Excellent Readings: Sonnet XCV by William Shakespeare (in English)

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O! in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose.
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O! what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot
And all things turns to fair that eyes can see!
   Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
   The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

Tuesday's Serial "The Mystery of the Sea" by Bram Stoker (in English) - XXII

 

CHAPTER XLVIII - DUNBUY HAVEN

We had to-day been so hot in the immediate pursuit of Marjory that we had hardly been able to think of the other branches of our work; but all at once, the turn of the wheel brought up as the most important matter before us what had been up to now only a collateral. Hitherto the Seagull had been our objective; but now it must be the Wilhelmina. Adams had been in charge of the general investigation as to these boats, whilst Montgomery had been attending to local matters. It was to the former, therefore, rather than the latter, that we had to look for enlightenment. Montgomery and MacRae were the first to arrive, coming on horseback from Fraserburgh, the former with all the elan and abandonment of a sailor ashore. He was frightfully chagrined when he heard that the Seagull had got safely away. “Just like my luck!” he said, “I might have got her in time if I had known enough; but I never even heard of Gardentown till your wire came to me. It isn’t on the map.” He was still full of lamentings, though I could tell from the way he was all nerved and braced up that we should hear of him when the time for action came. When we arrived at the station at Macduff to meet Adams, we hurried him at once into the carriage which we had waiting; he gave us his news as we hurried off to Gardentown. We felt that it might be a mistake our going there, for we should be out of the way of everything; but we had made arrangements for news to be sent there, and it was necessary we should go there before holding our council of war. Adams told us that the whaler Wilhelmina had been reported at Lerwick two days ago, but that she had suddenly left on receipt of a telegram, hurrying in the last of her stores at such a rate that some of them had been actually left behind. He had not been able to gain any specific information by wire. The Master of the ship had said to the Harbour Master that he was going to Nova Zembla; but nothing more definite could be obtained.

When we got together in the hotel at Gardentown we were surprised by another arrival; none other than Don Bernardino, who had come by the same train as Adams, but had had to wait to get a carriage. We had got away so quickly that none of us had seen him.

Things were now at such a stage that it would not do to have any concealment whatever; and so after a moment in private with the Don, I told my companions of the attack on the Spaniard in my house, and of the carrying off the great treasure. I did not give any details of the treasure or its purpose; nor did I even mention the trust. This was now the Don’s secret, and there was no need to mention it. We all agreed that if we should have any chance at all of finding Marjory, it would be by finding and following the members of the gang left on shore. Sam Adams who was, next to the Secret Service men, the coolest-headed of our party, summed up the situation.

“Those fellows haven’t got off yet. It is evident that they only came to look for the treasure after Miss Drake had been shipped off from Gardentown. And I’m pretty sure that they are waiting somewhere round the coast for the Wilhelmina to pick them up; or for them to get aboard her somehow. They’ve got a cartload of stuff at the very least to get away; and you may bet your sweet life that they don’t mean to leave it to chance. Moreover, you can’t lay your hand at any minute on a whaler ready for shanghaieing any one. This one has been fixed up on purpose, and was waiting up at Lerwick for a long time ready to go when told. I think myself that it’s more than likely she has orders to take them off herself, for a fishing smack like the Seagull that has to be in and out of these ports all the time, doesn’t want to multiply the chances of her discovery. Now that she has done a criminal thing and is pretty sure that it can’t be proved against her, she’ll take her share of the swag, or whatever was promised her, and clear out. If the Wilhelmina has to get off the gang it’ll have to be somewhere off this coast. They are nearly all strangers to start with, and wouldn’t know where else to go. If they go south they get at once into more thickly peopled shores, where the chances of getting off in secret would be less. They daren’t go anywhere along the shore of the Firth, for their ship might be cut off at the mouth, and they might be taken within the three-mile limit and searched. Beyond the Firth they can know nothing. Therefore, we have got to hunt them along this shore; and from the lie of the land I should say that they will try to get off somewhere between Old Slains and Peterhead. And I’ll say further that, in-as-much-as the shore dips in between Whinnyfold and Girdleness outside Aberdeen, the ship will prefer to keep up the north side, so that she can beat out to sea at once, when she has got her cargo aboard.”

“Sam is about right!” broke in Montgomery “I have been all along the coast since we met, surveying the ground for just this purpose. I tried to put myself in the place of that crowd, and to find a place just such as they would wish. They could get out at Peterhead or at Boddam, and so I have set a watch at these places. Some of our sailors who were sent up to me from London are there now, and I’ll stake my word that if the Wilhelmina tries to come in to either of these places she won’t get out again with Marjory Drake on board. But it’s not their game to come near a port. They’ve got to lie off shore, somewhere agreed on, and take off their friends in a boat. There are dozens of places between Cruden and Peterhead where a boat could lie hidden, and slip out safely enough. When they got aboard they could hoist in the boat or scuttle her; and then, up sails and off before any one was the wiser. What I propose, therefore, is this, for I take it I’m the naval expert here such as it is. We must set a watch along this bit of coast, so as to be ready to jump on them when they start out. We can get the Keystone to lie off Buchan; and we can signal her when we get sign of our lot. She’ll be well on the outside, and these scallywags don’t know that she’ll be there to watch them. When the time comes, she’ll crowd them into shore; and we’ll be ready for them there. If she can hunt the Wilhelmina into the Firth it will be easy enough to get her. “Fighting Dick” Morgan isn’t a man to stand on ceremony; and you can bet your bottom dollar that if he gets a sight of the Dutchman he’ll pretty well see that she hasn’t any citizen of the United States aboard against her will. Dick wouldn’t mind the people in Washington much, and he’d take on the Dutch to-morrow as well as the Spaniards. Now, if in addition this gentleman’s yacht is to the fore, with any one of us here aboard to take responsibility, I guess we can overhaul the whaler without losing time.”

“I’ll be aboard!” said Donald MacRae quietly. “The Sporran is due at Peterhead this afternoon. Just you fit me up with signals so that we’ll know what to do when we get word; and I’ll see to the rest. My men are of my own clan, and I’ll answer for them. They’ll not hang back in anything, when I’m in the front of them.”

I wrung the hands of the two young fellows. East and West, it was all the same! The old fighting gallantry was in their hearts; and with the instinct of born Captains they were ready to accept all responsibility. All they asked was that their men should follow them.

They immediately sat down to arrange their signals. Montgomery was of course trained in this work, and easily fixed up a simple scheme by which certain orders could be given by either flags, or lights, or rockets. There was not need for much complication; it was understood that when the Wilhelmina should be sighted she should be boarded at once, wherever or however she might be. We were, one and all of us, prepared to set at defiance every law—international, maritime, national or local. Under the circumstances we felt that, given we could once get on track with our enemy, we held a great power in our hands.

Before long, MacRae was off to Peterhead to join his yacht, which would at once start on a sort of sentry-go up and down the coast. The rest of us set about arranging to spread ourselves along the shore between Cruden and Peterhead. We did not arrange watches, for time was now precious to all, on both sides of the encounter. If an attempt was to be made to take off the treasure, it would in all probability be made before morning; every hour that passed multiplied the difficulties and dangers of the blackmailers. The weather was becoming misty, which was a source of inconvenience to us all. Thick patches of white fog began to drift in from the north east, and there was ominous promise in the rising wind of there being danger on sea and shore before many hours had passed. We each took provision with us for the night, and a sufficiency of rockets and white and red lights for our signalling work, in case there might be need of such.

In disposing of our forces, we had not of course a sufficiency of men to form a regular cordon; but we so arranged ourselves that there was no point at which a boat could land which was not in view of some of us. I was terribly anxious, for as the evening came on, the patches of white mist came driving in more quickly, and getting thicker and more dense. Between them the sea was clear, and there was no difficulty in keeping accurate observation; but as each fog belt came down on the rising wind our hearts fell. It would come on like a white cloud, which would seem to strike the land and then close in on every side, as though wrapping the shore in a winding sheet. My own section for watching was between Slains Castle and Dunbuy, as wild and rocky a bit of coast as any one could wish to see. Behind Slains runs in a long narrow inlet with beetling cliffs, sheer on either side, and at its entrance a wild turmoil of rocks are hurled together in titanic confusion. From this point northward, the cliffs are sheer, to where the inlet of Dunbuy has its entrance guarded by the great rock, with its myriad of screaming wildfowl and the white crags marking their habitation. Midway between those parts of my sentry-go is a spot which I could not but think would be eminently suited for their purpose, and on this for some time I centred my attention. It is a place where in old days the smugglers managed to get in many a cargo safe, almost within earshot of the coastguards. The modus operandi was simple. On a dark night when it was known that the coastguards were, intentionally or by chance, elsewhere, a train of carts would gather quickly along the soft grass tracks, or through the headlands of the fields. A crane was easily improvised of two crossed poles, with a longer one to rest on them; one end held inland, could be pushed forward or drawn back, so as to make the other end hang over the water or fall back over the inner edge of the cliff. A pulley at the end of this pole, and a long rope with its shore end attached to the harness of a strong horse completed the equipment. Then, when the smugglers had come under the cliff, the rope was lowered and the load attached; the waiting horse was galloped inland, and in a few seconds the cluster of barrels or cases was swung up on the cliff and distributed amongst the waiting carts.

