Chapter Seventeen.
Evil Tidings.
When, after breakfast, on the following morning, the party on board the Flying Fish stepped out on deck to enjoy the novel scene around them, and take their ease under the awning while awaiting the expected visit from Seketulo, they at once became aware of the fact that the ship was the centre of an area of considerable activity. For, glancing round them, from the commanding height of the deck, they were able, with the assistance of their binoculars, to detect the forms of armed savages stealing hither and thither through the long grass and between the numerous clumps of bush with which the plain was thickly overgrown. Their first thought was that Seketulo had proved false to the trust that they had reposed in him, and was repeating the folly of his predecessor, M’Bongwele, by engaging in an attempt to capture the ship. But, as they continued to watch with curiosity the movements of the savages, this idea became dissipated, for although the savages were everywhere in evidence about them, in large numbers, there were none in the immediate vicinity of the ship, the neighbourhood of which, indeed, they all appeared to be avoiding with the most studious care. At length the watchers arrived at two distinct conclusions, the first of which was that the savages were prosecuting a feverishly eager and anxious search for some person or persons; and the second, that, while doing so, they were practising every precaution which the guile of the native mind could suggest to escape observation from the ship.
“What on earth can the fellows be up to?” remarked Sir Reginald, at length, as he removed his binoculars from his eyes, and turned to address the other members of the party. “Are they, by any chance, hunting for us, think you, under the impression that we have left the ship and are taking a morning stroll among the ruins?”
“It is by no means impossible,” answered Lethbridge. “Of one thing, at all events, I believe we may be certain, and that is, that our friend Seketulo has no intention of paying us a duty-call. Had he meant to do so, he would have been here before now.”
“Perhaps he has not yet been made aware of our presence here,” suggested Sziszkinski.
“Make no mistake about that,” retorted Lethbridge. “We saw them yesterday afternoon sending forward, by means of their system of voice-telegraphy, the news of our arrival. And, as we were travelling slowly all the time, you may take it as certain that Seketulo—if the fellow happens to be still alive—was informed of the fact some time before we actually reached this spot. And even if we admit, for a moment, such an improbability as that the news failed to reach him, these fellows who are now lurking all round us are, every one of them, painfully aware of the presence of the ship—as we can clearly see by the trouble that they are taking to keep out of our sight; and the first thing that they would do, in such a case as you have suggested, would be to dispatch one of their number to the village with the news. Oh no; the king—whether he be Seketulo or somebody else—is fully aware of our presence here, you may rest assured.”
“Of course,” said Sir Reginald, “Seketulo may be dead. It is several years since we were here, and much may happen in even less time than that. But, even so, the man who would be reigning in his stead would know all about us, and would hasten, one would suppose, to assure us of his loyalty to our commands.”
“Ay,” cut in Mildmay; “provided, of course, that he has been loyal. But, if he has not, I can quite conceive that he is feeling mightily uncomfortable just now. What think you, Elphinstone, of the idea of taking a cruise up to the village, to see how matters stand there? Or, would you rather remain here, and await developments? Hillo! whom have we here, and what does he want? Surely the fellow is signalling to us, and trying to attract our attention! D’ye see him, Elphinstone?”
And, as Mildmay spoke, he pointed to a small magnolia bush, within about a hundred yards of the ship, on the hither side of which, and close under it, a native warrior was crouching, and occasionally raising his hand, as though endeavouring to attract the attention of the white men, who, from the position which he occupied, were in full view of him.
“Where is he?” demanded Sir Reginald, searching with his glasses. “Oh, I see him. Yes; he certainly seems to be signalling to us. Do you see him, Professor?”
“Yes,” answered von Schalckenberg, “I see him. Shall I beckon him to come to us?”
“By all means,” answered Sir Reginald. “I will get out the rope ladder, and we will have him up here on deck.”
And he went off to get up a light rope ladder intended for use upon occasions when it was deemed politic to conceal the fact that a means of ingress to the ship existed by way of the trap-door leading out of the diving-chamber; while von Schalckenberg advanced to the guard-rail by the gangway, and raising his hands above his head, proceeded to make certain mysterious signals to the crouching savage. The effect of these was at once apparent; for the savage, after carefully concealing his shield and spears in the foliage of the adjacent bush, flung himself prone and was at once lost to sight in the long grass. But a minute or two later his head reappeared for a moment at a spot much nearer to the ship, with the double object, apparently, of verifying his direction of progress, and allowing those on board the Flying Fish to see that he was obeying their behest. By the time that the rope ladder had been fixed in position at the lower extremity of the light openwork metal gangway-ladder that was permanently fixed to the ship’s side, the savage was close enough to be spoken to; and the professor called down to him to ascend without fear.
