They grip hands, looking into each other's eyes. This may be their last good-bye. One long hand-clasp, one moment of tense emotion, then, clearing his throat, Jack gives an order to his men. They stoop to their bundles, then file quietly out of the gate. Each man has a package to carry, such a package as forms part of every white man's baggage in Africa: one a trunk, another a gun-case, a third a canvas bag, others bales of various kinds. Two strong negroes at the end of the line bear, slung on ropes, a package, strangely shapeless, and to all appearance particularly heavy.
The last has gone out into the darkness. Then Jack turns once more.
"Good-bye, Mr. Arlington."
"Good-bye! Success to you."
"Good-bye, Mr. Dathan."
"God help you, my dear lad," says the missionary.
Then Jack too leaves Ilombekabasi, and the darkness swallows him up.
Towards dusk on the following evening, a party of twenty-five carriers were marching through the forest in the direction of Elbel's stockaded camp. In the midst were four men carrying a litter. They followed the path leading from the river—the path along which Captain Van Vorst had come a few days earlier. For some time they had been shadowed by a negro bearing the arms of a forest guard. They paused for a few moments to rest, and the negro, apparently satisfied by his observations, came up and accosted them.
"You are the servants of Mutela?"
"Yes, that is so. Has Mutela arrived?"