It would be an easy matter to invert the process. If all were ready—and I knew that the gang were too expert to have any failing in that respect—a few minutes would suffice to place the whole of the treasure in a waiting boat. The men, all save one, could be lowered the same way, and the last man could be let down by the rope held from below. I knew that the blackmailers had possession of at least one cart; in any case, to men so desperate and reckless to get temporary possession of a few carts in a farming country like this would be no difficult task. So I determined to watch this spot with extra care. It was pretty bare at top; but there was a low wall of stone and clay, one of those rough fences which are so often seen round cliff fields. I squatted down behind a corner of this wall, from which I could see almost the whole stretch of my division. No boat could get into Dunbuy or Lang Haven, or close to the Castle rocks without my seeing it; the cliff from there up to where I was was sheer, and I could see well into the southern passage of the Haven inside Dunbuy Rock. Sometimes when the blanket of fog spread over the sea, I could hear the trumpeting of some steamer far out; and when the fog would lift, I would see her funnels spouting black smoke in her efforts to clear so dangerous a coast. Sometimes a fishing boat on its way up or down would run in shore, close hauled; or a big sailing vessel would move onward with that imperceptible slowness which marks the progress of a ship far out at sea. When any fishing boat came along, my heart beat as I scanned her with the field glass which I had brought with me. I was always hoping that the Seagull would appear, though why I know not, for there was now little chance indeed that Marjory would be on board her.

After a spell of waiting, which seemed endless and unendurable, in one of the spells of mist I thought I saw on the cliff a woman, taking shelter of every obstacle, as does one who is watching another. At that moment the mist was thick; but when it began to thin, and to stream away before the wind in trails like smoke, I saw that it was Gormala. Somehow the sight of her made my heart beat wildly. She had been a factor of so many strange incidents in my life of late years—incidents which seemed to have some connection or fatal sequence—that her presence seemed to foretell something fresh, and to have some kind of special significance. I crouched still lower behind the corner of the wall, and watched with enhanced eagerness. A very short study of her movements showed me that she was not watching any specific individual. She was searching for some one, or some thing; and was in terror of being seen, rather than of missing the object of her search. She would peer carefully over the edge of the cliff, lying down on her face to do so, and putting her head forward with the most elaborate care. Then, when she had satisfied herself that what she sought was not within sight, she would pass on a little further and begin her survey over again. Her attitude during the prevalence of a mist was so instructive, that I found myself unconsciously imitating her. She would remain as still as if turned to stone, with one ear to windward, listening with sharp, preternatural intentness. I wondered at first that I could not hear the things that she manifestly did, for the expression of her face was full of changes. When, however, I remembered that she was born and reared amongst the islands, and with fisher folk and sea folk of all kinds whose weather instincts are keener than is given to the inland born, her power was no longer a mystery. How I longed at that moment to have something of her skill! And then came the thought that she had long ago offered to place that very power at my disposal; and that I might still gain her help. Every instant, as past things crowded back to my memory, did that help seem more desirable. Was it not her whom I had seen watching Don Bernardino when he left my house; mayhap she had guided him to it. Or might it not have been Gormala who had brought the blackmailers to my door. If she had no knowledge of them, what was she doing here now? Why had she sought this place of all places; why at this time of all times? What or whom was she seeking amongst the cliffs?

I determined not to lose sight of her at present, no matter what might happen; later, when I had come at her purpose, either by guessing or by observation, I could try to gain her services. Though she had been enraged with me, I was still to her a Seer; and she believed—must believe from what had passed—that I could read for her the Mystery of the Sea.

As she worked along the cliff above Dunbuy Haven, where the rock overhung the water, she seemed to increase both her interest and her caution. I followed round the rude wall which ran parallel to the cliff, so that I might be as near to her as possible.

Dunbuy Haven is a deep cleft in the granite rock in the shape of a Y, the arms of which run seawards and are formed by the mother cliff on either hand and the lofty crags of the island of Dunbuy. In both these arms there is deep water; but when there is a sea on, or when the wind blows strong, they are supremely dangerous. Even the scour of the tide running up or down makes a current difficult to stem. In fair weather, however, it is fairly good for boating; though the swell outside may be trying to those who are poor sailors. I had often tossed on that swell when I had been out with the salmon fishers, when they had been drawing their deep floating nets.

Presently I saw Gormala bend, and then disappear out of sight. She had passed over the edge of the cliff. I went cautiously after her, and throwing myself on my face so that she could not see me, peered over.

There was a sort of sheep track along the face of the cliff, leading downward in a zigzag. It was so steep, and showed so little foothold, that even in the state of super-excitement in which I then was, it made me dizzy to look at it. But the old woman, trained on the crags of the western islands, passed along it as though it were the broad walk of a terraced garden.

 

CHAPTER XLIX - GORMALA’S LAST HELP

After Gormala had disappeared down the zigzag under the rock, where I could no longer see her movements, I waited for her return. At the end of the Haven, where the little beach runs up to the edge of the cliff, there is a steep path. Even this is so steep that it is impracticable to ordinary persons; only fisher folk, dalesmen and hunters can use such ways. For myself I dare not leave my post; from the end of the Haven I could not see any part at all of the coast I had come to watch, except the narrow spot between great cliffs where the channels ran right and left of the Rock of Dunbuy. So I crept back to my hiding place behind the angle of the wall, from which I could watch the entrance to the track down which she had passed.

Time wore away slowly, slowly; and the mist kept coming in more frequent belts, heavier and more dank. After the sunset the fog seemed to come more heavily still, so that the promise of the night was darkness invincible. In Aberdeen, however, the twilight is long, and under ordinary conditions it is easy to see for hours after sunset. All at once, after the passing of a belt of mist, I was startled by a voice behind me:

“And for what is it ye watch, the nicht? Is it the Mystery o’ the Sea that holds ye to the dyke; or maybe it is the treasure that ye seek!” Gormala had evidently come up the path at the end of the Haven. For a while I did not say a word, but thought the matter over. Now, if ever, was there need to use my wits, and I could best deal with Gormala if I should know something of her own wishes beforehand; so I tried to master her purpose and her difficulties. Firstly, she must have been in search of some hiding place herself, or she would not have come behind the wall; I was quite sure that she had not known of my presence before she went down the sheep track. If she wanted cover, what then was it she was watching? She had been down to the beach of the Haven, and so must have known whether or no it was bare of interest. As she was choosing a corner whence she could watch the track, it was at least likely that she expected some one to go up or down by it. If she were looking for some one to go down, she would surely rather watch its approaches than the place itself. It was, therefore, for some one to come up for whom she wished to watch. As, instead of hurrying away or hiding herself from me when she had seen me without my seeing her, she had deliberately engaged with me in conversation, it was evident that she did not expect whomever she watched for to come up at once. In fine I concluded, she intended to watch for some one who might come; with this knowledge I drew a bow at a venture:

“So your friend isn’t coming up yet? Why didn’t you fix matters when you were down below?” For an instant she was betrayed into showing astonishment; the surprise was in both her expression and in the tones of her voice as she replied:

“How kent ye that I was doon the Haven?” Then she saw her mistake and went on with a scowl:

“Verra clever ye are wi’ yer guesses; and a daft aud wife am I to no ken ye better? Why did——”

“Did you find him down below?” even whilst I was speaking the conviction came to me—I scarcely know how, but it was there as though deep-rooted in my brain all my life—that our enemies were down below, or that they had some hiding place there. Gormala must have seen the change in my face, for she exclaimed with jubilation:

“It would hae been better for ye that ye had taken my sairvice. The een that watched others micht hae been watchin’ to yer will. But it’s a’ ower the noo. What secret there was is yours nae mair; an’ it may be waur for ye that ye flouted me in the days gone.” As she spoke, the bitterness of her manner was beyond belief; the past rushed back on me so fiercely that I groaned. Then came again, but with oh! what pain, the thought of my dear one in the hands of her enemies.

