He hoped against hope, and never failed to hunt up these tribes, but disappointment had always been his lot.
So, tired and disheartened at last, he had determined to return, and to strike once more for the lake of the hundred isles.
This returning, however, was not such an easy matter as he had anticipated. For in journeying westwards he found the chiefs with whom he came in contact not unwilling to let him go onwards because he assured them he was coming back. This, and gifts of buttons, etc, procured him liberty to advance, though several times he had to fall back on his rifle, and usually succeeded in scaring warlike chieftains out of their wits.
But on his way back every effort was made to detain him as a slave till he should die, or, as the kings phrased it, “for ever and for ever.”
All this resulted in very slow progress indeed in his backward journey, and constituted a far greater danger than even that from wild beasts.
As an instance of how quickly an African chief can change his tactics, I may tell you of a really warlike tribe whom Harry encountered, who dwelt among the hills in the middle of a vast forest land.
At first the chief of this clan hardly knew how kind to be to Harry and his people. He fêted them and feasted them, brought presents of roasted goat-flesh, of honey, fruit, and of cocoanut beer. Harry much preferred the feasts to the fêtes, for these hardly ever passed without a human sacrifice. He could not tell whether the victims were political offenders or not.
However that may be, had the doomed wretches been simply beheaded it would not have been so awful, but they were first tortured.
In one instance a living chain was made by tying seven unhappy beings head to heels. The tallest branch of a kind of lithe poplar tree was then by great force bent to the ground. To this the living, writhing chain was attached; the branch was then let suddenly free, and up the victims swung.
It is to be hoped they did not suffer long, but they appeared to.