“We must get out of this peacefully, and I think we shall manage to do it.”
The elder told about the courage of his men, and how they had fought all surrounding tribes successfully, and how they had yielded to the great white queen because of her magnificent presents to them, and not because of her armies.
Trim took it all in as soberly as possible, and told the chief elder that this meeting was one of the greatest pleasures of his life.
At length the chief elder addressed the army, saying but a few words and waving his hand commandingly. At that the soldiers, most of whom had been squatted on the ground, rose and began slowly to go away.
They had no more than started when the chief elder once more extended his hand to Trim, and, having grasped it, spat upon the lad.
“By all that’s decent!” roared Dobbin, in a great rage, “I won’t stan’ that, not even if he is the king of all Africa!”
The old sailor started forward with his fists doubled up to revenge the insult. He would have mauled the chief elder to a pulp before the army could have had time to shoot an arrow if it had not been for Trim.
“Hold on, Dobbin!” he cried, sternly. “Keep your shirt on and go back to camp. This is the best thing that could have happened.”
“Hey!” answered Dobbin, stopping short not so much because of Trim’s stern command as because of the perfect amazement with which he saw Trim give the chief elder’s hand a hearty shake and then spit upon him.
After that the chief elder shook Trim’s hand again, made three or four gestures and walked away.