-chase, in which he and his myrmidons had been engaged. He would bring with him his picked bodyguard, and his following of wives and women; for the visit to the slave-ship, with her cargo of strong waters, was the signal for a series of coarse festivities on the grandest scale.

At all other times of the year the factory would be deserted, its huts uninhabited by man, and its barracoon empty. Fierce beasts of prey would occupy the place where man had dwelt—scarce less ferocious than themselves—and Nature would be left to her silence and solitude.

For this reason the scene around had its charms for me. Its very wildness was charming, and, even within the circumscribed circle of my view, I saw much to gratify my curiosity and give me pleasure.

I saw the gigantic "river-horse," wallowing through the flood, and dragging his clumsy body out upon the bank. Of these I observed two sorts—for it is a fact, though scarce known to naturalists, that there are two distinct kinds of the hippopotamus found in the rivers of Western Africa—the one least known being a much smaller animal than the hippopotamus of the Nile and the Hottentots. I saw daily, almost hourly, the huge crocodiles, lying like dead trees along the edge of the stream, or swimming rapidly through the river in pursuit of their finny prey; large porpoises, too, leaping high above the surface, sometimes passing the vessel so near that I could have struck them with a handspike. These were from the sea, making long excursions up the river in search of a favourite food that floated plenteously in the fresh-water. Other amphibious creatures I perceived at times—a large water-lizard that almost rivalled the crocodiles in bulk—and I once had a peep at the rare creature, the "red water-bog" of the Cameroons—for the little river we were anchored in was not far from the same latitude as the Cameroons itself, and the same species inhabited both.

Land animals, too, occasionally made their appearance on the bank, within sight of the barque. A lion was observed skulking through the trees; and huge monkeys, both red and black ones, appeared through the branches, whose wild, sometimes human, voices could be heard at all times of the night,—moaning, screaming, and chattering. Beautiful birds, too—wood-pigeons, parrots, and strange kinds of water-birds— were constantly hovering over the river, flying from bank to bank, or perched on the tops of the trees, giving utterance to their varied notes.

In truth it was an animated scene, and had I been allowed time and leisure I could have regarded it for a long while without being wearied with its monotony. As it was, however, those voices and movements of the beasts and birds only increased my longings to visit their wild wood-haunts, and make nearer acquaintance with those of them that were innocent and beautiful. With what joy then did I learn from Brace that upon the morrow he was to have "his day," and that he had succeeded in obtaining leave for me to accompany him!

The boon had been granted in a surly manner—not to me, but to Brace himself, who had represented that he wanted me to assist him. He was going upon a hunt—for, like most of his countrymen, Brace had a little of the sportsman in him—and he would need some one to carry his game. For this reason was I allowed to go along.

For my part, I cared not for the reason. I was too happy in the prospect to cavil about the motives; and I prepared to accompany my patron with a feeling of joyful anticipation, such as I had never experienced before at the prospect of any happiness in store for me.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Next morning, just after daybreak, Brace and I started upon our excursion. A couple of sailors, friends of my companion, rowed us ashore and then took back the boat I was not easy in my mind until I saw the boat return without us; for I was still apprehensive that my tyrants might repent of their generosity, hail the boat, and have me taken back. I was not happy until I had put some bushes between myself and the river's bank, that hid me from the view of the barque.

Then, indeed, did I feel happy—so much so that I danced over the ground and flung my arms wildly around me—until my companion began to think I had suddenly taking leave of my senses. If I felt happy at the prospect of this temporary freedom, how much more was I joyed by the reality? I cannot describe the peculiar sensations I experienced at that moment. My feet once more rested on the welcome earth, after having for two long months pressed only the slippery deck; once more I walked under the shadow of noble trees, and around and above me, instead of stiff spars and black tarred ropes, I beheld graceful boughs and bright-green leaves. Instead of the wind drumming upon the sails, or the storm screeching harshly through the taut rigging, I heard only a soft breeze, singing playfully through the twigs, and bearing upon its wings the melody of many a sweet songster. Far more than all—I was once more free—free to think, and speak, and act—not one of which had I been free to do since the day I stepped on board the Pandora.

No longer were those frowning faces before my eyes; no longer rang in my ears those harsh voices—harsher from jests, ribald and blasphemous utterings. No; I saw only the jovial face of my companion; I heard only his cheerful voice—more cheerful because he too was in high spirits with the prospect of our day's enjoyment.

We soon buried ourselves in the woods—far beyond hear and hail of the barque—and then conversing agreeably with one another, we took our time about it, and trudged leisurely along.

I have said that Ben was a bit of a sportsman. Of course then our excursion was a hunting one, and we carried the implements of the chase—though it would hardly be just to give this title to the weapons we carried. Ben shouldered a ship's musket of very large dimensions—an old piece of Queen Anne, with a flintlock and heavy iron ramrod—the whole making a load that would have borne down a grenadier; but Ben was strong enough to have carried a small cannon, and thought nothing of the weight. For me he had provided a stout pistol—such as are used by dragoons, and by sailors when boarding an enemy's ship—and these were our weapons. For the rest we had about a pound of small shot, which my companion carried in his tobacco-pouch, and a quantity of powder safely corked in a bottle that had once held that favourite English beverage "ginger beer," and the identity of whose stout form and grey complexion could not be mistaken even in the forests of Africa. For wadding, we had brought with us some oakum, well 'flaxed' out, and thus armed and equipped we were ready to do slaughter upon all birds and beasts that should chance to come in our way.

