THE STORY OF A SLAVE
In the early days Marzuk saw life from a secure position on his mother’s back. So soon as morning dawned, the pair would leave their mud hut beyond the northern gate of Timbuctoo, and seek the market, there to spread out and arrange such produce as had been collected overnight for the day’s sale.
In their season Aminah, the mother of Marzuk, sold the three fruits we have never seen in our western world, the rich karita or butter fruit, the satisfying nata which yields a sort of sweet flour in pods, and the cheese fruit, upon which a man may dine and not go hungry.
Marzuk’s mother was a black woman from below the Niger, in the Soudan, and very ugly to the eyes of all save her little boy. But her white loin cloths and shifts were cleaner than those of most of her neighbours, and worn with some nicety.
She wore her hair in three rolls on the top of her head, supported by a white fillet about her brows, and she was so industrious and cheery that the day’s end seldom found any of her market stock unsold, and generally saw quite an imposing heap of cowries in the old calabash that was kept for use as a till. Money was unknown.
So Marzuk, well-fed, grew strong and straight and comely, learning to help his mother in her work, and to play truant from his duties and adventure alone into Timbuctoo itself, and to the Niger banks beyond. When he returned Aminah would beat him soundly, and cry over him in mother fashion, while painting for him luridly the dangers of the road.
She spoke with rolling eyes and bated breath of the fierce Touaregs, the brigands from the Sahara, who went through the streets of Timbuctoo veiled against the glare of the African sun; of the hippopotami by the Niger’s bank that were ever lying in wait to make meals of naughty boys; of the treacherous and pathless sand-dunes to the north, and of hungry monkeys chattering in the trees—monkeys that were really little children changed from their natural shape for disobedience to parents. But neither stripes nor warnings could keep Marzuk’s feet from straying.
The grass lands near the river, where the sheep pastured, were Marzuk’s favourite resort, because of the white ospreys that dwelt there. These birds loved to follow the sheep from place to place, taking no notice of shepherds or farmers, but ever intent upon the actions of their four-footed friends.
Yet the boy kept well out of the way of all Touaregs, the veiled men of the desert of whom his mother had spoken. He watched them from a safe distance when they roamed through the city, spear in hand, ready and willing to quarrel with any native who should cross their path.
They wore a head-dress that covered their fore-heads and helped to shade their eyes, and a veil that shrouded the lower part of the face and kept the mouth free from sand.
Their true home was the desert, where they reared vast flocks on scanty pasture, but they held the natives of Timbuctoo in no respect, and would stalk through the market-place, spear at the ready and sword beside them, and call the men of the city “Sand-eaters,” because they went with mouths and nostrils uncovered. On their side the natives spoke of the Touaregs as the “Abandoned of God,” and would have kept them from the city altogether, had their strength been equal to their will.
Day by day camel caravans reached Timbuctoo, coming across the desert from Morocco, Algeria or Tunisia. Marzuk’s one interest in his home district was connected with these caravans.
Twice a year, in midwinter and midsummer, the camels would arrive in huge convoys. There would be many hundreds of the unhandy supercilious beasts there at one time, enjoying their longed-for rest, and making hearty meals on the more succulent growths of the dwarf forest.
The camel-drivers themselves, gaunt, hard-lived men, with faces like birds of prey, had many adventurous tales to tell, and Marzuk was a very ready listener. He heard how the veiled thieves of the desert held up whole caravans and taxed them, helping themselves moderately if unopposed, but quite ready for wholesale killing if resisted in any way. He heard, too, of the great salt country, visited by all caravans coming from Morocco.
“It is a wonderful place,” said Hadj Abdullah the camel-driver, on a day when he arrived at Timbuctoo after six months’ absence, “and Allah has set it in the midst of the desert where no unbeliever may see it. The houses are fashioned out of salt, and so is the mosque, there are camel-skins over all the buildings, and the people live on their salt.”
“Oh, my master, do they eat it?” asked Marzuk.
“Silence, little empty head,” said Aminah, his mother, who listened beside him. And the camel-driver continued:—
“Twice a year we go there, carrying away the white salt, which is the best, and the red-veined if the other supply has failed. In return we leave dates and corn and cotton, and so these people live.
“So terrible is the glare of the salt,” added the camel-driver, “that if we have women or children, we leave them in the oases, a day’s journey from the city.”
Besides the precious salt of El Djouf, which was stamped in Timbuctoo and sent down the Niger to districts where it was worth its weight in gold, the caravans brought indigo, blue cotton and white, mirrors for the women, calico, sugar, tea and coffee, and white paper for the Marabouts. On their journey home they were supposed to take gold dust and ivory, the long feathers of the wild ostrich and undressed leather. But the head of the caravan knew of a commodity more valuable than these, and some of the panniers that had carried salt to Timbuctoo had living freight on the way back.
Hadj Abdullah employed agents in the city, and well he knew how to arrange such business as he had, of whatever kind it might be, without exciting the suspicion of the natives.
The camels slowly recovered their strength, the produce of Hadj Abdullah’s great caravan had been disposed of profitably by barter, and the goods he had received in exchange would afford plenty of work for his beasts.
One morning the Moor stopped before the calabashes where Aminah’s stores were placed. Marzuk was by his mother’s side for once. Already in his thirteenth year, he looked strong, healthy and intelligent. Hadj Abdullah noted these things, whilst seeming to examine Aminah’s little store.
“Oh, my mother,” he said with grave courtesy, “have you any cheese-fruit, or has all gone for the year?”
“I fear it has been eaten, my lord,” replied the black woman respectfully.
“The pity,” he replied. “For a plentiful supply such as my house (family) desires, I would give a whole piece of fine blue cloth—the last that is left me. Perhaps some fruit remains yet in the plantations by the river. Can the boy go seek it?”