Let no man question the working of the Almighty’s hand. In that moment of the ecstasy of pain, something had spoken to the heart of the old woman beside me; for when I came back to myself they were different eyes which looked into mine. They were soft and full of pity. All the motherhood which ever had been, or might have been, in that lonely soul was full awake. It was with a tender voice that she questioned me:

“Ye are muckle sad laddie. Do I no ken a look like that when I speer it, and know that the Fates are to their wark. What maks ye greet laddie; what maks ye greet?” for by this time the revulsion of tenderness had been too much for me and I was openly weeping. “Is it that the lassie is gone frae ye? Weel I ken that nane but a lassie can mak a strong man greet.” I felt that the woman’s heart was open to me; and spoke with all the passion of my soul:

“Oh, Gormala help me! Perhaps you can, and it may not be too late. She is stolen away and is in the hands of her enemies; wicked and desperate men who have her prisoner on a ship somewhere out at sea. Her life, her honour are at stake. Help me if you can; and I will bless you till the last hour of my life!” The old woman’s face actually blazed as I spoke. She seemed to tower up in the full of her gaunt height to the stature of her woman’s pride, as with blazing eyes she answered me:

“What! a woman, a lassie, in the hands o’ wicked men! Aye an’ sic a bonnie, gran’ lassie as yon, though she did flout me in the pride of her youth and strength. Laddie, I’m wi’ ye in all ye can dae! Wi’ a’ the strength o’ my hairt an’ the breath o’ my body; for life or for death! Ne’er mind the past; bad or good for me it is ower; and frae this oot I’m to your wark. Tell me what I can dae, an’ the grass’ll no grow under my feet. A bonnie bit lassie in the power o’ wicked men! I may hae been ower eager to win yer secret; but I’m no that bad to let aught sic come between me and the duty to what is pure and good!” She seemed grand and noble in her self-surrender; such a figure as the poets of the old sagas may have seen in their dreams, when the type of noble old womanhood was in their hearts; in the times when the northern nations were dawning. I was quite overcome; I could not speak. I took her hand and kissed it. This seemed to touch her to the quick; with a queer little cry she gasped out:

“Oh, laddie, laddie!” and said no more. Then I told her of how Marjory had been carried off by the blackmail gang; I felt that she was entitled to this confidence. When I had spoken, she beat with her shut hand on the top of the wall and said in a smothered way:

“Och! if I had but kent; if I had but kent! To think that I might hae been watchin’ them instead o’ speerin’ round yon hoose o’ yours, watchin’ to wring yer secret frae ye, an’ aidin’ yer enemies in their wark. First the outland man wi’ the dark hair; an’ then them along wi’ the black man wi’ the evil face that sought ye the nicht gone. Wae is me! Wae is me! that I ha’ done harm to a’ in the frenzy o’ my lust, and greed, and curiosity!” She took on so badly that I tried to comfort her. I succeeded to a measure, when I had pointed out that the carrying off of Marjory was altogether a different matter from what had gone on in my house. Suddenly she stopped rocking herself to and fro; holding up one long gaunt arm as I had seen her do several times before, she said:

“But what matters it after a’! We’re in the hands o’ Fate! An’ there are Voices that speak an’ Een that see. What is ordered of old will be done for true; no matter how we may try to work our own will. ’Tis little use to kick against the pricks.”

Then all at once she became brisk and alert. In a most practical tone of voice she said:

“Noo tell me what I can dae! Weel I ken, that ye hae a plan o’ yer ain; an’ that you and ithers are warkin’ to an end that ye hae set. Ye hae one ither wi’ ye the nicht; for gude or ill.” She paused, and I asked her:

“Why did you go down the sheep path to the Haven. For what or for whom were you looking?”

“I was lookin’ for the treasure that I suspect was ta’en frae your hoose; an’ for them that took it! ’Twas I that guided them, after the dark man had gone; and watched whiles they were within. Then they sent me on a lang errand away to Ellon; and when I got back there was nane there. I speered close, and saw the marks o’ a cairt heavy loaden. It was lost on the high road; an’ since then, nicht an’ day hae I sought for any trace; but all in vain. But I’m thinkin’ that it’s nigh to here they’ve hid it; I went down the yowes’ roadie, an’ alang the rock, an’ up the bit beach; but never a sign did I see. There’s a many corners aboot the crags here, where a muckle treasure might lie hid, an’ nane the wiser save them that pit it there!” Whilst she was talking I was scribbling a line in my pocket-book; I tore out the page and handed it to her:

“If you would help me take that letter for I must not leave here. Give it to the dark gentleman whom you know by sight. He is somewhere on the rocks beyond the Castle.” My message was to tell Don Bernardino that I believed the treasure was hidden somewhere near me, and that the bearer of the note would guide him if he thought wise to join me.

Then I waited, waited. The night grew darker and darker; and the fog belts came so thick and so heavy that they almost became one endless mass. Only now and again could I get a glimpse of the sea outside the great rock. Once, far off out at sea but floating in on the wind, I heard eight bells sound from a ship. My heart beat at the thought; for if the Keystone were close at hand it might be well for us later on. Then there was silence, long and continuous. A silence which was of the night alone; every now and again when some sound of life from near or far came to break its monotony the reaction became so marked that silence seemed to be a positive quality.

All at once I became conscious that Gormala was somewhere near me. I could not see her, I could not hear her; but it was no surprise to me when through the darkness I saw her coming close to me, followed by Don Bernardino. They both looked colossal through the mist.

As quickly as I could, I told the Don of my suspicions; and asked his advice. He agreed with me as to the probabilities of the attempt to escape, and announced his willingness to go down the path to Dunbuy Haven and explore it thoroughly so far as was possible. Accordingly, with Gormala to guide him, he went to the end of the Haven and descended the steep moraine—it was a declension rather than a path. For myself I was not sanguine as to a search. The night was now well on us, and even had the weather been clear it would have been a difficult task to make search in such a place, where the high cliffs all around shut out the possibilities of side light. Moreover, along the Haven, as with other such openings on this iron-bound coast, there were patches of outlying rock under the cliffs. Occasionally these were continuous, so that at the proper state of the tide a fairly good climber could easily make way along them. Here, however, there was no such continuity; the rocks rising from the sea close under the cliffs were in patches; without a boat it would be useless to attempt a complete exploration. I waited, however, calmly; I was gaining patience now out of my pain. A good while elapsed before the Don returned, still accompanied by Gormala. He told me that only the beach had been possible for examination; but as far as he could see out by either channel, there was no sign of anyone hiding, or any bulk which could be such as we sought.

He considered it might be advisable if he went to warn the rest of our party of our belief as to the place appointed, and so took his way up north. Gormala remained with me so as to be ready to take any message if occasion required. She looked tired, so tired and weary that I made her lie down behind the rough wall. For myself sleep was an impossibility; I could not have slept had my life or sanity depended on it. To soothe, her and put her mind at rest, I told her what she had always wanted to know; what I had seen that night at Whinnyfold when the Dead came up from the sea. That quieted her, and she soon slept. So I waited and waited, and the time crept slowly away.

All at once Gormala sat up beside me, broad awake and with all her instincts at her keenest. “Whish!” she said, raising a warning hand. At this moment the fog belt was upon us, and on the wind, now risen high, the white wreaths swept by like ghosts. She held her ear as before towards seaward and listened intently. This time there could be no mistake; from far off through the dampness of the fog came the sound of a passing ship. I ran out from behind the wall and threw myself face down at the top of the cliff. I was just at the angle of the opening of the Haven and I could see if a boat entered by either channel. Gormala came beside me and peered over; then she whispered:

“I shall gang doon the yowes’ roadie; it brings me to the Haven’s mooth, and frae thence I can warn ye if there be aught!” Before I replied she had flitted away, and I saw her pass over the edge of the cliff and proceed on her perilous way. I leaned over the edge of the cliff listening. Down below I heard now and again the sound of a falling pebble, dislodged from the path, but I could see nothing whatever. Below me the black water showed now and again in the lifting of the fog.

The track outwards leads down to the sea at the southern corner of the opening of the Haven; so I moved on here to see if I could get any glimpse of Gormala. The fog was now on in a dense mass, and I could see nothing a couple of feet from me. I heard, however, a sort of scramble; the rush and roll of stones tumbling, and the hollow reverberating plash as they struck the water. My heart jumped, for I feared that some accident might have happened to Gormala. I listened intently; but heard no sound. I did not stay, however, for I knew that the whole effort of the woman, engaged on such a task, would be to avoid betraying herself. I was right in my surmise, for after a few minutes of waiting I heard a very faint groan. It was low and suppressed, but there was no mistaking it as it came up to me through the driving mist. It was evident that Gormala was in some way in peril, and common humanity demanded that I should go down to help her if I could. It was no use my attempting the sheep track; if she had failed on it there would not be much chance of my succeeding. Besides, there had been a manifest slip or landslide; and more than probably the path, or some necessary portion of it, had been carried away. It would have been madness to attempt it, so I went to the southern side of the cliff where the rock was broken, and where there was a sort of rugged path down to the sea. There was also an advantage about this way; I could see straight out to sea to the south of Dunbuy Rock. Thus I need not lose sight of any shore-coming boat; which might happen were I on the other path which opened only in the Haven.

