He got to his feet, and crossed the hut to M'Wané, who still lay asleep. He seized the chief by the shoulders and shook him violently, until the man sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Your people," said he. "Big palaver. Now. Be quick."
M'Wané seemed to understand, for he got up and left the hut. Edward Harden was now awake.
The life that is lived by these Central African tribes finds a parallel in the ancient history of nearly all races that we know of. Government, for the most part, is in the hands of the headman of every village. The maintenance of law and order, the giving of wives, the exchange of possessions, is settled by "palaver," which amounts to a kind of meeting of the entire population, presided over by the chief. Near every village is a regular palaver-ground, usually in the shade of the largest tree in the neighbourhood.
It was here, on this early morning, that M'Wané summoned all the inhabitants of the village--men, women and children. They seated themselves upon the ground in a wide circle, in the midst of which was the trunk of a fallen tree. Upon this trunk the three Europeans seated themselves, Crouch in the middle, with his companions on either side.
When all was ready, M'Wané rose to his feet, and announced in stentorian tones that the little white man desired to speak to them, and that they must listen attentively to what he had to say. Whereupon Crouch got to his feet, and from that moment onward--in the parlance of the theatre--held the stage: the whole scene was his. He talked for nearly an hour, and during that time never an eye was shifted from his face, except when he called attention to the parrot.
He was wonderful to watch. He shouted, he gesticulated, he even danced. In face of his limited vocabulary, it is a wonder how he made himself understood; but he did. He was perfectly honest from the start. Perhaps his experience had taught him that it is best to be honest with savages, as it is with horses and dogs. He said that he had made his way up the Kasai in order to penetrate to the upper reaches of the Hidden River. He said that he had heard of the Fire-gods, and he was determined to find out who they were. For himself, he believed that the Fire-gods were masters of some kind of witchcraft. It would be madness to fight them with spears and bows and arrows. He believed, from what he had heard, that even his own rifle would be impotent. High on a tree-top was perched a parrot, that preened its feathers in the sunlight, and chattered to itself. Crouch pointed this parrot out to the bewildered natives, and then, lifting his rifle to his shoulder, fired, and the bird fell dead to the ground. That was the power he possessed, he told them: he could strike at a distance, and he seldom failed to kill. And yet he dared not approach the Fire-gods, because they were masters of witchcraft. But he also knew the secrets of magic, and his magic was greater and more potent than the magic of the Fire-gods. He could not be killed; he was immortal. He was prepared to prove it. Whereat, he re-loaded his rifle, and deliberately fired a bullet through his foot.
The crowd rushed in upon him from all sides, stricken in amazement. But Crouch waved them back, and stepping up to Edward, told the Englishman to shoot again. Harden lifted his rifle to his shoulder, and sent a bullet into the ankle of Crouch's cork foot. Thereupon, Crouch danced round the ring of natives, shouting wildly, springing into the air, proving to all who might behold that he was a thousand times alive.
They fell down upon their faces and worshipped him as a god. Without doubt he had spoken true: he was invulnerable, immortal, a witch-doctor of unheard-of powers.
But Crouch had not yet done. Before they had time to recover from their amazement, he had snatched out his glass eye, and thrust it into the hands of M'Wané himself, who dropped it like a living coal. They rushed to it, and looked at it, but dared not touch it. And when they looked up, Crouch had another eye in the socket--an eye that was flaming red.