Henry M. Stanley

"My Kalulu, Prince, King and Slave"

Chapter One.

The Beautiful Amina, Sheikh Amer’s Wife—Arabs in Consultation—The Country of Rua—Beautiful Women of Rua—The Consul’s son—Selim and Isa are permitted to join the Expedition—Ludha Damha offers to lend Money—Selim tells his Mother—Selim’s Manliness aroused—Selim argues with his Mother—The Expedition sets sail for Bagamoyo.

About four miles north of the city of Zanzibar, and about half a mile removed from a beautiful bay, lived, not many years ago, surrounded by his kinsmen and friends, a noble Arab of the tribe of Beni-Hassan,—Sheikh Amer bin Osman. (Amer bin Osman means, Amer, son of Osman.)

Sheikh Amer was a noble by descent and untarnished blood from a long line of illustrious Arab ancestry; he was noble in disposition, noble in his large liberal charity, and noble in his treatment of his numerous black dependents.

Amer’s wife—his favourite wife—was the sweet gazelle-eyed daughter of Othman bin Ghees, of the tribe of the Beni-Abbas. She was her husband’s counterpart in disposition and temper, and was qualified to reign queen of his heart and harem for numerous other virtues.

Though few Arabs spoke of her in presence of her husband, or asked about her health or well-being—as it is contrary to the custom of the Arabs—still the friends of Amer knew well what transpired under his roof. The faithful slaves of Amer never omitted an opportunity to declare the goodness and many virtues of Amina, Amer’s wife.

A young European, chancing to ride on one of Prince Majid’s horses by the estate of Amer, one afternoon, casually obtained a glance at the sweet face of Amina, which made such an impression on his mind that he continually dwelt upon it as on a happy dream. Some of this young European’s phrases deserve to be repeated in justice to the Arab lady whom he so admired. “She was the most beautiful woman my eyes ever rested upon. I felt a shock of admiration as I caught that one short view of her face. I felt a keen regret that I could see no more of the exquisite features of her extraordinary face. If I were a painter, I know I should be for ever endeavouring to preserve a trace of the divine beauty of that Arab woman; my brush would ever hover about the eyes in a vain hope that I could transmit to canvas the marvellously limpid, yet glowing look of her eyes, or near the finely chiselled lips, tinting them with the rubiest of colours, or ever trying to imitate the pure complexion, yet always despairing to approach the perfection, one glance indelibly fixed on my memory.”

Around Amer’s large roomy mansion grew a grove of orange and mangoe trees. The fields of his estate numbered many acres, well-tilled and planted with cinnamon, cloves, oranges, mangoes, pomegranates, guavas, and numerous other fruit-trees; they produced also every variety of vegetable and grain known on the Island of Zanzibar. By dint of labour, and personal exertion, and superintendence of the proprietor the estate was considered to be one of the most flourishing on the island. A sacrifice of a large amount of ready money had so improved and embellished the mansion, that the oldest inhabitant who remembered Osman, Amer’s father, hardly recognised it as the house of Osman. A large marble courtyard, in the centre of which stood a handsome fountain of the same costly stone, was one of the many additions made to the house by Amer after the demise of his father. Marble troughs outside the mansion had also been erected for the use of the Moslemised slaves, that they might wash their feet and hands before attending the prayers in the mesdjid (Chapel or church) of the mansion, which were rigidly observed with all the ceremonies usual in Moslem temples.

Amer, the son of Osman, had but one son, called Selim, by his favourite wife Amina. Not less dear to him was this boy than was his wife. In the boy’s handsome features, large glowing black eyes, and clear complexion he saw what he had received from his lovely mother, and in the boy’s graceful vigorous form he recognised himself, when at his age he looked up to his father Osman as the paragon of all men upon earth.

Selim’s age, when this story begins, was a few months over fifteen; and it is at the usual evening symposium, which takes place near the even sloping beach of the little bay in front of Amer’s mansion, that we are first introduced to one of the heroes of our story.

It is near sunset, and a group composed of Amer bin Osman, Khamis bin Abdullah—a wealthy African trader just returned from the interior of Africa, with an immense number of ivory tusks and slaves—Sheikh Mohammed, a native of Zanzibar, a neighbour and kinsman of Amer; Sheikh Thani, son of Mussoud, an experienced old trader in Africa; Sheikh Mussoud, son of Abdullah, a portly, fine-looking Arab of Muscat; Sheikhs Hamdan and Amran, also natives of Zanzibar, though pure-blooded Arabs—were seated on fine Persian carpets placed on the beach, near enough to the pretty little wavelets which were rolled by the evening zephyrs up the snowy sand to hear distinctly their music, but still far enough from them to avoid any dampness.

Close to this group of elderly and noble-looking Arabs was another consisting of young people who were the sons or near relatives of each of the Arabs above-mentioned. There were Suleiman and Soud, nephews of Amer bin Osman, gaudily-dressed youths; there was Isa, a tall dark-coloured boy, son of Sheikh Thani; there were Abdullah and Mussoud, two boys of fourteen and twelve years respectively, sons of Sheikh Mohammed, whose complexions were as purely white as black-eyed descendants of Ishmael can well be; and lastly, there was the beloved son of Amer, son of Osman—Selim, whose appearance at once challenged attention from his frank, ingenuous, honest face, his clear complexion, his beautiful eyes, and the promise which his well-formed graceful figure gave of a perfect manhood in the future.

Selim was dressed in a short jacket of fine crimson cloth braided with gold, a snowy white muslin disdasheh, or shirt, reaching below the knees, bound around the waist by a rich Muscat sohari or check. On his head he wore a gold-tasselled red fez, folded around by a costly turban, which enhanced the appearance of the handsome face beneath it.

While all eyes are directed west at the dark-blue loom of the African continent away many miles beyond the greyish-green waters of the sea of Zanzibar, Amer, son of Osman, remarks to his friends in a musing tone:

“I have sat here, close to my own mangoes, almost every evening for the last twenty years looking towards that dark line of land, and always wishing to go nearer to it, to see for myself the land where all the ivory and slaves that the Arab traders bring to Zanzibar come from.”

Directing his eyes towards Khamis bin Abdullah, Amer continued:

“And never has the desire to leave my house and travel to Africa been so strong as this evening, when thou, Sheikh informest me that thou hast brought with thee 600 slaves and 800 frasilah (a frasilah is equivalent to 35 pounds in weight) of ivory from Ufipas and Marungu. It is wonderful! Wallahi! Five hundred slaves if they are tolerably healthy are worth at least 10,000 dollars, and 800 frasilah of ivory are worth, at 50 dollars the frasilah, 40,000 dollars, nearly half a lakh of rupees altogether, and all this thou hast collected in five years’ travels. Wallahi! it is wonderful! By the Prophet!—blessed be his name—I must see the land for myself. I shall see it, please God!” and as he finished speaking he began to wipe his brow violently, a sign with him that he was excited and determined.

“What I have spoken is God’s truth,” said Khamis bin Abdullah, “and Allah knows it. But there are many more wonderful countries than Marungu and Ufipa. Rua, several days further toward the setting of the sun, is a great country, and few Arabs have been there yet. Sayd, the son of Habib, has been to Rua, and much further; he has been across to the sea of the setting sun, and has married a wife from among the white people who live at San Paul de Loanda. Sayd is so great a traveller, I should fear to say what land he has not seen. Mashallah! Sayd, I believe, has seen all lands and all peoples. He says that ivory is used in Rua by the Pagans as we use wooden stanchions or posts to support the eaves of our houses, that ivory holds their huts up, and he believes great stores of it are known to the savages, where some of their great hunters have killed a large number of elephants, and have left the ivory to rot, not knowing how valuable it is, or where a great herd of elephants have perished from thirst or disease. However the knowledge came to these people, or whatever the cause which left such a store of ivory in that country, Sayd, the son of Habib, is certain that there is an unlimited quantity of this precious stuff in Rua, and that we can make ourselves richer than Prince Majid, our Sultan, if we go in time, before the report is common among the Arabs. What money I have made this time on my last trip is so small, compared to what I might have realised, that I mean to try my fortune again in Africa shortly, Inshallah!—please God! I intend going to Rua, and if thou, Amer bin Osman, hast a mind to accompany me, I promise thee that thou wilt not repent it.”

“Amer bin Osman,” replied Amer, “goes not back on his word. By my beard, I have said I shall go, and, if it be God’s will, I shall be ready for thee when thou goest. But tell us, son of Abdullah, what of the Pagans of Rua, and those lands near the Great Lakes? Do they make good slaves, and do they sell well in our market? Yet I need hardly ask thee, for I have two men whom I purchased when young, about twenty years ago, who I believe are more faithful than any slave born in my house.”

“Good slaves!” echoed Khamis. “Thou hast said it. Finer people are not to be found, from Masr to Kilwa, than those of Rua and the lands adjoining. And clever slaves, too! Those Pagans make the best spears, and swords, and daggers found in Africa. Indeed, some of their work would shame that of our best Zanzibar artificers. Near a place called Kitanga—where that is I don’t know, but Sayd, the son of Habib, can tell—there is a hill almost entirely of pure copper, and from this hill the people get vast quantities of copper, which they work into beautiful bracelets, armlets, anklets, and such things. Nothing to be seen in Muscat even can equal the work the son of Habib has witnessed.”

“Mashallah!” cried Amer, delighted; “thou makest me more and more anxious to go to the strange land. A hill of copper!—pure copper! The Pagans must really be a fine people, and rich, too. If it were only possible to catch two or three hundred slaves of the kind thou speakest of, I might be able to laugh in the face of that dog of a Banyan Bamji, and old Ludha Damha himself could not hold his head higher than I could then. I owe the dogs a turn, for the heavy usury they exacted of me when I needed much ready money to make my courtyard and fountains. But the women, noble Khamis, thou hast said nothing of them. Tell us what kind of women are seen in those rich lands.”

“Ah, yes, do tell us of the women,” chimed in two or three others, who had not yet spoken.

“I have seen but one of the women of Rua,” answered Khamis, “and she was the wife of the son of Sayd, the son of Habib, a tall, lithesome girl of sixteen years or so. Her lower limbs were as clean and well-made as those of an antelope. She walked like the daughter of a chief. Her eyes were like two deep wells of shining moving water. Her face was like the moon, in colour and form. Oh! the colour was almost as clear and light as thy son Selim’s, Amer. She was beautiful as a Peri-banou—God be praised!”

“Thy tongue runs away with thee, Khamis,” cried Amer, in a slightly offended tone, “or hast thou imbibed too much of the strong drink of the Nazarenes, for the celebration of thy late success? Light-complexioned women, of the colour of my son Selim’s face! Where art thou, Selim, son of Amer, pride of the Beni-Hassan? Thou chief’s son by birth and blood, and apple of thy father’s eye! Come hither.”

“Behold me, my father, I am here,” said Selim, who had bounded lightly to his feet, and now stood before his father, after kissing his right hand for the affectionate terms lavished on him.

“Speak, son of Abdullah; behold, my boy, and regard his colour, which is like unto that of rich cream. Is he not as white as any Nazarene? and wilt thou repeat what thou hast said about the Pagan wife, of Sayd’s son?”

“Khamis, the son of Abdullah, debauches not himself with the strong drink of the foolish Nazarenes. I lie not. I said I have seen a daughter of the Warua whom Sayd’s son has taken for wife, and she is almost as light in colour as thy son, Selim, and far lighter than the face of the boy, Isa, son of Sheikh Thani.”

“Wonderful! Wallahi!” echoed the group. “It is most wonderful. We shall all go to obtain wives from the Warua.”

“Then, kinsmen and friends,” cried Amer, “Khamis speaks the truth, and speaks of wonderful things. Is it agreed that we go to Rua with the son of Abdullah, to get ivory, slaves, and copper, and light-coloured wives?”