“I will send him, my lord,” replied Aminah, delighted beyond measure at the idea of getting a piece of the cloth that cowries could not buy.
“He must be back before the second day at sunrise,” said the Moor, and resumed his walk.
So Marzuk set off at daybreak on the following morning with many warnings of the ill that would befall if his return were delayed. He passed through the town, leaving it by the southern gate before anybody but the guard was awake, and was soon knee-deep in the meadows that the Niger keeps ever green.
He tramped along merrily enough, quite unconscious that two Arabs had followed him from the huts beyond the southern wall. The ospreys were everywhere—Marzuk saw nothing but the white birds, and the shining river, and the butterflies, blue and gold, that fluttered over the meadows.
On a sudden he heard footsteps, and saw the Arabs hurrying in his direction. He stood to see them pass, and as they reached him they turned suddenly and flung themselves upon him. There was no struggle, only the white birds heard one choked cry of terror, and some few rose from the meadow to the comparative safety of a neighbouring tree.
His captors carefully gagged Marzuk, and bound legs and arms tightly with cords of palmetto, then he was rolled in sacking and carried back to a hut. When the Arabs returned to the city they carried what seemed to be a bale of raw cotton slung on a pole between them, and they made unchallenged way to the caravan quarter, beyond the city’s northern gate.
Within the vast enclosure of thorn and cactus that inclosed the caravanserai only the last great bales of merchandise remained for the camels, and among these Marzuk was left to pant for breath in an atmosphere that would have stifled any but a negro. Towards the afternoon, when he had seen his latest acquisition safely stored, Hadj Abdullah sought the market-place by the mosque.
“Oh, mother,” said he to Aminah, “has the lad returned with the cheese-fruit?”
“No, my master,” she replied angrily. “I am cursed in the boy. He goes on errands and returns when he likes.”
“I am sorry, mother,” replied Hadj Abdullah, “for by Allah’s grace to-morrow’s sunrise will see us on the road again.”
From the mosques of the city the Mueddin called for the prayer said by devout Moslems at the hour of the false dawn. On walls and battlements the early wakened doves were fluttering sleepily, the guards at the gates still slept, the life of the city had not stirred. But beyond the caravan quarter the camels and mules of Hadj Abdullah were moving out slowly in single file.
There were seventy or eighty camels in all and ten mules, some of which carried Arab women who sat in the comfort born of habit, smoking pipes of the native tobacco.
First on the road were six camels, each carrying two children in what had been salt-panniers.
Marzuk, whose thongs had been loosened, and whose thirst had been assuaged, was but one of the twelve whom Hadj Abdullah had bought secretly or stolen, and, beyond the men engaged by him and the natives he had bribed, none knew aught of the camel’s freight.
Frightened as never in his life before, bruised and sickened by the camel’s irregular stride, his flesh scarred and his bones aching from the pressure of the raw hide thongs that had bound his limbs, faint for lack of food, and with nerves strained almost to breaking point, Marzuk was never in doubt about what had befallen him. He had been captured to be sold as a slave.
From the resting-place of the caravan the last camel had started on the road to Morocco, across eight hundred miles of desert, steering a north-north-westerly course over a track marked by the skeletons of men and beasts that had fallen by the way.
In her mud hut Aminah, never suspecting the truth, thought angrily and fearfully of the absent boy, and prayed that he might safely escape the hippopotami coming for their nightly prowl along the river banks.
As day succeeded day, other caravans arrived from the desert, but never a sign of the lad from the riverside came to relieve a mind grown weary now from anxiety and self-reproach. Weeks passed, and months, until Aminah knew that her prayers had failed to prevent evil spirits sacrificing her boy to the wild beasts of the river. And then she grew old suddenly, and within the year her place in the market was vacant.
Hadj Abdullah’s caravan made slow progress. The dwarf forest left behind, the sand waves of the Sahara stretched out before them, and in traversing this dry and burning sea the caravan endured days and weeks of travelling that taxed men and beasts to the uttermost.
Once a day, at sunset, the caravan halted, and then Marzuk and his eleven companions were taken from their panniers and fed. The Hadj feared to travel by starlight, save when forced to it by anticipation of an attack by the veiled brigands of the desert, lest the track should be missed.
Marzuk’s companion, a girl younger than himself, proved unable to endure the camel’s irregular stride, the scanty food, and the blinding sunlight. Before they had been two weeks on the road she could not eat. One morning she broke out into a fit of screaming that passed gradually into moans, and then stopped abruptly. In the evening, when the baskets were lowered, Hadj Abdullah was summoned in haste, but he could do no more than curse the man who had sold the child to him for half a bar of salt, and had sworn that she was sound and fit for the caravan journey. A little hole was scooped out in the sand; the tally of the caravan had been reduced by one. Next morning the burdens were rearranged, and Marzuk was carried in a basket with another lad, the camel that had carried him being requisitioned to carry one of the drivers who had fallen sick.
For many years the hardships of the journey remained fresh and vivid in Marzuk’s memory. Oases were long days apart, the brackish water was always hot and never plentiful, they saw no living things unless a viper ran across their path, or a few desert antelopes showed for a moment on the horizon. Sometimes, when the eyes ached behind tight-closed lids from the cruel glare of sky and sand, Marzuk would wake with a start at his companion’s cry—“See, Marzuk! they are taking us home again”. Then they saw Timbuctoo spread before them, the mosques clearly to be distinguished, the tall palm trees and clay-built houses seemingly but a few miles away. The camels would raise their heads and lengthen their stride. But the visionary city would come no nearer, and gradually it would fade before their longing eyes—the mirage that had set it down amid the sands had vanished into aching sun-scorched space.
