Tom's redoubt arrived without mishap off the spot selected for the landing, and was there met by a tremendous fusillade from the enemy concealed in the wood. Thanks to the stoutness of his palisade, he sustained no casualties, but it was evident that his men would suffer severely if they landed before the woods were cleared. He knew from his prisoners that thick copses stretched northwards and westwards from the tongue of land he had arrived at; about a hundred and fifty yards inland they gave place to plantations of pine-apples, bananas, and other fruits; then came another belt of wild woodland fifty yards deep. Judging from the hotness of the enemy's fire that the woods coming down to the shore were full of marksmen, he decided that these must at once be cleared. He ordered the separate canoes to stand off for the present out of range, and then sent two of the redoubts northwards to hug the shore, and halt about a hundred yards up, while he had his own redoubt propelled for the same distance to the west. At a given signal, the men in the redoubts opened fire through the loopholes, their fire crossing over the south-east corner of the island, enfilading the copses that commanded the landing-place. After half an hour of this, Tom came to the conclusion, from the sudden cessation of the enemy's fire, that they had abandoned their positions and fallen back into the belt of woodland nearer the fort. He therefore landed two hundred fighting-men from each of the two redoubts, unperceived by the Arabs, and sent one redoubt up coast northwards, and another to the west, to divert, if possible, the enemy's attention from movements in their front. Then, running his own redoubt on to the tongue of land, he ordered the canoes in the offing to paddle up swiftly and disembark their men, retaining the men in his own redoubt to protect the landing-parties. But no attack was made; the landing was quickly effected. Tom then threw open the gate of his redoubt, disembarked his fighting-men, and sent the redoubt back to the mainland to fetch the scaling-ladders, and a supply of food and ammunition, including a number of fire-balls he had brought with him from the village.
He had now more than a thousand men safely on the island. As soon as they were formed up, he led eight hundred forward to penetrate the copse, and, after discovering by means of skirmishers that the movements of the redoubts had, as he hoped, drawn off a large body of the enemy from his front, he threw his men across the plantations and into the farther wood. There, after a sharp fight, in which his men distinguished themselves by the nimbleness with which they worked forward under cover of the trees, he had the satisfaction of seeing the Arabs bolt across the open space beyond, and enter the fort by the gate in the outer stockade. Between himself and the glacis the land was absolutely clear of trees.
There were three gates to the fort, as Tom had learnt from the prisoners, one at the north, one at the east, and the one at the south by which the Arabs had just entered. Before sunset he had formed an entrenched camp opposite the eastern gate, into which he drew the whole of his force. Next morning he sent one redoubt, accompanied by five canoes, each way round the island to search for the Arab flotilla, surmising that the enemy, fearing an assault in front, would not venture to despatch a sufficient force to protect their boats. It turned out as he hoped. The redoubts returned in the afternoon, and reported that the enemy's canoes were found moored along the northern shore, under the charge of a mere handful of Manyema, who, when they saw the mysterious forts bearing remorselessly down upon them, did not wait to fire even one volley, but incontinently fled. Mwonda, who had been in command of the expedition, gleefully pointed to the long lines of canoes which he had brought back with him, towed by the redoubts and by the ten canoes which had accompanied them.
"Well done, Mwonda!" said Tom. "Now we will keep twenty of the captured canoes for our own use; the rest you can tow out into the lake and set on fire. We shall thus effectually prevent any of our enemy from escaping."
The men cheered wildly as they saw the blaze on the surface of the water, and clamoured to be led against the fort. But Tom called the katikiro, the kasegara, and other chief men to his side.
"My friends," he said to them, "I have come to beat the Arabs, as you know. But in the fights we have already had much blood has been shed. It would be right, I think, t avoid further loss of life, both among ourselves and among the enemy, for many of them, as you know, are Manyema, who only fight for the Arabs their masters, and would be incapable of mischief without their leaders. I propose, therefore, to invite Mustapha, the chief in command, to surrender."
Every member of the little council was absolutely averse to this unexpected proposal. Msala declared that he had come to kill Arabs; he would rather kill them in fair stand-up fight, but if they surrendered he would kill them all the same, so that no bloodshed would be saved among them at any rate.
"Msala," said Tom sternly, "you have ill learnt the lessons I have tried to teach you. If the Arabs surrender they shall not escape altogether, but they must not be killed. I should hand the leaders over to the Congo Free State to be tried by its courts, like the court of justice in our village, of which you are such an ornament, Msala. The rest of the enemy I should allow to go free, but without firearms, and thus incapable of doing further mischief."
The katikiro still raised objections, but Tom combated them one by one, and at last brought all the officials to agree to his proposal. Accordingly he called up Mboda, Mbutu's brother, as one of the most intelligent of the men with him, and sent him forward under a white flag to the gate of the fort, with directions to ask for Mustapha himself, and to deliver to him in form the summons to surrender. The messenger returned in about half an hour. He had spoken with Mustapha, who was accompanied by a little dark man with evil face. Mustapha had at first refused to treat, but at De Castro's request had at length agreed that a meeting should take place between the opposing leaders half-way between the camp and the fort. He proposed to come himself with two of his chief men, all unarmed, and he invited Kuboko to do likewise. Mboda had only just delivered this message when Mbutu broke in impetuously:
"Not go, sah," he said. "De Castro bad man; him come; him remember sah knock him down; him no friend; him no speak good words. Mustapha too; him tied; him berrah mad, oh yes! Not go, sah."
"Don't be afraid, Mbutu. There is honour among thieves. They have themselves proposed to come without arms. We shall merely have a talk, and be done with it. Go back, Mboda, and say that I agree to the proposal, and will meet Mustapha and his friends in an hour's time midway between our positions. Both sides, it is understood, will come unarmed."
An hour later Tom set off to the meeting, accompanied by Mwonda, and by Mboda as interpreter. He thought it well not to provoke the two hostile chiefs unnecessarily by bringing Mbutu before them, and Mbutu, much against his will, remained in the camp, his heart filled with misgiving. To relieve him, Tom said, just before he started:
"You can keep a sharp look-out, Mbutu, and if you do see any open movement of treachery, which for my part I do not expect, you will order a company of men to fire, taking care not to hit me or my friends, you know."
As he approached the meeting-place he saw three men issue from the gate of the fort. He looked at them with interest. There was his old enemy Mustapha, his opponent in single-handed fight, his captor, and his victim. By his side, dwarfed by the Arab's giant frame, was De Castro, his red shirt and yellow breeches seeming all the more gaudy beside the white robes of the Arabs. The third figure--it was with a start that Tom recognized Mahmoud the hakim, who had befriended him to the utmost of his power during his short captivity months before. The two little groups met in the open field, and bowed ceremoniously, no outward sign of recognition passing between Tom and the other side. Curiously scanning the features of the Portuguese, Tom almost found it in his heart to pity him. His face was lined and haggard, its expression was fierce and darker than ever; the iron of disappointment and defeat had evidently entered deep into his soul. He eyed Tom with an insolent and malignant scowl, and kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Mustapha was much more composed, preserving the impassivity so characteristic of his race.
