The Adventures of Leonard Vane. An African story

Introduction

I I. THE STAGE-WAGGON 6 II. EDMUND CALVERLEY 1 5 III. PARTED 26 IV. A TERRIBLE TALE 32 V. A TREACHEROUS CHIEF 49* VI. THE FIGHT AT THE HILL-CAMP 64 VII. THE ROYAL LEOPARD-TAMER 7& VIII. BURNT WINGS 9<> IX. A PRETTY QUARREL IOJ X. SAVED FROM A CROCODILE 117 XI. TRAPPED 12/ XII. TO THE RESCUE! I3& XIII. ACCUSED OF WITCHCRAFT l6l XIV. USONGE'S CHOICE '77 XV. A BASSIRA WARRIOR 187 XVI. THE CHANCES OF WAR 202 XVH. THE WHITE MEDICINE-MAN 215 XVIII. MNASTA'S REVENGK 23r CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XIX. A RACE FOR LIFE 25 1 XX. A DARING VENTURE 272 XXI. A FORLORN HOPE 283 XXII. AN AFRICAN NERO 294 XXIII. BEARDING THE LION IN HIS DEN 306 XXIV. DONNA BEATRIZ 3 1 8 XXV. CARRIED OFF 334 XXVI. UNMASKED 343 XXVII. WHAT HE BROUGHT HER 356 XXYIII. NAY TOR

INTRODUCTION.

. The tropical sun was already sinking low in the intensely blue heavens, and its beams fell full on the bare face of the line of sandhills — dotted here and there with clumps of feathery palms and mimosa scrub — that skirted the shore. No sound was heard from the land but the harsh cries and flapping wings of a bevy of sea-birds, as they rose from the beach, circled once or twice in the air, and settled down again almost in the same place as before. Far out on the western horizon, upon the boundless expanse of waters, lay a stately ship ; and between the ship and the coast was a man-o' war's boat, manned by Engiish sailors, and drawing every moment nearer to land. Running the boat into a little cove, half-a-dozen of them leaped ashore, compelling another man — who from his uniform was evidently an officer, and whose arms were bound tightly to his sides with a stout scarf — to accompany them.

This he did with manifest reluctance. He was no sooner ashore than the sailors returned to the boat — with the exception of one of their number, who had deposited a beaker of water and some provisions upon the beach, well out of the reach of the waves — and in spite of the vigorous protests, threats, and even entreaties of their late passenger and prisoner, they proceeded to push out to sea again. In vain the officer — as a matter of fact he was their captain — dashed into the water in pursuit of the retreating boat; guns were raised, cutlasses drawn, and with a volley of execrations he was assured of their intention of shooting or cutting him down should he attempt to follow them. And now the seaman who had until now remained on the beach approached his late commander. " Surely you are not going to desert me too, Harding?" demanded the latter, with a glance full of passion and reproach.

The man shrugged his shoulders, saying surlily : "How can I help it, Sir? It's your own fault! This ain't a place where a man would stay for choice, though I've seen worse. But you may thank your stars we h'ain't served you like the rest! Bill Brainham is captain of the Duke of Gloucester now, and I'll cleave to him — I swear I will!" And thereupon he drew his cutlass — only, how ever, to sunder adroitly the bonds which pinned down the captain's arms — then dashing into the surf, he speedily reached the boat, which now shot out seaward at a great rate. For a moment the abandoned man stood gazing

INTRODUCTION.

. 3 as if paralysed, after the mutineers. Suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation, dashed his hand across his brow, and rushed again into the sea. After some moments' battling with the waves, however, he returned half-exhausted to the beach, as if real izing the utter futility of any attempt to overtake the boat, or of forcing its occupants to restore him to his ship. With a gesture eloquent of anguish and despair, he watched the diminishing speck as it rose on the crest of wave after wave. "And this is the end of it all!" he muttered bitterly at last. " My ship — my honour — gone ; my career cut short ; and I myself abandoned to starva tion, or worse ! How little I thought when I took over the command of Her Majesty's * ship The Duke of Gloucester, that it would come to this ! Oh, my God ! . . . .

