Bosambo was not to blame for every crime laid at his door. He had a feud with the Akasava, not without reason. The death of M'Kovo his enemy was not sufficient to extinguish the obligation, for the Akasava had spilt blood, and that rankled for many months. He was by nature a thief, being a Krooman from the Liberian coast before he came to be king over the simple and fearful Ochori.
So when all the trouble between the Akasava and Ochori seemed at rest, Sanders had occasion to come to the Ochori country in a hurry—and the river was low.
There is no chart of the big river worth two cents in the dry season, because unexpected sand banks come barking up in the fairway, and there are whole stretches of river wherein less than a fathom of water runs. Sometimes the boy sitting on the bow of the Zaire, thrusting a pliant rod into the stream, would cry through his nose that there were two fathoms of water when there was but one.
He was, as I have beforetime said, of the Kano folk, and somewhat religious, dreaming of a pilgrimage to Mecca, and a green band round his tarboosh.
"I declare to you the glory of God and a fathom and a little."
Bump!
"Get overboard, you talkative devil!" said Sanders, who was more annoyed because this was the fourteenth bank he had struck since he left headquarters. So the whole crew jumped waist deep into the water, and singing a little song as they toiled, pushed the boat clear.
Sanders struck his thirty-ninth bank just before he came to the village of Ochori, and he landed in a most unamiable mood.
"Bosambo," he said, "I have two minds about you—the one is to hang you for your many wickednesses, the other is to whip you."
"Master," said Bosambo with grave piety, "all things shall be as ordained."