We walked a good distance without seeing either one or the other, though we met with many signs and traces of both. We were constantly within hearing of birds, that sang or chattered among the trees, both above our heads and around us. From the noises we knew we were within shot of them, but we could not see a feather to guide us in taking aim. The reason of this was, that the leaves were so thick upon the trees the birds were hidden by them. No doubt they saw us well enough and no doubt we might have seen them, had we known the exact spot in which to look; for it is a well-known fact, that Nature has given to her wild creatures such forms and colours as peculiarly adapt them to their several haunts; as the brown of the hare, resembling the withered gorse or fallow; the speckle of the partridge, to assimilate it to the stubble, and many other examples that might be adduced. In tropic climes this law of Nature is also carried out. The spotted leopard or panther, though of bright colours that strike the eye when the animal is viewed in its cage, are scarce discernible among the red and yellow leaves that strew the ground in a forest; the parrots that frequent the evergreen foliage are themselves of this colour; while others who haunt more upon rocks, or the grey and brown trunks of giant trees, are usually of more sombre hue—for there are rock-parrots both in Africa and America, as well as those that dwell only among trees.

For this reason my companion and I went a long way without finding a feather. It was not destined, however, that we should be altogether unsuccessful in our day's sport. Our patience was at length rewarded by the sight of a large dark-coloured bird, which we observed sitting very quietly upon a tree that was dead and leafless, though still standing. The bird was upon one of the lower branches, and apparently buried in deep thought; for it sat without moving either head or neck, limb or wing.

I stopped a little behind, and Ben advanced to obtain a shot. He possessed some hunter craft; for, as he had told me, he had done a little poaching in his younger days, and this skill now stood him in stead. Keeping behind the trunks of the trees, and silently gliding from one to another, he at length arrived within shot of the one on which the bird was perched. The simple creature appeared to take no heed of him, although part of his body was several times within sight of it, and any English bird would have long before taken to flight. Ben crept very near, in order to make sure of the shot. He concluded that we were not likely to meet with many chances, and, as he was resolved not to go back empty-handed, he was determined to be on the safe side and not make a miss of it. But if the bird had been dead and stuffed it could not have awaited him more composedly, and Ben crept on until he was within about a cable's length from the dead tree. He then levelled his "Queen Anne" and fired, and, since it was almost impossible for him to have missed, the bird fell to the shot, as an Irishman might say, "killed dead."

Of course we both ran forward and secured the prize; though neither of us knew what sort of game we had got. It was a very large bird—quite as big as a turkey—and bore considerable resemblance to one, being of a red colour about the head and neck, and upon these parts having no feathers.

Ben believed it was a turkey—a wild one, of course; but I could not agree with him in this point, for I remembered having read that wild turkeys are found only in America and Australia, and that there are none in Africa; though there are bustards and floricans, and several other kinds that bear considerable resemblance to turkeys, and hence are often called by the name. It might be one of these we concluded, and, therefore, just as good to eat as a turkey. So, with this idea, my companion tied the huge bird across his shoulders, and, once more loading his musket, we kept on.

We had not proceeded more than ten paces farther when we came upon the carcass of an animal, badly torn and partially devoured. It looked like it had been a deer, and Ben said that it was one; but, as I observed that its horns were without antlers, and as I had also read that there are no deer in Africa, except one species far north of where we were, I told Ben that I thought, the carcass must be that of an antelope; for these animals take the place of deer on the African continent, and sailors, who know no better, call them deer. Ben had never heard of an antelope, though he had of a gazelle; and if I had called it by this name he might have agreed with me.

An "ant'lope," however, he knew nothing about; and as his hunter-pride would have been offended by contradiction, I allowed him to persist in calling it a deer.

"Ay, ay! it be a deer, Will," he said, emphatically, as we walked away from it—"nothin' else, my boy. What a pity we can't scare up a livin' 'un—that 'ud be a nice cargo for our return-trip, w'udn't, my lad?"

"Yes," I answered, mechanically, without hearing what Ben said; for I was at that moment thinking of something else.

We had observed how the carcass of the antelope—for antelope it was— had been mangled and half eaten by some preying creature. Ben said it was wolves or jackals. Likely one or more of these had made a meal upon it; but there was one thing I had particularly noticed, and that was the eyes. I should rather say the places where the eyes had been; for the eyes themselves were quite gone, and the sockets cleaned out to the very bottom. Now, I reasoned that no quadruped could do this. The holes were too small even for a jackal to get his slender snout into. The work must have been done by the beak of a bird; and what sort of bird. Why, a vulture, of course!

Now, what kind of bird was Ben carrying upon his back? Beyond all doubt it was a vulture! The locality in which we had found it, with the carcass near at hand; its stupid behaviour in allowing the hunter to approach so near; its general appearance, with the naked head and neck; all these points confirmed my suspicion. I had read that such is the habit of vultures; that they are so tame in some parts of the world, that one can get near enough to knock them over with a stick; and this is especially the case immediately after they have gorged themselves with carrion. Now, the appearance of the carcass indicated that this very bird had just finished its breakfast, and that would account for its tameness. Beyond a doubt our game was a vulture!

