CHAPTER XII
Samba Comes Back
As Jack had expected, Boloko was flattered by the invitation, with its implied recognition of his importance. There is nothing a negro likes better than an opportunity for talk, and Boloko declared himself quite ready to meet the Inglesa. But he would not venture into the camp; the meeting must take place outside. The objection, considering the thinly-veiled hostility of the two parties, was not unreasonable. Jack gave up the idea of a banquet, and, about eight o'clock in the morning, went with Barney and Lepoko to the site of his original camp, where he found Boloko and half a dozen of his men already assembled.
It is of the essence of a palaver to be deliberate, not to say long-winded, and Jack followed the advice of Lepoko in passing many compliments and talking about a great variety of matters before he came to the point. Then, however, he made the point perfectly clear. He spoke of what he had learnt of the forest guards' behaviour in the village, and of Bomolo's outrage in particular.
"You must know," he concluded, "that it is against the law of the land to injure or assault the people. Your duty is to see that they do not destroy the vines by improper cutting, and that they go regularly into the forest. You have no right to ill-use them."
"The white man speaks very wisely; he knows much more than Boloko. Boloko knows nothing of law or right; he does what is the custom."
"But you know, my friend, it is a wrong custom."
"It may be as the white man says, but the Inglesa is not my master. My master is Elobela. Let the Inglesa complain to Elobela. As for right, what right has the Inglesa to interfere? He is a stranger; he is not a servant of the Great White Chief."
"I am indeed a stranger; I am not a servant of the Great White Chief. But the Great Spirit who made the world and all men bids me speak if I see wrong done."
Boloko broke out in insolent laughter, and said something to his men which Lepoko refused to translate.
"Him say berrah nasty fing 'bout massa; me no can tell massa."
Jack saw that it was time to bring the interview to a close. There was no coping with insolence.
"Very well," he said sternly. "It will be my duty to report at Boma what I have seen and heard in the village. And more, Boloko; I shall lay a complaint against you for attempting to cut loose our canoes, and for conducting an attack by night upon our camp."
Boloko looked startled and began to bluster when this was translated to him. But it was evident that this manner was assumed as a cloak to a real uneasiness. The moment Lepoko had concluded, Jack walked away from the meeting, and as he returned to his own quarters he heard the guards discussing in excited and vehement tones what he had said. For all his bluster, Boloko had been impressed. For a few days Jack heard of no overt acts of violence. Imbono's gratitude for the intervention was almost overwhelming. He heaped praise and compliments upon his brother Lokolobolo, and, not content with words, made him a valuable present. Half a dozen of his men staggered to Jack's hut one night under the weight of a huge tusk of ivory, which Imbono had kept since the time when elephant-hunting was a profitable occupation.
Two days after the palaver a canoe arrived with another dozen Mauser rifles and ammunition from Mr. Martindale. The head paddler was cautious enough to send one of his men in advance to the camp to announce his arrival, and Jack managed to get the rifles brought secretly within his stockade under cover of night. It was just as well, he thought, to keep Boloko in ignorance of this new acquisition of strength.
The man reported that he had been despatched from Irebo by an Inglesa who had entrusted him with a bonkanda[[1]] for the young Inglesa. Jack opened the note eagerly. This time it was very short:—
DEAR JACK,—
All going well. Have been delayed by little investigating trips I have made in the concessions of the Abir Trust and the Domaine de la Couronne. Atrocities even worse than I thought. Hope all well with you. Patience—and tact.
J.M.
P.S.—I am sending a dozen rifles and some ammunition; can't get any more.
The paddler said that he had had great difficulty in eluding the white men and their agents. Only a few days before, he and his companions had almost run into a white man who was coming up the river in a smoke-boat, establishing new outposts for the collection of rubber. No doubt an outpost would be established at Ilola; for Imbono was the chief of several villages and had many young men.
This news gave Jack no little uneasiness. Instinctively he felt that the difficulties arising from Boloko's presence would be increased by the arrival of his Belgian superior. For after what he had learnt from his uncle he could not doubt that the tyranny of the forest guards was practised at least with the connivance, if not by the actual authority, of the officials. As a precaution he took care to have men constantly on the look-out at the river bank for the approach of strange boats, and when one day Elbel's launch was sighted, he withdrew all his men within the stockade and posted double sentries. He felt pretty sure that the white man in command was Monsieur Elbel, the man with whom Mr. Martindale had already had a brush; and of Elbel he had a profound mistrust, formed at first sight and accentuated by all that he had subsequently heard.