Weeks passed slowly, so slowly that Marzuk’s pannier mate, a weakling at best, succumbed to the trials of the road, and was left to rest under a little mound of sand that the first wind would level. Marzuk, too, began to lose strength, and passed long hours in a state of semi-consciousness, but he had been reared well and generously, and before he had time to break down altogether, the oasis of Tindouf was reached.
The back of the weary journey was broken. Thereafter oases were more frequent, the caravan passed great weekly markets, the country of the Touaregs was quite left behind, and the natives met were men of fair skin, though sunburnt. The Atlas Mountains appeared on the eastern horizon, filling Marzuk with brief terror, for he had never seen snow, or imagined hills like those that filled the far distance. To the little black boy from Timbuctoo, the great mountain range appeared as the awesome wall of a new world, but his curiosity helped him to pluck up spirit and prepare to face whatever the future might have in store. The Draa country was left behind, the Sus country reached and passed, Tarudant being seen hull down on the western horizon, like a ship far out at sea; and one fine morning, when rosy light peeping over the snow-filled caverns of the higher Atlas found the caravan already upon the road, the Moors raised their voices and praised a saint whose name the lad had never heard.
Marzuk rubbed sleepy eyes and saw in the plains a long way before them a great city in a forest of palm. Countless minarets glittered in the early light, the sun lighted some river of size and importance.
“Oh, my master!” cried Marzuk to the Moor who led a camel by his side, “is that a real city?”
“Truly,” was the grave reply, “it is Marrakesh[[5]] itself.”
II.
The long file of camels came at last to rest outside the Dukala gate and Hadj Abdullah placed his praying carpet on the ground, turned towards Mecca and returned thanks. No brigand had claimed dues of his merchandise, and out of the twelve children he had bought or stolen eight remained alive—a higher average than most travellers could record.
Marzuk, used from early days to fend for himself, with no special ties, and a feeling of confidence in his own capacities that none but a Soudanee would have felt under similar circumstances, gazed about him in deep wonderment. Before him stretched a city far exceeding Timbuctoo in area and importance, a place surrounded by a wall that seemed without end; he saw more palms in one direction than his native place boasted on all sides together, and the minarets of countless mosques standing slender and erect as the palms themselves.
That night they slept within Morocco City, in a great fandak indescribably filthy. The tired mules were brought in with the slaves, the camels remaining in the outer market in charge of their owner. Hadj Abdullah hired his beasts in Morocco City, paying a sum equivalent to two pounds a head for the journey out and home. In the fandak he addressed a brief warning to the children. They would have three days’ rest and all the food they could eat, and on the evening of the third day they would be sold. Let them do their best and all would be well with them, if they were rebellious—he closed his mouth abruptly, but his silence was significant enough.
Left in charge of the keeper of the fandak, the children lay at their ease in the reeking straw, and gave their three days to eating and drinking and singing odds and ends of songs they had heard at home. No sound of the city reached them, save at the hours of prayer, when from every minaret the faithful were called to acknowledge the Unity of Allah. On the afternoon of the third day they were taken to the baths by a strange man, and each child was arrayed in clean white linen garments, supplemented in the case of the girls by kerchiefs of many colours.
“Follow me, O slaves,” said the Moor, when they were all ready to return. He led them unresisting through the heart of the city, through the bazaars with their roofs of palm branches and box-like shops, past the arcades of the workers in brass and linen and leather and sweatmeats, to a corner where the passage ended in a heavily barred gate.
The gatekeeper drew the bolts, and showed through the open door a bare circular market-place with a broken and dilapidated arcade stretching down the centre of it, and booths all round the walls. Marzuk cast one desperate look round, as a bird at the door of a cage, but the fear of Hadj Abdullah was upon him. In another moment they had been shepherded through the gate-way and commanded to stand still while their guardian went to a Moorish official, who sat cross-legged on a carpet, and gave the numbers and description of the party.
“Five boys, three girls, Timbuctoo,” repeated the official, and wrote the details laboriously on a slip of paper with a bamboo pen.
“Follow,” commanded the Moor, and the children marched obediently to one of the huts or booths built out from the wall like covered pens.
“Go within, and stay there until the market is opened. Let none stir beyond the entrance,” he said curtly, and seeing them safely housed, went off.
Marzuk left his companions whose terror annoyed him, and going to the mouth of the pen looked out at the scene.
He saw at once that he and his little party were not alone in the slave-market. Nearly a dozen of the other pens were tenanted for the most part by adults, who could be heard chattering or singing happily enough, and in one pen, at least, quarelling violently. Certainly, they were in no way cast down, and their indifference helped to bring further confidence to Marzuk, who beckoned the most distressed of the party—a little nine-year-old girl—to come to his side and look out.
It was the eve of a great sale. The “Court Elevated by Allah” was about to leave the southern capital for the North; the great Wazeers would be seeking to make the last changes in, or additions to, their harems and households before leaving home. On this account Hadj Abdullah had not kept the slaves longer to fatten them, preferring to take the prices that would rule at a big sale for inferior goods, than what he would get for better material when the city was half empty.
The sun was beginning to decline, and a faint freshness was coming into the sultry air. The last batch of slaves had been entered; a group of auctioneers surrounded the Government official in charge of the market, and speculated hopefully upon the prices that would rule. The keeper of the gate flung it back, and Marzuk saw the arrival of the earliest buyers.
They came in singly for the most part—Moors whose wealth was indicated by their portly presence, and by their outer robes of white and blue cloth woven in the north of England. They walked into the market-place and sat down at their ease on the ground against the unoccupied pens, or the long arcade that bisected the market-circle. Some were very old men with white beards, and a few were of forbidding appearance; but most were fat and well-favoured, True Believers to whom life came easily.