I had arrived at this conviction, but disliked to declare it to my companion, and walked on after him saying nothing. I thought I would leave him to find it out for himself.

I had not long to wait for this event. Before we had advanced a hundred paces, I saw Ben suddenly untie the cord by which the bird was fastened, and, lifting it over his shoulders, hold the body up nearer his nose— then, uttering a loud exclamation, he pitched the game as far from him as he could, at the same time crying out:—

"Turkey, i'deed—dang it, Will, 'tan't no turkey. Shiver my timbers if 'tan't a stinking vulture!"



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

I pretended to express surprise, though I was bursting with laughter, for I had become quite satisfied as to the species of the bird. Indeed, the horrid effluvium that came from the filthy creature, as my companion carried it in front of me, was quite as strong as that of the carrion itself; and it was this reaching Ben's nostrils that first led him to suspect the genuineness of the game. Ben would have known the bird had it been the Pondicherry vulture—for he had been to the East Indies, and had seen the latter—or the griffon vulture of yellowish colour, which he had seen at Gibraltar, and on the Nile; but this one was smaller than either, and was far more like a turkey than they. It was in reality a kind of vulture that is found in these parts of Africa, and is not known anywhere else; for since that time I have visited most parts of the world, and never saw another of the kind. No wonder, then, my companion was deceived—for he had never been at the place before, and had never seen the bird—but now that he had smelt it, there could be no longer any deception. No game could have emitted such an odour. It was nothing else than a stinking vulture.

The expression upon Ben's face, as he flung the creature from him, was ludicrous in the extreme, and I could have laughed at him with all my might, but that I did not wish to add to my companion's chagrin. I therefore approached the bird, and examining it with a look of pretended surprise, gave an affirmative rejoinder to Ben's emphatic declaration. Leaving it where it had been thrown, we again faced forward, and jogged leisurely along in hopes of finding some sweeter game.

We had not gone much farther when we entered a forest of palm-trees, and one of the ardent longings of my youth here met with its full gratification. If there was anything in foreign lands I had longed particularly to behold, it was a forest of palm-trees. I had heard that such existed in South America, Africa, and in the Indian countries, and I had read some descriptions of them. But I now perceived that the most glowing description can impart but a very imperfect idea of the beautiful reality, for no work of Nature I have ever looked upon has given me more delight than this—the aspect of a palm-wood. There are many species of palms that do not grow in forests, but only as single individuals, or groups of two or three together, in the midst of other trees. Of course, too, there are many sorts of palms, more or less fine looking, since it is believed that there are at least one thousand species in existence. All are not equally beautiful to look upon, for some are stunted, others have crooked stems; still, others have short mis-shapen trunks; and not a few appear with their leaves on the surface of the ground, as if without stems altogether.

The sort of palm, however, that constituted the forest into which my companion and I had now penetrated, was one of the most magnificent of the whole tribe. I did not then know what species it was, but since I have learnt all about it. It was no other than the oil-palm, called by the natives of Western Africa the "Mava," and by botanists "Elais Guiniensis," which, when translated into plain English, means the "oil-palm of Guinea."

It is a palm that somewhat resembles the beautiful cocoa, and by botanists is placed in the same family. The trunk is very tall, of less than a foot in diameter, and rising in a straight shaft to the height of nearly a hundred feet. On the top is a splendid head of leaves like gigantic ostrich plumes, that gracefully curve over on all sides, forming a shape like a parachute. Each leaf is full five yards in length, and of the kind called pinnate—that is divided into numerous leaflets, each of which is itself more than a foot and a half long, shaped like the blade of a rapier. Under the shadow of this graceful plumage the fruit is produced, just below the point where the leaves radiate from the stem. The fruit is a nut, about the size of a pigeon's egg, but of a regular oval form, and growing in large clusters, after the manner of grapes. Around the shell is a thick fleshy covering, very similar to that which encloses the common walnut, only more of an oily substance and glutinous texture, and it is from this very substance that the oil is manufactured. Oil can also be extracted from the kernel, and this last, though more difficult to be obtained, is of a superior quality than that taken from the pulp of the rind.

Nothing in the vegetable world can be more beautiful than a full-grown specimen of the oil-palm, with its cluster of ripe fruit, their bright-yellow colour contrasting finely with the deep-green of its long curling fronds, that seem intended, as it were, to protect the rich bunches from the too powerful rays of a tropic sun. I say nothing in the vegetable world can be more beautiful than this, unless, indeed, it be a whole forest of such trees; just such a forest as my companion and I had now entered. Even the rude sailor was impressed by the grandeur of the spectacle that surrounded us, and we both stopped mechanically to gaze upon and admire it.

Far as the eye could reach rose a succession of straight trunks, that looked as if they had been shaped by mechanical skill and were only columns supporting the verdant canopy above, and this canopy from the curling of the fronds and the regular division of the leaflets, appeared to form grand arches, fretted and chased in the most elaborate manner. From the columns, near their tops, hung the rich-yellow clusters, like golden grapes, their brilliant colour adding to the general effect, while the ground underneath was strewed with thousands of the egg-like nuts, that had fallen from over-ripeness, and lay scattered over the surface. It looked like some grand temple of Ceres, some gigantic orchard of Nature's own planting!