Tom wasted no time in preliminaries. He gave no explanation of his presence there at the head of a great force of armed Bahima; he courteously but plainly stated the terms he had come to propose--unconditional surrender, the leaders to be placed in the hands of the Free State Government, their followers to be disarmed and dismissed. If these terms were not accepted the fort would be stormed. Mustapha looked at him in silence for a moment; then his eyes flashed, and he cried:
"You come to me to propose terms? You, my enemy! Know that you are in my power. You will storm my fort? You shall never enter it alive. I have waited for this day; my revenge has been long in coming, but it has come at last. I fought you by the river; would to Allah I had slain you! I kept you a captive and fed you; would that I had slain you then! Now is the third time; you shall not escape me."
De Castro, who had ill concealed his impatience, here took a step forward, spat upon the ground, and began to speak in broken English.
"I mock at you, I laugh at you, Inglese," he cried. "You dare threat us? Who has the greater army, I like to know? You take the fort! Bah! Is it a dog's kennel? You talk to me, eh? I talk to you, so; I say, you insolent puppy; you no take fort; no. You go back to your camp, and in a little while our army will come to you and drive you into the water. Bah, I spit at you!"
Tom paid no heed to the furious man's insolence. He turned quietly towards Mustapha, and with unruffled courtesy said:
"Have I your final answer?"
His manner evoked a corresponding politeness from the Arab, whose reply, as translated by Mboda, was simply:
"I have sworn an oath. I will not surrender. I will fight you."
Tom decided to make one more appeal. Addressing the hakim, who had stood hitherto gravely silent, he said in German:
"Mahmoud, my friend, cannot you persuade Mustapha, to abstain from a hopeless contest? You have all heard of my success till now. You, surely, do not doubt that I shall succeed again? You yourself were kind to me; I should be deeply grieved if, during the struggle that seems inevitable, any harm came to you. Will you not induce your chief to give way?"
The stately hakim looked with kindly eyes upon the young Englishman, whose earnest and friendly tone had touched him. Then he shook his head.
"I am an Arab," he said. "Whether we win or lose, whether we live or die, all rests with Allah. I am Mustapha's man."
"I am sorry," replied Tom, and was about to take leave when De Castro said suddenly:
"You speak French?"
"Yes."
Then, speaking rapidly in that language, De Castro suggested that Tom should give him a safe-conduct for himself and his property. In that case he promised to deliver up the fort; he cared nothing, he said, what then became of the Arabs. Tom looked at the traitor with silent scorn. The Portuguese quailed for a moment; then, his face livid with rage and mortification, he glared at Tom's accusing face, and burst out in Swahili, clearly for the benefit of Mustapha, who was looking at him with suspicion:
"Have you your answer, puppy? Will you go? To-morrow I will have you in the fort, tied to a post, and you shall not escape me again. Now I make you my bow."
With a low mocking inclination he turned away. Tom bowed to the Arabs, and also turned. At that instant De Castro wheeled round, whipped a revolver from his pocket, and fired point-blank at Tom. The shot missed, but struck Mwonda, immediately in front of Tom, and wounded him in the shoulder. The giant turned round with a roar like a bull's, and sprang towards his treacherous assailant. De Castro pointed his revolver again at Tom; the bullet whistled past his ear. Cursing his ill-luck, the Portuguese turned just in time to elude the raised arm of Mwonda, and at that moment a volley rang out from the camp; one of the bullets sped past Tom and hit De Castro's left arm. The revolver fell from his right hand, and with a howl of agony and rage he bolted up the field into the fort. Mustapha disdained to run; he walked back in his stately way, and escaped. The hakim was not so fortunate. As he was returning to the fort, a little behind Mustapha, he was shot through the back, and fell. Tom sprang to the fallen man, and at the same moment Mbutu, at the head of a hundred musketeers, came running out of the camp in desperate fear for his master's safety. Tom reached the hakim, lifted him in his arms, carried him a few steps, called Mboda to assist him, and hurried with the heavy burden towards his own camp just as a volley flashed from the fort. The shots were hasty and ill-directed, and, covered by Mbutu's company, who halted and poured a steady fire towards the fort, Tom and his two companions safely reached the shelter of their entrenchments, and, panting with their exertions, laid the unconscious hakim on the ground. Mbutu returned with his men immediately afterwards, the whole incident having occupied little more than a minute. Tom had much trouble in restraining his infuriated troops from rushing upon the fort without further delay.
"Wait, my men," he cried; "they shall pay to-morrow." And he turned to examine the hakim's wound.
Mahmoud died at dawn, having recovered consciousness for but one brief moment, during which he pressed Tom's hand, smiled at him with the same grave, wise smile, and murmured: "It is the will of Allah; all is well."
Tom buried him on a little hillock at the lake side. Then he set about his preparations for the final struggle, with a fierceness foreign to his nature. His heart was filled with bitter resentment against the dastard whose treachery had brought unnecessary death upon an innocent man. "Within twenty-four hours it shall be finished," he said to himself with grim resolution.
He did not underrate the difficulty of the task before him. From the number of canoes that had met him on the lake, and the number of men in them, he calculated that the garrison in the fort amounted to at least a thousand men. The five hundred left by Rumaliza had been increased by fugitives from his own and from De Castro's force, and further by a completely equipped force of two hundred and fifty men who had returned, a few days before Tom's arrival, from an expedition northwards. With such a garrison, and the advantage of a strong position behind a glacis which could be swept from end to end by rifle fire, the fort was obviously secure against direct attack with a force of only eleven hundred and fifty men. Investment, again, would not only be a very protracted affair, but was likely to fail, for the Arabs were no doubt well provisioned, while Tom had only a scanty stock of food. If they could have been deprived of water a siege would soon terminate, but Tom had learned from the prisoners that a constant supply was obtained from a deep well within the fort. The only method left was a night-attack, and after his previous experience De Castro would unquestionably be on his guard against surprise. Still, it seemed the only possible course, and Tom, after breakfast, sat down to think out the points involved.
The most common danger attending a night-attack--the risk of losing the way and stumbling on the enemy unawares--was absent. Further, the attackers could approach the palisade under cover of darkness with less risk of suffering serious loss by rifle fire than if the assault were made by daylight. By making feints in two or three quarters Tom could throw his main force in overwhelming strength on the real point of attack. And, last consideration of all, the Arabs had an inveterate repugnance to fighting by night, whereas his own troops had by repeated successes gained confidence in this respect. The only great disadvantage was that, unfamiliar as he was with the interior of the fort, he could not be sure in the darkness of directing the attack towards the most vulnerable points; but this drawback might be neutralized by a simple means he had at hand.
A night-attack was therefore decided on. Tom prayed that the night might be dark. He called up one of the prisoners, and made him draw a rough plan of the fort on a leaf torn from his pocket-book. Then he sent one of the redoubts to the mainland to fetch further stores and to bring back a number of carriers with knives and axes. When these arrived he set them to work in cutting a path through the bush on the east side of the island in order that his troops might move rapidly from place to place without being seen. While the carriers were engaged in this task a sudden shout from the south apprised him that something was happening in that quarter. In a few moments a messenger came up with the news that the enemy had made a sortie from the south gate with the evident intention of capturing the canoes, and had driven back the post placed between the plantations and the belt of copse. But this move had been already provided against. When the Arabs reached the shore they saw, to their chagrin, that the canoes lay two hundred yards out on the lake, under the protection of one of the floating forts. Tom sent three hundred men under the kasegara to intercept the enemy as they returned. The Bahima placed themselves just within the copse in a line parallel to the path leading to the gate, and poured in a hot fire at the Arabs as they hastened back. Mustapha, in the fort, was on the alert; he threw out a large force to cover the retreat of his men, and but for this it seemed likely that the sortie-party would have been cut off from their base and annihilated. As it was, they lost heavily, and no similar organized attempt was made during the rest of the day, though occasional shots were fired from the fort as if to show that the enemy was not napping.
