Alone, wet, weary, and foodless, with savage enemies around him seeking to kill him, his position might well have appalled the stoutest heart. But an Englishman, whether missionary or soldier, must never know when he is beaten; and so at night he made his way again to the town, and entered it through a hole in the fence and hurried up to the king's compound.
Now the old chief of Tikonko had died shortly before, and the "cry for the dead"—that is, the time of mourning—was not yet over, consequently the new chief or king—whom the missionary called Sandy—had not been fully invested with his new powers.
THE MISSION HOUSE BEFORE ITS DESTRUCTION.
(From a Drawing by Mrs. Vivian.)
"Oh, you have escaped," he cried, when Mr. Goodman came to him. "I am glad indeed. Yes, I will help you, but it is not safe for you to remain in the town. The 'war-boys' are eager to kill you. Where will you go? Ah! you shall appear as one of my wives."
Thus the palaver was short but decisive. Disguised as a woman—an expedient forced on him by urgent necessity—the missionary was conveyed that night out of the town to a hut in the bush belonging to Sandy. Silently through the darksome night the little party crept along, and the missionary was left there alone. He was supposed to be one of the chief's wives, who was ill. In the morning the imaginary wife sought once more the friendly protection of the dense bush, and at night he returned again to the hut.
Stealthily, one of his friendly boys brought him now and again a little food. The lad had secured one of the Mission boxes and procured from it a tin of cocoa, and this cocoa he brought to the missionary, with rice, and occasionally a little fish and meat.
MR. GOODMAN AND HIS MENDI "BOYS."