Yet better to die here, perhaps, than to struggle back to England to be pointed at as the man who had his ship taken from him and his officers murdered before his very eyes, in a mutiny he was too blind to foresee and too powerless to prevent ! " He ground his teeth in his impotent rage and mortification. "Better— a thousand times better — as it is ! And yet — and yet " He flung his hand across his eyes with a choking sob. The thoughts of the strong man left thus alone in his agony had travelled back from that desolate western coast of Africa to the quiet Cornish *Her Majesty Queen Anne. village where he had left the wife and child he would never, he thought, see again. Presently he looked up once more. Despair was in his eyes as he cast them over cheerless earth and empty sky, and then turned them seaward again.

The boat was invisible now ; it had reached the ship. And what unspeakable yearning' filled his heart as he gazed upon the splendid proportions of that noble vessel — his ship — his pride — his love! And now it was lost to him for ever. Let us look at him for a moment as he stands there, straining his wild eyes towards the western horizon, where the tapering masts of the man-of-war are so clearly defined against the sunset sky. He is not much over forty years of age, and there is not a silver hair among his clustering dark curls. He is a handsome man, tall, straight and well-made, and he has the air and look of one accustomed to command obedience. He is a brave man, too — his deeds of the last ten years alone could speak for that. And there are many who know with what a kindly light his grey eyes can shine at times — many of the weak and the suffering who have cause to bless him.

A keener, more anxious expression comes into his pale, intent face as he gazes. Alas! the ship is moving, though he will not yet acknowledge it to himself. Already a . great part of her hull has disappeared from sight — she sinks lower and lower. And now only her masts are visible. One violent ejaculation bursts from the lips of the watcher.

INTRODUCTION.

. 5 "The treacherous rascals! the ungrateful, mur derous scoundrels ! Let me but meet one of them again ! " He broke off, eagerly following the ship with his eyes until her last streamer sank below the horizon. Still he gazed — he could not bring himself to believe that she was indeed gone. Then the truth dawned upon him. He glanced wildly round — staggered — sank upon a rock, and covering his face with his hands, burst into tears. ■^ ■£ -^ H*** % + Night fell, and found him on the same spot still. The place where he had been abandoned was an unknown, desert, and apparently uninhabited coast — and he was alone.

Chapter I. The Stage-waggon

One dark, stormy evening in December, 1709, the lumbering old stage-waggon which weekly creaked and strained over the weary way between Tavistock and Exeter was crawling along a lane on Dartmoor. The wind shrieked over the bleak hills, blowing the snow into eddies, and ever and anon driving the icy sleet full in the faces of the driver and his team of steaming, jaded horses with a hiss like that of a host of infuriated serpents. What with the ruts and the snowdrifts, the unwieldy vehicle rocked to and fro like a ship at sea, momentarily threaten ing an upset. Add to this the quickly increasing darkness, which rendered it almost impossible to see either side of the road, at this point exposed to all the elements on the crown of a steep, hill, and it is scarcely to be wondered at that the long suffering coachman muttered between his teeth an ardent wish that he had tarried in the warm and comfortable tap-room of the inn at the last hamlet in which he had halted.

THE STAGE-WAGGON. 7 The sole passengers were a plainly-dressed woman in widow's weeds— evidently a lady— and a little girl of about ten years of age. The latter, terrified by the storm and by the rolling and swaying of the waggon, was clinging to her mother, looking questioningly up in her face from time to time — only to read in that white face a confirmation of her own fears. " Mamma, do you think the coach will upset ? Mamma, hadn't we better get out and walk?" " No, dear ; the snow would be up to our knees. God will take care of us — pray to Him, as I am doing. " The silence was unbroken for awhile save for the furious rattling and jolting of the cranky old stage waggon, and the screaming of the gale. "Mamma, are you cold?" came the little voice again. " I could wrap a shawl round your feet " "No, no — don't move, my child," and her mother held her more tightly to her breast.