Boloko and his satellites went in a crowd to the bank of the river to greet the new arrivals. From behind his stockade Jack watched them through his field-glass as they landed from the launch and set off for the village. The white man was certainly Elbel. He was accompanied by a number of forest guards armed like Boloko's, and by a crowd of hangers-on—negroes of many varieties. On the way up to the village Boloko walked by Elbel's side, talking very earnestly, and Jack saw the Belgian throw a keen and inquisitive glance in the direction of his camp.
Not an hour afterwards Elbel left the village and walked over to Jack's settlement, which the natives had named Ilombikambua, "house of the dog," in reference to Pat the terrier. Jack had given orders that the white man was to be admitted if he came, but no black man in his company. The Belgian had come alone, and looked a little surprised when the sentries at the gate received him with a correct military salute. Jack rose from his stool in front of his hut and doffed his hat courteously. Outwardly he was calm enough; but he felt by no means easy in mind, realizing that his responsibility was far from being the "jolly lark" he had light-heartedly called it when Mr. Martindale announced his intention of leaving him in charge.
"Good morning, sir," said the Belgian in his foreign accent.
"Good morning. I think I have the pleasure of addressing Monsieur Elbel?"
"Dat is my name. I do not know your name."
"John Challoner."
"Yes, I believe I see you before in a canoe."
"When I was coming up the river with my uncle."
"Who is now returned to Boma. Yes, I heard of dat. Mr. Martindale—I zink dat is de name—have found de gold he sought?"
"I am not at liberty to discuss Mr. Martindale's business."
"Exactly. I see. Ve must not be indiscreet, hein? Now as for your Mr. Martindale, I am not pleased, I say at vunce. I am not pleased viz Mr. Martindale. He refuse to give me up de black boy dat vas in your canoe. Dat vas against de law: it is not permitted in de Congo State for de natives to leave deir village."
"But if the village no longer exists, Mr. Elbel?"
The Belgian shrugged.
"Dat make no difference! But I have more to say. I have learn dat your men have rifles; I see dem myself; dey even hold deir rifles at de salute, dey have military training, hein? Now it is not permitted to have rifles in de Congo State: dey are vat you call contraband. I muss ask you to be so kind and give de rifles to me."
"I am afraid I can't oblige you, Mr. Elbel. The rifles belong to my uncle."
"Dat make no difference! I find de rifles here: I muss ask you in de name of de Free State to give dem up."
"I don't know that you have any right to speak in the name of the Congo State. I believe, sir, you are an official of the Société Cosmopolite du Commerce du Congo—a private trust. I can't recognize your authority, Mr. Elbel."
"But it is de law."
"If you talk of law! ... are your practices legal, Mr. Elbel? Is it legal to shoot and maim the natives as you have been doing for a hundred miles and more along the river? Is it legal to incite a night attack on peaceable travellers?" (Here Elbel could not suppress a start, and looked far from comfortable.) "But whether I am acting legally or not, I cannot recognize your authority. If you want the rifles, I must ask you to wait until Mr. Martindale's return and demand them from him. Until then they are in my charge, and I cannot give them up."
Jack thought afterwards that he might have spoken a little less bluntly; but he wished to put an end to a disagreeable interview. His firmness made the Belgian angry.
"Ver' vell, ver' vell!" he said, flushing with annoyance. "You vill suffer for dis. You not recognize my right: vell, Capitaine Van Vorst, an officer of de State, comes up de river; he have right; and I say, Mr. Chon Shalloner, you shall be arrest and made to pay heavy amende—if not put in prison."
Jack's bow was a courteous intimation that the interview was ended. But the Belgian caught the flicker of a smile on his face, and flung away in a rage which he made no attempt to disguise. Jack's sentries, who again brought their rifles to the salute, shrank back before Elbel's scowl as he passed out of the gate.
Jack was not ill-pleased with the result of the interview. You have always scored a point when the enemy loses his temper. Apparently Elbel did not intend to take strong measures himself. He knew the weakness of his position. The situation would be changed if a State officer was indeed on his way up the river: but Jack did not allow himself to be disturbed by Elbel's threat; his uncle would doubtless be back in a few days, and he had unbounded faith in Mr. Martindale's judgment and discretion.