Taking advantage of the freedom from serious interference, Tom devoted himself to his plan of operations. He decided that the real attack should be made, not from his camp, east of the fort, as the Arabs would no doubt expect, but from the south. The katikiro with two hundred men would make a feigned attack from a point north of the fort, and the kasegara with another two hundred would demonstrate vigorously against the east. Each of these feigned attacks would be accompanied with heavy rifle-fire, and, while they were in progress, Tom himself would lead a strong force against the southern portion of the palisade, from which he expected that most of the defenders would have been drawn off towards the apparent danger north and east.
At nightfall, then, Tom called his officers together and explained his plans. He was somewhat surprised to see Mwonda among them, for the giant had been badly wounded in the right shoulder. He was still more surprised to learn that the heroic negro had got a companion to cut the bullet out of his flesh, and had borne the terrible pain without so much as a groan. He came now, with his right shoulder bound up, and his musket in his left hand, determined to wreak vengeance in person for the treacherous blow dealt him.
"You are a brave fellow, Mwonda," said Tom. "You shall be in command of the northern force, and the katikiro shall stay with me. The kasegara will attack first, on the east, when I send him word, an hour before dawn. When you hear his rifles in play, Mwonda, you will make a sham attack on the north gate. Understand, you are both to keep up a heavy fire, and shout as loud as you like; but you are not to make a real attack until you get orders from me."
Since his arrival on the island Tom had taken no pains to preserve silence in the camp, and on this night he ordered companies of a hundred men, in addition to the usual sentries, to be kept awake in turn, each for an hour, so that their chatter might delude the enemy and cover up any sounds made by his troops as they moved to their positions. Two hours before dawn the movements began. Mwonda led his men northwards, being instructed to march as silently as possible. Tom, accompanied by Mbutu and Msala, went southwards with seven hundred men, leaving the kasegara in charge of the camp with orders to keep his men talking until he received the signal for beginning the sham attack. With Tom's men went fifty carriers with scaling-ladders, and before starting he ordered one man in five to take a fire-ball in addition to his gun or pike. When they reached the position he had decided on, he briefly explained what they were to do. Then he turned to Mbutu and the katikiro and said quietly:
"If I fall, press home the attack with all your might. The men will follow you if you only show them strong leadership. And, Mbutu, when the fight is over, if I am not alive, I trust to you to make your way to Kisumu, and tell my uncle, if he is there, or the English commander if he is not, all that has happened to me. That is my last request."
Then he sent a messenger to the kasegara. Ten minutes later a sharp volley was heard in the direction of the camp, accompanied by savage yells. Immediately afterwards shouts and the crackle of rifles were heard, less distinctly, from the north.
"My men," said Tom, "now is our turn. Go quietly through the copse, make a rush to the foot of the slope; scramble up, on hands and knees if you must, and make for the palisade. No firing, mind; nothing but bayonets and pikes at first. Don't fire till I give the word. Now, advance!"
Two hundred men being left in reserve, Tom's little force consisted of five hundred musketeers and pikemen, and the fifty carriers with the scaling-ladders. These latter held the ladders in front of them as a partial protection from rifle fire. The whole force moved quickly through the woodland, gained the bottom of the glacis with a rush, and began the ascent. The front ranks were half-way up before their presence was discovered. Then a brisk fusillade broke out from the fort, and several men fell. The rest threw themselves on their hands and knees, and finished the ascent at a scramble. The point made for was a few yards to the left of the gateway. While the bullets were flying erratically over the palisade, the carriers placed their ladders against it, and as, owing to the slope, they stood somewhat insecurely, Tom ordered four men to hold each while the rest mounted. In hardly more than a minute a hundred men were within the palisade, to find themselves exposed to cross-fires from the gate and from a line of fencing thrown across from the inner stockade to the outer, thus dividing the space between them into compartments. But faster than the gaps were made they were filled by fresh men swarming over the fencing. Tom was over among the first. He ordered some of the ladders to be hauled across and planted against the inner palisade, now more strongly defended by reinforcements which the first alarm had drawn from north and east. The Arabs were firing not only over the palisade, but through loopholes in it. Luckily the invaders had already spread, so that there were no close ranks to be decimated by the fusillade, and in the darkness and the flurry the defenders' fire was necessarily ill-aimed.
"Light fire-balls!" cried Tom in a clear voice. In half a minute twenty flaming balls whizzed through the air and over the inner stockade, lighting up the interior of the fort with its huts and tents, and showing the loopholes in the fencing. These became the target for Tom's best marksmen as he now at last gave the order to fire. Bullets flew fast; war-cries seemed to split the air; the defenders were already verging on panic. Some were making desperate attempts to extinguish the fire-balls, only to become the marks for more of those flaming missiles. A hut was already alight, and Tom's men were now swarming almost unchecked over the palisade. A few fire-balls had speedily cleared out the enemy from the cross fence, and this position was immediately occupied by the Bahima. The katikiro, at Tom's orders, had led a party of men with scaling-ladders to the left along the enclosure between the palisades to a point opposite the eastern gate, and cries from that quarter told that a position had been occupied there. Thus in less than half an hour three positions were held by the attackers. Several huts in the interior of the fort were in flames, and the defenders were rushing hither and thither, exposed to destructive rifle-fire from their own palisades.
Tom had already sent instructions to the kasegara and Mwonda to cease their demonstrations as soon as they saw a strong light in the fort, and to move towards each other and join forces. When the junction was made, and as soon as carriers with scaling-ladders arrived, they were to make a vigorous attack in real earnest at a point midway between their former positions, that is, from the north-east. Profiting by the respite from attack on the north and east, Mustapha and De Castro, who had given their orders hitherto from the very centre of the fort, now began to get their men into some sort of order, rallying them around Rumaliza's house. Hardly had this been done when a great din to the north-east announced that an assault was commencing there.
"Over into the fort, men!" cried Tom as soon as he heard the welcome sound. Up they clambered, up the ladders already planted against the inner palisade, up and over, hundreds of eager men pouring into the enclosure, no obstacle now between them and their enemy. Brought to bay, the Arabs fought desperately, dodging behind huts, seizing every point of vantage, knowing well that their former victims would spare none of them. Many of their dwellings were now ablaze, and in the brilliant illumination scores of the Manyema could be seen using the Bahima's scaling-ladders to escape over the palisades into the darkness. The Arabs themselves held their ground more stubbornly, but their enemies were now closing all round them. The attackers under Mwonda had met with but feeble resistance, for the majority of the defenders at the north-east had been withdrawn to withstand the earlier attack from the south. Mwonda himself, whose bellow could be heard above all other noises, plunged along at the head of his men, swinging his heavy musket, disdaining the few bullets that fell around him, and searching everywhere for the wretch who had shot him when he was unarmed.