" Hark ! What's that ?" Her voice was trembling with fright. " There is somebody riding after us, " said the child, after listening for a moment. " Perhaps a highwayman ! " gasped the widow. " If only we had stayed at the inn ! Guen, don't loose your hold on me for a moment. Heaven have mercy on us! He's alongside us now!" "It is a man wrapped up in a cloak, mamma!" "Oh, why did I come?" The poor woman was speaking more to herself than to her child. "He is saying something to the driver — perhaps with a pistol to his head ! I must give him my purse at once to save our lives — oh ! where is it ?" "Mamma, don't be so frightened —I think he is riding on. Yes, there he goes." "Perhaps he was no robber after all, then!" There was a pause, and then the lady spoke again, faintly but earnestly. "Guen, my child, I feel very ill.

Listen — if anything should happen to me to-night — so that I cannot speak to you again — then you must— Ah! what is that?" It was a fresh gust of wind, howling, shrieking and tearing like the furies let loose. In the midst of that wild pandemonium of sound came a hoarse shout from the driver. For a moment the very earth seemed to tremble — the waggon swayed with a sickening motion — heeled slowly over — and then — Under that hill, nestled among tall trees, stood a stately mansion, built of white stone, and known to the country side as Vane Court. And against one of its lower windows upon this eventful evening were pressed three faces, the glow of firelight behind them. The faces were those of a fair, fragile-looking lady, and of two boys of eleven and thirteen — the elder somewhat sombre of visage; the younger golden-haired, blue-eyed, ruddy and fair to look upon as a young David.

"Mother," said this last, "father is sure to be here soon. Neither he nor Darius would think THE STAGE- WAGGON. 9 anything of a storm like that— and Darius is so surefooted!" Next moment both boys joined in a hurrah, as a cloaked figure on a black horse loomed into sight through the gateway. A few minutes later, and the new arrival, drenched and miry, was standing in the wide, oakwainscoted hall, while his wife removed his dripping cloak and handed it to his elder son to hang up ; and the younger, Leonard, scarcely waited for his father to seat himself by the fireside before engaging in a manful struggle to pull off the great heavy riding boots. The attempt proved eminently successful — though the task was no easy one, and the last boot, coming off suddenly after a stubborn resistance, caused Master Lenny to turn an involuntary back somersault into the midst of the half-dozen dogs who occupied the centre of the hearth.

Supper was soon under discussion, while Mr. Vane informed his wife of the satisfactory conclusion of the business that had taken him to Tavistock, and described the condition of the Dartmoor roads. " I have seldom been out in such a storm as this, " he said. " I passed the stage-waggon from Tavistock nearly at the top of the hill there, a quarter of an hour ago ; and upon my word I was glad I was not in it ! Old Sam Belfer was driving, and he, you know, can't see very well at the best of times —but on a night like this " He shook his head. " Heavens, husband ! were there many passengers?" " On my word, my love, I could hardly see — but I think not. One or two huddled up at one end, or so. I wish now that I had asked them to put up here for the night." "Perhaps they have not gone too far yet," cried the younger boy, starting up.

" I'll run upstairs and look out of the window — I shall see the gleam of old Belfer's lantern if they are anywhere within half a-mile of us." And he was gone. " What nonsense ! " muttered his brother. The next moment the door had flown open again, and Leonard was back in their midst, his face crimson with excitement. " Father ! mother ! the waggon has been upset — or something! There is a dark mass on the hill, and a horse is plunging and jumping about like a mad thing. Open the window and you'll hear them neighing. Oh, let us take lanterns and go and help them ! Let us all go ! " The whole household was at the windows in a few seconds. Rapidly taking in the situation, Mr. Vane summoned the men-servants to accompany him and made hasty preparations to set forth to the scene of the accident.

