CHAPTER V
TROUBLE BREWING
That was the story of Muata!
The white boys looked and wondered. This man who had been through so many dangers could not be much older than they were. If his story were true, he had shown endurance, courage, and a force of character that set the stamp of greatness upon him as greatness would be reckoned among his kind.
Was it true that he had slain a gorilla with bow and arrow, that he warred successfully against the Arab slave-hunters? Had he subdued a band of men by sheer force of will?
The boys believed him. They did not stop to ask whether the story was probable. They formed their opinion upon the manner of the young chief—upon his grave dignity, and upon the absence of a boastful spirit.
"If his story is true," said Mr. Hume, "he owes much to his mother."
"Where is your mother?" asked Compton.
"The chief's wife is not a woman," said Muata. "And yet she is a woman. She beguiled them in the forest by pretence of great submission and fear of the woods. So they trusted her to bring firewood, believing she would not go far from the camp. But she was watching for sign of the little people. This I know, for she vanished in the woods near the river. And the yellow hunters of men knew not how she had gone; but they left word to people by the river to say to me that my mother had been carried away in a canoe."
"And what will you do now?"
"See, I am no one—a liver on kindness, a slave at the gate. But in time Muata will return to the place of hiding."
"Better stay with us, Muata. We go into the forest ourselves. We will give you food, and teach you how to use the weapon of the Arab hunters. You will hunt for us, work in the canoe for us, and, maybe, we will go with you to your hiding-place."
"The forest is dark and terrible. Why, will my father enter the darkness with his sons?"
"We go to hunt, and for the love of the woods and the water. Has not a hunter joy in the hunting?"
"I know it;" and the chief observed them intently, as if he were unpersuaded. "The ways of white men are strange. Muata hunts to keep the hut supplied with meat, but the white man carries his meat with him. When he kills he leaves the meat and takes only the horns or the skin of the thing he has slain. Muata is not a child. When he sees a single vulture in the sky, he knows there are others coming behind. A white man comes out of the beyond into the black man's country. He is soft-spoken; he is a hunter only. Mawoh! and behind him comes an army."
"What do you know about white men, Muata?"
"The wise men at the hiding-place talked. They knew one such. He lived among them. His ways were strange. He talked with the trees; he sought among the rocks; he communed with spirits. He was harmless, but the wise men said others would follow on his trail doing mischief. So I ask, my father, why do you wish to enter the forest?"
"Because," said Compton, leaning forward, "my father was lost in the forest, and I would find him. Tell me, where is the white man your old men talked of?"
"The forest takes, the forest keeps," said Muata, lifting a hand solemnly.
"Do you mean," asked the boy, quietly, "that the white man does not live?"
"The people dealt well by their white man. They gave him food; they carried water for him, and built his fire. Even I, as a child, carried wood to him and listened at his knees."
"I am not blaming the people; but I want to find the place that is called the Place of Rest, where my father lived; perhaps where he died."
"This, then, is the hunting?" said the chief, softly.
Mr. Hume recognized the suspicion in the altered tone and suave manner of the chief.
"We have spoken," he said sharply. "We go into the forest to hunt and to seek without anger against any. We thought you would have worked in well with us; but I see you are a man of a crooked mind."
"Softly, my father," said the chief, quietly. "Is it wise that a chief should listen to the counsel of strangers without taking thought for his people?"
"We saved the chief's life."
"The chiefs life is his own"—Muata snapped his fingers—"but the secret of the hiding-place is the life of the people. Go slowly, my father. Muata would work for you and with you; his shield is your shield; his eye is your eye; but the secret of the hiding-place is not his to give away."
"Then you must land here on the bank among your enemies."
The chief glanced at the far-off wooded banks, with lines of smoke rising from cooking-fires.
"I have no weapons," he said.
"We cannot help that," said Mr. Hume, with indifference. "Either you agree to take us to the Place of Rest, or you land."