As the space between the stockades filled with the exultant Bahima, hundreds of the enemy flung down their arms and begged for mercy.
"Spare all who surrender!" shouted Tom, and the order was repeated through the ranks of his men. Some of the enemy, however, scorning to yield, fought with the courage of despair to the bitter end, and were shot down or speared after they had themselves done great execution on the now crowded ranks of their assailants. Tom had several times caught sight of Mustapha moving about among his men, but not once had De Castro been visible. The centre of the fortress was occupied by a range of buildings of more solid construction than the huts nearer the stockade. It was Rumaliza's own house, a substantial stone structure of two stories, with a veranda running around the upper story, obviously an effort after comfort amid savage surroundings, and modelled on the residences of merchants on the coast. Tom, joined by Mwonda, and accompanied by Mbutu and the katikiro, led a small force of Bahima towards this building, in which he conjectured that some of the enemy, perhaps De Castro himself, had taken refuge. The walls were loopholed, and from these, as well as from the veranda, a hot fire met the little group. Two of the men fell. The door was of stout oak.
"We must burst it in," said Tom. "Find a stout beam, Mbutu. Quick!"
Mbutu darted away, and soon returned with three men hauling a massive beam, obtained by cutting down the post supporting the roof of a neighbouring hut. Just as they reached the door one of the three men was shot through the heart, and a bullet from above struck Tom in the thigh.
"I'm hit, Mbutu," he said. "Bind this strip of linen tightly round my leg; there's the place."
"Come away, sah, come away!" cried Mbutu pleadingly.
"Not yet. This door must come down first. Msala, batter the door in. Come, lift the battering-ram, men! Now then, one, two, three--that's it! The door's started. Now again, one, two, three! Ah! it's down. In you go, men! I'm coming!"
As the door fell in with a crash, the party of twenty men poured in, Tom limping painfully after them. There was no resistance; the room was empty.
"Up the stairs!" cried Tom. "Don't waste a minute!"
Mwonda was already springing up the ladder in the corner of the room, taking three steps at a time. In twenty seconds he came tumbling back into the room, yelling that the upper floor also was empty. At that moment there was a shout from the rear of the house. Bushing out, the Bahima found themselves in a sort of yard. The gate was open, and beyond were evidently outhouses and store-rooms. At one side of the yard was a man chained to a post, and yelling with all his might. By the feeble light from the now diminishing conflagration outside, Tom as he hastened up recognized Herr Schwab. The recognition was mutual.
"Out, out!" cried the German. "Zey are outside."
"Cut him loose," cried Tom to one of his men as he passed by, heedless of further cries from the German.
Mwonda and Msala were already in the narrow lane beyond the yard. There was no sign of the enemy.
"After them!" cried Tom. "Don't wait for me; I'll follow as quickly as I can."
The little band swept on, out of the lane, past the outhouses, into the open ground again. There they learnt that some twelve men had suddenly dashed out into the open, headed by Mustapha and the "small devil", as the Bahima called De Castro. The Arabs had rushed across towards the western part of the palisade, burst open a gate which had hitherto escaped the notice of the attackers, and clambered over the outer stockade. Six of their number were shot as they mounted, but the rest succeeded in getting clear away and disappeared.
Hearing this, Mwonda dashed in hot pursuit with his party. But though, utterly regardless of their own safety, they ran madly down the glacis, into the copse, through the plantation, down to the shore, they saw no trace of the enemy, who, knowing the ground perfectly, had made good their escape. Mbutu had hurried after the pursuers at Tom's command, and ordered them to waste no time in searching. Tom was himself unable to walk farther than the stockade, where he met them as they returned, and, learning that they had failed to find the fugitives, he instantly instructed Mbutu to hurry down to the landing-place and order ten canoes to be manned and to patrol round the island.
"Let them go in opposite directions, and watch every yard of the shore," he said. "I will come myself immediately."
The sky was now lightening with the dawn. Tom ordered four of his men to carry him down to the landing-place on one of the scaling-ladders. His wound was giving him intense pain, but feeling that if Mustapha, and above all De Castro, escaped, his victory would be shorn of half of its glory, and his work be left incomplete, he resolved that at whatever cost he would personally direct the search for the fugitives. While he was being carried to the shore he ordered the katikiro to despatch parties into every corner of the island to search the woods thoroughly.
Just as he arrived at the landing-place, Mbutu came hastily to his side, and declared that he had that instant seen a small canoe stealing westward. It was now half a mile from the shore.
"Put me into one of the Arab canoes," said Tom; "the lightest you can find to hold twenty paddlers. Order two other canoes to follow."
A few minutes later his canoe was being rapidly propelled in the direction of the chase, which Tom could now see was manned by a crew of six, and had one man in the stern who was not paddling and who had a bandage on one arm.
"Paddle your hardest, men," cried Tom; "that is our arch enemy."
The negroes responded vigorously, and it was soon evident that the chase was being gradually overhauled. The crew of six were straining every nerve to escape, and every now and then the man in the stern turned his head to look at the pursuing craft, and then cried aloud to his men to increase their efforts. Tom fixed his eyes unswervingly on the stern of the fleeing canoe.
"It is De Castro unmistakeably," he said to himself, as the man turned once more. The expression of mingled despair, rage, and fright on his face was fearful to behold. Suddenly he turned completely round, leant over the stern of the canoe, and took aim with his rifle at the canoe now so rapidly overtaking him. The bullet whizzed past Tom's ear. Tom looked round for a weapon with which to return the fire, but saw that not one of his crew was armed with a musket, so great had been the haste of the embarkation. But from the first of the other pursuing canoes, now close up to Tom's, a shot rang out. It struck the side of De Castro's canoe. The Portuguese took aim again, and this time the bullet struck one of Tom's men, who screamed and dropped his paddle. A rain of bullets from the other canoes fell around the fugitive, but he seemed to bear a charmed life.
"He is a devil," said one of Tom's men; "shots cannot hurt him."
Suddenly Tom observed a commotion among the six Arabs. A man that looked like Mustapha rose in the boat, raised his paddle above his head, and, just as De Castro was about to fire a third time, brought it down with tremendous force upon his unsuspecting head. He was leaning forward over the stern; his head fell on the edge, and in an instant the Arab had caught his legs and thrown him over into the water. He sank like a stone, and a dark circle formed in the frothing wash of the canoe. Within two minutes Tom's canoe arrived at the scene of the tragedy, but there was no sign of the victim. Tom stopped the canoe, to cruise round on the chance of De Castro reappearing. The other canoes stopped also, and loud cries of satisfaction rose from their crews. But when after a minute or two it became evident that the Portuguese would be seen no more, Mwonda uttered a yell of rage at his being thus snatched from personal vengeance. Tom meanwhile had ordered two canoes to continue the chase after the Arabs; but their craft, lightened by the loss of De Castro, was bounding over the water, the paddlers profiting by the temporary cessation of the pursuit. The Bahima paddled hard, and called to the crew of one of the patrol-canoes approaching from the north to join in the chase. But their efforts were vain. The fugitives gained the western shore, ran the canoe between two banks of reeds, and plunged into cover before the pursuers could overtake them. Mwonda dropped his head on his sound arm, and burst into tears. Then, lifting his huge body, and standing to his full height in the canoe, he passionately called upon all the evil spirits of his tribe by name, and adjured them to shrivel up the escaped Arabs with their blighting influence, and to inflict upon them tortures unspeakable until they were dead. Then the canoes were put about. Mwonda uttered one more bitter malediction as he passed over the spot where De Castro had sunk, and was still bemoaning his ill-luck when he overtook his victorious but weary and fainting master.