Having promised his wife to bring the stage-waggon's passengers back with him for shelter, he was about to start, when he found that little Leonard purposed to make one of the party. " Oh, yes, father, do take me/' he exclaimed impetuously. "I'll promise not to get in anyone's way — yes, mother, I'll put on anything you like — only let me go! It's different with Hugh— he has a cold. I'm all right. " THE STAGE-WAGGON. 11 A few minutes later he was fighting his way through snow and slush at his father's side. The storm had somewhat abated, but they were still obliged to shout in order to hear each other speak, and Leonard found he had enough to do to keep pace with Mr. Vane as they breasted the hill and met the fierce blast from the moors. As they neared the scene of the disaster a horse burst out of a snowdrift and galloped past them, the traces streaming broken behind him.

The driver's voice was soon heard calling to them in piteous accents, showing that he was at all events alive, if little more. The waggon was lying on its side, the only two wheels which remained attached to the axles, in the air. The harness was tangled and broken by the struggles of the horses, two of which had succeeded in freeing themselves, while another had been so badly injured that it had to be put out of its misery as quickly as possible. Old Belfer had broken his collar-bone and a rib, besides being severely bruised. It was with the greatest difficulty that Mr. Vane at length managed to get into the waggon, from which no sound had issued. He emerged from the vehicle with a woman dressed in black in his arms, who was to all appearance dead. He laid her down upon a cloak spread on the roadside, and bent over her.

"I am not certain, but I think she is alive," he said. Returning to the waggon, he brought out a little girl. Her hood had fallen back, and her long dark hair streamed over his arm. She was very pale and her eyes were closed. At sight of her, Leonard gave a cry. " Oh, father, the poor little girl ! She's not dead — say she's not dead ! " " Xo, no — only stunned, I hope. And now to get them home at once." There was little sleep in Vane Court that night. One of the grooms was despatched on horseback for a doctor, while Mrs. Vane and her assistants busied themselves in the sick-room. The child had soon revived, and dropped into a sound slumber. But the poor mother neither stirred nor spoke. All their efforts proved unavailing. She never recovered full consciousness, and died quietly at daybreak.

"How shall I tell her? How shall I break it to her?" Mrs. Vane asked herself next morning, as she opened the door of the room where slept the poor little waif so unexpectedly brought to her doors last night. She never left the child all that day and the ensuing night. The poor little thing clung to her presence, following her about with grave piteous eyes like those of some suffering dumb creature, seeming to ask silently why this had happened to her. It seemed that her name was Guendolen Pengil- THE STAGE-WAGGON. 13 Ian — that she had hitherto lived with her mother a lonely, sequestered life in a village near St. Austell in Cornwall — and furthermore, that she was the only child of a naval officer well-known years ago — first for his gallantry as one of Benbow's lieutenants in the West Indies— then as Sir George Rooke's second in command at the siege of Gibraltar — and who was finally — as it was believed — drowned upon his last voyage, a cruise to the Cape of Good Hope, on which his ship, the Duke of Gloucester, had gone down with all hands.

Portions of the wreck had been picked up by other vessels, but no sur vivor of the ill-fated ship's officers or crew had ever returned to tell the tragic tale. It appeared, too, that the little girl was left almost friendless upon the world. She had no idea of the object of her mother's journey to Exeter; it might have been to choose a new abode — or to consult a doctor or a lawyer — for, as was afterwards found, Mrs. Pengillan had left no will, nor had she made any arrangements for her child's future in case of her own demise. A Cornish clergyman of whom Guendolen had spoken, and to whom the Vanes. had sent a message, could tell them little. Upon investigation, however, it transpired that Mrs. Pen gillan's income, derived from her husband's prize money and her pension, had for some reason become lately much reduced.