Muata rose up, looked under the flat of his hand all around, then let the cotton sheet they had given him slip to the deck. The jackal started up, with his ears pricked and his eyes fixed on his master's face. The chief caught hold of a wire rope and jumped on to the rail, where he steadied himself.
"What will you do?" asked Mr. Hume.
Muata turned round and pointed to the otter on his chest.
"You don't mean to say," said Venning, indignantly, "that you are going to let him swim ashore? Why, the bank is miles away, and the crocodiles are in between."
Muata's glance fell on the jackal, and he spoke to it. The animal whined, then crouched.
"A favour, my father," he said. "If the beast followed me, he would be food for the crocodiles. Place him on land when you reach the bank, for the sake of good hunting."
"I will do so."
The chief took another long glance around, then drew himself up for the dive.
"Stop," said Mr. Hume.
Muata looked round.
"Your shield is our shield. So be it. We will not ask you to lead us to your hiding-place. Is that so, Compton?"
"When he leads us," said Compton, nodding his head, "it will be at his own will."
"At any rate," muttered Venning, "he has proved himself to be a man; but I wonder if he would have reached the shore?"
As he spoke the jackal howled, and the chief, who was still standing on the rail, slipped and fell with a splash. They ran to the side, and the jackal, with another howl, sprang to the rail and thence into the river, where a second or two later it was in the troubled wake of the steamer, beating frantically with its fore paws.
"Man overboard!" shouted Mr. Hume. "Stand by with a rope."
But the Belgian skipper on the little bridge held to his course, while a small knot of coloured passengers aft stood laughing and chattering.
"Stop her, you swab," cried Mr. Hume; then, as the man took no notice, he ran to the wheel, thrust aside the steersman, and jammed the wheel over.
The displaced man, with an oath, flung himself at the hunter with the sympathy of the passengers, who, ceasing their laughter, advanced with menacing cries.
Before the boys had time to comprehend the situation, Mr. Hume settled the matter out of hand. Letting go the wheel, he caught his assailant by the waistband, and with a heave flung him overboard. Then with a quick right and left he sent two of the others reeling.
"Now," he roared at the skipper, "back her, or by the Lord I'll fling you in as well."
"Fetch the rifles," said Compton to Venning.
A moment later the two boys stood at the ready with their rifles, and amid a babel of cries the skipper signaled "Stop her." The steamer slowed up, swung gently round, and shaped back to where three dark spots showed.
"There are four," cried Venning, at his first swift glance; "and one is a crocodile. It is making for the jackal."
"Take the wheel, Compton," said Mr. Hume, quite calm again. "Give me your gun, Venning."
The hunter, with the gun, went to the side and looked over. Nearest him was the man he had thrown overboard; beyond was the jackal, making a great splashing; and further on was the face of Muata, who was crying out encouragement to his faithful companion as he swam swiftly towards it; and to the left, moving rapidly towards the jackal, was the crocodile, swimming in a great swirl, with only his eyes showing, and the end of his snout. The hunter steadied himself with a shoulder against a stanchion, and then, without hurry or excitement, and after a look round the deck at the people, to see if there was any further mischief brewing, took deliberate aim and fired.
A shout went up, and the very people who had a minute before been so hostile, now were abject in their praise of Mr. Hume, for the crocodile span round and round in answer to the shot.
"Stand by with a rope, Mr. Compton," cried the hunter, taking command as if by right; and Compton obeyed promptly, but without excitement.
The first man caught the line and swarmed up wet, but subdued in spirit, casting an appealing glance at his late assailant. Muata, in the mean time, reached the half-drowned jackal, held it by the scruff of the neck with one hand, and, turning over on his back, waited for the rope. This flung and seized, he also climbed on board, but there was nothing abject in his appearance. Standing with his head thrown back and his nostrils quivering, he glared a moment at the group of natives; then, seizing a bar of iron, he made a bound forward, uttering a wild war-whoop.
There would have been bloodshed had not Mr. Hume, with surprising quietness, flung himself forward and seized the chief round the waist.
