When the shouts with which the natives received Sir John's brief speech had subsided, Tom asked that the principal men might be allowed to come to his litter and bid him a more personal farewell. Accordingly, Mwonga, with Msala, Mwonda, the kasegara, and eight others marched up in single file. They passed by the left side of the litter, and as Tom gave them his limp hand in turn, each stooped down, pressed it lightly to his brow, and descended in solemn silence to his place in front of the attentive crowd. The simple scene was too much for Mr. Barkworth's feelings; his handkerchief was diligently employed, and he was unfeignedly glad when, the ceremony being now at an end, the procession re-formed in preparation for starting on the long homeward march. The drums gave out their hollow notes, the multitude swayed as they marked time, and striking up an improvised song in which Kuboko's uncle and the white lady had the largest mention next to Kuboko himself, they filed off westward towards the forest.
Dr. O'Brien insisted on Tom's having a clear day's rest before his journey was resumed. On the second morning, therefore, the party of seven embarked on the launch, and were conveyed rapidly across the Nyanza to Port Florence. Tom thought of the many things that had happened since he last saw the lake, and laughed with something of his old spirit when the padre reminded him of the fight with the hippopotamus. On reaching the eastern shore they took up their quarters in Sir John's old bungalow, and there Mr. Barkworth pestered Mbutu constantly to tell him again and again of the momentous doings in Mwonga's village.
One day, happening to be at Port Florence, he went down to the quay among other curious spectators to watch the arrival of a German steamer from down the lake. As the passengers came off, Mr. Barkworth was puzzled by one face among them, which he seemed to recognize without being able to remember whose it was or where he had seen it. The passenger was a thick-set, bearded man, wearing gold spectacles, limping badly, and carrying a big leather valise in his left hand. As he stepped off the gangway he stumbled, and would have fallen but for the purser's sustaining arm. He poured out a stream of very warm German, and as he limped away the purser turned to a man standing near and made some remark about the testy passenger. Mr. Barkworth caught the name.
"Swob! Swob!" he muttered. "Thought I knew him. It's the German trader I saw last year. And a prisoner in the Arab fort! Hi, Mr. Swob!"
He toddled after the German, who turned as he heard his name thus travestied.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Swob," said Mr. Barkworth, coming up with him. "Extremely sorry to hear of your sad experiences. It must have been a terrible time, sir. And but for that fine young fellow--
"Ach ja!" interrupted Herr Schwab; "I know all zat. I vant to forget it, nozink else."
"Naturally, my dear sir. I do hope that you will not suffer permanently, and that--"
"Not per-ma-nent-ly! Look at me, look at me, I say. I hafe vun leg qvite caput, goot for nozink. I hafe marks on my body zat vill remain till my death-day. Not suffer! Vy, I suffer vizout end: I suffer in my person, I suffer in my pockett, I suffer in my pride. I suffer allofer. And vy? I did nozink. I go to sell zinks--nozink more--and zey keep me, vill not let me go. Naturally, I protest. I say I appeal to Berlin, and zen zey chain me opp--yes, to a post--me, a Gairman sobjeck--and so am I chained for veeks and veeks. Himmel, but I grow meagre--vat you call skinny. I lose almost all ze flesh from my bones. Zen come Mr. Burnaby. By night zere is vun colossal combat. In ze yard of ze chief's house, zink I, I must be secure. But not so. Ofer ze vall come tousand fire-balls. I call: 'Hafe care, mind me, I am Schwab.' But zere hears none. A fire-ball fall upon my toe, and I am in com-bus-tion. Zen, my goodness! from ze chief's house run hundert shrieking defils. Portuguese, De Castro, so vas his name, struck me vid his sword as he pass me by. Zerefore am I lame to-day. Never shall I forget zat most fear-ful night. Efen still I shiver before ze zought. I vas let free; Mr. Burnaby, I must say, vat you call did me vell; but I hafe some grudge against him. Sir, zere vas hundert tousand pound sterling ifory in ze vaults below zat house: hundert tousand, sure as a gun. Now I did expect Mr. Burnaby to gife me at least--at least, vun tousand pound vorth for damages. I lose qvite so much in commission, to say nozink about ze vear and tear of my intellecks. No more is my brain as it vas. But Mr. Burnaby shut me opp, sir, shut me opp. He say somezink about ze ifory belong on account of law to ze Congo State and on account of right to ze blacks. Zat is not business, it is vat you call rot. He vill not gife me vun single tusk, and ven I say I vill write to ze Kaiser he say: 'Hang ze Kaiser!' Vat is zat for a kind of business, sir!"
The German's dudgeon was too much for Mr. Barkworth's gravity, and he had recourse to the never-failing safety-valve for his feelings--his handkerchief. When he had blown off his amusement, he asked: