The Storyteller. A MAN IN A MILLION.

Waikato Argus, Volume IV, Issue 297, 4 June 1898, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Storyteller. A MAN IN A MILLION.

CHAPTER VII. Hardly knowing what he did or where he was going, McGregor continued his walk. But he soon found his progress most effectually barred by a yelling, angry, and fearful mob. So terrible a S3ene he had never before witnessed, nor could he have believed that the usually quiet populance of Zanzibar was capable of being so excited. The creatures before him were more like demons than human beings. Nearly all black they were, with however, a good sprinkling of the yellow - faced Somali Indians. These latter were brandishing spears, and gesticulating wiidly, with the evident intention of stirring up the milder-minded blacks to deeds of violence.

McGregor soon found there was only one way by which he could expect to enter the town. He must penetrate far into bush, make a detour, and so the seashore. There was danger in this, for it was more than likely that the fire would reach the forest. If it did, his hopes of getting out alive would be small indeed. Yet he did not hesitate a moment, but struck away to the left and entered the darkling woods. He kept as near the outskirts as the smoke would permit; and thus, stumbling often, his hands and face bleeding, his clothes torn, but with the awful noise of the crackling flames, the shrieks of Indians, and throb of war tomstoms in his ears, he ran on and on, and at last came to "an open plain, which he could cross to the graveyard. His wife lay here. This white pillar was her humble monument. He stooped down and reverently

touched the sod which covered the grave, and then his face bent citywards, went slowly through the bushes and on to the white sandy shore, and so in a short time reached his own street.

There was very little crowd at this part of the city. Only every now and then a few of the Sultan's soldiers and officers went hurrying past, going to or coming from the palace, probably with orders. They each salaamed respecfully when they met McGregor, but would

not stop a moment to be questioned. Before ho had reached his own door a louder noise than before caused him to look ahead. There was the rumbling of heavy weels, and the excited shouts of horsemen, and presently a cavalcade went dashing down street, dragging guns. They were on their way to the front.

The merchant stood on his housetop for hours, his face turned towards the raging flames, his ears

ever and anon assailed by the telltale sound of the guns. Then there came a lull in this storm of human passion. The fire died down too, to some extent, and the sound of the shrieking and shouting and beating of tom-tom 3 went farther and farther away. In a short time there was comparative silence. McGregor was beginning to flatter himself that the worst was passed, when the noise recommenced in a different direction, and soon the mob came surging up the very street in which his house stood. The evident intention of the rioters was to sack every house belonging to white men in the city, and McGregor could scarcely escape. He was all alone, too, for apparently his servants had fled at the first signs of danger. But this home of his was a perfect tower of strength. There was an outer wall the gates of which he now made haste to secure, and none too soon. Even should they break through this, they are still the main doorway of solid teak and iron to force, so he felt comparatively secure. On ahead,' ami nearer to the Sultan's palace, there was still the sound of platoon firing, but the big gun 3 had been silenced, and the soldiery beyond the walls probably overpowered. Now the shouting comes this way and very soon his house is surrounded. The savages threw themselves against the outer gates in half dozens and dozens. " Wakataneeka, na wakawoa, waka Engreese !" That is the cry, " Destroy or kill, destroy and kill the English !" But the sturdy gates resist all their attempts to force thorn. Then comes the shout, and once heard on a night like this is never likely to be forgotten : the shouts for fire ! Immediately after, as by magic, flames rise and roar against the gate and soon the trembling merchant can see the red glare through it. It

yields at last, and the savages pour its burning embers, trarap,g on each other in their eagerness to reach the main doorway of the house. But hark 1 there is one wild but defiant " Hurrah !" up the street, and the crowd stampede. It is evidently sauvequi peut with them. Even the Somalia drop their spears as they fly. There is a, volley of musketry, and next minute the yard around the house ia half filled with English sailors. They wave their hands and arms to McGrogor and he cheers them from the roof.

He is saved. And when he opens the door, almost the first to enter is Clements himself. Blackened with smoke he is, in his shirt-sleeves, and armed with sword and revolver, but McGregor knows him and they grasp hands. "Thank goodness, old partner, we are in time," says Clements, " but we've had hot work up at the palace gates, I can assure you." " And my daughter V " Daughter and Flora and all are safe. And so am I. We haven't been in an hour. But it is all right now • and in two days time Zanzibar will be as peaceful and quiet as London." And so it was, though to secure that peace there was more bloodshed than I like even now to think of.