Compton, cool and ready, wrenched the bar away; and, seeing this, the natives plucked up spirit, calling on the white man to throw the "black dog" to the crocodiles, which had been attracted by the blood of their wounded fellow, still beating the water in his flurry.
Venning, however, stepped between with his rifle, and the uproar ceased once more.
"Now," said Mr. Hume, holding the chief by his arm, "what does this mean? What harm have those men done you?"
"My father has the lion's grip. Mawoh! Muata was a babe in his arms."
"That may be, but it is no answer."
"What harm! Did not my father hear the jackal give tongue?"
"I heard; and those jackals there"—indicating the watching group— "yelped at me, so that I flung one into the water. But—what then? Do you seek to slay when your beast howls?"
"My father does not know, then."
"I want to know, for it seems to me you were all mad together."
"Ohe! it is the madness that slays. Ask of those mudfish there for news of the man who stood behind them to slay Muata, who had the gun aimed to shoot when Muata leapt into the water. Ask them, and they will lie."
"What manner of man was this?"
"One of those who hound me in the canoe—even one of the man-hunters who seized my mother."
Mr. Hume looked at the boys. "Did either of you see an Arab on board? Muata says a man was about to fire at him when he sprang overboard."
"I thought he fell," said Compton. "I saw no one with a gun."
"Nor I," said Venning; "but the Arab may have gone below."
Mr. Hume hailed the captain. "My man said an attempt was made on his life. Have you taken an Arab onboard?"
"I have some mad English on board," said the captain, gruffly; "and
I will see they do not stay on longer than I can help."
"As to that we will see."
The captain nodded his head and signaled full speed ahead, turning his back on the Englishman.
"I think we can manage the lot," said Compton, coolly.
Mr. Hume laughed. "Perhaps so; but it would be very awkward to be detained at the next station as prisoners, or to be sent back. We must let the matter slide."
"Shall we search the ship, sir?"
Mr. Hume shook his head. "Suppose we found some suspicious passenger. What then? There was no actual attempt on Muata, and we have only his word; besides"—and he glanced at the angry captain— "there is no need to look for trouble—it will come."
He was right. At the next station, reached within a few hours, the captain lodged a complaint to the authorities in the persons of the Belgian officials, who were evidently charmed with the opportunity of teaching the Englishmen a lesson.
First of all, they placed Muata in chains straight away on their finding that he was a dangerous person. When Mr. Hume protested, they placed him under restraint; and that done, they pronounced judgment. The English would pay a fine of Pounds 100, surrender their weapons, and return to Banana Point by the next steamer down.
"Is that all?"
"That is all. But stay. As you will be possibly detained a fortnight, there would be a charge for maintenance."
"Be good enough," said Mr. Hume, producing a document, "to read that paper. It is a passport from the President of the Congo State— your king—authorizing Mr. Hume and party to proceed with his servants by land or water anywhere within the State for purposes of exploration."
The officers examined the document with sour faces, and one of them made an observation in a low tone.
"Precisely," said the other. "This document," he remarked, turning to Mr. Hume, "is not in order. It has not been visaed by the officers at the sub-stations."
"But it was initialed by your superior at the coast."
"It must go back to the sub-stations for endorsement."
Mr. Hume put a restraint on his temper. "And how long will that take?"
"Who knows? Perhaps a month."
"And in the mean time?"
"In the mean time, m'sieur, you will remain our guests."
"Is there no other way?"
"Monsieur must surrender himself to the unpleasant delay. There is no other way." "Unless—but m'sieur would not perhaps face the expense."
"Explain, gentlemen."
"There is a special transport for State business, but to call upon the service for other than State purpose there would be a charge of ten pounds per day."
"I see." Mr. Hume saw that these gentlemen wished to make money out of him. "Very good. I will myself go to the sub-stations by your special transport, and if the Governor says the charge is reasonable, I will pay on my return. I think that will meet the matter."