“It is,” they all replied, so deeply impressed were they with what Khamis had said.

“I am glad to hear it, my friends,” said Khamis; “but ye must now agree, before we break up, as the sun is fast setting, upon the day of departure. I cannot wait long, because I am nearly ready, but I am willing to wait a few days, if ye will all promise to be ready by the new moon, twenty-four days from this evening. Ye must also promise to take as many of your slaves as ye can, that we may make a strong party. Tell me, Sheikh Amer, how many of thy people armed canst thou take with thee?”

“Who?—I? I can take two hundred well-armed servants, besides my two faithful fundis, Simba and Moto, as they are called by the slaves, who are worth an army by themselves, and—”

“Let me go, my father,” cried Selim, seating himself on the carpet close to his father’s knees, and looking up to his face with eager, entreating eyes, “I can shoot. Thou knowest the new gun which thou didst send for to London, in the land of the English, and which the good balyuz (Balyuz is an Arabic word for consul, or rather ambassador) taught me how to use. The balyuz told me the other day that I would be able to shoot better than he could, by-and-by. I can shoot a bird on the wing already with it. Give thy consent, and let me accompany thee, father. I will be both good and brave, I promise thee.”

“Hear the boy!” said Amer, admiringly. “A true Bedaween could not have spoken otherwise. But why dost thou wish to leave thy mother, child, so soon?”

“My mother will regret me, I know, but I am now strong and big, and it is not good for me to remain in the harem all my life. I must quit my mother some time, for work which all men must do.”

“And who gave thee such ideas, son Selim? Who told thee thou wert too big to remain with thy mother?”

“The other day I went out with Suleiman, son of Prince Majid, and the young son of the American balyuz—I can’t pronounce his name—to shoot wild birds. The young American boy, who is smaller than I am, and already thinks himself a man, though he is no bigger than my hand, laughed at me; and when I asked him why he laughed, he said to me, ‘Truly, Selim, thou appearest to me to be like a little girl whose mother bathes her in new milk every day to preserve her complexion. I cannot understand the spirit of an Arab boy which contents itself with looking no further out-doors than within sight of a mother’s eyes.’ These are the words he spoke to me within hearing of Suleiman, Majid’s son, who also laughed at me, while I felt my cheeks were red with shame, they tingled so.”

“Tush, boy! What is it to thee what the thoughts of a forward Nazarene lad are? Thou art not of his race or kin. But I must own to ye, my friends,” said Amer, turning to the elders, “that the youths of the Nazarenes (Nazarene is the Arabic term for Christian) are bolder than ours, though they do not possess higher courage or loftier spirit than our own children. Who would have thought that such large independence could hide within the little body of the American balyuz’s son? That small child cannot be twelve years old, yet he talks with the wisdom of a man. All the Nazarenes are wonderful people—wonderful! Who are stronger, richer than the Nazarenes of England?”

“Ah, but, father,” said Selim; “do you not think the Nazarenes are accursed of God, and of the prophet Mohammed—blessed be his name? The American boy told me the Arabs are wicked, and are accursed of God. Said he to me that same day in hearing of the Sultan’s son, as if he was not a bit afraid of the consequences, ‘The Lord God makes his anger known against the Arabs by refusing knowledge and the gifts of understanding unto them, because they are wicked, because they go forth into Africa with armed servants a-plenty to destroy and kill the poor black people, and to take slaves of parents and children, whom they bring to Zanzibar to sell for their own profit.’ Is he not an unbeliever, father?”

“Peace, Selim; let not thy tongue utter such words against the true believers, though they may have been said by a young dog like that. Cast them away from thee entirely, and let not thy father hear thee utter aught against thine own race and kindred. To the unbelievers God has said, ‘Woe unto them; they shall be the prey of the flames.’”

“But, father, thou art not offended with me? Thou hast not yet given thy consent to my going with thee and my kinsman.”

“Dost thou know, my child, that the Pagans are fierce, that they have great spears and knives, and will cut that slim neck of thine, and perhaps eat thee without compunction?” asked Amer, smiling.

“I fear them not,” answered Selim, tossing his head back proudly. “When did a son of the great tribe of Beni-Hassan show fear? and shall I, the son of a chief of that tribe—the son of Amer bin Osman—look upon the faces of the Pagans with fear in my heart?”

“Then thou shalt go with me, were it only for those last words. But fear not, Allah will care for thee,” said Amer, solemnly laying his broad hand on his son’s head.

“Let us end this before the sun sets,” said Khamis impatiently, watching the descent of the sun. “How many men canst thou take with thee, Sheikh Thani?”

“Thani has a son—Isa,” answered that worthy trader. “Thani is poor compared to Amer, but he can call round him fifty well-armed slaves, who will stand by him to the death.”

“That is answered well, and Isa is a likely lad, though his skin is dark; but he has the soul of an Arab father in him. I see we shall have a glorious company; and thou, Mussoud?” said Khamis, to that florid-faced chief, who was proud of his intensely black and handsome beard, “How many canst thou muster?”

“About the same as my friend Thani,” replied Mussoud, caressing his beard. “All my people are Wahiyow, docile, and good; and, if cornered, brave. They will follow me anywhere.”

“Good again!” ejaculated Khamis, evidently pleased. “And thou, Sheikh Mohammed?” he asked of the chief so named, who had a terrible reputation in the interior among the Wafipa and Wa-marungu, and of whom many tribes stood in awe,—“how many of thy people wilt thou take to Africa this time?”

“Well,” said Mohammed, in a deep voice, which resembled the bellow of a wild buffalo, “for such a grand project as this I think I can take one hundred men from my estate; my head men can take charge of the rest with Bashid, my brother, very well. I shall also take these young lions—Abdullah and Mussoud—with me, to teach them how to catch slaves and claw them, as I have done often.”

“Thanks, father,” replied the grateful youths, who as soon as they had said these words looked up slyly to Selim, who smiled appreciatingly at his boyfriends.

“Sultan, son of Ali,” said Khamis, “thou art a strong and wise man. Wilt thou be one of us?”

Sultan, son of Ali, was a man of about fifty, or perhaps fifty-five, of strongly-marked features, who had keen black eyes. Strong and wise, as Khamis bin Abdullah had said he was, indeed no one looking at him would doubt that he was one of the best specimens of a hardy Bedaween chief that ever came to Zanzibar. Besides, Sultan had been an officer of high rank in the army of Prince Thouweynee of Muscat, who had often eulogised Sultan for his daring, obstinacy, forethought, and skill in handling his wild cavalry. He was still, as might be seen, in the prime of mature manhood, which age had not deteriorated in the least.

Sultan answered Khamis readily. “Where my dear friend Amer bin Osman goes, I go. Shall I remain at Zanzibar eating mangoes when Amer, my kinsman, is in danger? No! Son of Abdullah, thou mayest count me of thy party for good or for evil, and I can raise eighty slaves to shoulder guns for this journey.”

“Good, good,” the Arabs said, unanimously. “Where the stout son of Ali goes, the road is straight and danger is not known.”

“Well,” said Khamis bin Abdullah, “we have now four hundred and eighty men promised; I will take with me a hundred and fifty men with guns, and I dare say Sheikhs Hamdan and Amram and a few other friends will bring the force up to seven hundred. Isa, son of Salim, Mohammed son of Bashid, Bashid bin Suleiman, tall young men, and kinsmen to me, have already agreed to follow my fortunes. A large number of Arabs is always better than a few. I have one thing more to say before we rise to prayers—the sun is just sinking, I see—Ludha Damha, the collector of customs, has told me that if a strong party went with me he would let us have any amount of ready money at 50 per cent, annual interest, which is half the usual price he asks—the old dog!—and if any of you desire money, go to him for your outfit, for I will speak to him to-morrow morning and give him your names.”

“That is well-spoken, by my beard,” said Mohammed. “I was thinking that we could not raise money under 100 per cent, interest from the Banyan usurer.”

“Very well, indeed,” added Amer bin Osman. “Ludha Damha must be sure of a speedy return to let his money go so cheap. My mind is now perfectly made up; and, friends, the sun has set and we must to prayers.” Saying which Amer rose—a signal which the Arabs readily understood.

After the usual salaams, courtesies, and benedictions had been uttered, the Arabs departed each to his own home, at a slow and dignified pace, while Amer and his son Selim retired into the mesdjid of their own mansion.

When Amer and Selim had ended their evening prayers, and had left the mesdjid or church belonging to the mansion, Selim asked, pulling at his father’s robe:

“Father, I see my mother at the lattice; may I go and tell her that I am to go with you to Africa?”

“Ah, poor Amina! I forgot all about her,” said Amer, stopping and speaking in a regretful tone. “Selim, my son, this is sad. Amina will never permit thy departure. It would break her heart.”

“But I must go sometime from home, father. Why not now? With whom can I be safer than with thee? I am not going with strangers, nor am I leaving my kindred. I am going with thy kindred, thy household, and thyself. What can my mother object to?”

“Thou art right, Selim—thou art right! She cannot object. Our slaves, our kindred are going—but—but—poor Amina, she will be left alone. Go, Selim, tell her kindly. It will pain her.” And Amer turned shortly away, as if he had sudden and important business in another direction.

Selim, on the other hand, bounded lightly away, arrived at the great carved door of the mansion, ran up the broad stairs, and made his way to the harem, or the women’s apartments, where Amina reigned queen and mistress.

Few boys of Selim’s age could have approached their mother with the earnestly-respectful manner with which Selim approached Amina. I doubt even if the Queen of England’s children ever observed such courteous respect towards their august parent as Selim observed now, and as most well-bred Arab boys do observe always toward their parents.

Selim left his slippers outside, and lifting the latch quietly, walked in with bare feet, and, approaching his mother, kissed her right hand, and then her forehead, and at her invitation seated himself by her side, and suddenly remembering the all-important secret he had to communicate, looked up to his mother, with his handsome features all aglow.

“Mother, canst thou tell me what I have come to say to thee?”

Amina looked for an instant fondly on her son, and then answered with a smile—

“No, my son. Hast thou anything very important to tell me?”

“Very important, mother,” and he pursed his lips as if he would retain it for a long time before imparting it, and as if it were worth some trouble of guessing.

“I wish thou wouldst not task my skill of divination too much. Thy face tells me thou art happy with it, but it does not assure me that I shall be equally happy. I divine only on the Küran, and though thy face is innocent and without guile, yet it is more difficult to read than the Küran. Tell it me, Selim, I pray thee.”

“Then, my mother, I am going with my father to Africa!”

“To Africa, child! To Africa! Where is that? Thou dost not mean the mainland, surely?”

“Yes, I mean far away into the interior of the mainland,” replied Selim, still looking at his mother smilingly.

“To the interior of Africa!” cried the poor woman in dismay, her face assuming the hue of sickness. “Why, what can thy father want in Africa?—he was never there before. What can he want there now?”

“He is going to Africa with Khamis bin Abdullah, Sheikhs Mohammed, Thani, Mussoud, Sultan, Amran, Hamdan, and many others, to a far country called Rua, to buy ivory and slaves, and come back rich.”

“Going to Africa! To get rich! Oh, Allah!” cried out Amina, in accents of unfeigned surprise, mixed with emotion. “And thou art going with him—thou, a child? Art thou going to get rich too?”

“I am to accompany my father and kinsmen, not to get rich, but to see the world, and learn how to be a man, to shoot lions, and leopards, zebras, and elephants, with my new English gun.”

“Cease thy prating, child; thy tongue runs at a fearful rate. Thou shoot lions and leopards! Thou! Why thou art but a baby, but lately weaned! Thou and thy father must be dreaming!” said Amina sharply, and with an attempt at a sneer.