From that time he took care that either Barney or himself should be always in the stockaded camp. His men had become a well-disciplined force, but he could not answer for their being able to act discreetly towards a white man whom they had reason to dread.
For a day or two there was no sign of hostility from Elbel. He did not repeat his visit, which Jack did not feel called upon to return. But news came from Ilola that, while the Belgian's arrival had checked the ghastly ferocities of the forest guards, the chicotte had been still more freely in play than before. Every man whose basket did not contain the requisite five kilos of rubber, or the quality of whose rubber did not approve itself to Elbel, was unmercifully flogged. Those with whom no fault could on any pretext be found were paid with perhaps a piece of cloth or some trumpery article which was useless to them, and which in many cases they threw away.
Imbono sent word one day that the most distant of his villages had been burnt. It contained a hundred adult male inhabitants, but only fifty had brought rubber to Ilola, the remainder having been engaged in hunting down a herd of elephants which had been ravaging their crops. Elbel had refused to accept the explanation. He had retained the fifty men as hostages, and sent a detachment of his forest guards to bring in the unruly fifty and burn their village down. Jack could only express his sympathy: he felt that there was nothing to be done.
One morning Barney, who acted as storekeeper to the camp, reported that food was running short.
"Well, Imbono will supply us," replied Jack.
"Beggin' your pardon, sorr, Imbono has little enough for himself since Elbel and his blagyards came to the place. The thieving villains will have the best, and divil a ha'penny do they pay for it."
"We must have food. When I was at Akumbi the other day I saw a good crop of ground-nuts. I'll go over myself and see if I can arrange for a supply."
Akumbi was the smallest of the chief's villages, situated about five miles up the river. Jack set off early with Lepoko, taking the well-worn path through the fringe of forest. As he approached the village he heard cries of pain. Instinctively he quickened his steps and hurried through the gateway in the stockade; then he came upon a scene that made his blood boil. Tied to a tree was a youth, who, Lepoko told him, was the son of Lofundo, the sub-chief of the village. Elbel was thrashing the captive with the chicotte, every lash cutting into the quivering flesh and provoking shrieks of agony. Not another villager was to be seen; all had fled either into their huts or into the forest.
Infuriated at the sight, Jack forgot all counsels of prudence. He rushed towards the spot, peremptorily calling on Elbel to desist. The Belgian swung round savagely, gave one disdainful look at the interrupter, and raised his arm with the intention of putting all his force into another stroke. But Jack sprang at the uplifted arm, caught Elbel by the wrist and arrested the blow. Wrenching himself free, the Belgian, livid with rage, made a fierce cut at Jack. He was too near for the long lash to have the full effect intended; but Jack felt the sting as the flexible thong curled round him. Then his attitude changed. Before, he had merely been conscious of a desire to protect the negro; now, he was afire with a personal grievance. Elbel had not time to raise the whip for a second stroke. Flinging out his left fist Jack caught him a smashing blow on the cheek, and followed it up with a right-hander which hurled him half senseless to the ground. Elbel staggered to his feet, presenting a piteous spectacle, blood streaming from his nose, his left eye half closed. He groped for his revolver, but the sight of Jack standing over him, pale but determined, revolver in hand ready for the next move, cowed him. He fumbled for a few seconds at his belt, then slunk away without a word.
Jack turns the tables
The village compound was immediately filled with a crowd of natives, who poured out of the huts: whence they had secretly watched the scene. Jack was overwhelmed with protestations of gratitude. He cut the boy loose and restored him, bleeding from the lash, to his father. Then he extricated himself from the excited throng, took Lofundo aside, waived his demonstrations, and, completing the business on which he had come, left the village as soon as he could. Now that the heat of the moment was passed, he feared he had not done the villagers or himself any good. A personal affray with Elbel was the last thing he would have desired; and though he felt that he could hardly have acted otherwise than he had done, he was in anything but an elated mood when he returned to his camp.
He at once told Barney of what had occurred, and spoke of his misgivings.
"Arrah thin, sorr," said the Irishman, "I do not see any cause for disthress at all at all. The villain got his deserts, and 'twill tache him a lesson. Sure I'd like to have seen his face, the spalpeen!"
"But I'd no right to interfere, Barney; you can't get over that."