What little capital remained in her name had been newly invested that year in the South Sea Company's Stock. The matter was thrown into the Court of Chancery.. All endeavours to find Guendolen's relatives or connections — and none such appeared to exist — having failed, Mr. Vane acceded to his wife's strong desire, and sent in an application to the proper authorities in London for custody of the child till she should have reached her majority. The application was granted, and little Guen became a per manent inmate and adopted child of Vane Court; to the satisfaction of all its inhabitants, herself included. And there she grew up with Hugh and Leonard Vane. And the time rolled by without a cloud to darken its bright horizon — until the day came when Vane Court was left without a mistress. Thus Guendolen Pengillan was left motherless a second time.

Chapter II. Edmund Calverley

"See what I have found in the lumber-garret!" exclaimed Hugh Vane — now a dark-haired, tolerably well-grown young man of three-and-twenty — as, equipped for riding, he came down the steps in front of Vane Court, holding up a small and ancient leather-bound book. "Oh, there you are at last!" in tones suggestive of rising ire from a tall, broad-chested, handsome youth some two years younger — his brother Leonard, who was adjusting his horse's bridle on the terrace below. "I was just coming to see what had become of you. and " "Yes, Hugh," broke in another voice with a silvery laugh, " I hope you think you have kept us waiting long enough ! Don't you know we are all eagerness to see this wonderful traveller whom Lady Langford has got hold of? — But what is it you have found?" The speaker was Guendolen — now a tall young lady who had barely completed her twentieth year.

She was standing with her back against her bay horse's shoulder, one hand caressing his neck, while the other held up the long skirt of her dark green habit. Her luxuriant dark hair was partly looped up at the back of her stately head, and lay partly in long loose curls upon her shoulders; and her splendid dark grey eyes flashed at this moment with a mischievous light from beneath the wide brim of her shady hat and feathers. Any beholder, looking on her for the first time, must have been amazed at her beauty. " Oh, get on, — get on, for goodness sake, if you're in such a plaguey hurry!" said Hugh, with sudden ill-temper. " It doesn't matter what I've found — or I can show it to you on the way. But I don't suppose you'd care to see it after all!" " Of course I should, Hugh ! how can you speak so?" expostulated the girl, as — Leonard having put her on her horse — the trio rode off across that very hill on which so fatal an accident had occurred ten years before.

" Oh, it's only an old Book of Hours with the name of our ancestor Sir Gervas Vane written in it in old yellow ink. There are several notes in the same hand upon the fly-leaves — one records the fall of his son, ' Hue Vane', at the battle of Tewkesbury, with the date, May 4, 147 1." And he tossed it to her a trifle roughly. " Dear me, how oddly he spells ! Here seems to be something about the Earl of Warwick. And this — this must be a prophecy of some sort. Look, Lenny. * "' Two — two heddes' — is it ?" said Leonard, bending over from his horse to look at the little volume she held, until his head almost touched hers. "I can't make head or tail of it." "Listen to this, then." And she read: " ' Two Heddes of the House on Dartemoore sall salle, " 'And a Yunger take Heritage, Bryde, and alle: " " What fun !

" laughed Leonard. " But perhaps the prophecy has been fulfilled already! No, it hasn't; one head of the house hasn't fallen on Dartmoor yet, let alone two. Perhaps it's to be some two-headed individual, though. You know, Guen, there have been such people — and from Cornwall too." " How could a Cornishman be head of the House of Vane, I should like to know? There, sir, you're answered ! " " And who is the ' Younger ' who is to take ' heritage, bride, and all?' What a lucky 'Younger'! That would depend on the bride, though ! At all events she would be glad not to be obliged to marry a two-headed bridegroom. Again, to be sure, that would depend on the substitute. I suppose a man mightn't be a bad sort of fellow, even if he had two heads ! " " That would be his misfortune, not his fault, " said Guen.