It was a brave attempt on the part of a nearly heart-broken woman, who would fain suppress the cry of anguish that struggled to her lips, but as she said the last words, one glance at Selim’s face showed to her that such tactics, would never answer. The eaglet had been taught that wings were made to fly with. The boy had been rudely laughed at, and his latent manliness aroused, by the son of the American consul, who had sneered at him. Selim had found that a head was on his shoulders which teemed with daring thoughts; that he had arms to his shoulders, and legs to his body, made on purpose, as it were, to execute such thoughts as the head conceived. With the culmination of such knowledge fled unregretfully the pleasant days of the harem, the memories of his romps with the girls, days upon days of effeminate life.

Achilles was found out by the sight which he obtained of some war weapons. Selim had found out that he was a boy by a sneer. Charming as was his mother’s company, happy as he had been with his feminine playmates, proud as he had been of his golden tassels and embroidery, fond as he had been of being loved and embraced as an entertaining young friend by little girls of his own age—all these experiences became inane and stupid compared to the overpowering consciousness he felt that he was a boy, and might in time become a strong man. A man! perish all other thoughts and memories, feelings, and reminiscences save those which tend to lead him to the goal of manhood, which he has set himself to reach by a journey to Africa, to the land of cannibals and lions, leopards and elephants, to the land of adventure, undying fable, and song.

“Mother,” said Selim, removing his turban and fez, as if his head-dress compressed the grand thought which filled his brain, “my childhood is passed. I have been thoroughly weaned from all things belonging to a child. I am now a strong boy, and in five years I shall be a man. Allah made the world, and made it to grow. It has been growing ever since it was made. Allah made infants; infants grow if they live; they become boys—boys become men. When I was an infant I had no understanding nor strength. Thou, my mother, didst point out to me my nourishment. I flourished on it, and in time was weaned. In a little time my strength availed me to put my own food into my own lips. I flourished on that food, and I became stronger still. Later I understood language, and answered thee with childish love and affection. I romped in the harem, and was happy. Then I was permitted to go out of doors unattended by my female attendant. I bathed in the sea. I learned to swim, and acquired games which boys learn one from another. I learned to ride on horses; I learned to shoot, and day by day I was getting stronger in body and limb, and with my strength has begun to grow my thoughts. These thoughts are thoughts of manhood, of duty; and the business of life, which I am beginning to learn, is serious. Mother, dear mother, my health required, when I was strong enough to enjoy out-of-door life, that I should run about and leap. Mother, my happiness demands that my thoughts should be humoured as my strength was. I find I am made of two parts—body and mind. Neither may be longer neglected—both must be humoured, or I die. If my body is not exercised out in the open air—if I be imprisoned in a harem, I shall become dwarfed. I shall not grow. If my mind is not exercised by seeing, and talking with many people—if I see no more than my mother and my mother’s slaves—my mind cannot grow. I shall know nothing, and I shall become a fool. I, the son of Amer, the son of Osman, will be sneered at. It may not be, dear mother. I must go away, and learn the lesson of a man’s life.”

“But, my dear son,” said Amina, entreatingly, for she had been astonished and amazed at the amount of logic which the boy, to her surprise, had put forth in his statement. “Consider, thou art yet young, and that thou mayst wait awhile yet before journeying to that horrid land of negro savages. What canst thou find there to learn? Seeing lions and leopards, and elephants and ugly crocodiles, will not ripen thy mind. Surely thou art cruel to think of leaving me alone here—both my lord Amer and my son at one time!”

“Nay, my mother, what I shall see in Africa will be new and strange. The sight of new and strange things is like the lessons which the good Imam used to give me at school from the Küran. Every day I shall see something new, and every day I shall grow in wisdom and experience; and my mind will be enriched by each new thing, and in time will become a store of wisdom, to be applied to my advantage in affairs of life. Thou art surprised that I talk so, mother. I have been talking with wise white men. The consuls, who know everything, have been dropping strange ideas to me every day, not because I asked them, or that they dropped them for my benefit. Being permitted to play with their children, I have been in their presence while they were conducting their business, and the amount of wisdom the white men know is wonderful. Great thoughts—too great for me to understand—dropped from their mouths—from one to another—just as those pearls which thou dost play with are passed from thy right hand to thy left.”

“It is well, my son. I have heard thee through. Thou art already older by many years than I took thee to be yesterday. Thou mayst tell my lord Amer how Amina received thy news. I will have something more to tell thee, before thou goest to Africa,” and Amina arose to leave the apartment for another, humbly, and with her head bowed down.

“My mother,” cried Selim, springing up, and seizing her hand, which he conveyed respectfully to his lips, “be not offended. It is not my doing, but Allah’s, and Allah’s will be done!”

“Ay, truly! Allah’s will be done!” said the poor mother, embracing him, but with more restraint than usual.

We are now compelled to leave each of the Arabs engaged to accompany Khamis bin Abdullah to Rua in search of ivory and slaves to make his preparations as he best knows how. It is not our duty to peer too closely into the small details of this business of preparation. It absorbs all one’s time, and we feel sure if we troubled them to give us too minute an account of the manner in which they get along, some impatient expressions might escape to our regret. Therefore we think it better to leave each Arab alone, to the cunning of his own devices, to his calculations, and purchases, to his ever-recurring vexations, to the fatigue and anxiety which belong to the task of fitting out; merely observing, as we pass by, that each Arab purchases such beads, of such colours, as he thinks proper, such cloth as he deems suitable for his market, so much powder and lead as will sufficiently provide his men for the defence of his goods, should such be ever necessary, so many guns as he has men, such luxuries in the shape of crackers and potted sweets, sugar, tea, and coffee, as the chief of the caravan deems it necessary to take. “Nothing in excess, but enough of every necessary thing,” is the golden rule adopted by all people about penetrating Central Africa.

The Arab chiefs and their followers, though they generally take a long time to prepare a caravan, were in this instance, however, much to our pleasure, punctual to the day named, and at the beginning of the new moon of the sixth month of the year of the glorious Hegira 128-, or the year of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ 186-, the ships containing the expedition and the vast amount of stores requisite for the consumption of a large and imposing caravan for about three years, set sail in the morning from the open harbour of Zanzibar, for the port of Bagamoyo, on the mainland, distant twenty-five miles.

Let us wave our snowy handkerchiefs to the travellers, for we have one or two young friends who accompany them. Let us wish them a cheery bon voyage, and a happy issue out of their enterprise, if it so happen that the Lord of Moslems and Christians looks down upon its purpose with favourable eye. Let us at least bear them good will until they have forfeited our good opinion by acts contrary to Christian charity and the good will to all men which that most loving God-Man, Jesus, preached unto us.

Chapter Two.

Bidding Farewell—Amina’s Farewell to Selim—Selim in Tears—Simba’s Feats of Strength—Moto’s Character described—Little Niani, the boy, called Monkey—Moto meets Elephants—Moto’s daring Adventure—A narrow Escape—The Story of Moto—Kisesa prepares to attack—The King’s son, Kalulu—What Prince Kalulu said to Moto—Simba praises Moto.

On the fifteenth day of the sixth month, the members of the last caravan, under the command of Amer bin Osman, were taking farewell of their friends, who had arrived at Bagamoyo from Zanzibar that morning for last words.

It was a most affecting scene, as all such must be when young men are about to sever themselves from their connections for the first time, and fathers and husbands are commending to the care of the good God those whom they are about to leave behind, perhaps for ever.

Who knows how many of these stalwart and stout-hearted people will return to those from whom they are now almost tearfully withdrawing? Will the brave and noble Amer son of Osman, who is now bending over his beautiful wife, in earnest conversation, ever come back? He appears so strong and robust in health; two hundred well-appointed servants of his household are round about him; his Arab companions, with their powerful retinue, who have gone before him to Simbamwenni, we may be sure, will be faithful to him. Yet who can insure his return? And thus doubt, fear, and anxiety alternate in his wife Amina’s eyes, as she raises them appealingly, regretfully, towards his own.

“Yes, Amina, please God, I shall come back within two years, with so much ivory, and so many slaves, as will make me the richest man in Zanzibar. Inshallah! Inshallah!” said Amer, in a sanguine tone.

“Amina, say thy farewell to Selim, the pride of the Beni-Hassan. He will some day return to Oman, a rich and powerful chief. Dost thou not think he looks a warrior in his marching dress? But hasten, or we shall have nothing but women’s tears, which perhaps will drown us before we begin our journey.”

As Amer turned away after a still but fervent embrace, Amina turned to Selim, with a look which revealed the love her maternal heart bore him, and so steadfastly did she regard him, that it seemed she was fixing a life-long picture of his features in her memory which time would in vain attempt to efface.

“Thou, Selim,” she said, drawing him nearer to her, “thou joy of my heart, and jewel of my eyes! Thou art really about to depart! Thou to leave thy mother’s heart desolate! What joy is left for me—my son and lord both going? Wilt thou not let thy mother’s voice plead, and prevail with thee, Selim? Look, Selim, on that dancing sea! Beyond the narrow strait lies the Zanjian isle! Over its fair shores the gentle winds waft the perfumes of citron and orange! The sweet scents of the jasmine flowers, the cinnamon and clove vie with the fragrance of the orange! Bare odours and sweet strains of bulbul lull the senses into perfect felicity! The sweet air is pregnant with fragrance! Where canst thou meet with a land so fair, my Selim? Wilt thou leave thy mother, these delights, these joys, for the cruel heat, and thirst, and jungle-thorn of negro-land? Oh, Selim! Oh, Selim! Wilt thou leave thy mother, the orange-groves, the palms, the cool fountains, for scorching days and arid plains? The road is long—oh, so long—for weeks, months, and years it lies to the west! Stay one moment longer, my Selim, and let thy mother read thee what the Küran’s sacred page, which I’ve divined, reveals. Remember, it is the sure decree of Fate, to which God has affixed his own heavy seal. Hear these words, and stay with me:—

“A day will come, a day of saddest woe,
A day when Arabs meet the savage foe,
And Arabs vainly cry for strength and might,
And vainly strive to save themselves by flight.
“It is a day of woe, a day of doom,
A day surcharg’d with black and bitter gloom;
And sons shall mourn for Arab fathers slain,
And Arab wives shall shed their tears like rain.

“Wilt thou stay with me now? No! Proud boy, shun the death and misery which wait this venture! Despise not the warning of Allah! Why wilt thou, oh Selim, shake thy head so stubbornly? Speak.”

“Dearest mother, it may not be. If Fate decrees my death and misery, then why should I try to escape its sure laws by remaining behind? If death awaits my father, Selim’s place is by Amer’s side, to die as becomes the son of an Arab chief. But these are but trivial fears of thine, my mother. Why shouldst thou fear for me? Am I not with my father, the brave Amer son of Osman? Have I not my gun and long-sword? What can the Pagan dogs do against all the great Arabs, and my father’s kinsmen, when Khamis bin Abdullah, and Amer bin Osman lead? Trust in Allah, mother. Believe me, I shall return to thee, tall and strong, with plenty of ivory and slaves to make thee rich—to hang such jewels on thy neck as befits a chief’s wife. Hark! the horn of the guide sounds the signal of departure. My father is impatient, and I must go to him. Embrace me, mother, and bless me ere I go.”

Amina, seeing persuasion useless, needed no command for such an affectionate duty. A full mother’s love rose responsive to the call of her son, but her son’s impatience rendered the embrace, though fervid, short.

“Allah go with thee, my boy!” cried the mother.

“And with thee also, for ever!” responded Selim.

They were parted at last, one to join his father, who was striding forward with his caravan, the other to turn to a friend’s house, to sob and weep, and think of the loved ones now fast retiring towards the west.

For a long time father and son were silent. Amer strode on quickly, with an impassive countenance, whence all expression was banished save firmness, and a lofty air of determination.

