What could I do? When we left the plantation the dear good fellow tried to walk with us, but he became so ill that we were forced to come to a stand in the woods. No greater calamity could have befallen me. I felt as if I could cry, for my fortitude was on the point of giving way, and it seemed as though the hand of God was against me.
When any thing very important had taken or was about to take place, it was always my custom to summon my Commi men, and hold a council to see what was to be done. So my faithful body-guard were now summoned to my side. As soon as we were seated together, every one of us wearing an anxious look, I said, "Boys, you will go ahead; I will remain here and take care of Macondai."
The men said, "No, Chally." Macondai himself said no. "If we go without you," said the men, "they will begin stealing again." "If you do not go," said Macondai at once, "you will not have one porter left, for I heard to-day some say they were afraid to follow you; they were afraid on account of those who had robbed you; and if you give them time to talk together, they will agree to run away. Go now, Chally," said Macondai, "for if you do not you will never reach Mayolo. I shall get well."
After some consultation it was agreed that Igalo should remain with Macondai on a small plantation near at hand, and Ondonga said the Ashira would take care of him. I could not bear parting with Macondai. I knew, of course, that the Ashira would not dare to murder him, but then he was ill.
After making every possible provision I could for the comfort of the sick boy, and enjoining upon Igalo never to leave him, and after weighing out medicine to be given him at stated times, we continued our march; but I was so wretched that I can not describe to you my feelings.
The traveling was exceedingly toilsome. The men were overloaded, and I myself carried on my back in my otaitai over sixty pounds of ammunition, besides having my heavy revolvers slung by my side, and my most formidable double-barreled breech-loader on my shoulder. The path—for there was a path—lay through a most picturesque country, and along a mountain range, extending north and south, which lies between the country of the Ashira and the Otandos. The hills of this range were very much broken up, so that we did nothing else than make continuous ascents and descents. The forest was dense, and impeded with numerous blocks of quartz which lay strewn along the path nearly all the way, and quartz crystals covered the beds of the sparkling rivulets that flowed at the bottom of every valley.
It was very tiresome indeed, and I felt sad, very sad, for I knew not how things would end. I kept thinking of Macondai. I was not master of the position; they might rob me. I could do nothing, for two of my men were left in their hands—Igalo and Macondai.
The second day of our march we came to the River Louvendji, which I had crossed, if you remember, in former years going to the Apingi country; and very beautiful the Louvendji is. The banks where we forded the river were lined with beautiful palm-trees.
The porters began to lag behind under the pretext that the loads were too heavy for them. For two days I had succeeded in making all the porters keep up with me and sleep in my bivouac; but there was not much sleep for me or my men, for we had to keep a sharp look on the porters, though they were not armed, lest they should have given word to their people beforehand to hide spears and bows and arrows somewhere in the forest near where they knew we would camp for the night.
The third night, in despite of all my endeavors, some of the men would not keep pace with us; so, when I ordered the people to stop for the night, Mintcho and a few men were missing. I knew at once that something was wrong, and I said to the Ashira that were with me that if I saw one of them move off I would shoot him on the spot.