I have thought—but long after that time—I have thought that if King Dingo Bingo had but set his poor captives, and his bloody myrmidons as well, to gather that golden crop, to press the oil from those pulpy pericarps, what a fortune he might have been honestly the master of, and what unhappiness he might have spared to thousands in whose misery alone he was now making traffic!



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

For more than a mile we walked through this wonderful wood, and, although we had admired it so much on first entering it, we were now very desirous of getting out of it. It was not that it was a gloomy forest: on the contrary, it was rather cheerful, for the light, pinnated leaves permitted the sun to shine through, and just screened his rays sufficiently to make it pleasant and cool. It was, therefore, rather cheerful than gloomy. The reason why we so soon grew tired of it was, that it was anything but agreeable under foot. The ground, as I have already remarked was strewed with the fallen fruits. The whole surface was literally covered with them, just like an an apple-orchard after a stormy night, only that the palm-nuts lay thicker upon the ground than I had ever seen apples—so thick that there was no picking of steps among them, and in some places it was impossible to set down the foot without treading upon and crushing them. Now the pulpy outer part, when thus crushed, is almost as gummy and sticky as cobblers' wax, and the consequence was, that walking over the nuts was no easy matter—in short it was both difficult and disagreeable. Sometimes a whole cluster of them would adhere to the soles of our shoes, or, slipping from under our feet, would threaten us with a fall, and thus our advance was continuously impeded or interrupted. It was quite as difficult to make way as it would have been through deep snow or over ice, and it must have taken us a full hour to get to the other side of the wood.

We reached it at length, and were very glad to see trees of another kind, which, although far less beautiful than the palms, and with far more gloomy shadows beneath them, grew upon ground that offered us good footing, and we were now able to proceed without the danger of falling at every step, or spraining our ankles.

Through this shadowy forest we kept on, but as no game of any kind was seen we soon became tired of it, as we had been of the palms. In fact, travelling through thick timber is very tiresome to persons who are not used to it—that is, to those who have not been reared in a forest-covered country, or used to a forest life. To such, the scene, however striking at first, however picturesque it may be, soon appears tame and monotonous. There is a great sameness in it—the trees are alike, the vistas that now and then open out all resemble one another; the ground, bare of grass or covered with withered leaves, presents but little attractions, either to the foot or the eye, and the traveller wearies of listening to his own tracks, oft repeated, and longs for a piece of open ground where he may look upon the blue sky above him, and press the green carpet of grass beneath his feet.

Just in this wise did my companion and myself long to get out of the deep wood and into some more open kind of country, where we might see to a good distance around us, and where Ben thought we should be far more likely to find game.

Our longings were gratified. We had advanced about a quarter of a mile beyond the palm-wood, when the forest appeared to end in front of us. We saw the sun streaming through the trees, and a bit of blue sky as big as a main-sail, and from this we knew there was an opening in the timber.

We hastened forward with joyful anticipations; and a hundred yards farther on came out upon the edge of a beautiful plain, that stretched as far beyond as the eye could reach, with scarcely a tree to intercept the prospect. Here and there only stood single trees, or little clumps, just as if the plain was a great park and these had been planted; but there was no house within sight nor any sign of the presence of man.

We saw some animals, however, upon the plain which my companion believed to be deer; but I again differed with him about the kind, for I knew by their horns that they were antelopes.

No matter about that—we were both equally glad to see them—and whether they proved to be deer or antelopes we were desirous of having a shot at them.

We stopped for awhile, under cover of the bushes, to reconnoitre and plan how we might approach them. Of course there was no other way than to "stalk" them; and that could only be done by taking advantage of the little copses of trees that were interspersed over the plain. One of these, we noticed, was not very distant from the spot where the herd was browsing, and we had fine hopes of being able to get into it unobserved.

As soon as we had taken all the bearings we set out; and after gliding from clump to clump—sometimes on our feet, in crouching attitude, and sometimes crawling upon our hands and knees—we at length got behind the particular grove, near which was the game.

We took great pains to worm our way through the copse, for it was a perfect thicket, and so full of thorny trees, such as acacias and aloes, that we got well scratched for our pains.

At length, however, we came near enough to the other side for our purpose; and, with quick beating pulses, we perceived that the antelopes had kept the ground, and were now within range of the "Queen Anne." Of course I had no design of firing my pistol. That would only have been to waste powder and shot; and I had merely kept along with Ben to be near and enjoy the sport.

Ben was not slow about the work. He saw that there was no time to be lost, for the timid antelopes were seen to toss up their tiny snouts and snuff the gale, as if they suspected that some enemy was near.

My companion just then protruded the muzzle of "Queen Anne" through a bush, and, resting the long barrel upon a branch, took aim and blazed away.

And the herd ran away—every hoof and horn of them—so fast, that before the echoes of the huge musket had died among the trees of the forest, there was not an antelope in sight upon that wide plain, nor any other living creature except Ben Brace and myself!

Ben thought he must have hit the animal at which he had aimed; but no sportsman likes to acknowledge that he has missed entirely: and if we were to believe the accounts of hunters, there must be an incredible number of wounded beasts and birds that contrive to make their escape.

