The River of Darkness; Or, Under Africa, Page 3

  CHAPTER II.

  A STRANGE MEETING.

  Torres looked up in apparent surprise from his cigar, and the captain'sruddy face flashed a shade deeper.

  "Are you sure, sir?" he cried. "This is a strange place for a robbery."

  Guy turned on him hotly.

  "A robbery has been committed, nevertheless, and the articles stolen aredespatches for the governor of Zaila. They were intrusted to me fordelivery, and I look to you to recover them."

  "Ah! Government despatches, were they?" said the captain. "Just stepbelow and we'll look into the matter."

  They turned toward the cabin, leaving the Portuguese still gazing overthe rail.

  At the foot of the steps the captain stopped.

  "Why, what's this?" he said, stooping down and pulling from under thelowest step a bunch of papers.

  "The stolen despatches!" cried Guy wildly. "But look! The seals havebeen broken."

  Together they inspected the documents. Each envelope had been opened,but the contents appeared to be all right. The thief had plainly beensatisfied with their perusal.

  "Whoever stole them," said the captain, "was afraid to retain them lesta search should be made, and as he had no way to destroy them he tossedthem down here where they could easily be found."

  "Who else had a key to my cabin?" Guy asked sternly.

  "The key to Torres' cabin will open yours," replied the captain, "andseveral of the crew also have keys."

  "Then Torres is the man," said Guy. "The scoundrel looks capable ofanything."

  "I wouldn't advise you to accuse him," said the captain gravely. "He maycause trouble for you on shore. You must remember that British influenceis little felt at Berbera. Your best plan is to say nothing, but relatethe whole affair to the governor at Zaila. And now, as we may lie in theharbor here all day, you had better go on shore. You will see a strangesight."

  Guy put the recovered documents away in an inner pocket, and followedthe captain on deck, in a very angry frame of mind. Torres haddisappeared, but Guy felt that he had not seen the last of him.

  He half forgot his anger in the strange sight that now met his eyes, forthe steamer was just approaching the wharf, and in a moment thegang-plank was dropped over the side.

  He waited until the eager, jostling crowd of Arabs had passed over, andthen he made his way to shore. The spectacle before him was marvelousand entrancing.

  Extending apparently for miles up and down the yellow stretch of sandthat fringed the coast was one great sea of canvas that fluttered underthe African breeze.

  There were tents of every description, some old and dingy, somespotlessly white and shining, and others brilliant in many colors,barred with red and green and yellow, while here and there, from theirmidst, rose the sun-baked walls and towers of the original Berbera, forall this floating canvas belonged to the nomadic population who flockhither from the interior during the fair, and add twenty thousand to theperennial population of the town.

  Dazed as though in a dream, Guy moved forward, noting with wonder thestrange people who thronged about him and regarded him with evidentmistrust. Borne on by the crowd, he found himself presently in the mainavenue of the fair, and his first amazed impression was that he had beentransported to a scene in the "Arabian Nights."

  On either side of the narrow street stretched the sea of tents, andbefore them, on rude stalls, were ranged everything that the imaginationcould devise: sacks of coffee and grain, great heaps of glitteringivory, packets of gold-dust, aromatic spices, and fragrant gums of allsorts, great bunches of waving ostrich plumes, bales of cotton andtobacco, tanned hides of domestic animals, tawny skins of lions,leopards, and panthers, oddly-woven grass mats, quaint arms, and bits ofcarving, fetish ornaments, and even live cattle and sheep tied to thepoles of the tents.

  Standing guard over their wares were natives from all parts of Africa,Arabs from the Zambesi, savage-looking Abyssinians, crafty Somalis withgreasy, dangling locks, and brawny, half-naked fellows from theinterior, the like of whom Guy had never seen or heard.

  And up and down the narrow street moved in a ceaseless throng thetraders who had come to purchase: Arabs from Aden and Suakim, Egyptiansfrom Cairo, traders from Zanzibar, and a sprinkling of Portuguese andSpaniards.