But it did not at all meet the matter, and the junior officer at once informed his senior that unhappily the special transport had that very morning developed a leak in the boiler.
There followed an embarrassing delay. The authorities waited for Mr. Hume to make a business-like proposal, but the hunter remained grimly silent. The two officers whispered.
"Observe, m'sieur," said the senior, clearing his throat, "my colleague suggests a middle way. If you will place sum demanded by the State in these cases, in the nature of a surety for good faith, we may permit you and your friends to proceed."
"My servant also?"
"Your servant?"
"The man you have bound."
"Ohe! Pardon, m'sieur; you are not aware that he is an offender against the laws—a notorious criminal. He will be detained and tried."
"I will remain to attend his trial, unless a sum will secure his freedom also?"
"There is a price on his bead."
"Offered by the slave-hunters?"
The shot went home. The officers had been hand in glove with the lawless traders, but they did not want the matter bruited about by meddlesome Englishmen. They scowled.
"He has broken the peace," said the senior, sharply; "he has slain the servants of the State. Am I to understand that you claim to be his master, responsible for his conduct?"
"No, m'sieur," exclaimed the hunter, quickly, fearing he had gone too far, and shifting his ground. "The man is a stranger; do with him as you please; but as for us, since we are here, we will, with your permission, make the place our headquarters. We could not be in better hands."
"You wish to wait for another steamer while your passports are visaed?"
"We will proceed in our own boat, which we would put together."
"Ah, you have a little boat?"
"A very small boat, m'sieur, with barely room for four men. We should be honoured to have your opinion on its qualities, and also upon our stores and their suitability."
Venning looked at Mr. Hume with puzzled eyes. He could not understand his callous abandonment of Muata.
"But," he began, "we cannot——"
"I think it is an excellent place," said Compton, quickly; "and perhaps these gentlemen would be good enough to assist us with advice out of their great experience."
"We should be delighted," said Mr. Hume, politely.
The senior officer stroked his huge moustache with an air of renewed importance.
"There are two spare rooms in my little house," murmured the junior— "one for the stores, the other for sleeping quarters."
"It is understood," said Mr. Hume, "that we pay rent, and also that we pay for the protection you may afford us. I insist on that, messieurs."
The senior nodded a dignified assent, but he was not quite won over, and retired to his quarters, while his junior inspected the landing of the goods, including the sections of the boat. In the afternoon, however, after his nap, the senior succumbed to the influence of a good cigar, and condescended to sample some of the stores. He was even pleased to crack a few jokes over the novel machinery for working the screw of the Okapi by levers, and in the evening he invited Mr. Hume to a friendly game of cards, thoughtfully including in his invitation a bottle of brandy and a box of cigars, for, said he, he wished to wash out the execrable taste of the everlasting manioc.
All the day Muata stood bound to a post in the square, the central figure of a ring of squatting natives, who chewed manioc and discussed his approaching fate with much satisfaction.
He was there, an erect, stoical figure, when the boys sought their room in the little thatched house—a room bare of furniture, divided from the next compartment by hanging mats of native make.
"It's a beastly shame," said Venning, for about the fourth time, as he stared out at the black faces reflected in the blazing log-fires.
"What is a shame?" asked Compton, who was inspecting the partition before seeking his hammock.
"You know well enough. Not a soul stands by the chief; even his jackal bolted as soon as he jumped ashore."
"Because Muata ordered him. He is probably watching from the dark."
"All the worse for us, then. I never thought Mr. Hume would have knuckled down so easily. Hark at him shouting over the game."
"What is the game, do you think?"
"Cards," snorted Venning, in disgust.
"So! Queer sort of partition this;" and Compton moved the mat aside.
"No need for doors, you see. Hulloa! Who are you?"
"Me Zanzibar boy, master," exclaimed a soft, oily voice.
"Then clear out."
"Me put here watch my master—see black fellows no steal."
"Oh, I see. Chuck a cake of tobacco, Venning. Here! You like that?"
