During the last voyage of the Petrel, my father, having visited Kinsimbo, where he had done a good trade with the natives, went as far south as St. Paul de Loanda, thinking that perchance at Loanda he might more quickly complete his cargo than he could elsewhere.
In this he had been greatly favoured; for a few days after he anchored, David Livingstone, a missionary from South Africa, arrived, having penetrated through countries which up to that time had been unknown, and was accompanied by some men belonging to a tribe called Makololo, who were seeking a market for their ivory. This ivory my father was able to purchase at a rate which returned him a fair profit.
Willie was full of what Livingstone, whom he regarded as a hero, had gone through, and he told me that even better and more exciting than the life of a sailor was that of a traveller and explorer in Africa.
“Only fancy, Frank, herds of elephants to be shot! adventures with lions and all sorts of strange people! Then Livingstone himself, he is loved by the natives, and so doubtless would any man who treated them fairly. Livingstone could well have come home from Loanda, and every one at home would have run after him to hear what he had got to tell; but to all who urged him to return to England he replied that he had promised Sekeletu, the chief of the Makololo, to take his people back to their homes, and that he could not go back from his plighted word. He had an ox which he rode called Sindbad, and it was as good as any horse. I do wish father would let me try to travel in Africa. There are all sorts of people who come down to the coast with ivory and india-rubber to buy guns, brass rods, beads, and calico, and I am sure that a journey into the interior would bring more profit than a dozen voyages to the coast.”
I was quite infected with Willie’s African fever, and listened with a greedy ear to all the stories he told me of hunting and shooting which he had picked up from Livingstone’s men, and of the bravery and devotion Livingstone had shown.
These stories and descriptions of different places that the Petrel had visited in her last voyage made the time seem short, and I was almost sorry when the coach drew up in front of the Admiral Nelson.
“Welcome, Frank,” shouted my father, who was waiting for us. “Here’s Jack Adams,” pointing to a seaman who was standing by; “he will look after your traps, while we will go round by Harris the outfitter’s and give orders about your sea-going kit. And then, after you’ve seen your aunt Fanny, you can go on board the Petrel, and Willie will show you where you’re to sling your hammock. Her stern is hauled to the quay just abreast of our door. There’s no place like Bristol quay for the house of a shipmaster and owner. Now, Will, what sort of report did Mr. Poynter give of the lad?”
“A good one, sir,” he answered. “And he wound up his school-days well by playing cricket as he had never played before yesterday.”
“That’s right, Frank; whatever you do, do it well. And though you won’t have much chance for cricket now, the same qualities which make a boy a good cricket-player are useful to the seaman.”
“O my dear father,” I said, “I am so glad to see you again, and to think that I am to go to sea with you, and not be long months without hearing anything of you or Willie.”