Selim, thorough son of a thorough Arab, with his head bent down mechanically followed his father’s footsteps, and allowed the strange birds to rise, and sing, and fly unheeded about him, the sun to sink unheeded to the west, and the twilight to approach, without seeming to be at all conscious that he was marching to that grand, fabulous, awful heart of Africa, about which he had heard so much, and which he had craved in his heart of hearts to see.

The silence was unbroken until the caravan had halted on the banks of the Kingani, then Selim recovered himself, and a copious flood of tears caused by a feeling of tender melancholy which came over him at the thought that he had really and actually left the pleasant happy home for that sable, ominous, forested land that stretched deathly still across the river.

The father turned as he heard the deep sobs of his boy, and on approaching him laid his hand kindly on his head, and said:

“What! in tears, my son? Art thou sorry thou hast left thy home—eh, Selim?”

“No, father, I am not sorry, but home seemed so beautiful as I thought of it, compared to that still dark land beyond. There are nothing but black-looking forests across the river, even the sky looks black and desolate, and my heart seems to have caught some of its desolation.”

“The forest looks sombrous and dark, my son, because night approaches,” said Amer, tenderly. “That black-looking sky which hastens from the east is but the counterpane earth draws about it before folding its arms to sleep. When we shall have crossed the river we will camp, and in the tent, which thou wilt learn to love as thy home, thou wilt forget thy present misery; and in the morning, when earth is wide awake, and the sun comes out as gay as a bride from the east, and the birds have all left their nests and fill the air with their joyous songs, and the fleet-footed antelope browses in the open glades, thou wilt wonder that thou couldst find it in thy heart to weep.”

“Oh, father, I shall weep no more. See, my eyes are already dry;” and Selim raised a brave face towards his father, which was tenderly kissed.

The caravan was soon across the river, and every man and woman was engaged in cutting down young trees and branches to form a stockade, a duty not to be omitted by well-conducted caravans in Africa.

When this was done the people gathered within the camp and prepared their evening meal. The tents were all disposed in a circle, with their doors open towards the centre, where stood Amer bin Osman’s tent. Close by the master’s tent, on either side, were two or three of the most faithful slaves, who were styled fundis, or overseers, to whom were given the orders for the conduct of the caravan by the chief.

Over these overseers, for their fidelity and peculiar qualities, were placed two men, who are intended to figure conspicuously in this narrative; their names were Simba (Lion) and Moto (Fire). Where Amer bin Osman the chief went Simba and Moto followed. To these two Amer was as dear as their own hearts, and the boy Selim was their delight; his slightest wish was law to these faithful creatures, who looked upon him as though he were something immeasurably superior to them, as though he belonged to some higher world of which they had no comprehension.

Simba was a giant in form, and a lion, as his name denoted, in strength and courage. He was originally from Urundi, a large country bordering the northeastern part of Lake Tanganika. He was the son of a chief, and was captured when a boy in battle when Moeni Khheri’s father sided with the Wasige against Makala, a quarrelsome king living in the northern districts of Urundi. Being a chief’s son he of course belonged to the Wahuma, a superior race of bronze-coloured people who formerly migrated from Ethiopia, and from whom only chiefs are selected in the countries of Urundi, Ruanda, Uganda, and Karagwah.

Simba was now in the prime of manhood, and he had lived in the household of Amer bin Osman for twenty years, for Amer, after his arrival at Zanzibar, within a year of his capture, had purchased him, and seeing him to be docile and good-tempered, though uncommonly strong, had almost adopted him as his son.

Some of Simba’s feats of strength bordered on the marvellous. Taught by the young kinsmen of Amer the use of the long, sharp sword of the Arabs, and being apt, he had acquired a terrible proficiency with it. He had often walked up alongside of a full-grown goat, and had with one well dealt blow halved the animal from head to tail. Many of his negro admirers verily believed he could perform the same feat upon an ass, so extraordinary was his strength, but he had never attempted it, as the experiment was too costly for his means. He had once carried a three-year-old bullock on his back half way around the plantation of his master, Amer. He had often taken one of the large white donkeys of Muscat by the ears and by a sudden movement of his right foot, had prostrated the animal on his back; and once, upon an extraordinary occasion, had actually carried twelve men on his back and shoulders and chest around his master’s house, to the intense wonder of a large crowd of spectators. He could toss an ordinary man ten feet high into the air, and catch him as easily as an ordinary man would catch a small child. But manifold were the stories related with awe of the feats of strength performed by the brave lion-hearted Simba, chief overseer of Amer bin Osman’s caravan. By measurement he stood six feet and five inches in his bare feet, and from shoulder to shoulder he measured thirty-two inches.

Moto, or “fire,” could not have been better designated. His name, which his master had given him, had been bestowed upon him for his peppery, irascible temper. He was from Urori, as almost any one acquainted with the peculiarities of the various tribes in Central Africa would have sworn. A small wiry frame, indicating cat-like activity, strength, indomitability, capable of enduring great fatigue, characterised the form of Moto. He had also been brought to Zanzibar when a child by a slave-trader, and from a mere caprice had been purchased for twenty dollars by Amer. But his master had never regretted the purchase, for next to Simba, Amer bin Osman preferred Moto. To serve his master Moto would have thrown himself into the fire or leaped into the sea. He was a great hunter, he could track the soft velvet foot of the leopard upon a rock, could tell what animal had broken a blade of grass if a single hair but adhered to it, could stalk an elephant and tickle his belly with a straw without letting the enormous brute know what deadly foe intruded on his presence; and a man slightly inclined to exaggeration, and not at all noted for his veracity, declared by this and by that, that Moto had at one time dragged himself into a jungle after a lion, and, finding the lion asleep, had from sheer bravado walked noiselessly up to him and stepped over his body before he shot him through the head.

If you knew Moto as well as his own best friends knew him, you would describe him as being as brave as a lion, active as a cat, keen-eyed as the fish-eagle, hot as pepper, as hardy as an ass, and faithful as a dog. If you will add that he was a little vain, and never disposed to resent any kind friend boasting of his prowess, you will have a perfect picture of Moto the Mrori.

The first night on the road with some caravans is not very lively; the people are engaged either in thinking of the joys they have left behind them, or they are shy, and are sounding one another’s qualities before making advances. But in the camp of Amer bin Osman there was no regret at parting from Zanzibar, since the great master and little master were with them, and every man knew his fellow and mate; thus there was no disruption of friendships, associations, and congenialities. Most of those who were married had their wives with them; those who were not married had their intimate friends and saw time-endeared faces around them. They were all of one household. It was like unto the migration of an entire settlement.

One glance within the huts and at the squatting forms informed you that they were all happy—if not happy, contented. No eyes like the coal-black, the pure well of jet undefiled, of the native African, when the firelight is reflected in their quick sparkles, can so well represent merriness. Those people with those sparkling eyes were merry; they were interesting each other with their trite stories of very trite lives; but when a peal of laughter louder than usual startled the camp and rang through the forest, you may be sure it was either at a story of hearsay or at something that Simba or Moto had been saying.

Such a laugh was heard, and instantly all eyes and mouths were uplifted, and ears seemed to be quickened, to catch a few words of the story that had caused an interested group to so loudly vent their delight.

The interested party of laughers were seated around a miniature bonfire, which Simba and Moto had kindled some thirty feet or so from the chief’s tent. Selim had lately arrived before it, and Simba had rolled a mighty log behind his young master and had asked him to be seated, himself seated on the ground, attentive and alert to please him; and Moto, not to be outdone in assiduity by Simba, had just begun to draw from the recesses of his memory, or from the cells of his imagination, one of his best stories, when a ludicrous incident occurred and Selim had laughed heartily. Their young master had laughed, and of course when he laughed Simba laughed; then seeing Simba laugh Moto laughed; and, as real genuine laughter is contagious, all hands laughed, and the outer circle, the entire caravan, smiled sympathetically.

Moto had commenced his story thus: “One day, when I was in the caravan of Kisesa—(Abdullah bin Nasib—you know Kisesa is a great friend of my master Amer, and if Kisesa liked to have me accompany him, Master Amer would never say ‘No.’ It is in his caravan as fundi I finished my education as a hunter)—travelling through Ukonongo, I—”

“Have you been to Ukonongo, Moto?” asked Selim.

“Oh, yes, and much farther. Well, I was saying, I—”

“But, Moto,” broke in Selim again, “Ukonongo is the best country for shooting, is it not?”

“At certain seasons only. In the dry season, yes. Then all kinds of game travel to the neighbourhood of the Cow River, and shooting is plenty then, but for elephants give me Kawendi. I was just going to say, I—”

“But, Moto,” broke in a naked youngster called Niani, or the Monkey (Niani is a Kisawahili term for monkey), a nephew of Moto, “are there lions in Kawendi? because—”

But he was not permitted to finish, as Moto sprang up furious, with his kurbash (a hippopotamus-hide whip) in hand. Niani noticed the movement, and with the activity of his namesake, took a flying leap over the fire, and alighted in a huge dish half full of rice that was slowly simmering over some hot embers. There was a loud shriek, and clots of hot rice splashed in all directions, several falling on the nude shoulders of the group, which started them all to their feet. Then Selim laughed heartily at the catastrophe. Simba followed, then Moto stayed his hand and laughed, and the laugh was taken by all, and this was the cause of that which startled the camp and drew our attention.

“That is what some people get for interrupting a good story,” said Moto, sententiously addressing unfortunate Niani, who was rubbing his scalded feet and moaning piteously in a low tone; but the words were said as more of a hint to Selim.

“Well, go on, Moto; I will not disturb you another time,” said Selim.

“Ah, I did not mean you, dear master,” replied Moto. “You may disturb me as often as you like.”

“Well, well, go on with your story, and let it be a good one,” urged Selim.

“All right, master. Well, I had just said that I was in the caravan of Kisesa, travelling through Ukonongo, when that little monkey Niani interrupted me, and so got—”

“No, no, Moto, it was I that interrupted you; but go on with your story, and never mind poor Niani; he has got his punishment, and you punish me too by not telling me the story,” asked Selim.

“Yes, yes, Moto, go on!” said the deep-voiced Simba. “Do you not hear the young master ask you? Heh, what is the matter with the man to-night?”

“Oh, well, if you are all going to interrupt me, the story will last from here to Rua,” said Moto in a careless tone.

“Moto,” said Selim, “I will never disturb you any more—there’s my hand on my promise.”

Moto’s pride and vanity being gratified by this ready promise of Selim, cleared his throat, and commenced this time in earnest, as follows:

“We were travelling through Ukonongo, and had reached Sultan Mrera’s village, when Kisesa asked me to go to the forest along the river to look for game, adding that if I brought a Kudu antelope to the camp he would give me four yards of cotton cloth.

“After a good breakfast of rice and carry, which Kisesa sent me from his table to make me strong, I started. It was then about noon, and the sun was very hot, though once in the forest it would be cool enough. In a short time I was by the river, a crooked little stream of delicious and clear water. I walked along, looking to the right and left constantly for hours, when just about two hours before sunset, I heard a hollow sound, as though the earth was shaking; but I knew, after listening, that the sound was caused by a herd of elephants walking in file along the hard-baked road, and that they were approaching the stream to drink.

“In a moment I was down on my face like a dead man. The grass was about two feet high, and very thick, so that I was quite safe, if I did not stir, and I am too old a hunter not to know what to do in the neighbourhood of elephants. As the elephants passed by I lifted my head up cautiously, and counted them. Two—four—six—eight—ten enormous beasts, who tossed their trunks aloft, as if they were masters of the forest, and knew it. Careless and confident, they passed on, and I wriggled out until I was some distance away; then I jumped up and leaped across the stream, and on all fours crept across a deep bend of it; then lying flat along the ground, I moved forward towards a great tree, a baobab, that stood between me and them. If the elephants had all stood in a row drinking from the river I could never have come up to them unseen, but one greedily thirsty fellow was standing in the middle of the stream, almost touching the baobab tree with his side, so that he completely hid me from the others.