The last buyer had arrived. There must have been thirty or forty in all, and Marzuk knew that the sale was about to begin. A very old slave walked over the dusty ground, with a goatskin watering-can, and sprinkled it liberally. The dilal (auctioneer) who had brought them to the pen came up hurriedly, counted them with raised fore-finger as though they had been sheep, and told them to be ready to follow him, using the native tongue of Guinea, since Marzuk alone of the little company had as much as a smattering of Arabic.
His instructions understood, the auctioneer hurried away to the centre of the market-place, where the other dilals surrounded their chief. He looked at the sun as though to tell the hour; it was sinking behind the saint’s tomb on the edge of the market-wall. He gave a signal; the selling brethren formed themselves into a line, with their chief in the centre. Then the venerable leader lifted up his voice and prayed. He praised Allah; dilals and buyers said “Amen”. He cursed Satan; the company reiterated the curse. He employed the blessing of Sidi bel-Abbas, the city’s patron saint, friend of sellers and buyers. Might he bless the market, the dilals and the patrons. Might he send prosperity to one and all. The dilals stood with closed eyes and extended hands and said “Amen.”
Their chief’s prayer came to an end. Quickly as possible the dilals hurried to the pens they presided over.
“Come forward, all,” cried the one in charge of Marzuk’s pen, and the frightened children needed no second bidding.
“Do as you see the others doing,” said the dilal, as, with deft fingers, he rearranged the shawls of the girls and set the boy’s robes straight.
Marzuk seized his little girl friend by the hand; she took the hand of another girl; the dilal stood in the centre of the line of children, four on either side of him. Meanwhile, the other auctioneers had arranged their slaves in much the same way, and the companies stepped forward to walk slowly round the market.
They moved round the circle of the market, and the dilals called loudly upon intending buyers.
“O, Abdel Karim,” cried a burly Moor, as Marzuk’s dilal passed him for the first time, “let me see the lad who has your right hand.”
Marzuk was pushed forward. Coarsely, rather than unkindly, the Moor laid his fat hands upon the boy, felt his muscles, opened his mouth to note the state of his teeth, and asked a dozen questions that the boy’s Arabic could not have compassed had he been attending. But it happened that at the moment when he was thrust into the old man’s arms Marzuk looked up, just as a company of white ospreys swept high over the market, and in a moment he saw the Niger rising before him, and the scented fields he knew so well. Brave though he was, his eyes were flooded, and the words could not pass his throat.
“Newly arrived from the South,” admitted the dilal rather impatiently, in explanation of what he feared would be one of the outbursts that the market saw so often; “but he is strong and well, and knows a few words.”
“Forty dollars, Salesman,” said the Moor briefly; “let me see the girl.”
Marzuk’s little companion was pushed forward and, too frightened to speak, kissed the old man’s hand. He handled her with an approach to gentleness, asking the auctioneer all he wanted to know.
“Forty dollars also,” he said, when the last word was spoken.
Forthwith the dilal shifted the children for whom no bid had been yet made from the right to the left hand, and took the first vacant place in the line of auctioneers and slaves, proclaiming with a loud voice: “For the boy and the girl, forty dollars each”.
A quarter of an hour passed, while the salesman marched round and round with his charges, and in that brief period two smaller children passed from the left to the right hand side of the dilal. They were the remaining girls, for whom seventy dollars were offered, an amount working out in English money at ten pounds.
“A bad price—a bad price,” muttered the auctioneer sadly, and then he withdrew from the line and returned to the pen. “Wait here,” he said to the four boys who had not yet been asked for; “wait till the rest are sold.”
Then he hurried back to the line of auctioneers with Marzuk and the three girls, proclaiming the price and merits of his wares as loudly as possible. Several times Marzuk was summoned by an intending purchaser, and his price went slowly up to fifty-five dollars, while his companion stayed at forty-eight.
For the other two girl children, a bright, intelligent pair, and not without good looks of a kind, there was a very brisk bidding; three country Kaids were bent upon purchasing them. The three sat along the arcade some twenty yards from one another, and raised the price of the two little girls three, four, sometimes five dollars at a time, the auctioneer thanking them with a “Praise be to Allah the One!” every time the price was augmented.
At last the Kaid from a town on the far side of the Atlas Mountains raised the price to one hundred and thirty-five dollars at which figure the bidding ceased, and the two children were handed over to their new master.
Greatly elated at the thought of his commission, which, though but two and a half per cent., would be quite appreciable, the auctioneer took Marzuk in one hand and the girl in the other, and marched briskly round, declaring their merits and the last bid.
The girl caught up her companion in price, and, passing from hand to hand, was chosen at last by one of the Kaids, who had failed to purchase the pair of girls, at eighty-two dollars. Marzuk saw her frightened eye and quivering lip, she looked once at him and burst into a violent paroxysm of sobbing.
But there was never a big sale in the Sok-el-Abeed without tears in plenty. They were of no more moment to the crowd than the water that the carriers from the south country sprinkled over the sandy market-place.
The auctioneer fetched another boy from the pen and walked round with him and Marzuk.
The latter felt now that the end was coming, he knew that his purchase lay between a fat white-bearded Moor from the country and the keeper of the fandak. He heard the price raised slowly to seventy-five dollars, at which the keeper of the fandak declared with an angry word that he would go no higher.
It was to no hard servitude that Marzuk was taken in the early days when he went for the first time to a master’s house. He was appointed to wait upon his master’s son, a lad of little more than his own age, and if a few blows and some ill-usage were his portion from time to time, he was troubled but little so long as food was good and plentiful.
When the two boys grew towards manhood, their relations became more intimate and friendly, and Marzuk, who had been told off to the fields at every harvest time, was raised to a rather more responsible position, and called upon to superintend the labour of the others. They worked on the land, ploughing and reaping, cultivating the orchards and digging water-pits, or they carried the produce of their master’s fields to the markets of the city.
