"No, I shall do myself no harm. If you will be patient—for I shall be slow—a little at a time, Jack. You must know. I've got pretty nearly to the end of my tether, dear boy. I shan't live to do anything for these poor niggers, but you will—you will, Jack. And I want you to vow here, at this moment, to do what I must leave undone—fight the Congo State, Jack, fight Leopold, with your hands, your tongue, your pen, here, in Europe, in America; fight him in the name of humanity and of God. Promise me that, Jack, so that if I do not live till the morning I shall at least die happy."
"God helping me, Uncle, I will."
Mr. Martindale pressed his hand. For some time there was silence, then the elder man began again.
"I must try to speak calmly, my boy; I have so little strength; but it is hard. I told you in my first letter of what I had learnt about the ways of the Congo State. You wondered, I dare say, why I never mentioned them again. You will understand why. When I got to Boma, I reported to the Governor-General, in a written memorial, the incidents that occurred as we went up the river—the altercation with Elbel, the attempt on our canoes, the night attack on our camp, frustrated by Samba. (I can't tell you how glad I was, Jack, when you told me the boy had returned to you.) I forestalled the probable answer that Elbel had nothing to do with those attempts by pointing out that the negroes Samba saw were fully armed, and must have been under a white man's control. Even then it was illegal, for I found that men in Elbel's position, representing Concessions, are not entitled to take more than five riflemen as escort beyond the limits of their trading factories. In my memorial I said that, after these attacks on me, I should be forced in self-defence to arm a certain number of my followers, and I disclaimed responsibility for the consequences. I also reported the scene of desolation at Banonga, and the story I had heard from Samba's lips; and called upon the Governor-General to take instant action in the matter."
Jack moistened his uncle's lips, and he continued:
"I got an acknowledgment, polite enough, even pleasant, promising that these matters should be inquired into. The Governor-General added that the possession of firearms and the arming of the natives being prohibited by law, I should become liable to heavy penalties and imprisonment if the law was broken. I had luckily already sent you the rifles and ammunition; though had I not done so, I could easily have bribed an official to give me a permit to carry arms; it would have cost me five hundred francs for the licence, and as much as I chose for the bribe.
"For a week I heard no more. I was deceived by the politeness of the Governor-General's letter into believing that I was perfectly safe, and free to do, in this Free State, what I had come to do. I set about my business, and, as I told you, bought a little machinery, from a fellow named Schwab, agent for a Düsseldorf firm. But I was a marked man. One day an officer came and asked me to show my patent. I did so. The man complained that it was not properly filled up; my name was spelled with an 'e' instead of an 'i'—Martendale! I laughed at him, and he went away in a huff. Next day another fellow came and said that my patent was worthless. Since it had been granted a new arrangement had been entered into between the Concession and the State, and all the mineral rights in the district reverted to the State. I laughed at that; a patent granted by the Concession and authorized by the State could not be revoked; it had five years to run, and I meant to stick to it. They wanted to bluff me—an American!—out of it.
"But things began to go badly with me. I was practically boycotted, Jack. None of the storekeepers would supply me with anything I wanted. One of them frankly told me that to do so was as much as his life was worth. I did not believe him at first. But I found it was only too true. A storekeeper in Boma I heard of—a British subject, Jack, from the Gold Coast—had a part in showing up the rascality of some legal proceedings that had recently taken place. The officials gave the word. He was boycotted; his trade dwindled; he became bankrupt; one of his sons was driven mad by the persecution he suffered; and his troubles and worries so preyed upon the old man's mind that he took his own life.
"Then I fell ill. It was a near touch, Jack. Only the devotion of a fellow-countryman—a fine fellow from Milwaukee—saved my life. Remember his name, Jack—Theodore Canrehan; if you ever meet him, and can do him a good turn, do it for my sake. When I got on my feet again, I was amazed to find the tune changed. Everybody was as sweet as butter. The officers came and apologized to me; they regretted the unfortunate misunderstandings that had arisen; they would do all in their power to forward my business. I arranged for the dispatch of the machinery I had ordered from Europe, and started to return. I couldn't make out what had made them suddenly so attentive; thought it was because I was an American, and they had some respect for the Stars and Stripes after all. Canrehan told me that since I sailed a strong feeling had been growing in America with regard to the Congo question; and I flattered myself the State authorities weren't anxious to add fuel to the flames by provoking a real serious grievance in which an American was concerned. But it was all a trap, Jack—all a trap. I saw it too late—too late."
Hitherto Mr. Martindale had spoken slowly and calmly, husbanding his strength. But at this point his feeling overcame him.