“I thought that Kisesa, though he had not told me to shoot elephants, would not mind my bringing him two great ivory tusks, which would be worth at Zanzibar 500 dollars, since he had come to Ukonongo to get ivory, and that if he gave me four yards of cloth for a Kudu antelope, that he would give many more yards of cloth for 500 dollars worth of ivory.

“This thought gave me confidence to proceed, and imperceptibly I was drawing nearer and nearer to the monster near the baobab. After a few minutes, which seemed to me to be hours, I was lifting myself to my feet, girding my loins tighter, and preparing myself for a run for life. But just at the moment I ought to have fired, a mischievous idea came into my head; the hind quarters of the brute were so close to me that I thought it would be great fun, and a good story to tell afterwards if I tickled the brute’s tail. Gutting a long straw, I extended the point towards the tail, and then traced a line across the leg to the belly. It was delicious to watch the flurry of the short tail and the circles it described, and to watch the brute half leaning against the tree, and rubbing it with his ponderous form. When this play had lasted a short time, I brought down my gun, and pointing it about three inches or so behind the left fore leg, on a level with the position of the beast, I fired. The elephant sprang forward, and by doing so disclosed to the astonished eyes of the others my retreating form, which, I assure you, was bounding over the low bushes and grass tops as if I were an antelope.

“The elephants got over their surprise in a second, then a wild snort of rage greeted my ears, and I knew by the crash, of bushes and splash of water that they were after me. Never an antelope bounded over the plains of Ukonongo, when chased by a lion, as I bounded then; never a timid quagga’s fleet feet carried him away from the hunters as my feet carried me over that ground. But it seemed to me for a time as if it were of no use—the awful crashing got nearer and nearer, and as I turned my head to measure the distance the foremost was from me, I saw the lord of the herd was but thirty paces from me. He seemed to tower up to three times his usual height, and to swell out into proportions three times as vast as his natural size; his great ears stood straight out as flat as a board, as if they were wings, and his eyes were like coals of fire; his trunk was lifted up, as you sometimes see the deadly forest snake before it strikes his victim; his head was stretched out, as the head of a giraffe when chased by a beast of prey, and the two long, mighty, gleaming teeth seemed awful just then. His eyes caught a glance of mine as I turned them towards him, and that instant he uttered another snort of rage, which was as fearful as the war-horn of the Watuta. But it gave me greater speed; if I ran before, I now flew; yet closer and closer the monster came. I suppose he was about fifteen feet from me when the tricks of the elephant hunters of Urori came to my mind. I had noticed that though the big elephant was the foremost, he was also the outermost on my right—the other elephants were to my left, and they seemed to be following the lord of the herd rather than any particular object. In an instant after observing this, I shot out straight to the right from the direction I was first going as hard as my feet and legs would take me. The elephants passed on, the rushing sound of their feet going through the grass was like unto the wild pepo of Ugogo, accompanied by thunder, when it comes sweeping over the plain, with a moan and a rush, whirling and tossing bushes, and even small trees about sometimes, and darkening the air with what it tears from the earth.

“I had got fifty yards away before the elephants could turn about. Only an instant, however, they stopped. They caught sight of me again, and with loud, furious snorting again they charged in a mass. I am a pretty swift runner as you all know, but the best of us seem to crawl compared to the speed of an elephant for the first few hundred yards. The elephants, especially one or two of the foremost, were gaining on me rapidly; the stubborn grass whipped my legs severely as I ran, and was a sore distress to me, but the thick hide of my pursuers was proof against it. A little distance off before me, and to the left, was a clump of brushwood. I thought if I could gain it, I would be comparatively safe, as I could find somewhere to hide. In a few moments I reached it, and looking sharply about, I discovered, a little distance off, half hidden by grass and brush, a hole in the ground, which I knew to be that of the wild boar. I thought it would be a capital place to hide, provided the boar was out of his hole, and in a second I was on my face crawling backwards into it. I had barely crawled in when I heard the elephants’ thunder overhead, and at the same instant I heard a deep grunt behind me, and immediately after I was shot out of that hole, like a bullet out of a gun, and I lay on the ground a few paces from it like a dead man. I had just consciousness enough to know that I had been grievously wounded in one of my hams by the furious owner of the underground excavation in which I found shelter; that the boar had darted off in the direction the elephants had taken, then I lost all knowledge of everything for many hours.

“When I recovered it was night. And soon I heard shots in the distance, fired at regular intervals, and thinking perhaps that they were my friends looking for me I fired my gun, which was immediately answered by another. By firing thus every few minutes I succeeded in guiding them to where I lay, for I found myself unable to move.

“When my friends found me, and were acquainted with my condition, they lifted me on their shoulders and bore me to the camp, where I lay unable to move for about three weeks. The marks that savage boar gave me I have yet, and shall have to my dying day. I have spoken.”

“Well, what became of the elephant you shot?” asked Selim, when Moto had concluded his graphic and interesting story.

“He was picked up next day, about two hours’ distance from the place where I had shot him. His trail was easily known by his blood, Kisesa made quite a sum of money from that elephant, as the tusks were as large as any that were ever seen.”

“How many cloths did Kisesa give you?” asked Selim.

“Only forty.”

“Only forty? That was a good deal, was it not?” asked Selim.

“Forty cloths for what brought him three hundred at Zanzibar! Do you call forty cloths a great deal?” asked the offended Moto.

“But you forget, Moto,” said Selim, “that you were a slave in the employ of Kisesa; that the gun you carried was his, that the powder and shot you used to shoot the elephant with were his, that the clothes you then wore were given you by him, that the food which gave you strength was purchased with his money, that the men who carried you from the forest to the camp were his slaves, that the men who looked after you when you were sick and wounded were his men, that the man who found the elephant dead belonged to Kisesa, and that without Kisesa’s aid you would have died in the jungle, perhaps, and never have seen the elephant again. What do you say now, Moto?” asked Selim.

“You are right, young master, as you are always,” said the humiliated Moto, which remark was echoed and applauded by everybody around the camp-fire.

“But, now,” said the hitherto quiet Simba, “tell us about that battle Kisesa had with the Warori—your own people—and how you saved the king’s son.”

“Ay, do tell us that. It must be an interesting story,” said Selim. “I shall sleep all the better for it this first night of my life in Africa.”

“Well, when my friend Simba asks and my young master commands me, Moto is always ready,” said Moto, adding a huge log to the already cheerful fire-pile. “It is not such a long time ago but what I can remember every detail of it. It may have happened three or four years ago; Kisesa was then in Unyanyembe. He was mortally offended with the Arab chief Sayd bin Salim, the Wali of the Sultan of Zanzibar at Unyanyembe, and most of the Arabs took sides with Kisesa, as they knew he was a brave, powerful, and rich chief, who might defy even the Sultan of Zanzibar if he chose to do so.

“When Sayd bin Salim requested the Arabs to assist him in fighting the black chief of Kahama in Ugolo, Kisesa refused to go, and most of the other Arabs did the same, as they said that Kahama was but a small village and that the son of Salim had soldiers enough paid by the Sultan of Zanzibar to do that kind of fighting. Now the son of Salim, though he knows how to govern Arabs and keep the peace with peaceful merchants, has neither head nor heart for fighting. (It takes Kisesa to do that work.) So two or three weeks after Sayd bin Salim had gone to the war we were not at all astonished to see the Wali come back well beaten by Kahama; and Kisesa and the other Arabs had a good laugh at him.

“When soon after the war with Urori broke out, and Sayd bin Salim was requested to call every Arab to the war, Sayd bin Salim refused; but said that if Kisesa desired to go, he, as king’s governor of Unyanyembe, would empower Kisesa to lead the Arabs to war, and make him chief of the army. Kisesa accepted at once, and the principal Arabs at once volunteered to go with him. Within a very few days Kisesa left Unyanyembe with nearly a thousand men for Urori, so that Unyanyembe looked like a deserted place.

“I think it was on the twentieth day—I am not sure—of the march, that after travelling through Unyangwira and Kokoro we came near Kwikuru, the capital of Urori. We slept on our arms that night until about the eighth hour, when at a given signal we all crept through the bushes for about an hour, and by the moonlight we saw just ahead of us the boma (palisade) of the king’s village. I assure you we did not stop long to look at it, for our horns gave the signal and we all ran for the boma. Quick as a flash of powder in the musket-pan, as you may say, the men of Kisesa were at the palisade, and had their guns pointed at the village through the bare; but not a gun was fired, as Kisesa knew how to make war.

“Kisesa blew his horn, and a voice from the village shouted out to ask who we were, and what we wanted.

“Our chief replied, ‘Come out to fight, for Kisesa is at your gates.’

“‘Kisesa!’ said the voice, in an astonished tone. ‘Kisesa! it cannot be Kisesa from Unyanyembe!’

“‘It is Kisesa, and no other man. I am Kisesa, and I have come to kill you.’

“The man said then, ‘Kisesa has been in a hurry to die to come so soon to Kwikuru, the capital of the King of Urori. Does Kisesa usually fight in such a hurry? It has been our custom to talk first before we fight. What does Kisesa mean?’ asked the King, for it was he, though we could not see him, as he took care not to let himself be seen.

“‘Thou art a dog, and a son of a dog!’ answered Kisesa. ‘Hast thou not been making war upon our merchants, killing them in the forest for the sake of their ivory? Hast thou not been mutilating their young sons by cutting off their right hands? Hast thou not been beating the prisoners with sticks until many of them have died under the torture? Hast thou not asked for Kisesa, the great Arab warrior, that thou mightest flay him alive and make clothes of his skin to cover thy nakedness? Lo! Kisesa is here at thy gates; come and take his skin.’

“‘Kisesa, thou hast done well to come to me before I came for thee. Kisesa, thou art a good man, but I will flay thee alive nevertheless, and thou shalt know what it is to come to the gates of Mostana, like a thief at night. They told me thou wert brave. Is it brave to do what thou hast done? My young son Kalulu, who is but a child, is more than a match for thee. Halt where thou art until daylight, that we may at least see him who is said to be brave, but is but a night prowler!’

“‘Mostana, if that be thy name,’ said Kisesa, ‘I will wait for thee until the sun appears in the east. Thou shalt then look on my face and die. I have spoken.’

“So we all laid down close against the palisade outside. Every fifth man was to stand watch while the others slept. As soon as the sun appeared in the east, over the tops of the trees, the horns of Kisesa were heard, calling us all to be ready; and at the same time the drums of Mostana were heard. I had been sleeping soundly, and I now looked in between the posts of the palisade to see what kind of a place we were about to attack. It was a large village, circular, like all in Urori, but the palisades were strong, and but lately put up. There were scores of huts inside, but what struck me as something very uncommon in Urori was an inner enclosure (like, that in the King’s village at Unyanyembe), which surrounded Mostana’s quarters, so that he could from the inside hold out as long as we could outside if we were not more numerous or better armed than he.

“We were not long before we were at it like lions, shooting into one another’s faces, or as near them as the defences would permit. It was evident that Mostana was getting the worst of the fight, for we were far more numerous and had better guns, and farther apart from each other, while Mostana’s people were crowded together, and every bullet that went in through the palisade wounded or killed some one, and the cries of the women and groans of the wounded were frightful.