" Does it not strike you that we are talking nonsense ? " " There may be a battle on Dartmoor some day, for aught we know, " said Hugh. " The Pretender may come over again * * " Bother the Pretender, " quoth Leonard. " His business is pretty well played out. I'll go out for King George if he does come, though His Majesty is a fat old German. I only wish I had the chance of doing something! Here's my father keeps me at home like a child — and upon my word, it can't go on much longer! It's all very well for Hugh, he's eldest son, and heir to the estate; but I've got to make my own way in the world. I am over twenty-one now, and I mean to do it. If there was any fighting going on anywhere, I'm hanged if I wouldn't join the army! " " You know, Lenny, " the girl said, in a low voice, " the reason that your father cannet bear to part with you.

It is because you are so like her. He has never been the same since she died. But I quite understand how you feel about it," and she sighed. "But you remember, Guennie," he said, more lightly, " we always agreed that I was to be a sailor, like your father. To sail about the world and see strange lands — that is my grand ambition. I'd give my head," he added with energy, " to be able to go with Edmund Calverley on this expedition of his. I should like to see this ancient 'Kingdom of Kongo', and the great river they talk about, with its 200 miles of cataracts — and all the other strange * The Old Pretender. things Andrew Battel and the other old writers tell of, in that part of the world." His cheek flushed and his eyes sparkled. Guen looked at him, but said nothing ; and just then they turned in at a white gate and were riding up to the unassuming mansion known as Lutonvale Manor.

Here dwelt the widowed Lady Langford — a lady who had been much attached to Mrs. Vane, and who was now, as ever, a kind friend to " the children," as she called the trio who so often came over from Vane Court to visit her. They were, indeed, as much at home in her house as in their own. The brisk, cheerful old lady — whose only signs of age were the silvery whiteness of her abundant hair, and the gold-headed cane with which she walked — welcomed them warmly. She had hardly explained that her nephew, Mr. Calverley, (who had arrived on the previous day,) was out with his gun, but would be back soon, when the gentleman him self — to them just now an object of such eager interest — walked into the room. Edmund Calverley was a tall, handsome man of two or three and forty, dark-haired, with peculiarly penetrating eyes, and a complexion deeply embrowned by the African sun.

He had a trick, when looking at any person or thing new to him, of throwing back his head ; and it was with this habitual gesture that he now surveyed his aunt's guests. . Ten years ago he had been obliged to give up his commission in the army in consequence of a wound received at the battle of Malplaquet — a wound ADVENTURES OF LEONARD VANE. 20 which then threatened to give him severe and lasting trouble ; and at the end of the Flanders campaign he had found himself the invalid guest of a worthy Dutchman named Van der Baeken, whom he had made his friend. This gentleman owned property at the mouth of the African river Zaire or Congo — a sea-voyage had been prescribed to Calverley as the best means of recruiting his shattered health — and thus he gladly accepted the merchant's invitation to accompany him on a trip to the West African Coast.

Arrived there, he quickly made the acquaintance of other traders — Dutch, French, and Portuguese — and accompanied several trading expeditions up the country, then so little known. These several expe ditions covered at least two years ; and then, bitten by the fever for exploration and discovery, undeterred by exigencies of climate and the frequent troubles arising from his wound, Calverley took service under a wealthy ivory-trader, and with his caravan penetrated further inland than any European had ever done before him — excepting perhaps a devoted padre or two. Many were his adventures ; but becoming involved in conflicts with the natives, he was obliged unwill ingly to return to the coast before he had satisfied himself of the truth or falsehood of the many strange reports current of wonders to be seen in the interior.

Other enterprises followed, each one more adventurous than the last — for Calverley was of too restless and stirring a temperament to remain long inactive. At length, after many years, he returned to England. He might have obtained a new commission in the army had he chosen ; but the Peace of Utrecht had long been signed, and there was little doing in the military line just then. Besides, it so happened that the imagination of that eminent peer of the realm, the Duke of S , had been fired and his interest excited by the reports — brought to him by a certain French Count who had been staying in his house — of the riches and wonders of the Congo country. He interrogated Calverley closely concerning his experiences in that African kingdom — inquired as to the navigability of the river, the chances as to the truth of the tales of dwarfs and giants on the higher river — and finally asked whether he would consent to take the command of an exploring expedition to those parts.