Part 27 (1/2)

”I am miserable,” she said with vehemence, clenching one of her little fists as though she meditated an a.s.sault on the lieutenant--”utterly, absolutely, inconsolably miserable.”

If Lindsay had entertained any doubt regarding the truth of her a.s.sertion, it would have been dispelled by her subsequent conduct, for she buried her face in a handkerchief and burst into tears.

”Beloved, adorable, tender, delicious Maraquita,” were words which leapt into the lieutenant's mind, but he dare not utter them with his lips.

Neither did he venture to clasp Maraquita's waist with his left arm, lay her pretty little head on his breast and smooth her luxuriant hair with his right hand, though he felt almost irresistibly tempted so to do-- entirely from feelings of pity, of course,--for the Senhorina had hitherto permitted no familiarities beyond a gentle pressure of the hand on meeting and at parting.

It is unnecessary to repeat all that the bashful, though ardent, man of war said to Maraquita, or all that Maraquita said to the man of war; how, ignoring the celestial orbs and domestic economy, she launched out into a rhapsodical panegyric of Azinte; told how the poor slave had unburdened her heart to her about her handsome young husband and her darling little boy in the far off interior, from whom she had been rudely torn, and whom she never expected to see again; and how she, Maraquita, had tried to console Azinte by telling her that there was a heaven where good people might hope to meet again, even though they never met on earth, and a great deal more besides, to all of which the earnest lieutenant sought to find words wherewith to express his pity and sympathy, but found them not, though he was at no loss to find words to tell the queen of his soul that, in the peculiar circ.u.mstances of the case, and all things considered, his love for her (Maraquita) was tenfold more intense than it had ever been before!

”Foolish boy,” said the Senhorina, smiling through her tears, ”what is the use of telling me that? Can it do any good to Azinte?”

”Not much, I'm afraid,” replied the lieutenant. ”Well, then, don't talk nonsense, but tell me what I am to do to recover my little maid.”

”It is impossible for me to advise,” said the lieutenant with a perplexed look.

”But you _must_ advise,” said Maraquita, with great decision.

”Well, I will try. How long is it since Azinte was taken away from you?”

”About two weeks.”

”You say that Marizano was the purchaser. Do you know to what part of the coast he intended to convey her?”

”How should I know? I have only just heard of the matter from my father.”

”Well then, you must try to find out from your father all that he knows about Marizano and his movements. That is the first step. After that I will consider what can be done.”

”Yes, Senhor,” said Maraquita, rising suddenly, ”you must consider quickly, and you must act at once, for you must not come here again until you bring me news of Azinte.”

Poor Lindsay, who knew enough of the girl's character to believe her to be thoroughly in earnest, protested solemnly that he would do his utmost.

All that Maraquita could ascertain from her father was, that Marizano meant to proceed to Kilwa, the great slave-depot of the coast, there to collect a large cargo of slaves and proceed with them to Arabia, whenever he had reason to believe that the British cruisers were out of the way. This was not much to go upon, but the Senhorina was as unreasonable as were the Egyptians of old, when they insisted on the Israelites making bricks without straw.

He was unexpectedly helped out of his dilemma by Captain Romer, who called him into his cabin that same evening, told him that he had obtained information of the movements of slavers, which induced him to think it might be worth while to watch the coast to the northward of Cape Dalgado, and bade him prepare for a cruise in charge of the cutter, adding that the steamer would soon follow and keep them in view.

With a lightened heart Lindsay went off to prepare, and late that night the cutter quietly pulled away from the `Firefly's' side, with a well-armed crew, and provisioned for a short cruise.

Their object was to proceed as stealthily as possible along the coast, therefore they kept inside of islands as much as possible, and cruised about a good deal at nights, always sleeping on board the boat, as the low-lying coast was very unhealthy, but landing occasionally to obtain water and to take a survey of the sea from convenient heights.

Early one morning as they were sailing with a very light breeze, between two small islands, a vessel was seen looming through the haze, not far from sh.o.r.e.

Jackson, one of the men, who has been introduced to the reader at an earlier part of this narrative, was the first to observe the strangers.

”It's a brig,” he said; ”I can make out her royals.”

”No, it's a barque,” said the c.o.xswain.

A little mids.h.i.+pman, named Midgley, differed from both, and said it was a large dhow, for he could make out the top of its lateen sail.

”Whatever it is, we'll give chase,” said Lindsay, ordering the men to put out the oars and give way, the sail being of little use.

In a few minutes the haze cleared sufficiently to prove that Midgley was right. At the same time it revealed to those on board the dhow that they were being chased by the boat of a man-of-war. The little wind that blew at the time was insufficient to enable the dhow to weather a point just ahead of her, and the cutter rowed down on her so fast that it was evidently impossible for her to escape.