Mr. Barkworth keeps Cool--In Suspense--Tom's Escort--The Padre's Story--An Appreciation--Tom's Reward--Farewell--Herr Schwab's Lament--Fame--Mbutu Returns Home--Inspiration--Proposals
One morning, towards the end of March, Mr. Barkworth was seated at breakfast at The Orchard, Winterslow, dividing his attentions impartially among his food, his letters, and his daughter, who sat facing him at the other end of the table. His day was never properly begun unless the letters and the bacon arrived together. He had opened two letters, and cut the third, and Lilian was pouring out his second cup of coffee, when a sudden ejaculation from her father caused her to hold her hand.
"Scandalous, 'pon my soul and body, perfectly scandalous!" he exclaimed.
"What is it, Father?" asked Lilian, not very anxiously, for she was accustomed to little volcanic explosions at home: plenty of rumble but no fire.
"What, indeed! Just listen to this, h'm! 'My dear Barkworth, I found an opportunity in the lobby last night of speaking to the Prime Minister on the matter of a search-expedition for your friend Mr. Burnaby. He was very sympathetic, but said that, much as he should have liked to serve me, he was afraid our hands were too full just now to think of it. One can understand it, poor man. You see, what with these complications threatening in Persia, and the various little troubles in all parts of the world, connected with our imperial policy, one can hardly expect--' Faugh!" He tore the letter across. "Fiddlesticks! I'd like to see Palmerston back for a week. We'd soon see then, h'm! We'd have an expedition off to Central Africa in a winking. We want a little more of the 'Civis Romanus sum' in our milk-and-water politicians. Cicero, you know, my dear."
"But, Father, I don't understand what Cicero and Lord Palmerston have to do with Mr. Burnaby."
"Now, that's just it. Women never can see that sort of thing; your mother couldn't, poor woman! I'll explain so that any child could understand it. Cicero was a great Roman orator and statesman, you know, my dear. In one of his speeches he asked how many Roman citizens his hearers imagined had been insulted with impunity, how many Roman merchants robbed, or ship-owners kept in captivity,--meaning that he defied 'em to say a single one. Now suppose that Cicero had been Lord Palmerston, what would he have said?--tell me that, now!"
"Wasn't Lord Palmerston an Irish peer, Father?"
"Eh! what? Yes, must have been, or he couldn't have sat in the House. But what's that to do with it?"
"Why, Father, if Cicero had been Lord Palmerston, would not he have said: 'Just thread on the tail of me coat', or something to that effect?"
Mr. Barkworth looked sharply at his daughter, but she was demurely peeling an egg. As he was hesitating whether to explode or not, there was a knock at the door, and a maid entered bearing a salver.
"A telegram, sir, and there's a shilling to pay."
"Con-found these extra charges!" broke out Mr. Barkworth irritably. "What's the good of paying taxes to bolster up a wretched Post Office that can't give us free delivery? Give the man his shilling, and tell him not to dare show his face again!"
He tore open the envelope, stared at the message for some moments in inarticulate surprise, and then ejaculated:
"God bless my soul, he's found! Tom's found! We can do without the Prime Minister! 'Gad, didn't I say he'd turn up some day! Listen, Lilian; a despatch from the cable company forwarded by the Post Office: 'Tom found; mail follows.--O'Brien.' Might have said a little more; what's a shilling or two, eh?--Well, Jane, what is it now?"
"Another telegram, sir, and, if you please, this man wants a shilling too."
Mr. Barkworth pulled out a handful of silver, and picked it over.
"Here, I can't find a shilling; give him this half-crown and tell him to put it in the Post Office Savings Bank. Now what's this about, h'm?"
Lilian watched him anxiously as he opened the brown envelope, half fearing it might contain a contradiction of the good news.
"Eh! what!" he exclaimed. "It's from Jack Burnaby himself. 'Tom found; am starting for Mombasa to-morrow; will you come?'"
"Oh, do take me, Father!" cried Lilian, clasping his arm. "I'm sure you won't go without me."
"H'm! Don't know that I'll go at all. Running your poor father off his legs again! Very short notice, too. Just like Burnaby; just as young as ever he was, spite of the K.C.B.--What are you doing, Lilian, waggling your hand about so frantically at the window?"
"Just calling the telegraph man, Father. You didn't give him a reply."
"That's true; well, we'll go, begad. Here's a form. Write it for me. 'Yes, tickets for two via Marseilles and Brindisi.' That's right. Another one to Dr. O'Brien. 'Hurray! always said so.' Now, we must go by the 6.15 up-train to-night, so get your packing done. And for pity's sake don't get excited; try to keep as cool as I am. And so that fine young fellow's found, eh? Where, and how, and when, and what's he been doing? Gad, I want to know all about it. Think we'll catch the 4.20, Lilian; the packing will do itself if only you keep cool."
Mr. Barkworth showed his wonderful coolness by setting everybody in a fluster for the rest of the day. The whole household was called upon to assist him in his preparations. He had a genius for mislaying his things, and then accused the first person he came across of deliberately putting them out of their places; and when the gardener had been called in to find his master's newest suit of pyjamas, and the cook to rout out the straps of his hold-all, everybody was quite ready to see the back of the fussy old gentleman. Lilian got him safely away in the nick of time to catch the 6.15, and after spending the night at Claridge's, they sought out Tom's uncle, and arranged to meet him at Charing Cross for the night French mail.
It was Major Burnaby no longer. His services had been recognized by promotion to a lieutenant-colonelcy, an honour crowned by the conferment of a Knight Commandership of the Bath. Mr. Barkworth was vastly proud of the fame of Sir John Burnaby, K.C.B., and regarded his honours as a remarkable testimony to his own foresight and discrimination. All the way down to Dover he plied his friend with questions, comments, and suggestions, though Sir John explained more than once that he knew nothing beyond the bare fact that Tom was at last found. Ever since the news of his disappearance reached England, Mr. Barkworth had at intervals fired off cable messages at Dr. O'Brien in Kisumu, asking for information, or upbraiding him for not displaying greater activity in the search; and he was now firmly convinced that the recovery of the long-lost Tom was in great part due to his indefatigable enquiries.
On the voyage out he lost no opportunity of telling the whole story, and magnified Tom's achievements (of which, since the fight by the bridge, he, of course, knew nothing), until the young Englishman appeared a new Cincinnatus, the saviour of his country. He became more and more fidgety as he drew nearer to the journey's end.
"I never in my life so took to a young fellow, never," he would say, to excuse his excitement; "if he had been my own son I couldn't have felt it more."
When the boat steamed slowly into the harbour at Mombasa, Mr. Barkworth was the first of the passengers to cross the gangway.
"Where's Tom?" he cried, without waiting to greet Major Lister, who, like his former chief, had won a step in rank. "Why isn't he here to meet us?"