The native—a fine, stalwart bronzed figure of a savage, naked save for the usual front and rear aprons of skin usually worn by them—needed no second bidding, but instantly sprang at the ladder, up which he shinned with the agility of a monkey, drawing it up after him the moment that he had reached the top. Then, having carefully coiled it down upon the bottom step of the permanent ladder, he ascended the latter to the deck, and, stepping in through the gangway, halted as he raised his right hand above his head in salute, with the single word—
“Bietu!”
Von Schalckenberg looked the man up and down for a moment, taking in such details of his scanty costume as the fact that his aprons were of leopard skin, and that he wore a necklace of lion’s and leopard’s claws round his finely modelled neck; also that his body and limbs showed the scars of several wounds; and he came to the conclusion that a chief of some importance stood before him.
“Speak,” said the professor, addressing him in the dialect that he had found effective on the occasion of the previous visit of the party to Ophir. “You have somewhat to say to us. Is it not so?”
“It is even so, O Great Spirit,” answered the savage. “I am Lobelalatutu, a chief of the great Makolo nation which the four Spirits of the Winds condescended to visit many moons ago; and I was present when M’Bongwele, the king, was banished, and Seketulo was made king in his stead. And, behold, for the space of three rains and three dry seasons, and the half of a fourth, things went very well with the nation, and its people were happy; for Seketulo ruled wisely and well, according to the precepts of the four Spirits. The witch-doctors were discredited, and there were no torturings as punishment; but if a man transgressed, he was banished, unless his transgression was very great, and then his head was struck off in the Great Place before the king’s palace.
“And then, behold, on a certain day, when the chiefs were all gathered together in the Great Place, as usual, to take the king’s commands, it was M’Bongwele who came forth to them from the palace, instead of Seketulo. And M’Bongwele spoke, saying that he had grown weary of remaining in exile; that his heart yearned for his people, who were being changed into women under Seketulo’s mild rule, and were growing poor because they no longer made war upon their neighbours and took the spoil; and therefore had he returned to them to restore the nation again to its former greatness. Then he turned to those who were within the palace, and bade them bring forth Seketulo; and when this was done, lo, it was but Seketulo’s body that they brought forth, his heart having been split in twain by M’Bongwele’s broad-bladed war spear.
“And when Seketulo’s body had been placed in the midst, and all had looked upon it, M’Bongwele called aloud, commanding those of us who were in favour of his restoration to the kingship to stand forth and range themselves by his side. And, behold, more than three-fourths of the chiefs stood forth and placed themselves beside M’Bongwele, declaring that the Makolo were a warlike nation, whose spears had grown rusty through remaining so long unwashed in blood, while they were growing ever poorer for lack of their neighbours’ cattle, under Seketulo’s peaceful rule; and that M’Bongwele was far better as a king than had been Seketulo.
“Then spake M’Buta, one of the few chiefs who, with us, had refrained from declaring in M’Bongwele’s favour, asking what would happen to the nation, when the four Spirits of the Winds should return and find M’Bongwele again in power, and Seketulo slain. And M’Bongwele laughed scornfully, and answered that the four Spirits were not likely to return—for how should they find their way back, having once left the country—but that, even if they did, he, M’Bongwele, would again find means to get them into his power, as he had once before done, and that this time he would see that they did not escape him.
“And, thereupon, the majority declared for M’Bongwele; while we who were opposed to him agreed to bide our time and await the return of the Spirits, recognising the futility of resistance at the moment, which, indeed, could but have ended in M’Bongwele’s triumph and our destruction to no purpose.”
“You did well, O Lobelalatutu,” answered von Schalckenberg, approvingly. “To engage in a hopeless fight is but folly. And now, tell me, I pray you, has M’Bongwele in any wise profited from the lesson which we gave him, or has he reverted to his former barbarous methods of ruling you?”