The fact was, that Ben's shot was too small for such game; and if he had hit a hundred times with it, he could not have killed so large an animal as these antelopes were.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

Ben was now sorry he had not brought a bullet with him, or, at all events, some slugs. Larger shot he could not have brought, as there was none on board the barque. But, indeed, in starting out our ambition had not soared so high; neither my companion nor I had anticipated meeting such fine game as a herd of antelopes, and we had prepared ourselves just as we should have done for a day's fowling about the downs of Portsmouth. Birds we expected would be the principal game to be met with, and, therefore, birds, and small ones only, had anything to fear from us. It is not likely that Ben would have shot the vulture had he not crept so near; and then, even the small shot, projected so powerfully by the huge piece, had penetrated its body and killed it.

We therefore greatly regretted not having provided ourselves with "slugs," or a bullet or two, out of which we could easily have made them.

Regrets were to no purpose, however. We were too far from the barque to go back for them. It would be no joke walking so far in the great heat that there was—besides, by going directly back we should have to pass once more through the palm-wood, and this we had determined to avoid by going round it on our return. No; we could not think of taking the backtrack just then. We must do the best we could without the slugs, and, so resolving, Ben once more loaded "Queen Anne" with the snipe-shot, and we marched on.

We had not gone very far when a singular sort of a tree drew our attention. It stood all alone, though there were others of a similar kind at no great distance. The others, however, were much smaller, and it was the largest that had drawn our attention. Indeed, though the smaller trees bore a general resemblance to this one—so that you could tell they were of the very same kind—yet they differed very considerably from it, both in form and aspect; and, but for the peculiarity of the leaves, one might have taken them for trees of altogether distinct species. The leaves of both, however, were exactly alike, and from this and other indications it was evident that both were trees of the same kind, only that a difference of age had created a difference in their aspect—as great as would be between a chubby, rosy-cheeked child and a wrinkled old man of eighty. The small trees, and consequently the younger ones, rose upon a straight, round stem, only a few feet in height. Each was about the height of a full-grown man, while the stem itself, or trunk as it should more properly be called, was full as thick as a stout man's body; and what was curious in a tree, it was even thicker at the top than at the base, as if it had been taken out of the ground and re-planted wrong end upwards! Upon this clumsy-looking trunk there was not a single branch—not even a twig, but just upon its top grew out a vast tuft of long, straight spikes that resembled broad-sword blades, only that they were of a green colour. They pointed in every direction, radiating from a common centre, so as to form a large head somewhat roundish, or globe-shaped. Any one who has seen an aloe or a yucca-plant will be able to form some idea of the foliage of the singular tree upon which my companion and I stood gazing in wonderment. The leaves were more like those of the yucca than the aloe—indeed, so like the yucca was the whole tree, that, from what I afterwards saw of yucca-trees in Mexico and South America, I am convinced that these are very near the same kind—that is, they were of the same habit and family, though, as I also learned afterwards, esteemed different by botanists.

Then I had never seen a yucca, much less a tree of the kind we were gazing at; of course I could only guess at what they might be.

Ben thought they were palms; but Ben was wrong again, for he was no great discriminator of genus or species. His opinion was based upon the general aspect which the trees—that is, the smaller ones—presented. Certainly, with their single, regularly rounded stem, crowned by the radiating circle of leaves, they had something of the peculiar look of palm-trees, and a person entirely ignorant of botany, who had never seen one of the sort before, would, in all likelihood, have pronounced as my companion had done, and called them palms. In the eyes of a jolly-tar, all trees that have this radiating foliage, such as aloes, and yucca, and the zamias of South Africa, are palm-trees; therefore it was natural for Ben to call the trees in question by this name. Of course he saw they were different from the oil-palms among which he had been wandering; but Ben knew there were several sorts of palm-trees, although he would not have believed it had he been told there were a thousand. I should have been compelled to agree with Ben, and believe these strange trees to be veritable palms—for I was no more of a botanist than he— but, odd as it may appear, I was able to tell that they were not palms; and, more than that, able to tell what sort of trees they actually were. This knowledge I derived from a somewhat singular circumstance, which I shall relate.

Among the small collection of my boy books there had been one that treated of the "Wonders of Nature." It had been my favourite, and I had read it through and through and over and over again a dozen times, I am sure. Among these "wonders" figured a remarkable tree, which was said to grow in the Canary Islands, and was know as the "dragon-tree of Oritava." It was described by the celebrated traveller, Humboldt, who measured it, and found its trunk to be forty-five feet in girth, and the tree itself about fifty in height. It was said to yield, when cut or tapped, a red juice resembling blood, and to which the name of "dragons'-blood" has been given; hence the tree itself is called the "dragon-tree," or, sometimes the "dragons'-blood tree"—though it is to be observed, that several other kinds of trees that give out a red juice are also known by this name. The trunk of this tree, said the traveller, rose almost of equal thickness to the height of twenty feet, when it divided into a great number of short, thick branches, that separated from the main stem like the branches of a candelabrum, and upon the end of each of these was a thick tuft of the stiff, sword-shaped leaves—the same as I have above described. Out of the midst of these leaves grew the pannicles, or flower-spikes, and the bunches of small, nut-like fruit.

Now the strangest part of Humboldt's account was, that this individual tree was known to the Spaniards on their first discovery of the Canary Islands—more than four centuries ago—and that from that time to the present it has increased scarcely perceptibly in dimensions. Hence the great traveller infers that it must be one of the oldest trees in the world—perhaps as old as the earth itself!