  Some of them bore their goods on camels, others had hired nativecarriers, who staggered under the heavy bales and cases, and the uproarwas deafening and incessant as they wrangled over their bartering anddazzled the eyes of their customers with rolls of English and Frenchsilks, pigs of iron, copper, and brass, sacks of rice and sugar,glittering Manchester cutlery, American beads, and cans of gunpowder.

  The builders of the tower of Babel itself could not have produced such ajargon or variety of tongues, Guy thought, as he picked his way onward,new stopping to gaze at some odd-looking group, and now attracted by theharsh music and beating drums of a band of native musicians.

  He noted with secret satisfaction the occasional presence in the crowdof a dark-skinned soldier in British uniform, and he observed with somesurprise the vast number of Abyssinian Arabs, whom he recognized bytheir peculiar dress.

  Finally a stranger sight than all arrested his steps. In a smallinclosure, cordoned off by a rope, lay a dozen poor slaves shackled tostakes driven deep in the ground and exposed to the burning sun.

  Their owner, a brawny negro with a head-dress of feathers, a native ofthe Galla country, was disputing over their purchase with a giganticArab, whose powerful frame irresistibly fascinated Guy's attention.

  He wore a loosely-flapping cotton gown, confined at the waist by a beltthat fairly bristled with knives and pistols, while a scarlet burnouswas drawn over his head, affording a brilliant set-off to the glitteringeyes, the tawny, shining skin, and the short chin-beard and mustache.

  Behind the group of slaves, chained to the pole of a spacious tent, laya sleek and glossy leopard, sleeping in the sun as unconcernedly asthough he were in the midst of his native desert. The Arab, unawareprobably of the beast's presence, walked slowly round the circleinspecting his prospective purchase.

  The leopard perhaps was dreaming of the days when he was wont to chasethe deer through the jungle, for suddenly his spotted body quivered andhis long tail shot out like a stiffened serpent. The Arab's sandaledfoot came down on the tapering end, and with a scream of rage the beastsprang up.

  Overcome by a sudden fright, the Arab staggered backward a pace, andlike a flash the leopard shot to the end of his chain, and fasteningteeth and claws on the unfortunate man's neck, bore him to the ground.Panic-stricken, those who stood near made no move. The big negro dancedwildly up and down, keeping well out of reach of his savage pet, and theslaves howled with fright.

  An instant's delay and the man was lost. Suddenly Guy drew his revolverand sprang forward.

  The negro uttered a howl and tried to push him back, but Guy forced hisway past him, and pressing the revolver close to the brute's head pulledthe trigger.

  It was a good shot. The leopard rolled over lifeless, and the Arab, withGuy's assistance, rose to his feet very dazed, while the blood drippeddown from his lacerated back.

  Instantly the scene changed. The negro, angered at the death of hisleopard, advanced menacingly on Guy with a drawn knife, and in responseto his summons other negroes rallied to his aid.

  But the Arab, too, had friends in the crowd, and they, pressing forwardin turn, made it seem as though a bloody conflict were inevitable.

  Just as the issue was trembling in the balance, a shout arose from thecrowded street.

  "The white man! Make room for the white man!" and through the partedranks Guy saw advancing a bronzed Englishman in white flannels andhelmet.

  The stranger pushed right in through the sullen group of negroes untilhe reached the open space before the tent, and stood face to face withGuy.

  Their eyes met in one amazed glance that startled the wonderingspectators, and then from Guy's lips burst a glad, hoarse c
ry:

  "Melton Forbes, or I am dreaming!"

  "Chutney, by Jove! My dear fellow, can it be possible?"

  All else forgotten in their deep joy of meeting, the two bronzedEnglishmen fell into each other's arms, and the Arabs and negroes, dimlycomprehending what it all meant, shouted in sympathy and lowered theirarms.