Part 23 (1/2)

”Alas! not so easily as you think,” said Harold, pointing to Chimbolo, whose sad story he had heard; ”they will try _every_ kind of torture before they kill you.”

Chimbolo nodded his head, a.s.senting, and ground his teeth together fiercely when this was said.

Still Kambira was unmoved; he did not care what they did to him. Azinte was as life to him, and to search for her he would go in spite of every consideration.

Harold prevailed on him, however, to agree to wait until he should have spent another month in visiting Chimbolo's tribe, after which he promised faithfully to return and take him along with his party to the coast.

Neither Harold nor Disco was quite at ease in his mind after making this arrangement, but they both agreed that no other course could be pursued, the former saying with a sigh that there was no help for it, and the latter a.s.serting with a grunt that the thing ”wos unawoidable.”

On the following day the journey of exploration was resumed. Kambira accompanied his friends a few miles on the road, and then bade them farewell. On the summit of an elevated ridge the party halted and looked back. Kambira's manly form could be seen leaning on his spear.

Behind him the little village lay embosomed in luxuriant verdure, and glowing in the bright suns.h.i.+ne, while songs and sounds of industry floated towards them like a sweet melody. It was with a feeling of keen regret that the travellers turned away, after waving their hands in reply to a parting salute from the stalwart chief, and, descending to the plain, pushed forward into the unknown wilderness beyond.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

CAMPING, TRAVELLING, SHOOTING, DREAMING, POETISING, PHILOSOPHISING, AND SURPRISING, IN EQUATORIAL AFRICA.

At sunset the travellers halted in a peculiarly wild spot and encamped under the shelter of a gigantic baobab tree.

Two rousing fires were quickly kindled, round which the natives busied themselves in preparing supper, while their leaders sat down, the one to write up his journal, the other to smoke his pipe.

”Well, sir,” said Disco, after a few puffs delivered with extreme satisfaction, ”you do seem for to enjoy writin'. You go at that log of yours every night, as if it wos yer last will and testament that ye couldn't die happy without exikootin' an' signin' it with yer blood.”

”A better occupation, isn't it,” replied Harold, with a sly glance, ”than to make a chimney-pot of my mouth?”

”Come, sir,” returned Disco, with a deprecatory smile, ”don't be too hard on a poor feller's pipe. If you can't enjoy it, that's no argiment against it.”

”How d'you know I can't enjoy it?”

”Why? cos I s'pose you'd take to it if you did.”

”Did _you_ enjoy it when you first began?” asked Harold.

”Well, I can't 'zactly say as I did.”

”Well, then, if you didn't, that proves that it is not _natural_ to smoke, and why should I acquire an unnatural and useless habit?”

”Useless! why, sir, on'y think of wot you loses by not smokin'--wot a deal of enjoyment!”

”Well, I _am_ thinking,” replied Harold, affecting a look of profound thoughtfulness, ”but I can't quite make it out--enjoyment? let me see.

Do I not enjoy as good health as you do?”

”O, cer'nly, sir, cer'nly. You're quite up to the mark in that respect.”

”Well then, I enjoy my food as well, and can eat as much, can't I?”

”No doubt of it,” replied Disco, with a grin; ”I was used to be considered raither a dab at wittles, but I must say I knocks under to _you_, sir.”

”Very good,” rejoined Harold, laughing; ”then as to sleep, I enjoy sleep quite as soundly as yourself; don't I?”