Now all this account except the last part of it—which of course is only a philosophic conjecture—I believe to be true, for I have myself visited the Canaries and looked upon this vegetable wonder, which is still standing near the town of Oritava, in the island of Teneriffe. Unfortunately, since Humboldt's visit, the tree, instead of increasing in dimensions, has become less. During a storm, in the month of July, 1819, one half of its enormous crown was broken off by the wind, but the tree still continues to grow; and, as it is a great favourite of the inhabitants, the wound has been plastered up, and the date of the misfortune inscribed over the spot.

No doubt the great care taken of this venerable vegetable will ensure its surviving for another century at least.

Now you will be wondering what all this after-knowledge about the dragon-tree of Oritava has to do with Ben Brace, myself, or the trees that had fixed our attention on the plain. I shall tell you then what it has to do with us. In the book of which I have spoken there was a picture given of the Oritava tree. It was but a rude affair—a common woodcut—but for all that it gave a very good idea of the aspect of the great vegetable; and I well remember every leaf and branch of it—so well that, when I afterwards saw the tree itself, I recognised it at once. But what was still more singular: as soon as I set my eyes upon the large tree that had brought my companion and myself to a stand, the old picture came vividly before my mind, and I was convinced that it was a tree of the same sort as that described in my book. Yes; there was the thick, stout trunk, all gnarled and knotted with the marks of where the leaves had once grown—there were the short, clublike branches, separating from each other at the head—at the blunt ends of each were the fascicles of bayonet-shaped leaves, and the pannicles of greenish-white flowers—all exactly as in the picture! I was convinced that the venerable vegetable before us was no palm, but a true dragon-tree; perhaps as old as that of Oritava.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

I communicated my convictions to Ben, who still persisted in calling the tree a palm. How should I know what sort of a tree it was, since I had never seen one before? I told Ben of the book and the picture but he was still incredulous.

"Well then," said I, "I'll tell you how we can prove whether I am right or no."

"How?" demanded Ben.

"Why, if the tree bleeds it must be a dragon."

"Bleeds?" echoed Ben, "why, my boy, ain't you mad? who e'er heard o' a tree bleedin'?"

"Run sap, I mean."

"Oh that be hanged, lad! Sure you know that any sort o' tree 'll run sap; 'ceptin' it be a dead 'un."

"But not red sap!"

"What! you think yon ere tree 'ud run red sap, do ye?"

"I am almost sure of it—red as blood."

"Well, if it do then I'll believe 'ee, my lad; but it are precious easy to try. Let's go up to it, and gie it a prod with the knife, and then we'll see what sort o' sap it's got in its ugly veins—for dang it, it are about the ugliest piece o' growin' timber I e'er set eyes on; ne'er a mast nor spar to be had out o' it, I reckon. It sartinly are ugly enough to make a gallows of. Come on, my lad!"

Ben started forward towards the tree, and I followed him. We did not walk particularly fast, as there was no need to be in a hurry. The tree was not likely to run away from us like the birds and beasts. There were no signs of motion about it; and it would have taken a strong wind to have stirred, either its leaves or branches. It had a look of great firmness, and more resembled cast-iron than a vegetable substance; but as we drew nearer, its forbidding aspect was to some extent relieved by the appearance of its flowers, the strong fragrance of which reached our nostrils from a great distance off.

Immediately around the tree, and for several yards outwards, there was a bed of tall, sedge-looking grass. It was withered, and of a yellowish colour, not unlike a piece of standing wheat, but much taller. It appeared a little trampled and tossed, as if some heavy animal had been passing through it, and in one or two places had rolled in it. This might all very naturally be, in a country where large animals abound. The antelopes might have been there, resting themselves under the shade, and taking advantage of the fine grass to couch upon.

Neither my companion nor I took any heed of these signs, but walked boldly up to the tree; and Ben, without more ado, drew his great jack-knife, and struck the blade forcibly into the bark.

Whether there came out red juice or yellow juice, or any juice at all neither of us waited to see; for as if the stroke of the knife had been a signal, a huge animal leaped up out of the grass, not twenty feet from where we stood, and remained gazing at us. To our horror we saw that it was a lion! It needed no naturalist to recognise this fellow. The dun-coloured body, with dark, shaggy mane—the broad, full face, and wrinkled jaws—the fierce, yellow eye, and bristled, cat-like snout, were not to be mistaken.

My companion and I had both seen lions in shows and menageries, as who has not? But even had we never looked on one before, it would have been all the same. A mere infant might recognise the terrible animal and point him out amidst all the beasts in the world.

Ben and I were horror-struck—perfectly paralysed by the unexpected apparition; and remained so for some seconds—in fact, so long as the lion stood his ground. To our great joy that was not a long while. The enormous beast gazed at us a few seconds—apparently more in wonderment than anger—and then, uttering a low growl to express some slight displeasure at having his rest disturbed, he dropped his tail and turned sulkily away. And thus do lions generally behave at the approach of man—especially if they are not hungry, and be not assailed by the intruder.

He moved off, however, but very slowly—at intervals crouching down and turning his head backward, as if "looking over his shoulder" to see whether we were following. We had no notion of such a thing. Not a foot did we intend to follow him, not even an inch. On the contrary, we had rather receded from our position, and placed the huge trunk of the tree between him and us. Of course this would have been no protection had he chosen to return and attack us, but, although he did not go as fast as we could have wished, he showed no signs of coming back and we began to recover confidence.