It was a hard task, and by daylight I might have found it even more difficult. In parts it actually overhung the water, with an effect of dizziness which was in itself dangerous. However, I persevered; and presently got down on the cluster of rocks overhung by the cliff. Here, at the very corner of the opening to the Haven, under the spot where the sheep track led down, I found Gormala almost unconscious. She revived a little when I lifted her and put my flask to her lips. For a few seconds she leaned gasping against my breast with her poor, thin, grey hair straggling across it. Then, with a great effort, she moaned out feebly, but of intention keeping her voice low lest even in that lone spot amid the darkness of the night and the mist there might be listeners:

“I’m done this time, laddie; the rocks have broke me when the roadie gav way. Listen tae me, I’m aboot to dee; a’ the Secrets and the Mysteries ’ll be mine soon. When the end is comin’ haud baith my hands in ane o’ yours, an’ keep the ither ower my een. Then, when I’m passin’ ye shall see what my dead eyes see; and hear wi’ the power o’ my dead ears. Mayhap too, laddie, ye may ken the secrets and the wishes o’ my hairt. Dinna lose yer chance, laddie! God be wi’ ye an’ the bonny lass. Tell her, an’ ye will, that I forgie her floutin’ me; an’ that I bade the gude God keep her frae all harm, and send peace and happiness to ye both—till the end. God forgie me all my sins!”

As she was speaking her life seemed slowly ebbing away. I could feel it, and I knew it in many ways. As I took her hand in mine, a glad smile was on her face, together with a look of eager curiosity. This was the last thing I saw in the dim light, as my hand covered her filming eyes.

And then a strange and terrible thing began to happen.

Monday's Illustrated Word: untitled story by Fred Schwab (in English)

 art by Fred Schwab - Lady Luck #87 - Quality,February 1950.

 

 

 

 

Sermon on Predestination by St. Vincent Ferrer (translated into English)

 

John 15:1-5 (Douay translation) I am the true vine; and my Father is the husbandman. 2 Every branch in me, that beareth not fruit, he will take away: and every one that beareth fruit, he will purge it, that it may bring forth more fruit. 3 Now you are clean by reason of the word, which I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abide in the vine, so neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you the branches: he that abideth in me, and I in him, the same beareth much fruit: for without me you can do nothing.

 

 “Abide in me, and I in you,” (Jn 15:4). In this sermon I shall explain three doctrines or conclusions which basically and completely explain the matter of predestination. This teaching will be good for illuminating our intellects and enkindling our affections. But first, the “Hail Mary.”

 “Abide in me,” etc. We have three conclusions in this sermon.

    First, that God before the creation of the world, eternally chose the good with certitude, [certitudinaliter]

    Second, that predestination or preknowledge does not take away free will, but it remains freely. [liberaliter]

    Third that whether we have been foreknown or predestined, we ought to live well and perseveringly. [perseveranter]

 

    ETERNALLY CERTAINLY CHOSEN - The first conclusion, that God, before the creation of the world, eternally chose the good, with certitude. Because before he created anything, the heaven or angels, he knew how many prelates, how many religious there would be in the world, from whom so many were to be saved, and so for every status. I shall explain this through a parable about a king wishing to celebrate the wedding of his son. He did five things.

First he wrote the invitations, who and how many there would be, and he decided their quality and quantity and condition.

Second he chose and arranged the place or the hall where they would eat.

Third he arranged for the food.

Fourth the servants, distinguished and experienced,

Fifth, he arranged a place where the invited could be made ready, where they are able to change their clothes, etc.

And then, the execution of the banquet followed. Now you understand the whole plan of God before the creation of the world, and then God willed to hold the wedding banquet for his son assuming human nature in the oneness of person. Because just as a husband and wife are not two but one flesh, as is said in Matthew 19, so divinity and humanity in Christ are one person. This nature was married in the hall of the Virgin’s womb. Of this wedding Matt 22 speaks, “The kingdom of heaven is likened to a king, who made a marriage for his son,” (Mt 22:2). And before he spent anything, that is “created,” he chose saying, “So many prelates shall eat at the banquet,” and so for the other states, and that eternal choice is called predestination, that is prior— before creation – destination. He also foreknew the damned, but it is not called election or predestination, because he did not choose someone for damnation, but he foreknew that such a person would be damned, etc. About this election scripture says, Eph 1: “He chose us [in him] before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and unspotted in his sight in charity.  Who has predestinated us unto the adoption of children through Jesus Christ,” (Eph 1:4-5).

Second, he arranges the place. God seeing in the book of predestination so many noble ones invited, for this reason he created the empyreal heaven, not for himself, because he already was living in the palace of his eternity, Isa 57: “[Thus says the] High and the Eminent one who inhabits eternity: and his name is Holy… on high,” (v. 15). Of this home, Bar 3: “O Israel, how great is the house of God, and how vast is the place of his possession! It is great, and has no end; it is high and immense,” (vv. 24-25). And like a palace of a king preparing for a wedding it is sublimely decorated. So also the empyreal heaven.   About which see St. Thomas I, q. 66, a. 3, when Christ speaks on the day of judgment, Mt 25, “Come, blessed of my Father, possess the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world,” (v. 34).

Third he orders a variety of foods, namely the grades of glory and enjoyments, the orders and distinctions of the angels and saints. About which Christ in Jn 14, “In my Father’s house there are many mansions,” (v.2). And in Luke 22, he says, “You may eat and drink at my table, in my kingdom,” (v. 30). You realize that there is no [actual] drinking there etc., but metaphorically in experiencing glory.

Fourth, he creates the angels as the servants and ministers of the banquet. If it is said, “The servants are more noble than the diners,” the response is that we are parents of the bride, human nature. And so the king wishes that we be seated. If the king were to take as his wife, the daughter of a shepherd, the nobles and knights would respect her parents. So Christ took human nature, and wished that the angels would serve. Hebrews, “Are they not all ministering spirits, sent to minister to them, who shall receive the inheritance of salvation?” (Heb 1:14). Note, “all,” universally etc.

Fifth, he makes the world, so that here we might prepare ourselves, and wash our hands of sins through penitence and change our clothes. If you are wearing the old shirt of pride, change it and put on the new shirt of humility. And so for the rest. Eccle 3: “He has made all things good in their time, and has delivered the world to their consideration [dispositioni],”(Eccles 3:11), other translation is “to their disputation [disputationi, Vulg.],” namely active and passive, so that they might dispose themselves and be disposed, by dignifying themselves for the banquet. See now what predestination is. And the first conclusion is clear, which also is written in Romans 8: “For whom he foreknew, he also predestinated to be made conformable [to the image of his Son,]… And whom he predestinated, them he also called. And whom he called, them he also justified. And whom he justified, them he also glorified.” (vv. 29-30).

But there might be an argument to the contrary. One might say, “From these aforesaid five causes, the fifth, that this world has been made for preparing oneself, is opposed to the first, because if we are predestined, whether we prepare ourselves or not, we shall be there, because the knowledge of God cannot fail. I reply that this argument embodies ignorance or inattention. As if the king had invited many nobles to his wedding etc. And they would say, “Why do I have to prepare?” Would that not be stupid? Rather, they ought to say, “Because the king invited me, I must prepare well, because if you come ill prepared, you would not enter, when your are at the gate, namely the gate of death. Ps. 117: “This is the gate of the Lord; the just shall enter into it,” (v. 20). But, you say, “Divine predestination can never fail?” I reply that no change of creatures argues or places a change in God.

Remember the story in Mt 25 of the ten virgins invited etc. Note it is said “ten,” because of the observance of the ten commandments, and “virgins,” because of the purity which they should have, who are to enter. Five were prudent, because they prepared themselves. And five were foolish, because they did not prepare themselves, arguing from the reason of infallibility, alleging the aforesaid reason and argument: Because we were invited, we shall be received there. And so he calls them foolish. Note, and they who were prepared entered with him to the wedding, and the gates were closed to the unprepared. Ovid the poet, “It is harmful to postpone, when you are prepared.”   Finally the remaining virgins arrive. From this God is not variable and changeable in his knowledge, but the banquet includes the disposition of those entering.

