“Where is he?” demanded Sir Reginald, searching with his glasses. “Oh, I see him. Yes; he certainly seems to be signalling to us. Do you see him, Professor?”
“Yes,” answered von Schalckenberg, “I see him. Shall I beckon him to come to us?”
“By all means,” answered Sir Reginald. “I will get out the rope ladder, and we will have him up here on deck.”
And he went off to get up a light rope ladder intended for use upon occasions when it was deemed politic to conceal the fact that a means of ingress to the ship existed by way of the trap-door leading out of the diving-chamber; while von Schalckenberg advanced to the guard-rail by the gangway, and raising his hands above his head, proceeded to make certain mysterious signals to the crouching savage. The effect of these was at once apparent; for the savage, after carefully concealing his shield and spears in the foliage of the adjacent bush, flung himself prone and was at once lost to sight in the long grass. But a minute or two later his head reappeared for a moment at a spot much nearer to the ship, with the double object, apparently, of verifying his direction of progress, and allowing those on board the Flying Fish to see that he was obeying their behest. By the time that the rope ladder had been fixed in position at the lower extremity of the light openwork metal gangway-ladder that was permanently fixed to the ship’s side, the savage was close enough to be spoken to; and the professor called down to him to ascend without fear.
The native—a fine, stalwart bronzed figure of a savage, naked save for the usual front and rear aprons of skin usually worn by them—needed no second bidding, but instantly sprang at the ladder, up which he shinned with the agility of a monkey, drawing it up after him the moment that he had reached the top. Then, having carefully coiled it down upon the bottom step of the permanent ladder, he ascended the latter to the deck, and, stepping in through the gangway, halted as he raised his right hand above his head in salute, with the single word—
“Bietu!”
Von Schalckenberg looked the man up and down for a moment, taking in such details of his scanty costume as the fact that his aprons were of leopard skin, and that he wore a necklace of lion’s and leopard’s claws round his finely modelled neck; also that his body and limbs showed the scars of several wounds; and he came to the conclusion that a chief of some importance stood before him.
“Speak,” said the professor, addressing him in the dialect that he had found effective on the occasion of the previous visit of the party to Ophir. “You have somewhat to say to us. Is it not so?”
“It is even so, O Great Spirit,” answered the savage. “I am Lobelalatutu, a chief of the great Makolo nation which the four Spirits of the Winds condescended to visit many moons ago; and I was present when M’Bongwele, the king, was banished, and Seketulo was made king in his stead. And, behold, for the space of three rains and three dry seasons, and the half of a fourth, things went very well with the nation, and its people were happy; for Seketulo ruled wisely and well, according to the precepts of the four Spirits. The witch-doctors were discredited, and there were no torturings as punishment; but if a man transgressed, he was banished, unless his transgression was very great, and then his head was struck off in the Great Place before the king’s palace.
“And then, behold, on a certain day, when the chiefs were all gathered together in the Great Place, as usual, to take the king’s commands, it was M’Bongwele who came forth to them from the palace, instead of Seketulo. And M’Bongwele spoke, saying that he had grown weary of remaining in exile; that his heart yearned for his people, who were being changed into women under Seketulo’s mild rule, and were growing poor because they no longer made war upon their neighbours and took the spoil; and therefore had he returned to them to restore the nation again to its former greatness. Then he turned to those who were within the palace, and bade them bring forth Seketulo; and when this was done, lo, it was but Seketulo’s body that they brought forth, his heart having been split in twain by M’Bongwele’s broad-bladed war spear.