Here he succeeded, and was sent by his master to the far country markets with corn and oil, sometimes taking journeys of two or three weeks’ duration. Once again his record was satisfactory, and he was further promoted to carry letters and messages to the great country chiefs, with whom his master had commercial or social relations.
So it happened that he escaped the harder fate that waits upon slaves who are idle or vicious or so unfortunate as to find a bad master. Marzuk learned to ride fearlessly, and to know the great tracks that pass for roads in Morocco, and stretch between the far scattered cities.
His master’s house held many slaves—they were regarded as a source of wealth, and were encouraged to do their best. In earlier days, when slaves were very cheap, they had not fared so well, but now that a master must pay heavily, he would not waste man or woman as he could afford to do in times when Mulai Ismail ruled and England held Tangier.
To-day Marzuk is the chief of his master’s household, a strong, intelligent fellow, who rejoices in the whitest of djellabas and the largest size of yellow slippers, carries a long rosary, and rules his master’s other servants with a rod of iron.
Marzuk has picked up a great deal of Arabic; he has become a Mohammedan, and looks forward to the day when he will be manumitted, and will be able to make a pilgrimage to Mecca. Thereafter he will embark his small store of dollars in trade, and with his knowledge of markets and capacity for sustained work he should end by employing slaves of his own.
I have set down the main features of his story as he told them to me in his master’s house, in days not long gone past when I was a guest there, and entered, so far as I might, into the fascinating life of the East, and I cannot refrain from adding that Marzuk stands to-day on a far higher rung in the ladder of civilisation and progress than he would have reached if the curse of slavery had not fallen on him in far Timbuctoo.
And therein (a wholesome reflection for the more arrogant among us) slavery, as understood and practised in the world of Islam, differs mightily from slavery as understood and practised in Christian lands a few years ago.
I make no mention of the sort of slavery still existing, under European auspices, on the Congo, and in many of the cities of every country of Europe. Allah forbid that sleek, smiling Marzuk, upon whose ample shoulders the burden of labour has fallen so lightly, should ever know the bitterness of such sad lives as these.
| [5] | Marrakesh, known in England as Morocco City, is the southern capital of the Moorish Empire. |
| Telephone: | Telegrams: |
| Gerrard 7745. | “Milnopolis London.” |
AUTUMN, 1908
A List of New Books
PUBLISHED BY
JOHN MILNE Publisher
29 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
| PAGE | |
| Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Lewis Carroll. 6s. | 4 |
| Archibald Menzies. Agnes Grant Hay. 6s. | 12 |
| Broken Honeymoon, The. Edwin Pugh. 6s. | 5 |
| Call of the South, The. Louis Becke. 6s. | 16 |
| Disinherited. Stella M. Düring. 6s. | 10 |
| Duchess of Dreams, The. Edith Macvane. 6s. | 11 |
| Enchantress, The. Edwin Pugh. 6s. | 15 |
| Gentle Thespians, The. R. Murray Gilchrist. 6s. | 16 |
| Graven Image, The. Mrs. Coulson Kernahan. 6s. | 7 |
| Half-Smart Set, The. Florence Warden. 6s. | 14 |
| Heart of the Wild, The. S. L. Bensusan. 6s. | 3 |
| “I Little Knew—!” May Crommelin. 6s. | 15 |
| Ichabod. James Blyth. 6s. | 11 |
| Insane Root, The. Mrs. Campbell Praed. 6d. | 16 |
| Irene of the Ringlets. Horace Wyndham. 6s. | 15 |
| King’s Cause, The. Walter E. Grogan. 6s. | 9 |
| Lady Mary of Tavistock, The. Harold Vallings. 6s. | 14 |
| Last of Her Race, The. J. Bloundelle-Burton. 6s. | 14 |
| Lost Angel, The. Katharine Tynan. 6s. | 15 |
| Lost Heir, The. G. A. Henty. 6d. | 16 |
| Love that Kills, The. Coralie Stanton & H. Hosken. 6s. | 8 |
| Moth and the Flame, The. Alice Maud Meadows. 6s. | 14 |
| ’Neath Austral Skies. Louis Becke. 6s. | 6 |
| Orphan-Monger, The. G. Sidney Paternoster. 6s. | 7 |
| Potiphar’s Wife. Kineton Parkes. 6s. | 9 |
| Quest of the Antique, The. R.& E. Shackleton. 10/6 net | 13 |
| Quicksands of Life, The. J. H. Edge, K.C. 6s. | 8 |
| Tobias and the Angel. Helen Prothero Lewis. 6s. | 10 |
| Two Goodwins, The. R. Murray Gilchrist. 6s. | 6 |
| Wilful Woman, A. G. B. Burgin. 6d. | 16 |
| Within Four Walls. J. Bloundelle-Burton. 6s. | 5 |
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
INDEX TO AUTHORS
| PAGE | |
| Becke Louis. ’Neath Austral Skies. 6s. | 6 |
| Becke Louis. The Call of the South. 6s. | 16 |
| Bensusan S. L. The Heart of the Wild. 6s. | 3 |
| Bloundelle-Burton J. Within Four Walls. 6s. | 5 |
| Bloundelle-Burton J. The Last of Her Race. 6s. | 14 |
| Blyth James. Ichabod. 6s. | 11 |
| Burgin G. B. A Wilful Woman. 6d. | 16 |
| Carroll Lewis. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 6s. | 4 |
| Crommelin May. “I Little Knew—!” 6s. | 15 |
| Düring Stella M. Disinherited. 6s. | 10 |
| Edge J. H. K.C. The Quicksands of Life. 6s. | 8 |
| Gilchrist R. Murray. The Two Goodwins. 6s. | 6 |
| Gilchrist R. Murray. The Gentle Thespians. 6s. | 16 |
| Grogan Walter E. The King’s Cause. 6s. | 9 |
| Hay Agnes Grant. Archibald Menzies. 6s. | 12 |
| Henty G. A. The Lost Heir. 6d. | 16 |
| Hume Fergus. New Novel. 6s. | 12 |
| Kernahan Mrs. Coulson. The Graven Image. 6s. | 7 |
| Lewis Helen Prothero. Tobias and the Angel. 6s. | 10 |
| Macvane Edith. The Duchess of Dreams. 6s. | 11 |
| Meadows Alice Maud. The Moth and the Flame. 6s. | 14 |
| Parkes Kineton. Potiphar’s Wife. 6s. | 9 |
| Paternoster G. Sidney. The Orphan-Monger. 6s. | 7 |
| Praed Mrs. Campbell. The Insane Root. 6d. | 16 |
| Pugh Edwin. The Broken Honeymoon. 6s. | 5 |
| Pugh Edwin. The Enchantress. 6s. | 15 |
| Shackleton R. & E. The Quest of the Antique. 10/6 net. | 13 |
| Stanton Coralie & Hosken H. The Love that Kills. 6s. | 8 |
| Tynan Katharine. The Lost Angel. 6s. | 15 |
| Vallings Harold. The Lady Mary of Tavistock. 6s. | 14 |
| Warden Florence. The Half-Smart Set. 6s. | 14 |
| Wyndham Horace. Irene of the Ringlets. 6s. | 15 |
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
The Heart of the Wild
Wild Life Studies from Near & Far
BY
S. L. BENSUSAN
Author of “A Countryside Chronicle,” “Wild Life Stories,”
“Morocco,” etc.