"Ver good," said the boy, reaching out a yellow hand for the tobacco.
Venning crossed over and peered into the other room. "You boy," he said, "tell me, what will they do to Muata?"
The Zanzibari chuckled. "You want know, eh?"
"We don't care. One black fellow does not matter," said Compton, coolly.
"You brute!" muttered Venning, but stopped as Compton's hand gripped him.
The Zanzibari chuckled again. "What you give, eh, if cut loose that
Muata?"
"What do you say?"
"You pay me? Good. In night Muata is loose. He run up river. Bymby master go along in little boat, pick Muata up, eh? What you pay?" and the boy chuckled softly.
"Suppose I tell your white master, you rascal?"
"Wow! You tell, they kill poor Zanzibar boy."
"Then clear out," said Compton, launching a kick; "and if I see any more of you I will tell."
The boy turned sulky. "Me guard—me stay."
"You go," said Compton, "or I will call your masters, and let them deal with you."
Growling under his breath, the self-styled "guard" slunk soft-footed out of the room. Compton struck a match and looked around the apartment, then turned to Venning with a grin.
"That is the game," he whispered.
"I think I understand," Venning replied softly. "That fellow was testing you?"
Compton nodded.
"And you think Mr. Hume has not forgotten Muata?"
"I am sure he has not."
They crept into their hammocks, but not to sleep, and they were wide awake when Mr. Hume entered noisily some two hours later.
"To-morrow night," he shouted boisterously.
"With pleasure, and the night after, for good visitors are rare," called the Belgian.
"And good hosts also. Touching those two men you promised as the crew for my boat?"
"They will be here to-morrow evening," said the senior officer, thrusting a head round the mat. "Ah, you are comfortable, eh? Yes, I sent a messenger to Hassan's camp by the vessel which brought you. Rest well."
"They are good fellows, these Arabs," said Mr. Hume, with enthusiasm—"good fellows. I remember once——"
"To-morrow night," said the officer, as he withdrew, laughing.
Mr. Hume hummed cheerfully as he prepared for bed, taking no notice of his young comrades, who were regarding him with silent disfavour. With one yawn after another he blew out the light, and struggled into his hammock, to fall asleep almost at once.
Venning's uneasiness returned. He tossed restlessly, listening to the unaccustomed noises from without, and as the hours went by, and at last the sound of talking about the fires died off in a lazy drone, the desire to see what had become of Muata was too strong to resist. Softly he lowered himself to the earth-floor, but, soft as he moved, others had heard.
"Are the mosquitoes troublesome?"
Venning started at the deep voice so unexpected. "I did not know you were awake, sir."
"I sleep very lightly my boy."
"As you are awake, sir, I would like to say——"
But he stopped as the mat rustled.
"Come in," said Mr. Hume.
"Me guard, great master"—in the same soft, oily tones Venning had heard before. "Hear noise. Think may be thieves."
"Mosquitoes, not thieves," said Mr. Hume, quietly. "Bring a light."
The Zanzibar boy complied, and, holding a taper above his head, looked not for mosquitoes, but at the rifles in the corner.
"The skeeters, master," he muttered, with an evil squint at Compton, who was blinking at the light.
"Better get back into your hammock, Venning. You can go, boy; and keep a good watch, for we are coming to the thieves' hour."
The man showed his white teeth in a grin as he withdrew.
"Don't stir from your hammocks until I do," said Mr. Hume, very sternly, in a whisper; then louder, "Good night, Venning."
"Good night, sir," said Venning, convinced that the master was alive to the game, and more easy in his mind.
As he dropped off to sleep he heard the wail of a jackal, and next he was awakened by the sound of a native chanting. It was already daybreak, and Mr. Hume stood on the verandah, having drawn the mats aside.
The sun, striking under the thatch, shone on the hunter's tawny hair and beard, and Venning wondered how for a moment he could have doubted the courage of a man with such a lion-like head. But he was to receive another shock.
