WE VISIT AFRICA.

The Voyage of the “White Wings.”

“And what, in Truth’s name, brings ye to such a shore as this?”

I had been standing to spy out the low African coast, and had forgotten the very existence of Timothy McShanus until he spoke to me. Just, indeed, his question appeared to be. Why had I left Europe, my home, my friends, to visit this desolate No-Man’s-Land, speaking to us as it did of the ultimate desolation and the far kingdoms of solitude? Why had I chosen such a course—and, almost greater wonder, why was such a man as Timothy McShanus aboard with me?

We had left Dieppe almost a month ago. The fastest yacht afloat, as I liked to call our White Wings, had permitted us to call for a day or two at Gib., to put in at Porto Grande in the Cape de Verde Islands; thence to cruise almost at our leisure by the great flat African shore until the hills began to show themselves beyond the surf, and we knew that we were gazing upon English land once more. The question “Why?” remained none the less an enigma to the ship. The men could but call their employer a crank, and justly marvel at his ideas. Timothy McShanus alone ventured to exclaim upon them.

“Ye pick me up at Dieppe,” said he, “and tell me ’tis a bit of a pleasure voyage. I don’t refuse ye, thinking that we will sail away to Spain and twirl a while with the se?oritas; but divil a se?orita in all the journey. Ye dose me with Spanish wine at Gibralthar, and say I shall keep Christmas in Pall Mall—me that was never out of London a week but I fell to weeping for me children. And here we are in the Old Man’s counthry, and swim ye must would ye go ashore. Ah, be honest with a man, Ean, me bhoy. Ye’re afther something deep, and none but the little Jap has the secret of it. Say ’tis so, and I, Timothy, will trust ye to the world’s end.”

“Timothy,” I rejoined, for the time had come when I must speak openly with him, “you know me well enough to say that I am neither a fool nor a child. I’ll tell you in a word why I came to Africa. It was to learn who stole my bronze pearls which Joan Fordibras wore at Kensington.”

It is never difficult to surprise Timothy McShanus, for he is a man of many exclamations. I think, however, that he approached the confines of astonishment that morning. Turning about, he looked me full in the face—then placed his immense hand affectionately upon my shoulder. The measure of his brogue displayed his interest.

“’Tis no jest, Ean?”

“No jest at all, Timothy.”

“Ye believe that the truth is afloat upon the sea?”

“I believe it so much that I have spent a fifth of my fortune in fitting out this yacht, and will spend three-fifths more if expenditure will help me to the truth.”

“And there is no man alive but me knows the secret?”

“There is a man and there is a woman. I have told it to neither. The man is my Japanese servant, from whom nothing under heaven is hidden. The woman—for in knowledge she is such—is Joan Fordibras.”

He shook his head as though in a measure disappointed.

“Your Jap is Satan himself I’ll not deny him. The girl’s another matter. ’Tis a maniac the ould gentleman would be to steal your jewels and to let his daughter wear ’em under your very nose. Fabos, me bhoy, ye don’t believe that?”

“I will tell you when the time comes, Timothy. It should not be far distant. On the other hand, a year may find me still afloat. Don’t be alarmed, man. I promise you that the first steamer leaving Cape Town after our arrival shall carry you to your beloved Pall Mall. My own duty is plain. I cannot shirk it, let the consequences be what they may. At least, you have had a pleasant voyage, Timothy?”

“A pleasant voyage and the best of company. Your Japanese pitched me across the cabin yesterday for to show me how they do it in his counthry. Ye have a Scotchman aboard who makes me cros............