“After shooting at each other for an hour Kisesa gave notice to have the two gates opened, and into these we poured in crowds, and as fast as we got in we took advantage of the huts that were outside the king’s quarters. Then, working ourselves gradually, shooting as we went, we sprang at the other palisade, and putting our guns through, fired into the crowds. I assure you the scene was horrible; the people dropped to the ground as fast as we could count them, so that in a short time the few that were left began to cry for mercy, shouting ‘Aman! Aman!’ The gates of the inner defences, or the King’s quarters, were broken open at once, and Kisesa’s men bounded in, making such noise that might be heard a day’s march from the village. They fired their guns, they hooted, they shouted, they sang. Were they not victors? I was carried in with the crowd which poured in towards the King’s house. Old Mostana—he was not very old either—was fighting to the last, firing his arrows so fast into the crowd that many of Kisesa’s men, even while they were singing the songs of victory, fell dead, pierced to the marrow with the deadly arrows which flew unerringly from his how. At his side was a young lad, younger by three years than Master Selim is; he was tall, straight, and slender as one of the light assegais he threw so dexterously and quickly into the crowds who were pressing onward towards the King. Kisesa himself was with us, and on seeing the matchless spirit and bearing of the boy, he shouted, ‘Kill Mostana, but save the boy. Fifty cloths to him who brings me Kalulu alive.’ I am a Mrori, and I loved that boy for his bravery the first time I saw him, and I determined to save him, if possible for Kisesa and at the same time get the fifty cloths. A shield belonging to one of Mostana’s men lay on the ground; I snatched it up, and defending my body with it, I cried out to Kalulu in Kirori that I was his friend and wished to save him. The boy, surprised for a moment, desisted, but seeing me advance hurriedly towards him, and fearing that I only wished to do him harm, he hurled another light spear at me. So true was the boy’s aim, he hit the centre of the shield and pinned my hand to it, and at the same moment I saw his father fall across the threshold of his house. I heard the boy give one wild shriek, and then saw him disappear inside; but darting forward, heedless of the pain in my arm, I arrived at the door of the house, only in time, however, to see him escape by another door, that led outside of the royal quarters. I saw him take a hasty look, and, as if the coast was clear and no danger to be apprehended, shoot off like an arrow, and the head-dress of fish-eagle feathers he wore streamed behind him straight, so swift were his feet. I permitted him to spring to the palisade, but before he could well clear himself of its tall posts I laid hold of his feet; but not for long, however. As the fiery lad clung with one hand, he used the other in threatening to strike me, and the spears of the Warori are sometimes dangerous. When I released him, quicker than the black leopard of the jungles of Kawendi, or the ever-jumping monkey of Sowa, he sprang over the posts, and picking himself up, he raced away for liberty as if for life. But I am a Mrori too, and I am not to be outdone by a boy, even though he were sired by Mostana; so snatching the assegai, which hitherto had pinned my hand to the shield, I tossed the shield over to the other side, and sprang after it myself. It did not take long for me to catch the fugitive; he had just entered the belt of wood when I caught hold of his arm and bade him, in the Kirori tongue, not to run away from a friend. He turned round to me with such a look in his large eyes—eyes that truly were like unto those of the young Kalulu, his namesake, which, as it bounds over the low brush or grass clumps in the plains of Urori and Ubena, seems never to touch the ground as it leaps lightly and swiftly away from the cruel hunter. Perhaps it is because I am a Mrori that I was rather partial to the son of Mostana, captive of my bow and of my spear, but when I saw those large, soft, pleading eyes turned up to me, I wept for him who was a king’s son yesterday, and to-day was Moto’s slave.

“‘You are a Mrori,’ said the boy, ‘and will you make Mostana’s son a slave to those robbers?’

“‘My lord, the Arabs are not robbers; they are rich merchants trading for ivory, who, when angered by wrong done to them, band together to fight. Mostana is dead; the Arab chief, Kisesa, wants you for himself. Will you submit?’

“‘You are not a Mrori; no Mrori warrior would talk of submitting to be the slave of an Arab dog, however great or rich he is. Mostana has warned me often how it would all end. But Kalulu, his son, will never be a slave. Listen, my brother. (All strangers are addressed in “Urori” as brothers. All travellers are hailed as brothers.) I was born in that village; I first drew breath within that palisaded enclosure; there I first learned to lisp “baba,” “mama;” there I first learned to distinguish friend from foe, light from darkness, good from evil; there I first learned how to handle the spear and the bow, how to throw the war-hatchet and the knob-stick; under those trees I have sucked at my mother’s paps, and when older have listened to the elders of the village and counsellors of my father relating the traditions of my great warrior tribe; in those fields now green with corn I have played with friends of my own age—with Luhambo, Lotaka, Borata Natona, Kahirigi, and others; in the pleasant stream which is now before us I have bathed and caught the great fat fish; in this forest I have chased the honey-bird, and searched for the sweet treasures the wild bees stored for me; here the antelope and fleet zebra invited me to the chase; even the very trees seem to know me, and recognise me as belonging to this portion of earth. But now Mostana, my father, is dead, my village will be burnt, my kinsmen are either dead or bound captives, the fields will be left desolate, and what I have hitherto known as home will become a wilderness. Yet for all this, when Cruelty would even pause before going farther, I am pleading to a Mrori for the only thing left for me to ask—my liberty! Mrori, speak; must I ask twice for that which was never yours to give? Will you not let me depart to my uncle, to remember the friendly Mrori who scorned to take advantage of a boy?’

“‘Go in peace, my lord, go in peace: I did but try you. Moto is your friend, and if you can remember Moto when you live happily amongst your uncle’s tribe, Moto will ever be grateful.’

“‘Is Moto your name?’ he said delightedly, taking my hand, while his eyes danced with joy. ‘Then let the Warori of my uncle’s tribe ever remember your name with pleasure. Katalambula, my uncle, shall remember your name for future benefit, should we ever meet again. Kalulu has spoken.’

“He embraced me as if I were his father, and then snatching his weapons and the shield which I gave him, he turned away and, light as the jumping antelope (the springbok), bounded away from sight.

“Come, my friends, the night is far spent, let us retire,” said Moto, when he had ended his really interesting story.

“What, Moto! I am surprised that you let the fellow go, when you might have got fifty cloths for him,” said Selim.

“And I am not,” said Simba, “for I know Moto, and it is for that I love him as my brother. Why, he was a king’s son! Should Moto take that from Kalulu which was not his to take? Ah, Moto! thou art good as the yellow metal which all the rich Arabs at Zanzibar love so much, and which the Banyan women love to hang on their yellow breasts. Master Selim, you know not what it is to be a slave; pray Allah that you never will know,” said Simba as he rose and yawned.

“I a slave! you are dreaming, Simba. An Arab cannot be a slave, but a black man was born to be an Arab’s slave,” replied Selim, with some tartness in his tones.

“Well, well, we will talk of this another time,” said Moto quietly, “eh, Simba, my brother? Master, the journey is far to-morrow; before the sun rises, your father has said, we must be on the road to Simbamwenni. It is now late. Good night, young master.”

“I shall go to my father’s tent to dream of Mostana’s son, Kalulu,” said Selim, recovering his temper, saying which, he walked away.

Chapter Three.

The United Arab Host—The Council—The Lesser Council—What an Arab Boy thinks of being a Slave—What Selim thinks of Slavery—Sareastio Isa—Little Niani is ill-treated—Selim, and his Father—Beautiful Scenery—The Land flowing with Milk and Honey—Is it right or wrong to own Slaves?—The fearful Crocodile—Narrow Escape from Death—The Reward of Selim’s Courage—Simba on the Alert—The Reward of Simba’s Fidelity—The dead Marauder—The fierce Warori—The Arab Council—Is it War, or Peace?—Is it War?

The next morning the caravan of Amer bin Osman was afoot at an early hour, all hands feeling in a more excellent mood, if possible, than they were when they retired to sleep. They shouted, they sang merrily, and enjoyed themselves in much the same manner that all caravans do, when fresh and cheery they start on a trading campaign.

On the tenth day, on coming from under the shadows of the great scarps of the Uruguru range, the walled town of Simbamwenni lay before them, and on a green grassy slope, trending to the River Ungerengeri, were the white tents and the huts of the caravans they were to join.

As is customary in Africa, the new-comers made their presence known to their friends by repeated discharges of musketry, which brought out the Arabs and their people by the hundreds.

The greeting which Amer bin Osman received from his friends was warm and cordial. The chiefs all embraced him after the manner and custom in vogue amongst the Arabs, while their followers were not a whit less expressive to Amer’s people. Selim was received with extraordinary cordiality by the younger Arabs, some of whom were of his own age, and after interchanging the long list of greetings customary in Arab countries, they all adjourned to Khamis bin Abdullah’s tent, who had by acclamation been elected chief of the expedition, where in a short time dishes of curried chicken and rice, kabobs, and sweets of various kinds, with nice biscuits, were served as a substantial repast for the hungry travellers.

Though conversation was animated and varied enough before Amer and his son Selim had satisfied their hunger, it did not touch upon the object of the expedition, but simply as to what events had transpired during the journey from the coast to Simbamwenni; but when the repast was ended, and the dishes were cleared, Khamis bin Abdullah broached the subject near and dear to each heart just then—the future journey or route of the expedition, “The great question, Amer bin Osman, about which we have been attempting to decide,” said Khamis, “is, shall we take the road to Mbumi, in Usagara, and skirt the Mukondokwa mountains to reach Uhehe, and strike a straight line to Urundi, thence to Marungu, south of the Tanganika, for Rua, or shall we follow the old road through Marenga M’Kali and Ugogo to Unyanyembe, thence to Ujiji, and across the Lake Tanganika to Rua? I should like to have thy opinion, for thou art a man of age and experience, though thou hast never been to this land before.”

“Allah knows,” responded Amer bin Osman, “that I know very little of this country. If thou dost not wish to decide thyself, as chief, which is the best road, I should like to hear from thee, or others, about the differences between the two roads, and the kind of countries which they traverse.”

“Well,” said Khamis bin Abdullah, deliberately, “if I were by myself I should prefer the old road, but there are some here of my friends who know the country as well as I do, who think we are strong enough to be able to march along the southern road.

“If we,” continued he, “take the old road we shall have the Wagogo to pay tribute to, or fight, as we like, between here and Rua; but if we take the southern road, those thieves, the Wahehe, will have to be looked after closely when going through their country; then we have the Warori, a more powerful people than the Wagogo, to meet, whom we must make friends or fight; then beyond Urori we have the Watuta, a tribe related to the Warori, who speak their language and are more than the Warori, whom we shall be obliged to pacify or make war against, just as we feel, and beyond the Watuta is a straight road to the ivory country of Rua. I will admit that the southern road is by three or four months the shortest, but I cannot admit that it is the safest.”

“And what do my friends think of the two roads? What does Sultan bin Ali say?” asked Amer.

“I say,” replied old Sultan, “that it would be far more prudent in us to take the northern road. The Wagogo are far more mischievous and insolent than any I know, but we need not fear them if we are wise, and do not provoke war.”

“Well, if Sultan bin Ali and Khamis bin Abdullah think that the northern road is the best, I would prefer to be guided by their judgment; but what do the majority of the chiefs think of it?” asked Amer, directing his glance to the others who had not yet spoken of this matter to him.

Said Khamis: “There are ten chiefs of us, including thyself; seven of us are for the southern road, and thou, and I, and Sultan bin Ali are for taking the northern road.”

“Yes,” said Sheikh Mohammed, “for this reason. We are over 600 strong, all armed with guns. It is true we shall have to pay tribute to the Warori and the Watuta, and may experience some trouble from the Wahehe, who are dogs and sons of dogs; but the tribute, if we pay any, will not be much, and will be cheaper in the end than the three months we would lose on the southern road; besides, we save the cloth we would have to pay the Wagogo, who are insolent besides being extortionate. Three months on the road cost us altogether about 900 doti, or fifteen bales of cloth. Put the Warori tribute against the Wagogo, and we have fifteen bales of cloth, out of which we can pay the tribute to the Watuta. It is evident we effect a saving, besides gaining three months time.”