"Impossible, sir," said Lister laconically. "How d'e do, Sir John?"
"Glad to see you, Lister. You remember Miss Barkworth?" The major bowed. "We're all anxious, of course. Where is the boy? how is he?"
"Ah! you don't know then? Of course; you couldn't have got Corney's letter before you started. It was the padre who found Tom. On the day Corney sent you the cable he had got a pencilled note from the padre, brought here by train from Kisumu, where it had been carried by a native in a canoe round the Nyanza. I have it in my pocket."
He took out of his pocket-book a small, crumpled, dirty note, and handed it to Sir John, who translated aloud the almost illegible writing: "I have just found Tom Burnaby. He is badly wounded. I am taking him, as soon as he can be moved, to Bukoba."
They were all walking now towards the hotel, and a painful silence fell upon the group as they heard the brief message.
"I suppose Corney started at once?" said Sir John.
"Oh yes! He caught the first train. Your cable arrived just before he left, and he asked me to assure you he would do everything he could."
"Of course he would. And you have heard nothing since?"
"Not a word."
"Why Bukoba, do you think? Wouldn't Entebbe have been a more natural point to make for?"
"There's nothing to show where the padre wrote from, but I take it that Bukoba is the nearest point on the Nyanza. The padre knows the German commandant, and has probably arranged with him."
"Ah! it is trying, this suspense; but I suppose we shall get an explanation before long."
"Before long! I should think so," cried Mr. Barkworth. "Burnaby, I'm going across to Bukoba; start to-morrow morning. Never imagined the boy'd be wounded--badly wounded, the padre says. This is terrible, terrible!"
"I guessed you would go on," said Lister, "and wired to Port Florence, as soon as your boat was signalled, to fix a launch for you. We may find a reply at the hotel."
"Thanks, Lister," said Sir John. "Yes, I shall go on to-morrow."
It was a sad and silent party on the hotel veranda that evening. Sir John was almost angry with the doctor for not cabling the whole of the padre's message, though on reflection he saw that he had been spared three weeks of intolerable anxiety. It was a keen disappointment to them all to meet, instead of Tom himself, a messenger of bad news, and they were all disinclined to talk. Mr. Barkworth did indeed find some relief from his anxiety in opening his mind to a Monsieur Armand Desjardins whom he met in the smoking-room. He poured out a recital of Tom's heroic deeds, drawing freely upon his imagination to fill up the gaps, until he had worked the impressionable Frenchman into a fit of enthusiasm. Monsieur Desjardins was a 'functionary' of course, and a journalist to boot, and he seized on Mr. Barkworth as an abundant reservoir of 'copy'. He went down to see the party off when they left next morning, and said to Lilian, to whom he had been specially attentive:
"I burn with envy to see dis Monsieur Tom; truly he is a hero, and I go to put him in a book. Good-bye, mees! you spik French? Oui, je m'en souviens. Eh bien, mademoiselle, vos beaux yeux vont guérir bientôt le jeune malade, n'est-ce-pas? Hein?"
"What's that, what's that?" exclaimed Mr. Barkworth suspiciously.
"Nothing, Father," said Lilian with a blush. "Monsieur Desjardins is pleased to be complimentary."
"Well, it's a good thing he don't do it in English, for compliments in English just sound--piffle, humbug! Train's off; good-bye, Mossoo!"
On reaching Port Florence the travellers found that a launch was waiting for them. They embarked without delay, and reached Bukoba on the third evening after leaving Mombasa. The German commandant--no longer Captain Stumpff, who, like so many of his kind, had carried things a little too far and been recalled three months before--put his bungalow at their disposal, and told them that a runner had come in that very afternoon with the news that Father Chevasse was only a day's march distant, and was bringing the wounded Englishman in a litter. Dr. O'Brien had gone into the interior with an escort of German native soldiers as soon as he learnt where to find the padre, and all the information brought back by them was that he had found the Englishman under the missionary's care in a large native camp. Mr. Barkworth was for starting at once to meet the returning wanderer, but was persuaded to restrain his impatience and accept the German officer's hospitality.
Next day, an hour before sunset, Sir John, sitting with Mr. Barkworth and Lilian on the veranda of the bungalow, heard faintly in the distance the regular thump, thump of drums.
"At last!" he exclaimed, and, getting up, looked eagerly towards the hills. The sound became every moment more distinctly audible, forming now, as it were, a ground bass to strains of song which came fitfully on light gusts of wind, in strange harmony with the fading light, the red glory beyond the hills, and the sombre shadows of the distant trees. Sir John unstrapped his field-glass, and, looking through it, saw the head of a procession emerge from a belt of wood nearly a mile away. The trees stood out black against the crimson sky; the pale green above was deepening to a blue; and the sounds came more distinctly to the ear--a few notes ascending and descending by curious intervals, the same phrase being repeated again and again in the same low solemn chant, swelling and dying on the breeze. Mr. Barkworth had let his cigar go out, and was walking up and down the veranda like a caged lion. Lilian sat motionless in her chair, her fingers tightly intertwined, her cheeks pale. Not a word was spoken; the only sounds were the light swish of the ripples on the shore, the hum from the woods and marshes preluding the dark, and the ever-approaching song with its melancholy dirge-like accompaniment of drums. The three watchers on the veranda were tense with anxiety. Was it a funeral march? Was Tom coming back to them only for burial?
The procession drew nearer and nearer. It was possible now to distinguish the figures with the naked eye. A drummer walked at the head; behind him there were four negroes bearing a litter covered with an awning; and yes, it was the tall figure of the padre walking at one side. Behind, as far as the eye could reach, stretched a long line of black forms, marching in single file, keeping step to the drums, and singing their monotonous song, that now came low in tone but immense in volume, like a sonorous emanation from the splendid sky. Nearer and nearer; and now the figure of the doctor could be seen behind the litter, and Mbutu by his side. Nearer still; and then, at a few yards' distance from the bungalow, the drums ceased to beat, the voices fell like a breaking wave, the rearmost of the column continuing to sing for some seconds after the foremost had stopped. There was a great silence. The sun's rim had just dipped below the purple horizon. The doctor came forward, and at the same moment the principal drummer gave a signal tap, and a thousand stalwart negroes, armed with musket, spear, and pike, formed up in a half-circle about the litter. Sir John stepped down from the veranda; the litter was brought to meet him. Removing the awning, the doctor showed him a thin, pale, wasted form, with large bright eyes gazing eagerly out into the dusk, which the commandant had now illuminated with a number of flaring torches. Tom's face broke into a glad contented smile as he saw his uncle looking down upon him.
"Uncle Jack!" he whispered.
The older man murmured a word or two--no one heard them--and laid his hand gently upon his nephew's. Then, too deeply moved for speech, he turned and walked beside the litter as it was borne towards the bungalow.
Mr. Barkworth had been blowing his nose violently, and more than once he lifted his spectacles and rubbed them with quite unnecessary vigour. As the litter approached he took Lilian by the hand.
"Come inside, my dear," he said hurriedly. "Not good for him to see too many at once, you know. Uncle enough for to-night. He looks very ill. Glad we have him, though. Thank God, thank God!"
When the doctor had settled the invalid comfortably for the night, Mr. Barkworth waylaid him.
