(Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S.)
Hiding thus, while the yells of the "war-boys" sounded far and near, the missionary lived through those terrible days. Tuesday came and went, also the Wednesday and the Thursday. But Friday morning heralded a change. A message was brought to him that Sandy desired to see him, and to this day Mr. Goodman does not know whether the message was treacherous or not. But, trusting to its honesty, he left the hut to visit the chief, and then, before he had gone far, he suddenly found himself surrounded by the yelling Bompeh "war-boys."
They caught him and shouted round him, but did not then hurt him. Resistance was useless, and with war-whoops and yells of triumph they led him forward as though to Tikonko. But when near the fence they altered their cry: "To Bompeh" they shouted, and to Bompeh he was turned.
For three and a half weary hours the missionary marched on in the blazing sun, and without his white helmet. He was fully surrounded by the yelling savages, and the leader of the party marched beside him with drawn sword. The shouts and excitement of his captors gradually calmed down as they walked along; but, presently, as they neared Bompeh town, his clothes were pulled off his back, and clad only in pants and vest, and without even shoes or stockings, he crept along the burning path with naked and bleeding feet.
But at length the weary march was over. Bompeh town was reached, and then the war-horns were blown, and amid much excitement Mr. Goodman was taken to an open space before the king's hut, where also the people assembled.
THE TRIAL.
The trial was to be held at once; the white man's fate was to be decided.
The chief, whose name was Gruburu, sat on a rude kind of chair in the middle of the people, his prime minister near, and men and women and "war-boys" grouped all round, chiefly according to families. Mr. Goodman, tired with his long journey, sat himself down on a log.