"Silence, dog!" roared the hunter, addressing the singer, evidently.
Compton, who was sitting on his hammock dressing, looked out.
"By Jove," he muttered, "he's shouting at Muata!"
Venning jumped down to the floor and looked out. Muata was still bound to the post, and, with his face to the sun, was chanting his words of greeting or of farewell in tones that lacked the deep chest-notes of his war-cry.
One of the natives, hearing the order of the white man, flung a stick at the chief with an insult; but Muata, nothing heeding, sang on his slow song in a voice that was almost like a woman's.
"Must white men lose their sleep because a robber is to die?" roared the hunter again.
Venning snatched up a beaker of water and ran out barefooted. He held the water to the chiefs mouth. Muata turned his smouldering eyes on the boy, sucked in a mouthful of the water, and then shot it out over Venning's outstretched arm.
Venning dropped the mug, and went back with a red face to see the two officers regarding him with sour faces.
"Serve you right," shouted Mr. Hume, in apparent fury. "When will you learn to treat a black like the brute he is?"
"Quite so," said the senior officer, showing himself. "I am glad to find you have no ridiculous sentiment."
"Ah! good morning, my friend," said Mr. Hume, heartily. "As for my young comrade, you must pardon him."
"He has his lesson," said the officer, dryly, as he pointed to the soaked pyjama.
"The man woke me with his singing. I have seen men shot for less than that."
"In good time," said the officer, with a sinister look, "the accusers will be here to-night, and to-morrow"—he made a gesture— "to-morrow you can also choose the two men you need for your boat's crew."
After breakfast, Mr. Hume had an opportunity of speaking without the fear of being overheard, for they finished putting the Okapi together, and worked her out by the levers into the river, where she gleamed in the sun.
"I dare say you think I am a brute," he said, "and I don't blame you; but if we mean to save Muata's life, we must appear to be altogether indifferent to his fate. Those men are keeping a close watch on us."
"I know it," said Compton.
"You do, eh?"
"That Zanzibar boy was spying on us last night before you came, and he tried to get us to bribe him to free Muata."
"I hope you were not so foolish as to fall into the trap?" said the hunter, sharply.
"I kicked him out of the place," said Compton. "I told Venning you were playing a game for Muata's life."
"You did me justice?" said Mr. Hume, with his gaze on Venning.
"It seemed to me terrible to leave him without a word of encouragement," said the boy; "but I am awfully sorry I doubted you, sir."
"You don't now, eh? Well, that's all right, and I think the chief knows too. That is why he spouted the water over you."
"A strange way of showing his gratitude," laughed the boy, with a reddening face at the thought of the outrage.
"Not so strange. He saw the Belgians, and did it to put them off their guard."
"That ought to help us in our plans for his escape."
"We have plans, have we?"
"You have," said Compton, confidently; "and your plan is our plan."
"Thank you," said the hunter, quietly. "If the plan is to succeed, it must work to-night. I do not fear these people here, but I must say I fear the Arabs who are expected this evening."
"I understand that you will choose two of those Arabs as boatmen?"
"The Belgians have arranged that, Compton, not I. Have you any suggestions to offer?"
"I think, sir, that we should get all our things stored in the boat to-day," said Venning.
"Eight; and then?"
"And then," said Venning, his face all alight with ardour—"and then—why, sir, then you shoot one of the hippos over there on that little island. Shoot two; and while all the people in the village are cutting them up for a great feed, we could free Muata undetected."
"That is not so bad," said Compton, judiciously.
"Not at all," said Mr. Hume. "But when Muata is free, what is to become of him—suppose, that is, he can get away unobserved?"
"I have it," said Compton. "The Zanzibar spy suggested it. Let Muata wait for us up the river, and we will pick him up."
Mr. Hume stroked his beard for some moments in silence.
"We'll, try that plan," he said finally; "but don't show any excitement. The native, remember, is a very keen observer. Now pull the boat in."