Illustrated with actual Wild Life Photographs.
Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
The Heart
of the
Wild
The specimen in the cage is a comparatively familiar animal, and the difference between him and the hunted creature at bay in the wild, or the timorous beastie suddenly encountered in the field, is obvious to the least observant; but what of the beast in his own lair? This is the side of nature that Mr. Bensusan lays bare to the reader.
You are invited to spend a season in Mr. Beastie’s home, to hear his family history, to accompany him on his foraging expeditions, to criticise and admire the architecture of his house, to help fight his enemies, to romp with his youngsters and train them for the battle of life, which appears to be just as stern for the animal as for the human.
The lives dealt with include the Water-Rat, Giraffe, Ferret, Cuckoo, Badger, Eagle, Camel, Stork, Wild Boar, Fighting Bull, Red Grouse, Seal, Roebuck and Flamingo, and, if the reader will accept the analogy, every life story is a human document.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
A Charming Gift Book for Children
THE CHILDREN’S ALICE
Alice’s Adventures in
Wonderland
BY
LEWIS CARROLL
Nine full-page Illustrations in Colour by
Bessie Gutmann.
Together with numerous simple Drawings in Line, suitable for copying
and colouring by youthful artists. Illuminated Text.
Demy 8vo, cloth, fully gilt, 6s.
The
Children’s
Alice
This edition of Lewis Carroll’s masterpiece is confidently placed before the public, in spite of numerous competitors, because it is felt that it will supply a want. In many recent editions of “Alice in Wonderland” the true object of the book has been overlooked, for the illustrations in more than one instance have been rather above the heads, and the appreciation, of the youthful readers. Here is an edition, the coloured illustrations of which, while being truly artistic, will appeal more directly to the young folk. Here is a childlike and natural Alice and a new and jovial Gryphon, while the gorgeous liveries of the fish and frog footmen are emphasised by the new “direct” process by which the coloured pictures are reproduced.
The illuminated text is sure to appeal to children to whom a blank page of type is often uninviting, while the simple line drawings will be a source of endless amusement for the re-creation in the nursery drawing book, of types, scenes and characters from “Alice in Wonderland.”
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
New Six Shilling Novels
The Broken Honeymoon
By EDWIN PUGH
Author of “The Man of Straw,” “Tony Drum,” “The Spoilers,”
“The Enchantress,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
The Broken
Honeymoon
Here, as in “The Enchantress,” Mr. Pugh treats his subject with that candour of which his work is typical. “The Broken Honeymoon” concerns the wooing, marriage and honeymoon of a London clerk and a schoolmistress, and is a sidelight on life in Suburbia, stripped of all its conventional appurtenances, and shown with that naked reality which is characteristic of all this author’s work. “The Broken Honeymoon” is a worthy successor to “The Enchantress.”
Within Four Walls
By J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON
Author of “The Last of Her Race,” “The Hispaniola Plate,”
“The Clash of Arms,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
Within
Four
Walls
The talented author of “The Last of Her Race” has again dipped into his vast fund of historical knowledge and has weaved a romance out of the intrigues that surrounded the life and death of Henri IV, who was assassinated by Raviallac at the same time that a conspiracy was on foot among some of the nobles of the Court to murder the king. The discovery of this conspiracy by the heroine, leading to her imprisonment “Within Four Walls,” and the adventures of her lover in effecting her rescue, are incidents that provide Mr. J. Bloundelle-Burton with all the matériel for a powerful historical novel.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
New Six Shilling Novels
The Two Goodwins
BY
R. MURRAY GILCHRIST
Author of “The Gentle Thespians,” “Beggar’s Manor,”
“The Courtesy Dame.”
Crown 8vo, cloth.
The Two
Goodwins
Mr. Murray Gilchrist’s pictures of rural life have a large circle of admirers, and this book, which deals with the rich farming folk of the Peak district, is quite up to his usual high standard.
The torchlight procession at the great house, the loves of the rustic characters, and, finally, the wedding dance in the “Old Barn,” are all described in the dainty style with which this author has won such great popularity in his former works.
