Samba was leaving Ilombekabasi.
Four persons stood by the little bamboo bed. At the foot a dog crouched, whimpering. Father and mother bent in mute agony over their son; Lukela, the fountain of her tears dried through long weeping, hovering above her boy as though by sheer power of love to guard him from the dread visitant already at the threshold; Mboyo rocking himself to and fro in the abandonment of sorrow. And the two white men bowed their heads in silent sympathy and grief. They knew that the end was very near.
Jack felt a great lump in his throat as he gazed at the still form, lying with outstretched arms, too weak to move. Poor little fellow! Was this the end of the bright young life, so full of promise? He thought of the days of health, when the boy with happy face went hither and thither, eager to do some service for his beloved master, no matter how hard or how perilous. He thought of the dangers Samba had faced for his parents' sake, and the brightness he had brought into their lives and the lives of hundreds of his people. He thought with agony of the terrible scene when Samba, rather than say a word to the undoing of those he loved, had endured the tortures inflicted by the inhuman agent of a detestable tyranny. And now the end was at hand! The blithe spirit was departing, the poor body done to death by the greed of a Christian King. "Botofé bo le iwa! Rubber is death!" The words rang in Jack's ears; would they were the knell of this despotism, this monstrous "system" that bought wealth with the price of blood!
The end came soon. Samba moved his hand, and turned his eyes, and murmured "Pat!" The watchers barely caught the word, but the dog sprang up, and went to the bed, and nestled his head on the boy's shoulder. Samba murmured his pleasure, a happy smile lit up the brave young eyes, and then the light faded, and went out. Samba had left Ilombekabasi.
They buried him next day in the forest he knew and loved so well, with the ceremonies of his people, and as befitted the son of a chief.
All the people of Ilombekabasi, men, women, and little children, followed him to the grave. They laid by his side the few possessions of the boy—his rifle, his knife, his tin, his wooden spear. And some of his comrades, Makoko and Lingombela and Lianza and Lepoko, fired a salute over him and left him there among the trees.
That night, sitting in Jack's hut, Barney talked of the past and the future.
"Poor ould master came here for gold, sorr. All the gold in all the world is not worth little Samba's life. Whin the master looks down out uv Paradise and sees the people here, I know what he'll say, just as if I heard 'm. He'll say: 'I was niver a philanthrophy, niver did hould wid that sort uv thing. But I'm rale glad that bhoy uv mine wint out wid me in time to make a few poor black people happy. Poor craturs! God bless 'em!' Sure, sorr, black people have got their feelings—same as dogs."
THE END
Butler and Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London