We left Munza to his reflections, rejoined our escort, and, a few moments afterwards, entered our enclosure. After the first feeling of surprise had passed away, we, all of us, set to work calmly to consider de Morin's plan, and we could not help coming to the conclusion that, even granting that it would be difficult of realization, and might involve us in terrible straits, it still held out some appreciable advantages. In common justice to our friend we were also bound to confess that he had no choice of means to his end, and that we were this very morning in a position of great difficulty. For some days past we have, all of us, been thoroughly convinced, though we dare not say so out loud, that the King of the Monbuttoos would never allow us either to continue our journey towards the south, or to return by the way we came. His passion for Madame de Guéran was a warrant of imprisonment for us; neither prayers nor persuasion would have any effect upon him, and if we desired our liberty we could only obtain it by force.
We next mustered our little army. Thirty soldiers remained to us, and, amongst the bearers, there were not more than twenty whom we could trust with arms, and that only should the worst come to the worst. Taking ourselves, Nassar, and the interpreters into our calculations, we could rely upon fifty-five men, well-armed, and capable of holding out for a considerable time against several hundreds of negroes. But, granting that we slaughtered them wholesale, and by means of our long-range rifles, laid all these enemies low, would not more still, and ever increasing hordes, rise up in answer to the summons of their King? Worn out, destitute of ammunition, hopeless, and distressed at so much bloodshed, should we not end by giving up the futile struggle, or succumbing to superior numbers? A handful of Europeans have been known to make head against an entire African tribe, but it would be quite another thing to oppose a regular nation of warriors, commanded by a King, fiery, resolute, and personally interested in obtaining a victory.
Suppose, for the sake of argument, we overcome all these obstacles, and a lucky shot rids us of Munza—suppose all his soldiers take to flight, and our path is open? What then? Would not our little force, diminished enough already, be still further reduced in the course of so terrible a struggle? Should we find in a hostile country, where every man would have some relative to avenge, the means necessary for our onward progress? And, even if we were to reach the district governed by Degberra, would not he oppose us just as his brother had done?
Again, suppose we succeed in forcing our way, as many solitary travellers have done, not through this district, it is true, but through others equally dangerous, suppose we reach our destination, and find M. de Guéran a prisoner amongst the Momvoos, the Akkas, or that other tribe of which the Monbuttoos have occasionally spoken—a tribe governed by a woman, a species of Amazon. Even then, how should we, when weakened and scarcely able to defend ourselves, manage to rescue our fellow countryman? We should share his captivity, and that would be the only result we should achieve.
How entirely, on the other hand, would the situation be changed if Munza should make common cause with us, and accompany us as an ally! We should no longer be merely fifty; we should be two thousand, five thousand, any number, in fact. Our handful of men would become an army led and commanded by Europeans, supported by our escort, and strengthened by the possession of fire-arms. No African tribe could stand against us, and nothing would prevent our reaching the eastern extremity of the continent and the Indian ocean.
It may be objected that the King of the Monbuttoos would not dare to advance more than thirty leagues, a formidable distance in these parts, beyond his frontier. But we do not want him to do more; thirty leagues to the south-east will bring us to the nearest spurs of the Blue Mountains! Munza's army might leave us then; it would, indeed, be of no further use to us. It would rest with us to cross these mountains, on the other side of which we should come upon the Lake Albert Nyanza, and should we succeed in reaching its farther shore, we should find paths, if not well-worn, at all events marked on the map by Speke, Grant, and Burton.
But, it may be asked, what about Munza? How have you disposed of him? Is he likely to let you quietly pursue your journey, whilst he leads his army back again to his kingdom? Do not forget that you are his prisoners, bound to follow him, and to return with him. In three months your position would be much the same as it is now.
Clearly so, if we could not regain our liberty and get rid of the Monbuttoos; but though that would be a difficult matter now, when the army is backed by the whole nation, it would be very different, however, if that army, instead of being at home and amongst its own countrymen, were occupying a hostile territory. It would be disheartened by fatigue, decimated, possibly, by the battles it had been obliged to fight, and weakened in a hundred other ways. Desperate as we should be, and under a positive necessity to conquer, we should be in a position to fight it under advantageous circumstances. God helping us, we should gain the day. Another objection might, I admit, be urged against this course of proceeding. We might be asked whether our consciences would not reproach us for waging open warfare against our allies, by whose aid alone we have been enabled to surmount so many obstacles?
Our consciences! Why drag them into the discussion? Are we likely to give way to sentiment in our present position, face to face with an army of cannibals and a negro king who, only a few hours ago, proposed to send us the heads of his eighty wives on copper dishes? Why does he keep us prisoners in his kingdom, and interfere with our plans? Is it not he who is driving us to cunning and artifice? He is the stronger, so we must be the cleverer of the two. Our right to fight against him, and conquer him if we can, is indisputable.
On the question of conscience, we are open to attack in one particular alone. In order to open up a passage towards the south and thereby serve our personal interest, is it right for us to draw after us a whole army, to let it work its will on the way, as is the custom of all African armies, and spread ruin and desolation on all around? But even on this score we are above reproach. The King of the Monbuttoos, as I have already recorded, has for the last fortnight been making preparations for war on a large scale, and every year, at this time, when the rainy season is drawing to a close, he attacks his neighbours, either north or south. We, therefore, are not altering the course of events in any way, but we may be able to effect some improvement by using our influence over Munza in mitigation of the horrors and carnage of savage warfare.