Voyage of Slaves Read Online Free PDF

from one to another, wagging his tail furiously as they patted and complimented him. Otto arrived back and was told of the black Labrador’s cleverness. The strongman picked Ned up, as though he weighed nothing, and hugged him. Tears flowed openly from the big German’s eyes, for he was an extremely sentimental man.
    “I knew he would get well. This is a great dog we have, Serafina. Bundi the Great!”
     
Ned sat between Serafina and Otto, eating toasted bread and an omelette, which Buffo had cooked specially for him. The atmosphere was jovial and carefree, with Signore Rizzoli dropping broad hints.
    “Serafina, do you think you could teach him some tricks? Maybe you could do an act together. What do you think, Signore Bundi, we’ll feed you well and give you a nice place to sleep. Well, what do you think, my friend?”
    To everyone’s surprise and delight, Ned held out his paw. Buffo shook it heartily.
    “See, I think Bundi wishes to join us. Be careful, Augusto, this good fellow will be doing your job soon!”
    Signore Rizzoli raised his eyebrows comically. “Listen, brother, if it comes to a contest, the dog will have replaced you before nightfall!”
    Mamma stroked the black Labrador. “Oh, you’re a clever dog, but I don’t think you could sing or play as sweetly as my husband. Show him, caro. ” 13
    Signore Rizzoli fetched a mandolin from the cart. He tuned it briefly, and soon his fine tenor voice was ringing out as he sang and played an old travellers’ melody.
     
“See now this land, ’tis nought like my home, not as green as the fields I knew, where the sky was a softer blue.
    Tired now and slow, down the dusty road I roam, growing older with every day, trudging on in my weary way, far from the country I love. O play mandolino play oh!
     
“Say now my horse, ah trusty old friend, do you miss the cool winding streams?
    Quiet spots where we dreamed our dreams, pulling our cart, down a track which has no end, wand’rers caught on the wheel of fate, swept along with the wind too late. far from the country I love. O play mandolino play oh!”
     
Ned threw back his head, howling along with the last notes of the tinkling mandolin. Serafina giggled.
    “What a lovely harmony our Bundi sings, eh, Signore?”
    Augusto Rizzoli clutched the mandolin to his chest. “Maybe he does, bella mia, but keep him away from this instrument. It belonged to my pappa, and Signore Bundi might scratch it if he tried to play it!”
    Otto caught the sight of riders coming along the shore toward them. There were a dozen men, heavily armed, and mounted on camels. The strongman sidled over to the wagon, feeling for an old blunderbuss which was mounted on brackets beneath the steps.
    Keeping his eyes on the riders, Signore Rizzoli cautioned the big German, “Stay away from that weapon, Herr Kassel, we are heavily outnumbered. Don’t run to the wagon, ladies, they have already seen you. Please remain calm, everybody.”
    Mummo began backing Poppea into the wagon shafts, casting a dubious eye over the mounted men. “I don’t like it. What if they are slavers, or robbers?”
    La Lindi extinguished the fire by kicking sand over it. “Let’s just hope for the best, maybe they’ll leave us alone.”
    The camels lolloped, splay-footed, up to the troupe and halted. The leader, a tall, hooded man, tapped his mount’s front legs with a quirt. The camel knelt, allowing him to dismount. Throwing back the hood of his burnoose, the leader pointed the quirt at Otto.
    “Are you in charge here, big man?”
    Smiling and bowing, Signore Rizzoli stepped forward. “Signore, I am Augusto Rizzoli, these are my troupe of entertainers. We are merely passing through here.”
    The man swept his quirt in a wide arc. “All these lands belong to my master, Al Misurata. You are trespassing without his permission!”
    The showman spread his arms apologetically. “ Commendatore, 14 pray forgive us, we meant no harm or insult to your master.”
    The