"Begging your pardon, sorr, I do not agree wid that at all. Ye may say a father has the right to thrash his children; 'twas the holy Solomon himself said so! But if he lays it on too heavy, the law steps in and says 'Hands off!' A farmer has a right to get work out uv his horse; but if he overtaxes the poor baste, the law steps in again and says 'No more uv that.' These poor niggers seem to have to work widout fair pay, and pay rent into the bargain. That's more than an Irishman would stand; and when the nigger-driver begins to maul 'em as well, worse than poor dumb beasts widout souls uv their own—be jabers! sorr, what would I do, if I saw a man ill-treating my Pat? I would knock him down, sorr, if he was the Lord-Liftinant himself!"
The fact that several days passed without any sign of resentment or vengeance on Elbel's part did not make Jack less uneasy. So far from his trouncing having a deterrent effect, the treatment of the natives became steadily worse. Things were following the inevitable course. The vines in the neighbourhood of the village had yielded all the rubber of which they were at present capable, and the men had to go continually further afield. This necessitated their remaining for days at a time away from their homes, in improvised shelters which afforded poor protection against the weather and the wild beasts. They had to put up with indifferent food that gave scanty nourishment. When, having collected the rubber, they returned at last to their homes, they could only remain there a couple of days, for the next demand was upon them. Meanwhile their families had been at the mercy of the forest guards. Day by day complaints came to Jack from Imbono of the brutalities of these ruffians, some of them so horrible that his whole being quivered with passionate indignation. Why did not his uncle return? How long must he remain helpless here, unable to lift a hand in defence of the oppressed?
One evening, just as he had retired to rest, he was woke by Barney and told that a strange negro had come to the gate and asked admittance. He had specially desired to see the Inglesa. Jack sent word that the man was to be brought to him, and awaited his coming outside the hut.
The negro came up in charge of Lepoko. By the light of his electric torch Jack saw a tall man, so much emaciated that he appeared almost a skeleton. His cheeks were sunken in, his arms and legs were no thicker than a child's, and—what was this! The man held up one arm; the hand was gone!
"Who is he?" asked Jack, shuddering at the sight of the half-healed stump.
"Him call Batukuno, sah. Come from Nsongo. Him carry baumba[[2]] to brudder, sah: Ekila, him forest guard, meet Batukuno, say, 'Gib me baumba.' Batukuno say, 'No can do: me carry to brudder.' Rubber day come. Batukuno bring basket; Ekila say, 'Rubber too much bad, Batukuno.' Batukuno say, 'No bad at all; good rubber all same.' Ekila laugh, sah; cut off Batukuno him hand."
"Just in revenge for not getting the baumba?"
"Rebenge, sah, rebenge, all same."
"But how came he here?"
"Boy Samba, sah. Him tell Batukuno Inglesa massa good white man, brudder Tanalay, oh yes! Inglesa no 'fraid Boloko, no 'fraid Elobela; Inglesa gib Batukuno hut, gib food, gib plenty rings. Him come long long way: hurt berrah much, sah, berrah sick; want eat, no can find nuff. Him hide long time 'cos 'fraid Boloko. Now hab got massa; no 'fraid no more; Boloko, Elobela, dem 'fraid now."
"Where is Samba then?"
"Samba him long long way: him go find fader and mudder."
"I was right after all," said Jack turning to Barney. "I'm glad to hear the boy's alive. Well, Lepoko, take Batukuno to one of the huts and give him some supper. Another sign of King Leopold's fatherly treatment, Barney! Uncle said they cut the hands from the dead, but it appears that the living are mutilated too."
"The curse uv Cromwell on them, sorr. But, begging your pardon, you made a mistake."
"How's that?"
"Sure you said 'twas my Irish English that sent little Samba away."
"Did I?" said Jack, laughing. "I'd forgotten it. He's a capital little fellow, Barney. Fancy, going by himself that long journey through the forest to find his people! And yet there are fools who think that because a man is black he hasn't feelings or affections like ourselves."
Batukuno was only the firstfruits of Samba's missionary zeal. From day to day, men, women, and children began to drop in at Jack's camp, many of them mutilated, all showing terrible signs of ill-usage and privation. Some were survivors of Samba's own people, the villagers of Banonga; but they numbered among them men from other tribes. Some had heard of the benevolent Inglesa from Samba's own lips; others from people he had told. Among them was an old chief, who appeared heart-broken at having been compelled to leave his country.