“His rule is even as it was aforetime,” answered the savage. “On the morrow of the day upon which he was re-elected king, he slew M’Buta with his own hand, saying he would have no discontented chiefs under him; and he would have slain the rest of us but for the interposition of those who had gone over to his side, many of whom were our friends. Also he re-established the witch-doctors in their former power and authority, with the result that many who paid them what they deemed an insufficient tribute have died long-lingering deaths, upon the charge that they were plotting against the king’s authority. And, but for the fact that I am a powerful chief, with many friends, ’tis certain that I, even I, Lobelalatutu, would also have been sent along the dark path ere now. And now, behold, my life is forfeit. For well I know that M’Bongwele too truly suspects my intention to come out and acquaint the Great Spirits with what has happened; for see ye those warriors searching hither and thither? They are looking for me; and when next I behold the face of the king it will be to hear my death-sentence—unless, perchance, the Great Spirits should, of their mercy, see fit to preserve my life.”
“Fear not, Lobelalatutu,” answered the professor. “You have done well to come out and tell us these things, and no harm shall befall you. Abide you here with us until we have dealt with M’Bongwele and his witch-doctors. You will then have naught to fear. One thing more. Tell me, now, have any white men visited this country since we were last here?”
“Truly have they, to their great misfortune,” answered Lobelalatutu. “It is now some eight moons since that a party of twelve men and two white women were found by certain of our people encamped yonder on the shore, after a great storm. How they came thither none can say; but it is believed that they must have arrived in a great floating house, the remains of which were seen at some distance from the beach, lying in the great water which dashed over it furiously.
“The fourteen white people, who were like unto yourselves, O Great Spirit, but were dressed in clothing that appeared to have shrunk and become stained through long soaking in the great water that is salt, were by M’Bongwele’s order brought to his village, where he questioned them. But they spoke a tongue that none could understand; they were, therefore, taken out and tormented, some in one way, and some in another.”
“So!” ejaculated von Schalckenberg, through his set teeth. “There are times when I am almost inclined to regret that I am not myself a savage, and capable of adopting savage methods in dealing with such monsters!”
This exclamation he made aloud to his companions in English, as a preliminary to the translation of Lobelalatutu’s story.
“By George! Professor, I sympathise with you in that remark of yours about being a savage, and being capable of adopting savage methods when it comes to punishing such a fellow as this M’Bongwele,” exclaimed Lethbridge, when von Schalckenberg had come to an end. “Mere hanging seems absolutely inadequate; yet what can we do? Our sense of abstract justice may be so keen that, for the moment, we are in full sympathy with the old Mosaic law of ‘an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,’ but which of us could deliberately set to work to serve the savage as he has served others? We simply could not do it; and I suppose it is this revolt of our souls against the idea of cruelty—the infliction of unnecessary suffering—that makes the British such successful colonisers, and wins them such universal respect among foreigners, whether civilised or savage.”
“Yes,” agreed the professor, “your ineradicable disposition to temper justice with mercy has doubtless much to do with it, although,” he added slyly, “there is a feeling abroad that there have been occasions when you have permitted this national tendency to run riot and carry you to quite ridiculous extremes. For example—”
“Oh, pray spare us, Professor,” laughed Sir Reginald; “there is no need to quote specific instances; we all know the kind of thing you mean. But then, you know, legislators as a body will do many things that no sane man would ever dream of, and that make the ordinary level-headed individual gasp with amazement at the folly of the ‘collective wisdom’ of our countrymen. Such folly, however, always has been, and I suppose it will continue to the end of time, so it is not of much use to worry about it. Meanwhile, we are straying from the point, which is: How are we to deal with M’Bongwele? Shall we be justified in assuming the responsibility of undertaking to punish him?”
“Probably not,” answered Mildmay. “If we hang this savage, and the fact should become known at home, I venture to prophesy that letters will be written to the newspapers denouncing us as murderers, and proclaiming that it is such people as we who, by our high-handed and ferocious methods, get the white man into bad odour with the gentle savage. Yet this fellow richly deserves punishment, if any man ever deserved it, and if we do not inflict it he will certainly escape scot-free, and live on to perpetrate further barbarities. I say, therefore, let us move up to his place, bring him and his witch-doctors to trial, and, if they are proved guilty, hang the lot of them!”
“Hear, hear, sailor-man, you speak like a book. It is evident that there is no sentimental nonsense about you,” exclaimed Lethbridge. “Sentimentalism does not pay when dealing with the noble savage; he does not understand it, and indulgence in it simply means encouragement to continue his playful practices of roasting people alive, and so on. Sharp, salutary chastisement he does understand, and a little of it judiciously and fearlessly meted out often teaches a wholesome lesson that saves many lives. I therefore say, with you, let us go up to his village and bring the fellow to trial.”
