“The captain of the dhow, who was in the employ of some Banian traders, carried us to Majunga, where we were most hospitably treated, a house being set apart for our accommodation, and the Queen of Madagascar herself sending down provisions for our use during our stay there. I recollect, on the very day of our arrival, she despatched three casks of rice, along with a dozen ducks and twelve fowls, for us to have a feast with; and I don’t think we had left a bone of the poultry or a grain of rice by the end of the following day.
“I shall never forget the kindness we all met with at Majunga. It is an Arab colony, with lots of Hindoos and Portuguese there besides, although only a small mud town. It was this place that the French bombarded the other day for no cause whatever that I can see save to get a foothold on the island and establish their blessed republic there. But then, we need not talk. I’ve known English men-of-war set fire to native villages amongst the islands in the South Pacific just to avenge a fancied insult which some blackbirding schooner had once received when its crew were trying to kidnap the natives, and I have known cruelties committed because the merchants were unable to get the proper price for their Manchester cottons and Brummagem goods; while when serving on the west coast of Africa, up the Congo river, I have seen whole colonies of poor niggers annihilated, with their little towns wrecked over their heads, simply because they did not choose to do exactly what we told them. You may say that the French have no right to do as they have done and are doing in Madagascar; but circumstances alter cases, sir. We only think these bombardments and colonising schemes bad when they are carried out by other nations; when we do similar things, of course it is all right and just.”
“Did you rejoin your ship ultimately?” I asked, when Ben had finished his little bit of moralising, apropos of international differences.
“Oh yes, sir. The Dolphin came cruising in search of us down the coast after capturing the second slaver and settling all her business at Zanzibar; and, on her putting in to Majunga, of course we went on board, reporting the accident that had happened to the pinnace. The excitement had borne us up to then; but, soon after we found ourselves once more in the old ship, the whole lot of us broke down and went raving mad, being out of our minds for weeks. Magellan and the others recovered out there, but I was invalided home and sent to Haslar Hospital—being ultimately allowed to leave the service on a pension before I had quite finished my time, all through that exposure I had had when swimming ashore in the Mozambique Channel and journeying through the bush afterwards. I have quite recovered since, however, and am now as hale and hearty a man, thank God, as ever I was in all my life.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said I cordially.
“Aye, I am,” he repeated, as if to impress that point carefully on my mind; and then, seeing me looking at my watch, he asked me what the hour was.
“Just eleven o’clock,” I answered.
“Lord bless us!” he exclaimed, “I’d no idea what time it was. Why didn’t you stop me? I must be off home or my wife will be thinking I’m lost. Good-night, sir. Hope I haven’t wearied you with my yarn?”
“Oh no,” I said, “I have not found it a bit too long. Good-night.” And so ends Ben Campion’s story of “The Lost Pinnace.”