It is clear the stupidity of many saying, “Why do I need to prepare?”   I reply that if God by his very voice had said to you, “You shall be saved,” and to another, “You shall be damned.” It is understood conditionally. For even if it were possible that someone unprepared entered, he would be expelled, as Christ himself says in Matthew 22, “And the king went in to see the guests: and he saw there a man who had not on a wedding garment. And he said to him: ‘Friend, how did you come in here,'” (Mt 22:11-12).   Draw the conclusion. If those who are inside are unprepared, they will be expelled, how shall you enter unprepared? And so Matt 24: “be ready also, [because at what hour you know not the Son of man will come.]” (v. 44). If it is said, “O therefore God and his predestination is changed,” it is not true, but predestination includes preparation. God is not changed, as Boethius says in III De consol., met. 9, but the creatures are changed.

Note the example of a ship without a sailor on the sea and the rock etc. So this world is a river. Whence 2 Sam 14: Behold, “We all die, and like waters that return no more,” (v. 14). And it seems to us that the rock, that is, God is moved or changed, it is not true. And so we prepare ourselves through a good life because otherwise it will go badly for us. Behold the word of God through the mouth of the prophet, Ezekiel 33: Thus says the Lord: “Yea, if I shall say to the just that he shall surely live, and he, trusting in his justice, commits iniquity: all his justices shall be forgotten, and in his iniquity, which he has committed, in the same shall he die,” (v. 13).

Likewise for preknowledge it says there, “And if I shall say to the wicked: You shall surely die: and he does penance for his sin, and does judgment and justice. And if that wicked man restores the pledge, and renders what he had robbed, and walks in the commandments of life, and does no unjust thing: he shall surely live, and shall not die,” (Ez 33:14-15). Just as, therefore, predestination includes disposition, so preknowledge indisposition. And so God says, Jeremiah 18, “I will suddenly speak against a nation, and against a kingdom, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy it.  If that nation against which I have spoken, shall repent of their evil, I also will repent of the evil that I have thought to do to them,” (Jer 18:7-8). If you wish you can see the whole chapter Nabuchodonosor in Decretals 23, q. 4, where there is much about this.

 

    B, FREE WILL REMAINS - The second conclusion, that divine and eternal predestination of the good and foreknowledge of the evil does not take away nor impede free will, moreover he remains in his liberty, otherwise he would be saved without merits, and he would be damned without demerits, because if someone did not have free will, he would not have sinned. This conclusion is stated in Ecclesiastes 5: “God made man from the beginning, and left him in the hand of his own counsel,” (Sir 15:14). The interlinear Gloss, In liberty of free will, there follows “He added his commandments and precepts. If you will keep the commandments …, they shall preserve you. He has set water and fire before you: stretch forth your hand to which you will. Before man is life and death, good and evil, that which he shall choose shall be given him” (Sir 15:15-18), Note, “from the beginning,” of the world and of the life of each. Note the difference between commandment and precept, because commandments are affirmative precepts, which lead to virtues. And precepts are negative, which restrain from sins and oblige always. Otherwise for commandments, because from some just circumstances they should not be observed, even without sin one can do the opposite. But of negative [precepts] no situation of the world can one do the opposite without sin, for example [puta], “Thou shall not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” (Ex 20:7). You are well able to swear an oath when necessary, but not in vain etc.

Note “he has set water,” the good and devout life, “and fire,” namely eternal, life, namely eternal and death, namely of Gehenna. “Good,” of glory, “and evil” of punishment, “that which he shall choose [shall be given him],” (Sir 15:18). Now someone might say, “I want the good of glory,” etc. you have a “wish”[velleitatem], but not a “will” [voluntatem], as St. Thomas says III, q. 21, a. 4, and in II Sent, dist. 33, where he says a wish is of impossibles. Proof. Just as he who says that he wants to go to the right but turns left, therefore lies; so, many want to go to paradise in word, but in fact they take the way of hell, namely of pride and vanity. Because therefore you take this way, you do not will to go to paradise but you will to go that opposite way. The same for the greedy and lustful person.

But God does not force someone to go to hell, rather he calls them back. Note the example of the spy in the tower, seeing two ways, the hard but safe way, and the delightful, straight, but dangerous way, full of robbers. And he cries out to the travelers saying that having abandoned the dangerous way they set out upon the other, and the travelers preferred not, rather they scoffed at [truffantur] the guide. The vision of that guide or spy does not force anyone to go via one way or the other, although he sees what they will be. This spy is God, high in the tower of eternity. Isaiah: God, “the High and the Eminent that inhabits eternity,” (Isa 57:15), sees time past, present and future, because all things are present to him. There are two ways, the carnal and delightful life, and the spiritual, the difficult and hard penitential life. All want to go by the first way. “Wide is the gate, and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and many there are who go in there,” (Mt 7: 13).

About the second he says in the same place, “How narrow is the gate, and strait is the way that leads to life: and few there are that find it!” (Mt 7:14). And he cries out through preachers or prophets warning, Isa 30, “This is the way, walk ye in it: and go not aside neither to the right hand, nor to the left,” (v. 21). Right, when the good way is abandoned out of love of creatures. Left, when out of their fear you say, “O you wish that I dismiss this young man or that I take him back? I shall dismiss my son that he take back. The knowledge of God does not take away free will, nor impedes it, rather it helps it by the precepts ordinations, preachings, warnings and inspirations, and he wills that we all be saved. Authority 1 Tim, 2: “For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who wills that all men be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth.  For there is one God, and one mediator of God and men, the man Christ Jesus: who gave himself a redemption for all,” (vv. 3-6). Therefore he does not take away free will.

 

    LIVE A GOOD LIFE PERSEVERINGLY - Third conclusion. However we all are, whether predestined or foreknown, we ought to try to live a good life perseveringly. It is a rule of theology, that when God ordains some end, he ordains also the means to that end, without which he cannot come to that end. Even if he does not say, he is understood to have said, as is clear, because if the king makes someone governor, he understands that he should act justly, even if it is not stated in the mandate etc.   Note how those to be saved are written in the book of predestination: “John shall be saved by his innocence. Peter through repentance,” etc., so that not only is the end or the term written, but also the way or means through which it is attained. The same for the foreknown etc. If the pope appoints a bishop, it is understood that he be a priest, even if he does not say it. Same in nature, about rain from clouds. Same for predestination. And so there is a triple fault in those who say, “Why do I need to do good?”

The first is ignorance, because when it is written in the book of predestination that such a person is to be saved, it is stated also the way and the means by which, through his humility or mercy, etc. And so to regard the end without the means is ignorance, and such a one fails by saying, “Why must I work?” Rather certainly it is necessary to work. Otherwise you take away one part of the predestination, namely the way and means through which [the end is attained]. And so Gregory, 1 Dialog. And it is placed 23, q. 4, c. to be obtained. This perennial predestination to the eternal kingdom is so arranged by the omnipotent God that the chosen arrive there through effort, postulating that they merit to receive what the almighty God had disposed to give them before the ages. So you do not wish to go to hell. Remove the way and means, namely sin and you shall not go. “Woe to the wicked unto evil,” (Isa 3:11).

The second defect is stupidity, to say, “Why must I do good?” Note how God knows all future things. He knows if today you shall eat dinner, just as if you shall be saved. If you say “Why must I prepare food for lunch,” etc., no one makes an argument about lunch. Yet he argues about the soul. Same if you are ill: “Why do I need to call a doctor?” Because God already knows if I will be cured, etc. If you wish to be healed, the way is through doctors. And so they ought not to be dismissed. Also, God knows if this year you shall have a crop [bladum], so why is it necessary to plow. Response: Because this is the means. Also God knows if the king will have a victory over his enemies why is it necessary to have armed men? Response: because that is the means to victory.

The third defect is the greatest error. To deny the trinity is an error against only one article [of faith], and so for the others, but to say that the predestined ought not to do good is an error against all the articles, which it destroys. Why does God will to be incarnated? I respond: That men might ascend into heaven. And did God not know whether men are to be saved? Why did he need to be incarnated? And so for the others. Same what purpose faith, baptism etc. because before them God knew who would be saved. It is a great error to presume the end without the means.

Now therefore the final conclusion is, as the theme says, “Abide in me,” through a good life, “and I in you,” (Jn 15:4) through grace. And so 2Pet 1, “Brethren, labor the more, that by good works you may make sure your calling and election. For doing these things, you shall not sin at any time.  For so an entrance shall be ministered to you abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,” (2 Pet 1:10-11).

Friday's Sung Word: "Que se Dane!" by Noel Rosa (in Portuguese)

 Music by J. Machado.

