Читать книгу The Boy Slaves - Майн Рид - Страница 28

It was no longer a question of slaying the camel. That would be killing the goose that gave the golden eggs. Though they were still very hungry the rich milk had to some extent taken the keen edge off their appetites; and all declared they could now go several hours without eating.

The next question was: where were they to go?

The reader may wonder that this was a question at all. Having been told that the camel carried a saddle, and was otherwise caparisoned, it will naturally be conjectured that the animal had got loose from some owner, and was simply straying. This was the very hypothesis that passed before the mind of our adventurers. How could they have conjectured otherwise?

Indeed it was scarce a guess. The circumstances told them to a certainty that the camel must have strayed from its owner. The only question was, where that owner might be found.

By reading, or otherwise, they possessed enough knowledge of the coast on which they had been cast away to know that the proprietor of the “stray” would be some kind of an Arab; and that he would be found living, not in a house or a town, but in a tent; in all likelihood associated with a number of other Arabs in an “encampment.”

It required not much reasoning to arrive at these conclusions, and our adventurers had come to them almost on that instant when they first set eyes on the caparisoned camel.

You may wonder that they did not instantly set forth in search of the master of the maherry; or of the tent or encampment from which the latter should have strayed. One might suppose that this would have been their first movement.

On the contrary, it was likely to be their very last; and for sufficient reasons which will be discovered in the conversation that ensued after they had swallowed their liquid breakfasts.

Terence had proposed adopting this course, that is, to go in search of the man from whom the maherry must have wandered. The young Irishman had never been a great reader, at all events no account of the many “lamentable shipwrecks on the Barbary coast” had ever fallen into his hands, and he knew nothing of the terrible reputation of its people. Neither had Bill obtained any knowledge of it from books; but, for all that, thanks to many a forecastle yarn, the old sailor was well informed both about the character of the coast on which they had suffered shipwreck, and its inhabitants. Bill had the best of reasons for dreading the denizens of the Saaran desert.

“Sure they’re not cannibals?” urged Terence. “They won’t eat us, anyhow?”

“In troth I’m not so shure av that, Masther Terry,” replied Bill. “Even supposin’ they won’t ate us, they’d do worse.”

“Worse!”

“Ay, worse, I tell you. They’d torture us, till death would be a blissin’.”

“How do you know they would?”

“Ach! Masther Terry!” sighed the old sailor, assuming an air of solemnity, such as his young comrades had never before witnessed upon his usually cheerful countenance; “I could tell yez something that ’ud convince ye av the truth av what I’ve been sayin’, an’ that’ll gie ye a hidear av what we’ve got to expect if we fall into the ’ands av these feerocious Ayrabs.”

Bill had already hinted at the prospective peril of a encounter with the people of the country.

“Tell us, Bill. What is it?”

“Well, young masthers, it beant much, only that my own brother was wrecked some ’ere on this same coast. That was ten years agone. He never returned to owld Hingland.”

“Perhaps he was drowned?”

“Betther for ’im, poor boy, if he ’ad. No, he ’adn’t that luck. The crew—it was a tradin’ vessel, and there was tin o’ them—all got safe ashore. They were taken prisoners as they landed, by a lot o’ Ayrabs. Only one av the tin got home to tell the tale; and he wouldn’t a ’ad a chance but for a Jew merchant at Mogador that found he ’ad rich relations as ’ud pay well to ransom him. I see him a wee while after he got back to Hingland; and he tell me what he had to go through, and my hown brother as well; for Jim, that be my brother’s name, was with the tribe as took ’im up the counthry. None o’ yez iver heerd o’ cruelties like they ’ad to put up with. Death in any way would be aisy compared to what they ’ad to hendure. Poor Jim! I suppose he’s dead long ago. Tough as I be myself, I don’t believe I could a stood it a week, let alone tin years. Talk o’ knockin’ about like a Turk’s head. They were knocked about an’ beat an’ bullied an’ kicked an’ starved worse than the laziest lubber as ever skulked about the decks o’ a ship. No, Masther Terry! we mustn’t think av thryin’ to find the owner av the beest; but do everythink we can to keep out av the way av both him an’ his.”

“What would you advise us to do, Bill?”

“I don’t know much ’bout where we be,” replied the sailor; “but wheresomever it is, our best plan are to hug by the coast, an’ keep within sight o’ the water. If we go inard, we’re sure to get lost one way or t’other. By keepin’ south’ard we may come to some thradin’ port av the Portagee.”

“We’d better start at once, then,” suggested the impatient Terence.

“No, Masther Terry,” said the sailor; “not afore night. We mustn’t leave ’eer till it gets dark. We’ll ’ave to thravel betwane two days.”

“What!” simultaneously exclaimed the three midshipmen. “Stay here till night! Impossible!”

“Ay, lads! an’ we must hide, too. Shure as you are livin’ there’ll be somebody afther this sthray kaymal, in a wee while, too, as ye’ll see. If we ventured out durin’ the daylight they’d be shure to see us from the ’ills. It’s sayed, the thievin’ schoundrels always keep watch when there’s been a wreck upon the coast; an’ I’ll be bound this beest belongs to some av them same wreckers.”

“But what shall we do for food?” asked one of the party; “we’ll be famished before nightfall! The camel, having nothing to eat or drink, won’t yield any more milk.”

This interrogative conjecture was probably too near the truth. No one made answer to it. Colin’s eyes were again turned towards the beach. Once more he directed the thoughts of his comrades to the shell-fish.

“Hold your hands, youngsters,” said the sailor. “Lie close ’eer behind the ’ill; an’ I’ll see if there’s any shell-fish that we can make a meal av. Now that the sun’s up, it won’t do to walk down there. I must make a crawl av it.”

So saying, the old salt, after skulking some distance farther down the sand gully, threw himself flat upon his face, and advanced in this attitude like some gigantic lizard crawling across the sand.

The tide was out, but the wet beach, lately covered by the sea, commenced at a short distance from the base of the dunes.

After a ten minutes’ struggle, Bill succeeded in reaching the dark-looking spot, where Colin had conjectured there might be shell-fish.

The old sailor was soon seen busily engaged about something; and from his movements it was evident that his errand was not to prove fruitless. His hands were extended in different directions; and then at short intervals withdrawn, and plunged into the capacious pockets of his pea-jacket.

After these gestures had been continued for about half an hour, he was seen to “slew” himself round, and come crawling back towards the sand-hills.

His return was effected more slowly than his departure; and it could be seen that he was heavily weighted.

On getting back into the gorge, he was at once relieved of his load; which proved to consist of about three hundred “cockles”, as he called the shell-fish he had collected, and which were found to be a species of mussel.

They were not only edible, but delicious, at least they seemed so to those who were called upon to swallow them.

This seasonable supply did a great deal towards allaying the appetites of all; and even Terence now declared himself contented to remain concealed until night should afford them an opportunity of escape from the monotony of their situation.