“That is a very good way of putting it,” said Amer, “but what dost thou say, Khamis, about the comparative safety of the two roads? Is there more danger to be apprehended from the Warori and the Watuta than we, a trading caravan, would care to meet?”

“That is the view we should take of the matter, and not of the little cloth we should save,” responded Khamis. “Experience tells me to avoid the Warori, if possible, but above all the Watuta. The Warori are brave and strong, and sometimes very dangerous; but I have always heard the Watuta were dangerous, that they are a fierce tribe who live by robbing caravans, and I should not like to undertake to decide for the southern road without the concurrence of every chief here present.”

“Well, thou hast my consent if thou dost require it, and if God pleases he can guide us in safety through any tribe in Africa. Far be it from me to disagree with those who know better than I what roads to take, and what will best serve our interests,” said Amer.

“And if thou dost require mine for thy decision,” said old Sultan bin Ali, “I shall not deny the right of any of the other chiefs to have as much a voice in the caravan as I have; so now, friend Khamis, thou hast the liberty to agree or disagree, and hast a right to decide whether thou wilt lead us through Urori or through Ugogo to the ivory country.”

“I have only one voice in the matter, and if ye are all of one consent that it is better for us to march by the southern road, and still of one mind that I shall lead ye, I have nothing more to say,” responded Khamis.

“We are, we are,” they all replied.

“Very well, the march begins to-morrow,” said Khamis bin Abdullah, “at one hour before sunrise. We follow the old road as far as Mbumi, when we shall turn south.”

The news was soon communicated through the host of followers, and each knot and group had their own opinions, which they discussed with, as much acumen and wisdom as their superiors had evinced.

But not to lose eight of our friends Simba and Moto, let us listen to what they have to say concerning the unusual line of route about to be adopted.

It is night. The camp-fires are blazing by the score; huts are ranged around the immense circle, which is more than 500 feet in diameter, and scores of huts dot the centre of the circle, with their doors opening according as the taste, fancy, or caprice of the builders suggested. The huts of the Arab chiefs are arranged in a line close to one another, but still far enough to insure the privacy and exclusion which every Arab so much loves for the female portion of his household.

Near the tent of Amer bin Osman are seated before the usual fire-pile the faithful slaves Simba and Moto with the fundis of the other Arabs; and on carpets of Oman manufacture are placed Selim, the son of Amer, Khamis, the young son of Khamis bin Abdullah, the leader, Isa, the son of Sheikh Thani, and Abdullah and Mussoud, brothers, aged fourteen and twelve respectively, the sons of Sheikh Mohammed.

We hear Selim’s voice first, as we pay him this attention for personating the hero of this veracious romance.

Said he: “Well, Simba;—ah, Isa, you do not know what a treasure Simba is; he is so great, so wise, so strong!—what do you think of the southern road? do you think we shall see more fun?”

“My young master, I fear so,” answered Simba, while at the same time he never lifted his head, so apparently intent was he in keeping his flint-lock musket clean—a favourite occupation with Simba.

“You fear so!” said Isa, in a tone of surprise. “What, you fear that we shall see some fun! Fie, Simba! did you not hear your young master say you were brave and strong, and why should you fear we should have some fun?” he asked, in a sneering tone.

Simba, turning his wise and large eyes upon Isa, said: “Ah, Master Isa, you are a boy, and cannot understand.”

“Hear the slave!” shouted Isa, laughing boisterously at Simba’s solemnity. “Hear the man!” he repeated. “Isa, son of Mohammed, is a boy and cannot understand—and cannot understand what—will you tell me, brave Simba?” he asked.

“You cannot understand, child, that what may be fun to some people will be sorrow to others; that we may meet with fun of a kind that neither you nor any of us will much like,” said Simba, still rubbing away at the already excessively clean gun, and looking graver than before.

“Why, what is the matter with you to-night?” asked Selim of Simba.

“The truth is, master, I do not like the course the Arabs have taken. I think they have been too hasty in adopting the southern road. None knows it better than friend Moto, and if the great masters had asked of Moto something about the road, my mind would be more easy concerning you and the great master Amer.”

“What do you know of it, Moto?” asked Selim. “Speak, and tell us all you know.”

“What Simba says is truth,” replied Moto. “The Warori are bad, bad, bad, and the Watuta are worse—very bad—and I think we shall have very serious times of it.”

“How serious?” asked Selim again.

“I mean that we are very likely to have war with them. Ever since Abdullah bin Nasib or Kisesa had that battle with Mostana, the Warori have been wicked. They have Arab slaves now. They formerly used to kill their prisoners or torture them, but now they treat them in the same way that the Arabs treat the Warori chiefs—they make slaves of them.”

“Make slaves of Arabs!” shouted young Khamis, a sinewy youth of sixteen, and brave as the bravest of men. “You lie, cur dog; you lie, slave!” he added furiously.

“Ah, Master Khamis,” said Moto, deprecatingly, “if they are slaves, it was not I who made them slaves; but I speak the truth.”

“A Bedaween!—a free Bedaween, who owns no master—a slave! Moto, you are a liar; it is impossible. A Bedaween cannot live in slavery.”

“But there are slaves with the Warori, and some are Arabs. I swear it,” he added solemnly.

“Then for my part,” said young Khamis, “I am glad that my father has taken this road. The torments of Eblis light on the unbelieving dogs! An Arab a slave! Then let every Mrori look to himself should he fall into my power, for, by Mohammed’s holy name, I will torture the reptile to death.”

“Hold, young master,” said the deep-voiced Simba, halting a moment in his work, and raising himself to his fullest height, which, as the firelight danced on his gigantic form, seemed to add vastness to that which was vast already. “Listen to me, Khamis, young son of Khamis bin Abdullah; the Warori are bad, as you heard Moto say, but the Warori are men, and I have heard a good Nazarene, one of the white men at Zanzibar, say that all men are equal. If the Warori are men, and are lords of their own soil, and if Arabs trouble them, or will not do them justice, what great wrong are the Warori guilty of if they fight; and if they catch Arabs prisoners in war, why should they not treat them as the Arabs would treat the Warori? Answer me that.”

“Why, Simba,” asked the eldest of the sons of Mussoud, “do you know what the sacred Küran says? I remember what the good Imam has told me often: ‘Verily the fruit of the trees of Al Zakkum shall be the food of the unbelievers, as the dregs of oil shall it boil in the bellies of the damned, like the boiling of the hottest water. When ye encounter the unbelievers strike off their heads until ye have made a great slaughter among them, and bind them in bonds, and either give them a free dismission afterwards or exact a ransom, until the war shall have laid down its arms.’ And in another place the Küran says, according to the holy and learned Imam, ‘And as to those who fight in defence of God’s true religion, God will not suffer their works to perish; he will guide them, and will dispose their heart aright; and he will lead them into paradise, of which he hath told them.’”

“There, Simba,” said Isa, triumphantly, “what do you think now of slaves and true believers? Do you not think it right for us to take and capture those who waylay us, and make them slaves for their perfidy and savagery?”

“I think the same as before,” answered Simba. “I do not know the Küran so well as Abdullah, it is true, but I know that the same God who gave you sense and feeling gave the savages of Urori some sense and feeling as well; but I should like to know what my young master Selim’s thoughts are upon these subjects.”

“To tell you the simple truth would be to tell you that I never thought much of these things,” answered Selim, in a mild tone. “My father has slaves, and my relations own a great number. They are all well looked after, and I have never heard that they were much astonished at their condition. I have seen slaves punished and killed; but they had done wrong, and they deserved their punishment. Neither my father nor my relations ever gave me to suppose that by keeping slaves they were committing wrong, and you surely cannot expect me, who am but a boy and the son of my father, to say anything against my elders. Whatever Amer bin Osman does is right; at least, so I have heard men say, and shall I, his son, judge him?”

“Bravely spoken,” said the impetuous Khamis, “Bravely said, my brother Selim; but, instead of speaking to Simba as thou hast done, thou shouldst have taken thy kurbash (whip) to him, and taught the dog to watch the doorstep of his master, and not be teaching the son of Amer.”

“You are over hasty, Khamis,” replied Selim, in a deprecating tone. “Simba is good and true to me and to my father’s household. My father loves him, and I love him, black though he be, as if he were my brother. Simba and Moto are worth their weight in the yellow metal which our women love to adorn their necks with; yet, did it depend on my voice, a thousand times their weight of gold would not purchase them.”

Both Simba and Moto were so affected at this that they both fell on their knees, and crawled up to their young master to embrace his feet, thus testifying the great love they bore him; but Selim would not permit this, and said:

“Nay, my good Simba, and you, Moto, rise. I think you men, not slaves, and you need not kiss my feet to show me how much you love me. You are my friends, and I shall ever esteem you as such.”

“My good young master,” said Simba, in a voice broken with emotion, “we are your servants, and we are proud of it. Are we not, Moto?”

“Indeed, we are,” said Moto.

“What Arab tribe can boast a lad of your years with so much beauty and heart? Your eyes, young master, are blacker than the richest, ripest singwe (a species of wild plume) of Urundi, and as large as those of the sportive kalulu (young antelope); and when they are covered with your eyelids, we have often compared them while you were asleep, and Moto and I watched you, to the lotus which hides its beauty at eve from the fell touch of night. And your flesh, though not white like the bloodless pale children of the white races, is like the warmer colour of ivory, and beautiful and clear as the polished ivory ornaments of my people in Urundi: your limbs, clean and shapely, are firm and hard as ivory tusks. You are like a young palm-tree in beauty and strength. He is a happy man who calls you son, and your mother laughs for joy in her sleep when she dreams of you. Your slaves are proud to call you master.”

“Amen, and amen,” responded Moto, while tears descended his cheeks. “Simba has spoken nothing but the truth; he never utters lies. Master Selim knows what Simba and Moto say they mean. Evil cannot approach him while we are near, nor can danger lurk unseen. Rocks shall not wound his feet, neither shall thorns prick his tender skin. If the journey is long Simba is as strong as a camel, and Moto is fleet of foot as the zebra, and enduring as the wild ass of Unyamwezi. Moto has spoken.”

“Eh, Khamis, and thou, lea, hear and understand,” said Selim, smiling. “Where is the Arab who does not love the Nedjid mare, which partakes of his food, as the wife of his bosom? But in Simba and Moto I have two faithful friends. I have a camel, a zebra, and an ass, and you tell me to beat them, Khamis. Fie, boy!”

“Boy, indeed! I am older than thou, and taller and stronger. Thou art a child, or thou wouldst not believe the fulsome words of these lying knaves. I have seen the world more than thou hast, and I assure thee on my head I never saw the black man yet who could keep his hands from stealing and his evil tongue from lying. I—Khamis, the son of Khamis, the son of Abdullah—know whereof I am speaking.”

“What a dear little child he is, to be sure!” laughed Isa. “Is it Selim, the son of Amer, whose eyes are like the singwe of Urundi, and whose limbs are like ivory? Eh, Khamis, my brother? Is Selim, the son of Amer, turned a girl, that his ears court such music? And if thou art of the complexion of ivory, what are we, I wonder—I, Isa, son of Mohammed, and Khamis, son of Khamis?”