Vivo contente embora esteja na miséria
Que se dane! Que se dane!
Com essa crise levo a vida na pilhéria
Que se dane! Que se dane!
Não amola! Não amola!
Não deixo o samba porque o samba me consola
Não amola! Não amola!
Não deixo o samba porque o samba me consola

Fui despejado em minha casa no Caju
Que se dane! Que se dane!
O prestamista levou tudo e fiquei nu
Que se dane! Que se dane!
Não amola! Não amola!
Não deixo o samba porque o samba me consola
Não amola! Não amola!
Não deixo o samba porque o samba me consola

Fui processado por andar na vadiagem
Que se dane! Que se dane!
Mas me soltaram pelo meio da viagem
Que se dane! Que se dane!
Não amola! Não amola!
Não deixo o samba porque o samba me consola
Não amola! Não amola!
Não deixo o samba porque o samba me consola

 

 You can listen "Que se Dane!" sung by Leonel Faria here.

Thursday Serial: "My Kalulu, Prince, King and Slave - a story of Central Africa" by Henry M. Stanley (in English) - V

Chapter Five - Simba and Moto’s Midnight Halt in the Forest—Moto’s Plan for saving Selim—Bimba and Moto made Prisoners at Katalambula’s Village—They are brought before the King—Kalulu recognises Moto—The King gives each of them a Wife—Kalulu’s Personal Appearance—The great African Giantess—The Marriage Song—Conclusion of the Marriage Festivities.

Simba and Moto were men as capable of enduring fatigue as the Watuta were, as good runners also; so that even had their enemies pursued them with a greater determination than they showed, the two men might have laughed securely, as night would soon have shrouded them with its friendly mantle.

For a long time, however, the two held on their way, raising their eyes every now and then toward the bright Southern Cross, which shone so clearly, and pointed their future road so plainly. They travelled with their figures half-profile to the Cross, or in a south-westerly direction. But at midnight the two halted in the denser portion of the forest; and there they built two fires and prepared their resting-places with leaves and tender twigs; and having done so, they breathed a long sigh of relief, sat down, and gradually their eyes lost the eager, intelligent look in vacancy.

But after a while Simba said in a deep, low voice, half to himself and half to Moto: “Wallahi! but this has been a sad day for us. That large and costly caravan and the brave men and leaders are gone. It was but last night I stood at their tent-door, looking at my noble master Amer and his friend Khamis, and I was thinking that there never lived finer and nobler-looking men. Ah, Arab sheikhs! where are ye now, chiefs of Zanzibar?” Then, raising his head, he said, “Answer me, thou black, blackest night! Answer me if ye can, oh twinkling stars! Answer me, dark and dread silence! Shall I never see dear master again? Moto, where dost thou think Amer is now?”

To which Moto answered: “Amer, the noblest of his tribe, the worthiest master that ever lived, the man with the kind heart and liberal hand, is not dead—he sleepeth.”

“Sleepeth! Ah, would it were so! then this great heaviness of sorrow within me would vanish. But what meanest thou, Moto?”

“Hast thou forgotten already the words of our noble master, the son of Osman, how that he said to us often, a man cannot die; the body may remain on the ground to moulder, and rot, and become dust, but the life that was in him cannot die? Hast thou never heard him mention the word Soul—that unseen, unfelt thing, which is as light as air, yet is the most important part of a man? For a long time I laughed at Amer’s words in my secret heart, but when I heard all the Arabs say the same thing, and the Nazarenes at Zanzibar say it also, I was obliged to believe, though I could not tell what the soul was like, or who had seen it, or if anybody had ever seen it. But now Amer’s head lies low on the ground and a cruel wound has found his kind heart, I shall keep thinking of his words, and believe in them; and I believe truly that Amer’s soul looks down upon us through this darkness from above.”

“I remember me now much the same thing,” said Simba, “though my sorrow of heart had blinded my memory. Is it not a happy thought, Moto, that master Amer is not quite, quite dead, and that we shall see him again?”

“Yes, very happy. Thou knowest, Simba, that he cannot be dead with us either, for we shall carry him in our memories like a valued treasure, and will never cease talking of him when we are together.”

“Ah! thou hast a good memory, Moto; but who, thinkest thou, is the happiest—master Amer, up above there, or young master Selim, a prisoner?”

“Oh, Simba! while I was beginning to think myself happy, thou hast made my heart black with sorrow, by making me think of what that boy must suffer. If it were not for his future good I would never have left him. Amer is happiest in Paradise, but Selim, his son, living on earth, must be miserable.”

“It is just as I thought also,” said Simba. “Poor child! Do you not remember how pretty he looked when he hinted to his father, that perhaps Simba would like his freedom? How his eyes, always beautiful, seemed filled with softness, and love, and gratitude to me? Ah, Selim, young master of everything that Simba has, it will go hard with some of these savage Watuta if they harm thee!”

“They will not harm Selim or the Arab boys; they will keep them as curiosities, unless some of them have seen Arabs before going about to buy slaves, in which case I pity them all,” said Moto.

“Moto,” shouted Simba, raising himself up, “art thou revenging thyself on me for making thee unhappy with the mention of him? Speak. Selim a slave! That petted, tender Arab boy a slave! Answer me, Moto.”

“It is as I tell thee; if any of the Watuta understand, as we do, what the word Arab is, all the Arab boys will be made slaves, and be beaten like dogs,” answered Moto.

“We are not obeying master Amer by running away from the camp of the Watuta. He told us to save his son Selim. I am going back;” and Simba snatched his spears and gun.

“Fool!” said Moto. “We cannot save him from the Watuta by going into their camp. We can only do it by finishing as we have begun. We must go to Katalambula’s village and see Kalulu. He only can save Selim and ourselves.”

“Well, I believe thou art right,” said Simba. “Let us go to sleep, and at dawn let us be off to see this Kalulu.” Saying which, he lay down between the fires, but sleep did not visit his eyes for some time afterwards.

For fifteen days they marched long and far towards the south-west without any incident worthy of notice. Now and then they left the forest occasionally, to follow a road leading to some village and obtain information as to the whereabouts of the village of Katalambula of those people whom they might meet, with little danger to themselves.

On the sixteenth day of their night they came to a large plain, extremely populous and rich. The dun-coloured tops of huts arose above the tall corn and millet everywhere. At midday they came to a deep river flowing north-west, which the people called Liemba. On the opposite side of the river they were also told was Katalambula’s village.

They were rowed across, for which Simba paid the canoe-man with a couple of arrows, having no other means of paying him. Then, following the right bank of the river for a few minutes, by fields of splendid corn, they came in sight of the village.

It was substantially built; and was constructed in the same manner as the Kwikuru of Olimali, except that the king’s quarters were flat-roofed tembes, surrounding a square of large dimensions, where the king kept his cattle and goats, and two or three donkeys, which were preserved more as curiosities than for any use that were made of them, and where he himself lived with his numerous family of women; for, strange to say, Katalambula, with all his wives, had never been able to obtain a son.

The principal gate was, as usual, decorated with the only trophies savages respect or regard, viz., glistening white skulls of their enemies.

When Simba and Moto arrived near the gate, the former’s gigantic height of body and breadth of shoulders soon attracted attention, and drew crowds towards him of curious gazers.

“Health unto you,” was his greeting to them.

“And unto you, strangers!” they replied. “Whence come you?” they then asked.

“We are travellers,” said Moto, “who have heard of King Katalambula, and have desired much to see Ututa’s king.” This was said in good Kirori, which, excepting a few words, is the same as Kituta.

“Your words are well, strangers. You are Warori?” a chief, who now made his presence known, asked them. “Though your garb is different, and the punctures on the cheek and forehead are wanting.”

“I am a Mrori,” answered Moto, “but my companion is not; he is a stranger from a far land.”

“Then do the Warori carry guns nowadays? And how is it that you wear such fine clothes?” he asked, regarding them suspiciously.

“We were successful in hunting, and shot an elephant, whose teeth we sold for cloth and two guns.”

“And where did you meet elephants?”

“On the frontier, near Urori.”

“And where did you meet the Arabs?”

“In Ututa, two days from Urori.”

“Did you ask them where they were going?”

“They were going to Uwemba.”

“Perhaps you can tell us where they came from?”

“From Ubena.”

“Strangers,” said the chief, “you are liars. No Arabs have been in this country for a long, long time. You are our prisoners, and must come before the King in our company;” and, as he spoke, the men that had gathered near rushed at them and disarmed them.

In a short time they found themselves within the inner square; and under a large sycamore in the centre was seated, on a dried mud platform, raised two feet above the ground, and which ran around the tree like a circular sofa, covered with kid and goatskins, and over these skins of wild beasts, an old white-haired man, whom, by the deference paid to him, the prisoners knew was King Katalambula.

The King had on his head a band of snowy white cloth, and his dress was a long broad robe of crimson blanket cloth. He was a kindly-looking old man, and he was evidently at the time being much amused with something that a tall young lad of sixteen, or thereabouts, was saying; but as the group of warriors guarding Simba and Moto entered the square, the old man looked up curiously, and when they drew nearer he demanded to know what the matter was.

