“By George! Professor, I sympathise with you in that remark of yours about being a savage, and being capable of adopting savage methods when it comes to punishing such a fellow as this M’Bongwele,” exclaimed Lethbridge, when von Schalckenberg had come to an end. “Mere hanging seems absolutely inadequate; yet what can we do? Our sense of abstract justice may be so keen that, for the moment, we are in full sympathy with the old Mosaic law of ‘an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,’ but which of us could deliberately set to work to serve the savage as he has served others? We simply could not do it; and I suppose it is this revolt of our souls against the idea of cruelty—the infliction of unnecessary suffering—that makes the British such successful colonisers, and wins them such universal respect among foreigners, whether civilised or savage.”
“Yes,” agreed the professor, “your ineradicable disposition to temper justice with mercy has doubtless much to do with it, although,” he added slyly, “there is a feeling abroad that there have been occasions when you have permitted this national tendency to run riot and carry you to quite ridiculous extremes. For example—”
“Oh, pray spare us, Professor,” laughed Sir Reginald; “there is no need to quote specific instances; we all know the kind of thing you mean. But then, you know, legislators as a body will do many things that no sane man would ever dream of, and that make the ordinary level-headed individual gasp with amazement at the folly of the ‘collective wisdom’ of our countrymen. Such folly, however, always has been, and I suppose it will continue to the end of time, so it is not of much use to worry about it. Meanwhile, we are straying from the point, which is: How are we to deal with M’Bongwele? Shall we be justified in assuming the responsibility of undertaking to punish him?”
“Probably not,” answered Mildmay. “If we hang this savage, and the fact should become known at home, I venture to prophesy that letters will be written to the newspapers denouncing us as murderers, and proclaiming that it is such people as we who, by our high-handed and ferocious methods, get the white man into bad odour with the gentle savage. Yet this fellow richly deserves punishment, if any man ever deserved it, and if we do not inflict it he will certainly escape scot-free, and live on to perpetrate further barbarities. I say, therefore, let us move up to his place, bring him and his witch-doctors to trial, and, if they are proved guilty, hang the lot of them!”
“Hear, hear, sailor-man, you speak like a book. It is evident that there is no sentimental nonsense about you,” exclaimed Lethbridge. “Sentimentalism does not pay when dealing with the noble savage; he does not understand it, and indulgence in it simply means encouragement to continue his playful practices of roasting people alive, and so on. Sharp, salutary chastisement he does understand, and a little of it judiciously and fearlessly meted out often teaches a wholesome lesson that saves many lives. I therefore say, with you, let us go up to his village and bring the fellow to trial.”
“Very well,” agreed Sir Reginald, somewhat reluctantly. “I suppose it is really our duty to do this, so let us do it. But it is rather a disagreeable business to be mixed up in all the same.”
“Disagreeable! undoubtedly,” assented Lethbridge; “but certainly not to be shirked on that account. I can sympathise with you in your reluctance to do this thing, old chap; merely to depose M’Bongwele was one thing, to hang him and his crowd of murdering witch-doctors is quite another, and this is the first affair of the kind that you have been mixed up in. With me it is different. In my military capacity I have, on several occasions, been obliged to try prisoners and condemn them to death—and so, too, has Mildmay, I’ll be bound. It means the doing of an unpleasant thing as the only means whereby to put an effectual stop to something infinitely more unpleasant. At least, that is how I look at it.”
“Yes, of course you are quite right. Let us go at once and get the affair over as soon as possible,” said Sir Reginald, turning away to enter the pilot-house and assume the control of the ship during the proposed movement of her to the village.
“We are now about to move to M’Bongwele’s palace and bring him to trial for his many misdeeds,” explained von Schalckenberg to Lobelalatutu. “You will remain with us until the trial is over.”
“Bietu!” answered the chief, saluting in token of his submission to the will of these strange beings. He stood deeply considering for a moment, and then said, hesitatingly: “Since the Great Spirits are about to right the wrongs which we have suffered at the hands of M’Bongwele and his witch-doctors, it may be that they would be willing to save the life of Siswani, one of the chiefs who was opposed to the reinstatement of M’Bongwele. Like myself, he has been a marked man from the hour when he held back from joining those who supported M’Bongwele, and it was but yesterday that the witch-doctors found a cause against him. His punishment was to begin this morning at sunrise.”