"Why did I leave, you ask, O white man!" he said in reply to a question of Jack's. "In the morning, bullets; in the evening, bullets. They shot our mouths away, they shot through our hearts and our sides. They robbed us of everything we had. Why should we stay to be killed like that? That is why I ran away."
"Were many of your people killed?"
"Ah, ah!" he replied, "once we were as bafumba[[3]] in multitude; now we are only as these."
He spread out his fingers twice or thrice.
"And they have been killed—not dying by the sleeping sickness?"
"No. We have lost a few by the sleeping sickness, but only a few. It is rubber that has killed our people. Botofé bo le iwa!"
Jack's sympathy was keenly enlisted on behalf of these unfortunate people; and he looked forward more and more eagerly for Mr. Martindale's return. He could not but smile a little whimsically, remembering his uncle's protestations, to find that Mr. Martindale was gaining a reputation for general philanthropy through a large section of the Upper Congo territory. But as the stream of fugitives showed no signs of diminishing he began to feel a certain embarrassment. It was all very well to open a cave Adullam for every one that was distressed: to start a hospital for the halt and lame and blind; but the space he had at command within his stockade was limited: already the huts he had reserved for Mr. Martindale and his men were occupied, and every fugitive meant another mouth to feed. He feared, too, lest the peace and order of his settlement should be disturbed by the influx of so many idle strangers. And more than all, he feared that some of the poor wretches who came seeking asylum with him would fall into the hands of Elbel ere they reached their desired haven. It was that consideration that induced him to refuse none who sought admittance. Elbel had been absent for some days from Ilola, and the fugitives, by choosing always the fall of night to approach the place, had so far managed to elude observation by their enemies. But that could not continue; the presence of strangers in Ilombikambua must soon become known to Elbel; then a watch would be set, and the wanderers would be intercepted. What their fate then would be Jack knew too well. None suffered so terribly at the hands of the forest guards as people caught straying from their villages. Such absences interfered with the regularity of the rubber supply, which in turn affected the revenue and reduced profits. No runagate serf in mediæval Europe was more severely dealt with than the Congo native who dared to range afield.
Jack could not hand the people over to Elbel's tender mercies; yet it would soon be impossible to find room for more. While he was puzzling how to deal with this perplexing situation it was suddenly made still more complicated. Early one morning he heard Pat barking with more than his usual vigour, and with a note of wild pleasure which he had not expressed for many a day. Leaving his hut to ask what had happened, he was met by the terrier, who ran up to him, leaped this way and that, darted off towards the gate, then back again, all the time barking with frantic joy. In a moment Jack saw the meaning of the dog's excitement. Samba himself was running towards him!
The boy flung himself down at Jack's feet, paying no attention even to Pat.
"I am glad to see you, very glad," said Jack in Samba's own tongue. "What have you been doing?"
His knowledge of the language was not great enough to permit him to follow Samba's answer, poured out as it was with great rapidity, and a pitiful earnestness that brought a lump to Jack's throat. But Lepoko was at hand, and translated faithfully.
Samba was in terrible distress. He had found his father and mother, and had brought them through peril and privation to the very verge of safety, when they fell among a number of forest guards evidently placed to intercept fugitives. All three were captured and taken to Boloko, who was beside himself with delight at the sight of his brother Mboyo a prisoner. He had a special grudge against him, dating from their old rivalry in Banonga. Elbel had just returned from a visit to outlying villages; the prisoners had been carried before him, and when Boloko explained who they were, the Belgian ordered them to be tied up, and sentenced them to be thrashed publicly on the next day. Samba had contrived to escape from custody, and had now come to implore the Inglesa to save his parents. They were so worn out by their long journey, so ill from the hardships they had suffered, that they would certainly die under the whip.
"Poor little fellow!" said Jack, laying his hand soothingly on the boy's head. "The whipping is to be to-morrow? You are sure?"
Yes; Elobela would be absent this day; he would not return till the evening. The flogging was fixed for dawn on the following morning.
"Come into my hut; we will see what can be done. Barney, you come too."
"Niggers have no feelings!" said Barney, releasing Pat from the grasp in which he had been struggling while Samba told his story. "Begorra! they might as well say the same uv dogs!"
[[1]] Any kind of letter or document.
[[2]] Riches.
[[3]] Driver ants.