“My sultan, my lord,” said the principal man to whom we were first introduced at the gate, “these men are suspicious characters. To every question I asked them they replied with a he; wherefore we brought them to you to judge.”

“Speak, strangers, the truth. Who and what are ye?”

The quick eye of Moto had seen the young lad standing by Katalambula when he entered, and he suspected that he was the object of his search, the young friend of bygone years.

“Great king,” said Moto, “I did lie; but to you I will give the truth. I am a Mrori, who was taken when a child by the Arabs of Zanzibar. Years after that time, when I was a man, I accompanied an Arab chief, called Kisesa, to Unyanyembe; but soon after arriving, he declared war against the Warori, and—”

“Kisesa!” said the young lad, advancing towards him with the stride of a young lion. “War against the Warori!” he added again, with an angry glitter in his eyes.

“Yes, young chief,” said Moto, humbly; “and I accompanied Kisesa to this war. After a long march we came before a Tillage near Ututa, governed by—”

“By whom?” asked the young chief. “Tell me his name—quick, dog!”

“Mostana,” said Moto, deliberately.

“Mostana!” shrieked the boy, and the word was echoed in a tone of surprise by all.

“Yes, Mostana was his name,” said Moto, unheeding the menacing looks or the angry murmurs which arose from all sides, but hurrying on with his story. “We took the village after a short time, though Mostana’s men fought well, and numbers of our people were killed. Mostana’s men were nearly all killed, and those who were left were made slaves, according to the custom of the Arabs.”

“Yes, that is true,” said Katalambula. “Those cruel people make clean work of it when they fight, but I—”

“Were they all made prisoners?” asked the boy chief, in a curious tone.

“All, except one, and—”

“And his name was—?”

“Kalulu!” replied Moto, in a clear tone.

Again rose a murmur of astonishment from all sides, but, apparently heedless that he had said anything very strange, Moto continued:

“Yes, Kalulu, the son of Mostana, was standing by his father’s side, when Kisesa, observing him, said he would give fifty pieces of cloth to whoever would take him alive. On hearing that, my soul felt a feeling of pity for him, as you must remember I was a Mrori; and, though I liked the Arabs, I could not kill my own people at their bidding, nor did I like to see such a brave boy as Mostana’s son in danger of being made a slave by Kisesa. So, on hearing the offer made by Kisesa, I snatched up a shield and rushed forward to whisper to him to follow me, but the boy thought probably that I was about to kill him, as he put a spear clean through my shield and pinned my arm to it.”

A loud cry of admiration greeted this, while the boy already advanced nearer to Moto and regarded him affectionately; but Moto heeded nothing of this, but continued:

“Seeing me still advance, the boy sprang back just as his father fell dead by a bullet from some gun behind me. I hastened after the boy, saw him look cautiously around, and spring over the palisade; but I was right behind him; and when he was a little distance off in the forest I chased him at my best speed, and soon came up to him. I explained to him who I was, and why I chased him, and told him I was his friend; upon which he told me that he was going to his uncle, a great king in Ututa, and that if ever we met again he would be my friend.”

As Moto finished this part of his story, the boy chief sprang forward and embraced Moto, saying:

“Dost thou not know me? I am Kalulu! And thou art my friend Moto! I shall keep my promise, and the King must thank thee,” said Kalulu, as he drew Moto forward towards Katalambula.

As they heard these words from Kalulu, the chiefs and elders clapped their hands, and saluted Moto, while the King took hold of Moto’s right hand and said:

“Kalulu has told me the story which related how the Kirori slave would not take him when he might have done so; and though I never expected to see the man, I promised him that if any of my people met him and they should bring him to me, I should be his friend; that he should have one of my daughters for wife, and that I would bestow on him anything else he asked, for Kalulu is as dear to me as though he were my son. Speak, Moto, add tell me what I can do for thee.”

Then Moto, after a seat had been given to him, repeated briefly the story which we have already given to the readers, while murmurs of approbation at the wonderful good fortune of Ferodia rose from every side; then, when these had subsided, Moto said:

“Oh, Kalulu, if what I have done for thee deserves kindness at thy hands, and if thou wert sincere when thou didst promise to be my friend, speak to the great King of the Watuta for me, and let him give my young master Selim, the Arab slave, as well as the three other slaves their freedom, and let them depart to their own land, and to the friends who will mourn for them.”

“Kalulu has already given his promise to thee, Moto. Kalulu is the friend of thy friends, and the enemy of thy enemies. Katalambula, the King, hears my words, and will do this kindness for thee for what thou hast done for me. Speak, great King,” said Kalulu, advancing to him as he spoke.

“Ah, Kalulu!” said the King Katalambula, “thou knowest not what thou askest, but I will do for thee what may be done. I can intercede with Ferodia for them, but I may not command him. Those Arab youths are the slaves of Ferodia; but if he is willing to exchange for them, I will give him two female slaves for each of the Arab boy-slaves. Will that content thee, Kalulu?”

“I will wait until he comes here. I will then give thee my answer. But I think thou givest way too much to Ferodia in all things; he likes me not too well, because I stand between him and thy favour. If I were king of the Watuta, I should give Ferodia a lesson.”

“Tush, boy! be not too hasty with thy tongue. Ferodia is chief in his own right of a large tract of country. Dost thou wish me to take that from him which he has won by his spear and his bow?” asked Katalambula, slightly frowning.

“He has not won by himself, with his sword and his spear, the battle against the Arabs. Fight hundred of the ten hundred warriors he has with him are thine, taken from thy country. Wilt thou that he shall choose for himself what he shall please to reserve, or wilt thou choose what he shall have and what thou wilt keep?”

“Boy, boy, Ferodia is the chief warrior of the Watuta; he knows every art of war. He has never been beaten in the battle, either by the Wabena, or the Warungu, or the Wawemba, or any other; and though I have furnished him with men, he has always given me the greater and the most valuable share. Why wilt thou, who art but a boy, tell me these things concerning Ferodia? Be patient; I will ask him when he comes for these slaves for thee. But had it not been for the good deed this man did for thee, I should have ordered Ferodia to roast them all alive. Go thou, rather, and do thy duty towards these travellers; give them food and drink; and when they have rested, give each a house. Then let my daughter Lamoli be given to Moto for wife; and to this tall man give one of my female slaves for wife. Katalambula has spoken.”

While the King was speaking he was evidently getting more peevish, for he was old and soon tired; so Kalulu refrained from taxing his patience further, and beckoning to Moto and Simba, he walked away with his guests, leaving the King to be assisted by his chiefs to his quarters.

When young Kalulu arrived at his own house, or rather room—for the entire square was surrounded but by one house—he again embraced Moto, and promised to leave no stone unturned until he had secured the freedom of the Arab boys. “But,” said Kalulu, “it is well for them that you are my friend, as I do not think I can ever forgive the Arabs for murdering my father; and the King finds it very hard to do this thing for you, because in Mostana he lost a brother; and those of our tribe who have travelled far to hunt and kill elephants always come back with tales of their cruelty. I fear if Ferodia insists on their being slaves my uncle will not resist him; for, but for you, nothing would please him better than to torture them, and I should have liked it too.”

“Oh, Kalulu,” said Moto, “you do not know Selim. He would never have treated a man badly, neither did his father. Simba and I were proud to be slaves of such a man as Amer bin Osman, and we were proud to call Selim our young master. Do you know that Selim is just your age, though you are taller than he is, and you are thinner than he was; though, poor boy! he will be thin enough when he comes here. But how you have grown, Kalulu! yet you cannot be more than sixteen years old!”

“I do not know how old I am,” Kalulu said, laughing. “I wae little when I saw you, or you would never have caught me. But I must do what the King has commanded me to do.” And Kalulu darted out, spear in hand, his ostrich plumes trailing over his head far behind.

Perhaps here would be a fit place to intercalate a description of the native youth whose name forms the title-page to this strange historical romance.

Since ancient Greece displayed the forms of her noblest, finest youth in the Olympian games, and gave her Phidias and Praxiteles models to immortalise in marble, all civilised nations have borrowed their ideas of manly beauty from the statues left to us by Grecian and Roman sculptors, because civilised nations seldom can furnish us with models to compete with the super-excellent types designed by Greece. While American and English sculptors go to Rome to play with marble and plaster, and borrow for their patterns of an athlete or perfect human form, the vulgar, low, and uncouth lazzaroni of Rome, the centre of Africa teems with finer specimens of manhood than may be found in this world; such types as would even cause the marble forms of Phidias to blush, Kalulu was one of the best specimens which the ancient sculptors would have delighted to imitate in stone. His face or head may not, perhaps, have kindled any very great admiration, but the body, arms, and limbs were unmistakably magnificent in shape. He had not an ounce of flesh too much, yet without the tedious training which the modern athlete has to undergo, and following nothing but the wild instinct of his adopted tribe, he was a perfect youthful Apollo in form. The muscles of his arms stood out like balls, and the muscles of his legs were as firm as iron. There was not one of the tribe of his age who could send a spear so far, or draw the bow with so true and steady aim as he, or could shoot the arrow farther. None had such a springy, elastic movement as he, none was so swift of foot, none followed the chase with his ardour, none was so daring in the attack; yet with all that constant exercise, the following of which had given him these advantages, his form lost nothing of that surpassing grace of movement and manly beauty for which he was styled by me, just now, a perfect youthful Apollo.