Life in the Southern Pacific
’Neath Austral Skies
BY
LOUIS BECKE
Author of “The Call of the South,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
’Neath
Austral
Skies
This volume is sure of a warm welcome from Mr. Becke’s numerous readers. The descriptions of life in the South Seas are told with his own particular charm, and the stories of “Tom Dennison,” the dare-devil hero of many of his former works, make this collection especially attractive.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
New Six Shilling Novels
The Orphan-Monger
BY
G. SIDNEY PATERNOSTER
Author of “The Motor Pirate,” “The Folly of the Wise,”
“The Lady of the Blue Motor,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
The
Orphan-
Monger
Mr. Varden-Kingdom, “The Orphan-Monger,” can only be described as a “philanthropist” with the pious hypocrisy of a Uriah Heep, and the fiendish cunning of a Mr. Squeers.
How his schemes to obtain the fortune of Margaret Marston were brought to nought by the course of true love, forms a theme which holds the reader spell-bound to the last page.
The Graven Image
BY
Mrs. COULSON KERNAHAN
Author of “An Unwise Virgin,” “An Artist’s Model,”
“The Mystery of Magdalen,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
The
Graven
Image
This story tells of the many strange and thrilling adventures which befell a beautiful young girl, who, thrown on her own resources, determines to fight against adverse fortune, and incidentally, to unravel the mystery of “The Graven Image,” which plays an important part in the family affairs of her lover. With this material Mrs. Coulson Kernahan weaves a plot rich in startling and dramatic incidents, with a romantic and happy climax.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
New Six Shilling Novels
The Quicksands of Life
BY
J. H. EDGE, K.C.
Author of “An Irish Utopia,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
The
Quicksands
of Life
Mr. Edge has already shown the public that he can tell a good story of Ireland, for his last book, “An Irish Utopia,” met with an enthusiastic reception. He has now drawn still further on his life experiences, for most of the scenes of his new novel are laid in London and very intimately connected with the Temple, while the Irish portion of the plot places the reader amidst the grazing farms of Munster, the extinction of which is now such a burning question.
“The Quicksands of Life” is, however, a novel pure and simple, and the reader need not be apprehensive of finding the work a mere treatise on the Irish Question.
The Love That Kills
BY
CORALIE STANTON & HEATH HOSKEN
Authors of “A Widow by Choice,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
The Love
That Kills
Giving the reader a sense of mystery to be unravelled from the very first chapter, excitement of situation is the keynote of “The Love That Kills,” right to the very end.
This story, of a supreme sacrifice made for love, will go far to enhance the reputation of its clever authors.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
New Six Shilling Novels
Potiphar’s Wife
BY
KINETON PARKES
Author of “Love à la Mode,” “Life’s Desert Way,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
Potiphar’s
Wife
The dales of Derbyshire have furnished a fine setting to Mr. Kineton Parkes’ story of the rugged lives and passionate loves of their sturdy farmers and cattle raisers.
“Powerful in plot, brilliant in execution and possessing an intensely human interest” was the verdict of the reader who read this story in manuscript, and it is placed before the public with the confidence that this opinion will be thoroughly endorsed.
The King’s Cause
BY
WALTER E. GROGAN
Author of “The Dregs of Wrath,” “The King’s Sceptre,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
The
King’s
Cause
No writer of fiction has yet given us a book on the exciting events of the Seventeenth Century, when Bristol was twice successfully besieged within two years. In this story Mr. Grogan tells of the adventures of Bevil Copleigh, of the part he took in the surrender of Bristol to Prince Rupert, and in the subsequent capitulation of that Prince to Sir Thomas Fairfax.
With a strong element of love running through it, “The King’s Cause” will appeal to all as full of exciting adventure, while the careful manner in which the author has studied the period makes his work instructive as well as highly entertaining.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
New Six Shilling Novels
Tobias and The Angel
BY
HELEN PROTHERO LEWIS
Author of “The Rudder and the Rock,” “Hooks of Steel,” “Thraldom,”
“The Unguarded Taper,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth.
Tobias and
the Angel
This is a pleasant, bright, wholesome novel, with a hint of difficulties manfully faced and the power of love to save. Dealing with the present the author does not shirk its difficulties, indeed, the drink question, too old at forty, divorce law, and other everyday problems all receive careful and delicate yet masterful handling; nevertheless, the story is the opposite of prosy, and makes good enjoyable reading.
Disinherited
BY
STELLA M. DÜRING
Author of “In the Springtime of Life,” etc.
Crown 8vo, cloth. Coloured Frontispiece.
Disinherited
In this novel of present-day England Mrs. Stella M. Düring portrays the life of the heir to a baronetcy, who, brought up in the expectation of succeeding to the title, finds himself suddenly disinherited by the late marriage of his aged relative. Written with brilliance and with wit, and with an air of mystery pervading the story, the reader’s interest is sustained throughout to a clever and convincing termination.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
New Six Shilling Novels
Ichabod
BY
JAMES BLYTH
Author of “Juicy Joe,” “The Same Clay,” “Celibate Sarah,” etc.
Ichabod
Mr. James Blyth has turned his attention from social problems to historical anticipation, and in his latest book, “Ichabod,” he gives a picture of England during the next fifty years, endeavouring to show the result of the present ever-increasing alien immigration.
The story is powerfully told, full of incident from cover to cover, and is sure to leave the reader, whatever his views may be, full of thoughts.
The Duchess of Dreams
BY
EDITH MACVANE
Frontispiece in Colour. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
The
Duchess of
Dreams
A tale of social ambition, of startling adventure and of passionate love, placed against the background of the dazzling world of diplomacy.
Miss Macvane has written a story which is both pleasing and interesting, in fact, she has most successfully entered the domain where Anthony Hope and Henry Harland found such entertaining inspiration for the treatment of a highly romantic situation.