In a week's timp, with the exception of the blackened ruins of the native portion of the town, and the burned grass and scorched trees, and bushes in the neighbourhood, there was nothing to tell of the fearful riot which had so recently rent the city in twain. Arabs bought and sold their human merchandise in the slavemarkets; the streets and bazaars were crowded with the usual busy, bustling, smiling multitude; the blood-red Arab flag floated peacefully on the palace roof; the Sultan's soldiers came and went almost unarmed ; and every night, and all night long, parties of merry negroes and Somalis danced to the beat of tom-toms and bray of Indian chaunter.

Hilda and Flora resumed their old life, and almost daily went walking in the forest or riding in the outskirts.

Once only did Clements remind Hilda of her promise to think of what he had proposed, and try if possible to make him a happy man. But playfully now Hilda held up her finger at him, and reminded him in turn that not much more than two out of the five months had yet gone. Indeed, Clements soon found out that not only did Hilda desire to put the evil day —if evil day it should be—far off, but that Flora aided and abetted her, though in a pleasant and sometimes very merry way. There was not much raerriness at the girl's heart, so her mirth must have been assumed, for once when Clements was talking rather too endearingly to Hilda, and she could see the child was annoyed, she picked up a guitar, and touching its string—• " Silence for a song;," she cried.

"With pleasure, Miss Flora." "Well do you know this T she continued," " it's all about Hilda." " What," he cried, " a song about Hilda? Why, I should like to hear that."

Then, with mischief sparkling in her eye, she commenced —

" I m ower young, I'm ower young, I'm ower young to marry yet; 'Twould b 9 a sia, forbye a shame, To tak' me frae my mammy yet."

"Chorus, Mr Clements. Chorus sir," she cried, imperiously, and even to his own discomfiture, and feeling all the while very like a fool he had to join in singing, " lam ower young to marry yet."

It must not be imagined that poor Yacoob, languishing in the Sultan's penthouse prison, was forgotten either by McGregor or any one else. But it appeared impossible at present to do anything for him. One day, however, while returning from a walk, Clements as usual being the escort, they met face to face, the very Arab who had drawn his sword to kill Yacoob in the bazaar,

Hilda shuddered, and drew closer to Flora as if for protection. "That is he," said Flora, "the evil Arab !"

" Yes but have you seen him before ?" said Clements. Then the girls told him all the story. The Arab in question was still in sight. He had stopped at a stall. Clements was quick to act. He siezed a little half-naked black boy, and talked rapidly to him in Swaheli, and away the lad went to dog the gentleman Arab's footsteps, and find out where he lived. That very evening the boy brought all the information to Clements which he requiredNow, since the night of the riot Clements had found great favour in the eyes of the Sultan. Had it not been for his bold band of blue jackets, the palace might have fallen into the hands of the mob, and the Arab dynasty been ended for a time. So an audience with His Highness was easily obtained, and an hour afterwards, accompanied by two of the Sultan's soldiers, they had entered the suspected Arab's house. But the bird had ilown. Nevertheless, they found evidence enough of a deep-laid plot to deprive Yaooob of his liberty and life, for in a cupboard was the other half of the piece of graß3-cloth which had been found in the debane, and had so incriminated the poor nggro. Clements was now more, of a hero than ever in Hilda eyes. His bravery, dash, and even cleverness had no apparent bounds. Alas ! for Clements, however, hopes were re-kindled in the girl's heart thut her Prince still lived, and the idea of a union with her father's partner was more repugnant than ever.

Nor did the evidence obtained benefit Yacoob a great deal. The Sultan promised to reconsider the whole matter, and probably give

Yacoob his freedom. And with this promise, the matter ended for a time. Mammy Yacoob wept a little in her quiet way when she hoard that Clements had been unsuccessful. " P'laps," she sighed, '• some day or anoder my good for-nuffin' bamboo get free." Clements would not do anything openly to lose all he had gained in Hilda's estimation, but he determined to press her indirectly ; he therefore; acquainted her father that he could no longer wait for the money waiting liim ; that business was becoming hampered, and therefore he must dissolve partnership. This last was the heaviest blow. It seemed entirely to break the old man up. He grew weak and nervous. He seldom went to business now, and was querulous at home as an ol I woman. Poor Hilda! she dearly loved her father, and now he seemed dying before her eyes. So she came to him one morning, before he had left his room. " Father," she said, " I am ready. Give me but a month." {To be Continued.)