“Very well,” agreed Sir Reginald, somewhat reluctantly. “I suppose it is really our duty to do this, so let us do it. But it is rather a disagreeable business to be mixed up in all the same.”
“Disagreeable! undoubtedly,” assented Lethbridge; “but certainly not to be shirked on that account. I can sympathise with you in your reluctance to do this thing, old chap; merely to depose M’Bongwele was one thing, to hang him and his crowd of murdering witch-doctors is quite another, and this is the first affair of the kind that you have been mixed up in. With me it is different. In my military capacity I have, on several occasions, been obliged to try prisoners and condemn them to death—and so, too, has Mildmay, I’ll be bound. It means the doing of an unpleasant thing as the only means whereby to put an effectual stop to something infinitely more unpleasant. At least, that is how I look at it.”
“Yes, of course you are quite right. Let us go at once and get the affair over as soon as possible,” said Sir Reginald, turning away to enter the pilot-house and assume the control of the ship during the proposed movement of her to the village.
“We are now about to move to M’Bongwele’s palace and bring him to trial for his many misdeeds,” explained von Schalckenberg to Lobelalatutu. “You will remain with us until the trial is over.”
“Bietu!” answered the chief, saluting in token of his submission to the will of these strange beings. He stood deeply considering for a moment, and then said, hesitatingly: “Since the Great Spirits are about to right the wrongs which we have suffered at the hands of M’Bongwele and his witch-doctors, it may be that they would be willing to save the life of Siswani, one of the chiefs who was opposed to the reinstatement of M’Bongwele. Like myself, he has been a marked man from the hour when he held back from joining those who supported M’Bongwele, and it was but yesterday that the witch-doctors found a cause against him. His punishment was to begin this morning at sunrise.”
“Oh, horror! and it is now nearly noon,” exclaimed the professor, in horrified accents. “Why did you not mention it before, man? What is the nature of the punishment?”
“His eyelids were to be cut off, and he was then to be pegged down on an ants’ nest and smeared with honey, that the insects might devour him alive,” was the calm answer.
“Ah!” ejaculated the professor. “Yes, I know that punishment; I have seen it inflicted!” And he shuddered and turned sick at the memory. “Do you know where the place of punishment is?” demanded the professor, sharply.
“Yes, I know it,” answered Lobelalatutu. “It is that much beyond the village on its far side.” And, pointing to the sun, he described with his finger a small arc representing the apparent travel of that luminary across the sky during a quarter of an hour.
The professor turned to the pilot-house, through one of the windows of which the baronet was seen looking out, with his hands on the controlling levers, waiting the conclusion of the conference between his friend and the savage.
“Quick, Elphinstone!” he exclaimed, “make for the village at once, but do not stop there. Pass on about a mile beyond it, to a spot which Lobelalatutu will point out to us. If we are quick we may be in time to save a man’s life!”
Sir Reginald needed no second bidding. With one hand he threw back the levers controlling the grip-anchors that held the ship to the ground, while with the other he opened the valve that admitted vapour into the air-chambers and created a vacuum sufficient to raise the ship about a thousand feet into the air, from which elevation a wide extent of country became visible. Then he sent the engines ahead at a speed of about twenty-knots, and put the helm over to turn the ship’s head in the direction of the distant village, now in clear sight from the deck. Meanwhile the professor beckoned to Mildmay, and said—
“My friend, I think you had better persuade the ladies to go below for a few minutes, for the chances are that we shall presently behold a sight that would haunt them for ever, should they happen to see it.”
Then he turned to Lobelalatutu and said—
“Now, if you can see the place of punishment, point it out to me.”
“Behold, it is there,” answered the savage, pointing. “You may see the guard that has been stationed round about the prisoner.”
And, indeed, as von Schalckenberg looked ahead, a small dark blotch beneath a group of thorn-trees resolved itself into a body of some fifty fully-armed warriors grouped in a circle round something else that lay stretched out upon the ground.
“Do you see that party of savages ahead, Elphinstone?” demanded the professor. “Make straight for them.”
“Right! I see them,” answered Sir Reginald. And, as he spoke, the ladies, escorted by Mildmay, vanished within the pilot-house on their way below.
A moment later the Flying Fish was sweeping over M’Bongwele’s village, the inhabitants of which could be seen scuttling into their huts, like so many rabbits into their holes, evidently in a state of lively terror at the portentous reappearance of the well-remembered ship of the Four Spirits wending its way toward the spot where the king’s latest victim had that morning been led forth to undergo the torture.