In the Wilds of AfricaKingston, William Henry Giles
General
In the Wilds of Africa
Kingston, William Henry Giles
Africa -- Juvenile fiction
It appeared to me that as the line ran out the whole length, he could
not be mistaken. Returning to the cabin, I made my report to the
captain. "Andrew," he said, "sit down; I want to have a few words with
you. I am going to that haven whence I shall never come back. I feel
that I shall not hold on much longer to life. I have not been a
successful man, and leave my boy but ill-provided for. As to my
friends, there are none that I can think of who are able to help him;
and the few acquaintances I have who could do so, I cannot trust. The
thought of what will become of my orphan boy weighs heavily on me.
Andrew, you are young and healthy, and may Heaven preserve your life for
many years! I have no great claim on you, but Andrew, as you hope
Heaven will watch over you, do you keep an eye on my boy. Do for him
the best you can. I have seen enough of you to know that you will act
wisely and kindly. I do not desire to have him pampered and spoiled by
riches, if I could give them, but I cannot bear the thought of his being
left friendless and in poverty to fight his way through this often hard
and cruel world. You will see to this, Andrew? I am sure you will."
"I will, Captain Page; I promise you," I answered, and I took his cold
clammy hand.
Poor Natty was all this time sobbing violently. The truth that he was
going to lose his father burst upon him, and that father had ever been
kind and indulgent.
"That is well, that is well," murmured Captain Page. "I trust to you to
be his human protector, and to One"--and he turned his eyes upward--"who
will ever be a Friend of the fatherless."
The captain said a good deal more, and made various arrangements about
Natty. Desiring me to get some papers from his desk, he showed me how I
could obtain the little property he was likely to leave.
"I wish I could see the brig safely brought to an anchor," he observed
after a long silence. "It is a nasty coast at best. With a breeze we
could work off it, but while this calm lasts we cannot help ourselves
from being carried wherever the current takes us, till we get into water
shoal enough for anchoring. I shall be happier when once we can bring
up, for if we do not, we may, when we little expect it, be driven on
shore; and let me tell you, Andrew, what with the surf and the sharks,
few of us are likely to escape with our lives. I know this coast well,
and a sandy beach, exposed to the whole sweep of the Atlantic, is even
more dangerous than a rocky shore. It must be time again to heave the
lead. Go on deck, Andrew, and see how things are."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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