While Selim was blushing crimson from shame at the mocking words of Isa, little Abdullah spoke up, and said, much to everybody’s amusement except Isa’s:

“Why, Isa, dost thou mean to say that Selim is not good-looking? I have often heard my father, Sheikh Mohammed, say he wished I was as good-looking as Selim the son of Amer, though he thought I was every bit as good. And, lea—now—don’t be angry. I—I don’t think thee good-looking at all. Thou art almost as black as Simba, and—”

“Liar!” thundered Isa, directing a blow at Abdullah, which was happily warded by Khamis, who, though ever-ready to lift the whip against stupid slaves, was averse to see an Arab beaten. Isa, however, darting behind Khamis aimed another blow at Abdullah; but Abdullah, probably seeing that he was very angry, and would strike a serious blow, took to his heels running round the fire, chased by the infuriate Isa. As Isa passed near one side of the fire, Niani, the little negro boy called Monkey, who had hitherto been very quiet, seeing a chance to assist Abdullah, who had praised Selim, thrust his foot forward; and Isa, too much occupied in watching the manoeuvres of Abdullah, struck his shins against the obstacle, and came heavily to the ground.

A shout of laughter greeted his fall; but the amusement of Selim was soon changed to real concern as he saw that Isa had quickly recovered himself, and had sprung upon Niani, and catching hold of him by the throat and legs, was carrying him to the great log-fire, to warm him, as he said.

Niani struggled and screamed, but in vain. Isa’s ears were closed against a little slave’s cries, and he would probably have made good his threat had not Selim, Khamis, and Mussoud, aided by Simba and Moto, interfered, and cried out, “Enough, enough, son of Mohammed. Be not wrathful with a little slave.”

As Arabs dislike to see scuffling, or at least always interfere in cases of this kind, it is not to be wondered at Khamis taking the part of Niani, or Simba and Moto exerting their manhood to prevent cruelty; but Niani was not released scot-free; he received several energetic slaps and kicks, which accelerated his departure to a safer distance.

This incident broke up the meeting. Simba and Moto withdrew to their mats on each side of their master Amer’s tent. Khamis, Isa, and Mussoud retired to their respective parents’ tents, and Selim entered the tent of Amer bin Osman.

Sheikh Amer was seated on his mat in the tent, writing by the light of a single tallow candle on a large broad sheet of stiff white paper; but as Selim entered he put his papers by, and bending on his son an earnest and melancholy look, said:

“My son, light of my soul and joy of my heart, come to me, and do thou sit by me that I may feel thy cheery presence. Dost thou know that my soul feels heavy to-night, as if some great affliction was about to visit me?”

“And what, my father,” replied the boy, bending a loving look on him, “couldst thou fear? Art thou not surrounded by kind friends and servants who love thee as their father?”

“Nay, my son, it is not fear that I feel, but a vague foreshadowing of evil which none can feel save those who have much to lose. On whose head the evil will fall I know not, nor do I know from what direction the evil may come; but that evil is nigh in some indistinct shape or another my soul knows, and it is that which has cast this passing cloud over it. But let us speak of other subjects. I have been occupied in writing letters to Zanzibar to my friends, telling them of the new route these wayward companions of ours have adopted, and giving directions about the disposition of my property. Thou knowest, Selim, my child, how I have always loved thee and treated thee, for thou art my hope and joy, and I may not hide it from thee. Should accident happen to me it will be well for me to warn thee now that thou hast an uncle from whom may Allah guard thee. He is a deep, designing man, though he is my brother. Should I die, thy uncle will endeavour to do thee harm, and it is against him I wish to guard thee.”

“But, father Amer, what harm can my uncle do me, and why should he wrong me, who have never done him wrong in word, or thought, or deed?” asked Selim, surprised at the tone of his father’s voice and this revelation.

“Thou art but a child of tender years and but little aware of the amount of wickedness in this world. Thy uncle is an avaricious man, who would rob thee of thy birthright could he do it, and I believe him to be bad enough to injure thee in some covert way if it were possible. My property amounts to about fifty thousand dollars in slaves and land, and if I die, this property, by right of thy birth as eldest son, is thine wholly, and under no condition or restraint. Wert thou and thy mother to die it would become the property of my brother Bashid, who is a cunning and unscrupulous man.”

“Thou dost surprise me, my father; but thou art well, and in good hopes of a long life. I hope thou wilt live a thousand years; I am happy only in being thy son,” answered Selim.

“I know it, my son; and if ever a dutiful child made the years of his father seem light, I have that child in thee, but it is well to be provident for those whom we love. For the rest, the will of God be done. There is another subject I wished to converse with thee upon, and that is thy marriage. Dost thou know Leilah?”

“What! Leilah, the daughter of Khamis bin Abdullah?” asked Selim.

“The same,” answered Amer.

“Surely, I know her. Have we not played together when we were children, and, now I bethink me, she is the loveliest girl at Zanzibar.”

“It is well,” said Amer. “Leilah, the daughter of Khamis bin Abdullah is wedded to thee, and the settlements are made between friend Khamis and myself. Should evil happen to me—which God forefend—on thy return to Zanzibar, if thou art of age, seek thou Khamis or, in Khamis’s absence, his kinsmen, and claim thou thy wife according unto the custom of thy tribe. I have prepared this future for thee that thou mayst not, like the degenerate Arabs at Zanzibar, seek a wife among strangers to thy race and tribe, and bring disgrace upon the name of my father Osman. Thy kinsmen are proud and belong to the pure Arab race, and they would not think well of my memory if I had neglected to warn thee of thy duty to me and the tribe of which Osman was so loved. Bear thou my words in thy mind, write them upon the tablets of thy heart, and obey. Dost thou promise?”

“As God liveth, and as thy soul liveth,” responded Selim earnestly, “to hear is to obey. I shall cherish as a holy thing thy wish.”

“Then do thou retire and rest. These papers are to be committed to the care of two of my servants, who will return to Zanzibar to-morrow, when they will, upon arrival, present them to the Imam. God shield thee from evil, and may He avert it always from all of us,” said Amer, as he resumed his work.

“Amen and amen!” replied Selim; and, after embracing his father, he quietly retired to his carpet to sleep the sleep of the innocent and young.

At early dawn next morning the horns of the several kirangozis, or guides, of the respective caravans blew loud and cheerily, calling on all to prepare for the march.

Before an hour had elapsed, the tents had been struck and folded, and each carrier, bearing his burden of cloth or beads (which were to be used for barter for ivory with the tribes in the far interior, or were, in the meanwhile, to purchase food as the caravan journeyed) or bearing the beds, and carpets, and rugs, cooking utensils, and despatch-boxes, was following his leaders as he stepped out briskly for the march.

The Arab chiefs remained behind to bring up the rear, and then, giving their rifles in charge to their gun-bearers or favourite slaves, followed on the road their caravans had taken.

The country before them broke out into knolls and tall cone-like hills, whose slopes were covered with here and there patches of dense jungle, or nourished young forests whose umbrage formed a most grateful shade during the heat of day.

Soon they had passed the healthy, breezy hills which are but offshoots of the Uruguru range, and the land now eloped before them into the low, flat basin of the Wami river, which during the rainy season becomes one great swamp.

But the season, at the time our travellers passed over the Makata Plain—as the basin is called—was soon after the effects of the violent monsoon had disappeared, in July, when the land presents an unusually bleached appearance; the grass is crispy, ripe, and extremely dry, the ground is seamed with ugly rents and gape, and the rivers, Little Makata and Mbengerenga, are but little better than small rivulets. The caravans were therefore enabled to cross the breadth of the Makata Plain within two days, and arrived at Mbumi in Usagara on the evening of the second day.

From Mbumi, in the same order as before, avoiding the Mukondokwa Yalley, the steep passes of Bubeho, and the desolate, forlorn-looking plains of Ugogo, the lengthy file of men—carriers, soldiers, and slaves—skirted the eastern end of the Mukondokwa range, and on the third day from Simbamwenni, arrived in a country which differed materially in aspect from that which they had just left. Mountains of a loftier altitude, in peak upon peak, in tier upon tier, range upon range, met the eye everywhere. Green trees covered their slopes in an apparently endless expanse of vegetation. The sycamore, the tamarind, the beautiful mimosa and kolqual vied with each other in height and beauty, while a thousand other trees, shrubs, plants, and flowers aided to give verdancy and freshness to the scene.

Down the hard, steep, rocky beds of granite and sandstone, with here and there basalt and porphyry, flint, and quartz, foamed the sparkling streams, which, when encountered on an African journey, give zest to the travel and add something to the pleasures of memory. A deep gaping fissure in a high jutting wall of rock, through which bubbled the clear water in volumes, or a great towering rock, with perpendicular walls, to which clung, despite the apparent impossibility, ferns, and plants, and moss, thick and velvety, or a conical hill, which ambitiously hid its head in clouds, were scenes to be treasured up when the march should hereafter become monotonous through excessive sameness of feature.

When they were in camp and had rested, our young friends went into raptures over the bold beauty of mountain scenery, and Belim, and Abdullah, and Mussoud were constantly heard uttering their exclamations of admiration. Selim especially, imbued as he was with the religious faith of his father, was filled with a loftier feeling than that youthful glow and exhilaration which his companions felt. Had he the power, he would like to have poured out his soul in fervid verse about the grandeur, the indescribable beauty of Nature in her wildest and most prolific mood. But being as yet a boy, in whom the poetic instinct and feeling is strong, he said to his father, one day, as the scenery was unusually picturesque:

“Hast thou ever, my father, during these days of travel over these great mountain-tops, thought that Palestine, the promised land, must be something like this? The land flowing with milk and honey. Why, honey is already plentiful here—we need but the cows to furnish milk; but if milk means the richness of earth, the never-dying fertility of the soil, look but once on this view now before us, and tell me, think you Palestine can be richer than this? Why, I feel—I do not exactly know what—but it is something that if I have never been good or thankful to Allah for his goodness to men, that I could be good for ever in future. Do you understand this feeling, father Amer, or is it singular in me?”

“No, it is not singular, my dear son; but go on, tell me what is in thy mind,” replied Sheikh Amer, himself gazing on the revealed might of Nature.

“I have also a feeling—as if I knew it for the first time—that this earth is large, very large, that it is immense, without limit or boundary, and that, consequently, God, who made all this, must be truly great. With the mountain air which I now inhale I seem to have imbibed something purer, more subtle; yet that thing is capable of giving me more expansion. Why was it that, before coming to these mountains, I never thought upon this subject? Why was it that, before to-day, I had no one thought of what might happen to-morrow, beyond what might happen to our caravan, or beyond what I should see on the road? Yet at this moment, though my eyes seem to rest upon this view of loveliness, I know I do not look upon its details or any particular object, but they seem to drink it all with one look, and more, infinitely more, than is contained in the area before me. I seem to have eyes in my mind which have a keener sight, more extended vision, greater power than the eyes of my head, which can see so far, and no farther. Yet to the sight of the inner eyes, which see not, yet can see a thousand times vaster scene, a thousand times greater prospect is revealed. Hills, dales, mountains, plains, valleys, forests, rivers, lakes, seas, all lovely, and lovelier than what we see now, are comprehended within the scope of my hidden and unseen eyes. What is this new sight or feeling, my father? Canst thou tell me?”

“Ah, my child, it is simply the awakening of the hitherto latent mind; or thought, exercised by but a faint experience, has been touched by Nature, and begins to dawn,” replied Amer. “God had endowed thee with the power of thought and of mind when he gave thee life. It was impossible that it could remain for ever hidden. The hour that a child begins to exercise his mind seeth him advanced a step nearer to manhood. It will kindle and expand as thou growest in years, and in each day’s march thou wilt find fresh food for it. It remains with God and thine own nature to improve it with every breath of air thy lungs inhale. By diligently reading the Küran and studying the precepts of Mohammed—blessed be his name!—thou wilt so protect that thought pure from evil as the tiny germ God implanted in thy breast at thy birth.”

“But tell me, father, one thing—it is different from that which thou hast been just telling me,” asked Selim. “Thou knowest Simba and Moto are thy slaves. Is it right, or is it not, to own slaves?”