"Will he get over it?" he asked anxiously.
"Indeed and he will. He has had a narrow shave, but I think he will do. The constitution of a horse, sorr--thorough-bred, nothing spavined, no broken wind, sound everywhere."
"Where was he? What has he been doing all these months?"
"Faith, I have not got to the bottom of it yet; but so far as I can make out he has been administering a corner of the Congo Free State, raising a regular army, smashing the slave-trade, and taching the negroes something of the blessings of civilization. I mean it, bedad; the padre tould me all he knew, but sure there's a deal more to be tould yet.--Have ye got a cigar, Mr. Barkworth? I forgot my case, and have been wearying for one for three weeks. Hark'e! Those blacks outside are beginning a hullabaloo. I must put a stop to that. Come and see what they're after."
The host of natives who had solemnly escorted Kuboko to the shore of the Great Lake had begun to build fires in the neighbourhood of the bungalow in preparation for camping. The German commandant made a wry face when he saw their intention, and had already sent some of his men to order them to a more convenient distance. The awed silence with which they had looked on at the greeting between Kuboko and his friends had given place to chattering and laughing and singing, and the doctor took pains to impress upon them that the noise would disturb Kuboko's rest. His expostulation was effectual; they ate their evening meal in comparative silence.
It was long past midnight before any of the Europeans retired to rest. Seated in the largest room of the German commandant's bungalow, Sir John Burnaby and his party listened while the padre told of his discovery of Tom. Never before had Mr. Barkworth so keenly felt the drawbacks he suffered through want of familiarity with French. He would not allow the padre's story to be interrupted by any attempt at interpretation, but listened with a painful effort to follow it, and got Lilian, tired as she was, to give it privately in outline afterwards. But he there and then vowed that one of his first duties on reaching home would be to agitate for the compulsory teaching of conversational French, and decided to found a prize at his old school for proficiency in the subject.
Father Chevasse told how, as he was returning by easy stages from a visit to a mission-station at the upper end of Lake Tanganyika, he had heard vague rumours of battles fought far to the north between the Arabs and a confederation of negroes under the leadership of a white man. As he proceeded, the stories became more and more circumstantial and the details more and more extraordinary. He learnt that the intrepid commander was quite young, a man of marvellous powers, able to turn lakes into engines of destruction, and to bring fire out of the heavens. Such stories, even after he had made all allowances for the natives' exuberant imagination, awakened his curiosity; and suddenly it occurred to him that, improbable as it seemed, the white man might be no other than the long-lost Tom. "Nothing British surprises me," he interpolated with a smile. He hastened his march, made diligent enquiry at every village through which he passed, and by and by encountered people who had actually formed part of the confederacy and fought under the stranger's command. The information given by them did but strengthen his growing conviction, and when he at last, under the guidance of a Muhima, reached Mwonga's village, he was rejoiced to find that his surmise was correct. Almost the first person he saw on entering the stockade was Mbutu, who ran up to him, threw himself at his feet, and broke out into ejaculations of delight mingled with entreaty. He was led to a hut in the centre of the village, and there saw Tom, lying on a couch covered with clean linen--Tom indeed, but the pale shadow of his former self. Bit by bit the padre learnt from one and another the story of his deeds, from his capture by the Arabs to the final destruction of their island fortress. After that noteworthy event every vestige of the stronghold had been burnt or razed to the ground. A search was made for the treasure which rumour attributed to the Arabs, and beneath the flooring of Rumaliza's house, in cellars extending for many yards under the surface of the soil, had been discovered an immense hoard, the accumulation of many years--hundreds of ivory tusks worth untold gold. The few Arabs who had survived the fight had been sent eastwards under escort, and their Manyema dependants disbanded. Many of these threw in their lot with the conquerors. Then the Bahima force had started on its return journey, bringing the captured treasure in triumph to the village.
Tom's wound had become more and more painful, and though he tried at first to walk with his men, he found himself obliged, after one day, to give up the attempt, and was carried for the rest of the way in a litter. On the journey he had talked long and earnestly with the katikiro and other officials, suggesting and advising them as to their movements and the future government of the village in case he died. They had only reached the village two days before the missionary's arrival, and, at Mbutu's entreaty, the katikiro was arranging to despatch messengers to the shore of the Victoria Nyanza with a request for help. The padre at once sent off one of his own attendants under a strong escort to Bukoba, the nearest European station, and the German commandant had forwarded the message immediately to Kisumu.
"My own knowledge and skill in surgery is but slight," added the missionary, "but I did what I could until our friend Dr. O'Brien arrived."
"He extracted the bullet," said the doctor; "capitally too. It was an ugly wound."
"And Tom bore the pain with marvellous fortitude. Happily, he sank into unconsciousness before I had completed my task, and never so much as murmured when he awoke to the full sense of his agony and helplessness. I made arrangements at once to convey him here, and the villagers, whose devotion to him transcends anything I have ever before seen in the natives, of their own accord organized the procession which you have just witnessed. We were already half-way here when Dr. O'Brien reached us, and his skill completed what my clumsier hands had begun. I have given you only a sketch of what this young hero has been able, under God's mercy, to accomplish; indeed, I am not able to fill in all the details, for Tom himself has been too ill to talk, and is, besides, very reticent about his own actions. One fact stands out pre-eminent, and no distrust of native stories can explain it away. He has stamped out a pestilent gang of slave-raiders, and may with a whole heart sing 'Magnificat!' And though we dare not be so sanguine as to expect that the lessons of self-sacrifice, courage, justice, brotherly kindness, he has by his example taught the natives, will never be effaced from their minds, yet they must bear fruit, and certainly he has prepared the way for me and my brethren, Catholic or Protestant. You have a nephew to be proud of, Sir John."
Next morning, the commandant, who had considerately effaced himself on the previous night, resumed his autocratic air, and told the assembled natives bluntly that he would be delighted to see the last of them. In their wholesome dread of the Wa-daki, they took the very broad hint and prepared to return to their remote wilds.
But before they departed they wished to take a formal farewell of the great muzungu who had taught them so much and saved them from their hereditary foe. Msala was deputed to seek an interview with Sir John, and he asked, with his usual eloquence, that Kuboko might be brought out to his sorrowing people, that they might look upon his face once more. Sir John consulted the doctor, who pursed up his lips and looked doubtful, but confessed that Tom himself had asked that the people should not be allowed to go until he had seen them and bidden them good-bye. Accordingly, about eight o'clock in the morning, Tom was carried out in his litter and placed on the veranda, where he lay in the shade during the scene of farewell.
It was in truth a remarkable scene. Arranged in three concentric semicircles stood the throng of a thousand negroes, including representatives of almost every race known to the eastern half of Central Africa. A few steps in advance of the rest stood Mwonga, the young Bahima chief, with the katikiro and a few other of his principal officers. Their black faces were all aglow, their bright eyes fixed on the tall figure of Sir John Burnaby, who stood just within the veranda of the bungalow. By his side lay Tom--the black man's loved Kuboko--thin as a lath, pale and haggard, the head of his couch raised so that he might see the crowd of natives. On one side, a little in advance, for he had offered to interpret the katikiro's speech, stood the tall dignified White Father, his lips parted in a slight smile, his eyes beaming a compassionate kindliness. With him stood the little doctor, a striking contrast with his short, neat, wiry frame, his twinkling gray eyes, his stubby beard. And on the other side was the stout figure of Mr. Barkworth, his rubicund side-whiskered face cheerful and benevolent as ever; and the fair girl at his elbow, white and radiant, looking alternately at the negroes and at Tom.