We might have retreated upon the plain, but that would have been of no use, and very probably would have been the means of drawing the lion after us. We knew very well he could soon overtake us, and of course a blow apiece from his enormous paws would have knocked us into "smithereens," or, as my companion more elegantly expressed it, "into the middle of next week."

It is quite probable that had this lion been let alone, he would have gone entirely away without molesting us. But was he not let alone. My companion was a bold, rash man—too bold and too rash upon that occasion. It occurred to him that the enemy was moving off too slowly; and fancying, in his foolish way, that a shot from "Queen Anne" might intimidate the brute and quicken his pace, he rested the piece upon one of the old leaf-marks of the tree, and, taking steady aim, banged away.

Likely enough the shot hit the lion—for he was not yet fifty yards from the muzzle of the gun—but what effect could a load of snipe-shot produce upon the thick hide of an enormous brute like that?

In the lion's mind, however, it produced the very opposite effect to what my companion anticipated, for it neither caused him to run away or even quicken his pace, nor yet frightened him any way. On the contrary, almost simultaneously with the report, he uttered a loud scream, and, turning in his track, came bounding towards the tree!



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

No doubt in less than another minute Ben Brace and I would have ceased to live. I had made up my mind that both of us would be torn to pieces—and certainly this would have been the result had my companion not been a man of ready resources. But fortunately, he was so, and at that crisis conceived a means of escape from the danger that threatened us. Perhaps he had thought of it before. It is most probable he had, otherwise he would scarce have acted so imprudently as he had done—for nothing could have been more imprudent than firing at a lion upon an open plain with nothing but snipe-shot in the gun!

It is likely, however, that Ben had though of his means of retreat before firing that shot, though what they were I could not imagine. We were upon the ground, with the thick trunk of a tree between us and the lion; but of course, that would be no protection since the beast saw us, and would soon come round to our side. How then were we to retreat? For my part I believed we should both be killed and devoured.

Ben was of a different opinion, and before I could do more than give utterance to an exclamation of terror, he had caught me by the legs and hoisted me high above his shoulders into the air!

"Now, lad," shouted he, "lay hold of the branch and hoist yourself up. Quick!—quick! or the beast'll be on us."

I at once divined his intention; and, without waiting to make reply, I seized one of the branches of the dragon-tree, and commenced drawing myself upward. The branch was just as high as I could reach with my hands—even when held up in the arms of the tall sailor—and it was no easy matter to raise my body up to it; but during the voyage I had learned to climb like a monkey, and, after some twisting and wriggling, I succeeded in gaining a lodgment among the limbs of the tree.

Meanwhile Ben was as busy as myself in making the ascent. He had resigned his hold of me, as soon as he perceived that I caught the branch; and was now using all his energies, and all his craft too, to get out of the way of the lion. Unfortunately the limbs of the tree were too high for him to lay hold of, and he was compelled to resort to a different mode of climbing. Of course, the trunk was by far too thick for him to get his arms around it and climb by hugging—he might as readily have hugged a wall. Fortunately, however, the bark was full of irregularities—little knots and notches, the scars of the old leaf-marks, that had long ago fallen off, with some larger holes, where, perhaps, whole branches had been broken off by the wind. The quick eye of the sailor at once perceived the advantage of these marks—which would serve him as steps—and kicking off his shoes, he clutched the trunk both with fingers and toes, and commenced climbing upward like a cat.

It was sharp work, and he was obliged to take a little time and make it sure. Had he lost balance and fallen back, he would not have had time to make a second attempt before the lion should arrive upon the ground; and, well knowing this, he held on with "teeth and toe-nail."

By good fortune I had now squared myself face downward upon the branch, and as the collar of Ben's guernsey came within reach of my hand I was able to give him a help; so that the next moment he succeeded in getting hold of a limb, and swinging himself into the fork of the tree.

It was a close shave, however; for just as Ben drew his dangling feet among the branches the lion reached the ground, and, bounding upwards, struck his paw fiercely against the trunk, causing the bark to fly off in large pieces. There was not three inches between the tips of his claws and the soles of Ben's feet as this stroke was given; and had he succeeded in grasping the ankle of my companion, it would have been the last bit of climbing poor Brace would ever have made; for the paw of the lion is like a hand, and he could easily have dragged his victim back to the ground again. It was a narrow escape, therefore, but as Ben afterwards remarked, "an inch of a miss was as good as a mile," and the sequel in this case proved the justice of the adage, for we were now safe among the branches where the lion could not possibly reach us.

At the time, however, we were far from being satisfied upon this head, and for a long while entertained no very confident feeling of security. We both knew that lions cannot climb an ordinary tree. They have not the power of "hugging" with which some bears are gifted, and of course cannot ascend in that manner. Neither can they climb as cats do; for although the lion if neither more nor less than a great cat—the biggest of all cats—and is furnished with retractile claws, such as cats have, yet these last are usually so worn and blunted, that the king of beasts can make but little use of them in attempting to climb a tree. For this reason, tree-climbing is altogether out of his line, and he does not make any pretensions to the art; notwithstanding all this, he can rush a long way up the trunk by the mere strength of his elastic muscles, and particularly where the bark is rough on the surface, and the trunk large and firm as was that of the dragon-tree.

No wonder, then, that our apprehensions continued; no wonder they increased when we saw the fierce brute crouch down at some paces distant from the trunk, and, spreading out his broad paws, deliberately set himself for a spring.

