“How long do you think he would have lived, but for that stroke of the spear?” asked Sir Reginald.
Von Schalckenberg shrugged his shoulders.
“Who can say?” he retorted. “Had he been left alone, he would perhaps have lingered in indescribable agony until sunset, when the poison in his system would have done its work, and he would have died. On the other hand, had I employed my utmost skill, and been free to give my undivided attention to him for, say, a month, I might, perhaps, have been so far successful as to have prolonged his life to the extent of two or three years; during which—deaf, dumb, blind, utterly helpless, and every movement a torture to him—he would have been dependent upon others for the necessities of life.”
“Then,” said Sir Reginald, “if I could know that the condition which you have described was the best that the future held in store for him, I would have put my sentimentality in my pocket and—”
“Quite so,” assented the professor, with a nod; “and, in my opinion, your act would have been a meritorious one. Well, we were hours too late to be of any use to the poor fellow; but it may be that we shall still be in time to punish his murderer and the murderer of those fourteen unhappy white people who died to gratify the ferocious instincts of a savage despot. Let us be going. Come,” he added, laying his hand upon Lobelalatutu’s naked shoulder, “we shall need you while doing the work that lies before us. After we have finished you can send out men to do what is necessary here.”
And, with a very grim expression of face, he turned and led the way to the Flying Fish.
Ten minutes later the ship came gently to earth in the Great Place before M’Bongwele’s palace. The village appeared at first sight to be deserted, for not a soul was to be seen in any direction; but the low wail of an infant, suddenly breaking in upon the silence, and issuing from one of the huts, betrayed the fact that at least one small atom of humanity still lingered about the place; and where so small a baby was, the mother would probably be not far off.
The five white men—each with his rifle in his hand, as a safeguard against possible accident—stared about them in perplexity.
“What has happened, Lobelalatutu; what has become of your people?” demanded the professor.
“They are hiding in their huts,” answered the chief. “They remember what happened when the Four Spirits last visited us, and they are afraid!”