The signal being given, the katikiro stepped forward and stood before Sir John. He had never before had the opportunity of addressing a group of white men, and his gait showed that he fully realized the importance of the occasion. Sticking his spear in the ground, so as to have the use of both arms for gesture, he began his oration. The exordium was a long account of himself, his family, his achievements in hunting and war, his importance as katikiro first to Barega and then to Barega's successor, Mwonga. He proceeded to recount with minute circumstantiality how he found Kuboko in the forest, carried him to the village, and from that time on had been his most devoted friend and disciple. He passed on to a chronological narrative of the subsequent events in the village: the contest with Mabruki, the making of big medicine, the protracted siege, the wonderful machines invented by Kuboko for the discomfiture of the enemy, and, finally, the formation of the great confederacy which, by obedience to Kuboko, had succeeded in defeating time after time the enemy who had for many years crushed native Africa beneath his iron heel. All this was narrated with many repetitions, many picturesque adornments, much extravagance of language and gesture, and the padre's translation in French almost did justice to the Muhima's fervour.
But Msala's eloquence was to soar a still higher pitch. So far he had dealt with facts, with just enough embroidery to make the presentment of them artistic. He went on to express the opinions and emotions of his community.
"Never was such a white man seen," he said. "We have had nothing to do with white men. We have heard about them,--about the Wa-daki, who live day and night with kiboko; about the white men of the Lualaba, who buy rubber and ivory at their own prices, or for nothing at all. But never such a white man as this. Surely he must be a mighty chief in his own land. Never did he raise his hand to strike us; Kuboko was his name, but kiboko had he none" (he evidently deeply relished the jingle). "When Mabruki did him wrong, and Barega would have cut off the villain's head, Kuboko said: 'Nay, let him pay back the bulls.' Did he order a thing to be done? He showed how to do it. Was there little food? Kuboko had no more than the rest. He did justice and showed mercy; he even sported with the little children, teaching them how to smite balls with a stick, and giving them turns equally, doing favour to none above the others. And what was all this to gain? The Wa-daki, as men tell us, give one and take two; but Kuboko took nothing. He might have been chief, but would not. 'Nay,' he said, 'I will stay with you until the Arabs are destroyed, and then I go to my own people, and Mwonga shall be chief.' In the caverns of Rumaliza lay thousands of tusks, long as a man, the spoils of our hunting and the hunting of our fathers. All this belonged by right to the victor; but did he say: 'It is mine, I will take all of it'? Nay, he said: 'My brothers, it is yours; divide it among yourselves.' We threw ourselves at his feet, and implored him to take this great treasure, but he shook his head, and even waxed angry, and bade us hold our peace. Only at the last, when Mwonga himself offered the two tusks that have come down from chief to chief, and begged Kuboko, if he loved him, to take them for his own,--only then did he yield and say: 'I will take them as a gift from your people, and keep them ever to remind me of you.' That is Kuboko.
"And now he leaves us. Our women and children are wailing, and our hearts are heavy and sad. Who will lead us now in war? Who will guide us in peace? True, we have Kuboko's words, and treasure them in our hearts; but even as water dries up in the sun, even as smoke rises into the sky and is seen no more, so Kuboko's words, as the days pass, will fade from our memories. Yet how could we keep him? We are black; he is white. He comes from the land of the Great White King, who will assuredly make him his katikiro when he hears what he has done, even as I, Msala, am Mwonga's katikiro. But though he be far away, in the land of big medicine, our thoughts will turn to him. He will be to us as a Good Spirit, to hearten us against Magaso, and Irungo, and all the other evil spirits who blight our crops and steal our cattle. He will be even as the Buchwezi, the spirits of our ancestors, whom we do not see, but who nevertheless see us and watch our doings and maybe help us in our hour of need. We, Bahima and Bairo, Ruanda and Banyoro, bid Kuboko farewell. I, Msala, say it."
It is impossible to do justice in sober English to the impassioned eloquence of the katikiro. As he paused at the end of every sentence to allow the missionary to interpret, loud grunts and ejaculations of approval burst from the throats of the throng behind him. When the speech was ended, one great voluminous shout rent the air, and every man held out his spear in front of him with the precision of an automaton. The drums gave forth three solemn rolls, and then Mwonga and the kasegara advanced to the veranda, and twenty bearers laid two great tusks beside Kuboko's litter.
"Thank you, thank you!" said Tom. "Uncle, will you speak to them for me?"
Sir John stepped forward and, gripping his coat-collar, began:
"My friends, I am touched by the eloquent words of your excellent katikiro. For many months I had mourned my nephew as dead, and now my joy at seeing him again is all the greater because I know that during his long absence he has been doing good things. I thank you, my friends, for bringing him back to me. I thank you, too, for the respect and affection you have shown for him. The story your katikiro has told is a wonderful one. I cannot profess yet to understand it; but I do understand that by your willing obedience, loyalty, and devotion to my nephew you have been able to rid yourselves, once for all as I hope and believe, of the enemy who has oppressed you for so many years. Men"--here Sir John's right hand left his coat-collar and was stretched out towards his attentive audience--"men, now that you are free, remember the price of your freedom. My nephew owes his life to your late brave chief, whose own life he had saved; since then he has spent himself in your service. Nothing good was ever done except at some cost. You know what Kuboko did for you. The katikiro has spoken of it. Now in his name I beg you to turn his self-sacrifice to lasting account. Obey and support your young chief. You have learnt what union means. Don't quarrel among yourselves and eat your hearts out in miserable little jealousies. Other white men will come to your village. The officers of the Congo State will visit you. Render them willing obedience, and though at times they may be severe, though among white men there are bad as well as good, remember that the great white nations mean nothing but good to their black brethren. My nephew, you tell me, has sought nothing for himself. He takes with him nothing but your good-will and the memory of your common sufferings and common triumphs. It is what I should have expected of him, and I am proud of it. Now we are going home, and very likely we shall never see you again. But Kuboko will not forget you; nor shall I forget this great throng, come so many miles to do him honour. Men, for him and for myself, I say good-bye, and good luck to you!"
When the shouts with which the natives received Sir John's brief speech had subsided, Tom asked that the principal men might be allowed to come to his litter and bid him a more personal farewell. Accordingly, Mwonga, with Msala, Mwonda, the kasegara, and eight others marched up in single file. They passed by the left side of the litter, and as Tom gave them his limp hand in turn, each stooped down, pressed it lightly to his brow, and descended in solemn silence to his place in front of the attentive crowd. The simple scene was too much for Mr. Barkworth's feelings; his handkerchief was diligently employed, and he was unfeignedly glad when, the ceremony being now at an end, the procession re-formed in preparation for starting on the long homeward march. The drums gave out their hollow notes, the multitude swayed as they marked time, and striking up an improvised song in which Kuboko's uncle and the white lady had the largest mention next to Kuboko himself, they filed off westward towards the forest.