The portrayal of the characters is convincing; and the pictures of brilliant diplomatic functions are particularly vivid and realistic.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
New Six Shilling Novels
Archibald Menzies, Mystic
BY
AGNES GRANT HAY
Author of “Malcolm Canmore’s Pearl,” etc.
Archibald
Menzies,
Mystic
As a study of the effect of worldly trials on a highly-developed and enquiring character, Archibald Menzies is sure to command attention from all who are interested in the developments that have recently taken place in the world of religion. A boy, reared by his mother in a quiet Midland town, suddenly is brought face to face with a hitherto unknown side of the history of his family; this, followed by a series of disappointments, has the effect of causing him to take a doubting view of the principles in which he has been brought up, and leads him to espouse the cause of a “New Religion,” in which, however, he fails to find a solution of the problem of present social conditions.
Further particulars will shortly be announced of a
NEW NOVEL
BY
FERGUS HUME
Author of “The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,” etc.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
Furniture
The Quest of the Antique
Being some Personal Experiences in the
Finding of Old Furniture
BY
ROBERT and ELIZABETH SHACKLETON
Illustrated with 44 Photographs, and a Frontispiece
in Colour; Chapter Headings and Decorations
by Harry Fenn.
Demy 8vo, 425 pp., 10s. 6d. net.
The Quest
of the
Antique
This is not a book to appeal only to lovers of Old Furniture, but it is a work to stir and hold the interest of those who have never fallen under the spell of the charming and stately Furniture of the Past.
The two who write this unusual book inherited a kettle, bought a pair of candlesticks, and were given a Shaker chair; with this beginning they entered upon the enthusiastic pursuit of the walnut, the brass and the china of the Olden Time.
The story of what they found and their experiences in the finding, of the quaint old houses which, as circumstances permitted, they made their home, is all told with rare charm. In addition, the book is rich in reliable information concerning Antique Furniture of every kind and in helpful hints for others, both as regards buying and taste.
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
Recent Six Shilling Novels
NEW EDITIONS are now ready of the following
recently published successful Novels:
SOME PRESS OPINIONS
The Last of Her Race
By J. BLUNDELLE-BURTON
COUNTRY LIFE.—“Strongest characters in modern fiction.”
THE QUEEN.—“The book is instinct with romance and fine feeling, and makes delightful reading all through.”
The Half-Smart Set
By FLORENCE WARDEN
ABERDEEN FREE PRESS.—“This is the best book Miss Warden has written.”
LIVERPOOL DAILY POST.—“It is as good as anything the authoress has done, and will delight her large circle of admirers.”
The Moth and the Flame
By ALICE MAUD MEADOWS
MADAME.—“A thrilling love story. The delicate and charming way in which Miss Meadows tells of the difficulties caused by jealousy and passion is most interesting and attractive.”
The Lady Mary of Tavistock
By HAROLD VALLINGS
THE LADY.—“An excellent story, abounding in careful characterisation and dramatic moments ... the interest and excitement are sustained with never a break from the first page to the last.”
DAILY CHRONICLE.—“A delightful story.”
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
Recent Six Shilling Novels
The Lost Angel
By KATHARINE TYNAN
MADAME.—“Miss Tynan is already well known as a writer of short stories, and the book in question even surpasses her usual standard.... Told in the delightfully simple manner which sets Miss Tynan’s work far above that of the usual writer of love stories.”
THE LADY.—“Such stories are always welcome, so simple, so natural, so pleasant are they ... abounding in pathos and humour.”
Irene of the Ringlets
By HORACE WYNDHAM
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—“As bright and agreeable as any one could wish.”
DAILY CHRONICLE.—“Its humour is happier than that of any novel Mr. Wyndham has yet given us.”
“I Little Knew—!”
By MAY CROMMELIN
DUNDEE ADVERTISER.—“Many books though Miss Crommelin has written, nothing better than ‘I Little Knew—!’ has come from her pen.”
T.P.’s WEEKLY.—“A companionable book for a traveller.”
The Enchantress
By EDWIN PUGH
The most widely discussed book of the Spring Season, 1908, which the Critics themselves were at a loss to diagnose.
FREE LANCE.—“A mercilessly clever book.”
ACADEMY.—“The author’s audacity leaves us gasping.”
DAILY MAIL.—“We do not think that we ever read anything quite so hideously frank.”
MORNING POST.—“Mr. Pugh handles a difficult and daring theme with the tact and discrimination of a master. His incisive and direct style provides an effective medium for an arresting and, in the truest sense, tragic story.”
JOHN MILNE, Publisher
Recent Six Shilling Novels
The Call of the South
By LOUIS BECKE
CHRONICLE.—“Worth ten times the price.”
TELEGRAPH.—“Simply packed with incident of great pith and moment.... The volume is assured of a popular success.”
Over thirty favourable reviews appeared within a few weeks of
the publication of the First Edition.
The Gentle Thespians
A Comedy Masquerade
By R. MURRAY GILCHRIST
STANDARD.—“A wonderfully attractive story.”
MORNING POST.—“The story moves gently and easily through beautiful and smiling ways. It is a tale of sheer joie de vivre, and as pleasant a book as one could desire.”
Sixpenny Novels
The London Series
Demy 8vo, paper covers, 6d. each.
NOW READY
The Insane Root
By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED
Author of “Nyria,” “My Australian Girlhood,”
“Mrs. Tregaskiss,” etc.
The Lost Heir
By G. A. HENTY
Author of “The Queen’s Cup,” “Dorothy’s Double,”
“Rujub the Juggler,” etc.
A Wilful Woman
By G. B. BURGIN
Author of “The Shutters of Silence,”
“Tuxter’s Little Maid,” etc.