Next moment he rushed forward about two lengths of his body, and then, bounding in a diagonal line, launched himself aloft. He must have leaped over ten feet in an upward direction—for his fore-paws struck the tree just under the forking of the branches—but to our great relief he was not able to retain his hold, and his huge body fell back to the ground.

He was not discouraged by his failure; and, once more running outward, he turned and cowered for a second spring. This time he appeared more determined and certain of success. There was that expression in his hideous face, combined with the extreme of rage and fury. His lips were drawn back, and his white teeth and red frothy tongue were displayed in all their horrid nakedness; a hideous sight to behold. We trembled as we looked upon it.

Another fierce growl—another rush forward—another bound—and before we had time to utter a word, we perceived the yellow paw of the lion spread over the limb of the tree with his grinning muzzle and gleaming teeth close to our feet! In another instant the brute would have swung his body up, but my companion's presence of mind did not forsake him at this crisis. Quick as thought was his action; and, before the lion had time to raise himself, the keen blade of the sailor's knife had passed twice through the great paw,—inflicting at each stab a deep and bloody gash. At the same instant I had drawn the pistol, which I still carried in my belt, and fired as fair as I could in the face of the monster.

Whether it was the knife or the pistol that produced the desired effect, I will not undertake to determine; but certainly an effect was produced by one or the other, or more likely both weapons deserve a share of the credit. Be this as it may, the effect was instantaneous; for the moment the shot was fired and the stabs were given, the lion dropped backward, and ran limping around the trunk of the tree, roaring and screaming in a voice that might have been heard at the distance of miles!

From the manner in which he limped, it was evident that the wounds given by the knife were painful to him, and we could perceive by the blood upon his "countenance" that the shot, small as it was, had torn him considerably about the face.

For a short time we were in hopes that after such a repulse he might take himself off, but we soon perceived that our hopes were fallacious; neither the stabs nor the shot had seriously injured him. They had only served to render him more furious and vengeful; and after tumbling about for a while, and angrily biting at his own bleeding paw, he returned once more to the attack, as before, endeavouring to spring up to the branches of the tree. I had reloaded the pistol. Ben was again ready with his blade; and, fixing ourselves firmly on our perch, we awaited the onset.

Once more the lion bounded upward and launched himself against the trunk, but to our great joy we saw that he fell far short of his former leaps. Beyond a doubt his limb was disabled.

Again and again he repeated the attempt, each time falling short as before. If fury could have availed, he would have succeeded; for he was now at the height of his rage, and making such a hideous combination of noises, that we could not hear our own voices when we spoke to each other.

After several vain essays to reach us, the brute seemed to arrive at the conviction that the feat was beyond his powers, and he desisted from the attempt.

But he had no intention of leaving the ground. On the contrary, we saw that he was determined to make us stand siege, for, to our great chagrin, we observed him trot a few paces from the trunk of the tree and crouch down in the grass—evidently with the intention of remaining there till we should be compelled to come down.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

Of course my companion and I kept our places in the top of the tree; we could not do otherwise. Had we attempted to come down it would only have been to fling ourselves right into the jaws of the lion—who lay at just such a distance from the trunk that he could have reached us by a single bound, the moment we set foot upon the earth. There he lay or rather squatted, like a cat; though at intervals he rose and stretched his body into a crouching attitude, and lashed his sides with his tufted tail, and showed his teeth, and roared angrily. Then for some moments he would lie down again and lick his wounded paw—still growling while he did so, as though he was vowing revenge for the injury!

When he saw that he had ceased to attempt climbing the tree, we were in hopes he would get tired of the attack and go off altogether. But those hopes gradually forsook us, as we observed the pertinacity with which he still continued to watch us. If either of us made a motion among the branches, he would instantly spring to his feet—as though he fancied we were about to descend and was determined to intercept us. This, of itself, proved that he had not the slightest intention of moving off from the ground, and convinced us that the siege was not to be raised with the consent of the besieger.

We began to grow exceedingly apprehensive about our situation. Hitherto we had been terrified by the sudden attack of the lion, but these moments of terror were short-lived, and, on account of the excitement which accompanied them, we had neither time to reflect nor suffer; we had not time to feel despair, and in fact had not despaired of safety, even while the lion was using all his efforts to reach us, for we had the belief that he could not get up.

Now, however, a new danger threatened us. Though we felt quite secure in our "roost" we could not remain there long. It was by no means comfortable, straddling the naked branch of a tree; but the comfort was a small consideration. We were both used to riding such a stock-horse, and as for Brace, he could have gone to sleep with only the flying-jib-boom between his legs, so that it was not the discomfort we cared about. There was something more serious than this to reflect upon, and that was the prospect of being afflicted by hunger and thirst. I need not say the prospect. As for hunger, we were not yet suffering for want of food; but already the sister appetite had begun to be felt, and keenly too. We had not tasted water since leaving the river, and any one who has ever made a march under the tropical sun of Africa knows that at every half-mile you feel the desire to drink. Both of us had been thirsty almost since the moment we parted with the boat, and I had been looking out for water ever since. We blamed ourselves for not having brought with us a canteen, or water-bottle, and we already paid for our negligence, or rather our ignorance—for it never entered into our minds that such a provision would be necessary, any more than if we had gone out for a day's fowling into the fields about home.