If I give him such praise for his elegance of form and free graceful carriage, I may not continue in the same strain in the description of his face. Kalulu was a negro, but his colour was not black by any means, it was a deep brown or bronze. His lips were thick, and, according to our ideas, such as would not lend beauty to his face; his nose was not flat, neither was it as correct in shape as we would wish it; but, with the exception of lips and nose, one could find no fault with his features. His eyes were remarkably large, brilliant, sparkling, and black as the blackest ink, while the whites of his eyes were not disfigured by the slightest tinge of unhealthy yellow, nor seamed with the red veins common to negroes of older growth. His ears were small and shapely, and, strange to say, the lobes were not as yet distorted out of all form with the pieces of wood or gourd-necks, which, unhappily, with the Watuta, are too common among their ear ornaments. His ears were simply decorated with two Sungomazzi beads, (these beads are as large as a pigeon’s egg, and are either of coloured porcelain or coloured glass) one to each ear, each bead suspended by a piece of very fine brass wire. His hair, though woolly, hung below his shoulders in a thousand fine braids, adorned with scores of fine red, yellow, and white beads. His ornaments, besides those already mentioned, consisted of three snow-white ostrich plumes, fastened in a band which ran around his head, and which, besides holding the plumes, served to hold his hair; a braided necklace, ivory bands above each elbow, and ivory bracelets, and broad bead-worked anklets.

While the author has been endeavouring to portray Kalulu, that the reader may become acquainted with his excellence, the youthful hero had hastened to bring Lamoli to her husband; and he now appeared on the threshold of the door with his cousin, who at once pleased Moto as much as the King expected she would. We will say this, however, in passing, that though she was not by any means the loveliest of her sex, she was neither ugly, toothless, nor old; nor was she young, pretty, or one calculated to charm our fastidious tastes. But Moto did not refuse her; on the contrary, he thought it a high honour to many the daughter of a king, and became lavish in his praise, with which Lamoli was not at all displeased.

Having performed this marriage according to the customs of the Watuta, Kalulu remembered that he had still another marriage on his hand, and at once asked Simba what kind of a wife he fancied. Simba was not at all displeased with the idea of another wife, though he and Moto had each a wife at Zanzibar, who had borne them children; and he at once replied that Kalulu might choose for him. After an absence of only a few minutes, Kalulu returned with a young woman who might have drawn crowds in London and New York, as the “Great African Giantess.”

As he saw the gigantic couple together, Kalulu clapped his hands in high glee, and danced about them as if he were about to receive a magnificent gift, and laughed as he burst into a mock rhapsody.

“Lo, Kalulu has seen strange things! he has seen two trees drawn together from a great distance! he has seen them walk together arm-in-arm!! Behold how the trees, the sycamore and the mtambu, the great baobab, and the mbiti, how they nod their heads, and are pleased!! For they rejoice that two great trees are married, and a forest of young trees will soon sprout up. As they move, the ground shakes and the huts reel. Verily this is a great day; both the ground and the huts have been guzzling pombe—they are drunk, rejoicing over the marriages Kalulu, the future King of the Watuta, has performed!

“Lamoli, my sweet cousin, daughter of Katalambula—of Katalambula the great King—was sorrowing for a husband. She was thirsting, like a pool in the middle of the plain in a long summer. She, the flower of Katalambula’s household, was sick for a husband. But the day came—ah, happy day! A man from afar—from the island in the sea—he came, he saw me, I knew him. He was my friend; and in him Katalambula—Katalambula the great King—found a husband for his daughter—a mate for Lamoli.

“Ah, Lamoli! Lamoli! Lamoli! weep no more; but laugh until thy mouth reaches from ear to ear, and I, Kalulu, thy cousin, can see the joy welling from thy throat, like living water springing from a rock! Laugh, Lamoli, sweet Lamoli! so that the unmarried women of all Ututa may hear and envy thee; so they may rend their bosoms with rage, or crush themselves to death with the over-weight of their ornaments. Laugh, Lamoli, sweet Lamoli! until every foot of man and woman moves to the sound of thy happy laughter! And thou, tall woman of Ututa! do thou laugh and sing, until all the tall trees of Ututa will become jealous of thee! we then may have rain. And thou, Simba, tall man from afar, well named the Lion! roar for joy, and thou wilt hear the wild lions of the forest roar in concert with thee, and each will be roused to fury, roaring for their loving mates. But enough; be happy, and raise warriors for your tribes. Kalulu is not a singer; he is a young warrior, who is learning how to throw the spear and shoot with the bow. The singers are coming with drums to do you honour, for such are the King’s commands.”

While Kalulu had been thus employing himself, a company of drummers, eight in number, two tumblers,—or, as we should call them, two mountebanks,—and fifty couples of young men and women had formed themselves in a circle; and as Kalulu ceased speaking, the Magic Doctor, or Mganga, as the natives called him, raised his voice and sang the marriage song, while he danced in an ecstatic manner as he sang. I should also say, before giving the song, that the smallest drums only accompanied his voice, while the great drums thundered together when the chorus was given by the dancers. The words were, as near as they can be translated:

 

    We sing the happy marriage song,

    We sound the drum, and beat the gong

    In honour of Lamoli!

    She is the daughter of a king,

    Yet she spent her days in weeping,

    Being left alone and sorrowing.

 

    Poor sorrowing Lamoli!

    Chorus.

    Oh, Lamoli!

    Poor Lamoli!

    Sorrowing

    Lamoli!

 

    A day has come, ah, happy day!

    That brought a stranger in the way

            Of sorrowing Lamoli!

    Long ago the stranger did a deed,

    A friendly deed, in time of need,

    Which won for him the lover’s meed.

            Sweet Lamoli!

        Chorus. Oh, Lamoli!

            Sweet Lamoli!

            Charming Lamoli!

 

    This stranger sav’d young Kalulu

    From cruel bonds at Kwikuru.

            The good stranger!

    Kalulu swore to this brave man,

    As long as life-blood in him ran,

    To praise the name to every man

            Of this brave stranger!

        Chorus. Oh, stranger!

            Good stranger!

            Brave stranger!

 

    This man has come to Tuta Land,

    This man who sav’d with friendly hand

            Our young Kalulu!

    Shall we deny him our faint praise?

    Shall we refuse him wedlock lays?

    Shall we not wish him happiest days?

            Who sav’d Kalulu?

    Chorus. Oh, Kalulu!

            Young Kalulu!

            Brave Kalulu!

 

    Our great King heard the stranger’s name,

    And nearer to him the stranger came,

            To Katalambula!

    He said, “I’ve known this story long,

    A Mtuta’s memory is strong.

    I love the good and hate the wrong,”

            Said Katalambula!

        Chorus. Oh, Katalambula!

            Good Katalambula!

            Great Katalambula!

 

    Give him house, give him home. You boy!

    Give him pombe and food. Give him joy!

            Give him Lamoli!

    Brave man! take the pride of our race;

    Take the dearest girl with the loveliest face.

    Live in the shade of our kingly mace

            With good Lamoli!

        Chorus. Oh, Lamoli!

            Good Lamoli!

            Sweet Lamoli!

 

    We sing the happy marriage song.

    We sound the drum and beat the gong

            For joy with Lamoli.

    Now a wife, no longer weeping,

    No more to spend her days in mourning,

    She will be for ever laughing,

            Happy Lamoli!

        Chorus. Oh, Lamoli!

            Charming Lamoli!

            Happy Lamoli!

 

The music accompanying this song was slow and sweet, worthy of the great occasion on which it was given. During the chorus, the dancing became more lively, and each man and woman lifted the voice high, which created a grand and majestic volume of sound, while the drums were beaten with a terrific vigour. The festivities lasted all the day and night, until sunrise next morning; but during the night they were better attended, nearly a thousand souls joining in the song and chorus. Kalulu and many others were hoarse from over-exertion of voice, when they retired next morning to rest.

Having brought Simba and Moto to their temporary home and through their difficulties, let us now withdraw from this scene for a while, and see how it fares with the Arab boy-slaves and Ferodia’s caravan.