We passed round the native town to the right and plunged up to our waists in muddy water, through which the pathway led right into the darkness of the forest. For several hours it rained incessantly; the whole land was dank and sodden, and reeked of wet, rotting vegetation. Later on the rain ceased, and on one occasion, when we emerged from the depths of the forest into open farm lands, we were bathed in a blaze of sunshine, only to plunge into the cool of the forest glades again. We pitched camp at Openam, where far into the night I lay awake, listening to the many strange noises of that strange land. The beating of the corn for next day's meal sounded like the possible building of stockades by some malignant enemy preparing to entrap us, and the cries of the night-birds and prowling beasts seemed like so many uncanny voices of woodland spirits, warning us of some impending doom.
We were early astir, and after a quick light breakfast set out towards our goal—the town of Issèlé. At Issèlé M'patimo we were stopped by a stockade, and it was only after much persuasion and many assurances of friendship that we were allowed to pass through—not, however, before every soul in the place had disappeared. Not a house was to be seen. We entered a great clearing completely fenced in by impenetrable barriers of living trees, whose leafy branches interlaced in inextricable folds. Somewhere behind these barriers were the houses. We could see no trace of the hundreds of eyes that we felt—we knew—were staring at us from all sides; no inkling of the countless black muzzles of the Long Dane guns that were covering us. Nobody appeared, however, and we marched through this silent clearing without mishap. But we had hardly got beyond the confines of this curious city of the woods before heavy firing broke out in our immediate rear. We
felt certain that we were in for it, but our guide reassured us, saying that the townspeople were only giving vent to their feelings of relief at our not having molested them.
That night we camped in a village outside Issèlé, and on interviewing the chief found that he had with him a daughter of the man we wished to capture, and persuaded her to come with us next morning into Issèlé.
On reaching that town we drew the men up in square before the King's house—a lofty building of enormous circumference, painted or washed a pink colour—and demanded to see His Majesty. After a lot of parleying I entered the building, leaving Townsend outside, but taking my interpreter and four soldiers with me as a body guard. I was shown into a large courtyard, surrounded on all sides by a veranda, whilst in the centre stood a kind of idol on a rude column. Overhanging the palace outside, an enormous cotton-tree rose some two hundred feet into the air. Not a leaf or a vestige of bark adorned its mournful, lonely majesty. From every branch, however, hung some ghastly offering to the ruling fetish of the place—here a dead fowl, there a skull dangling by a matted bunch of hair, and many another gruesome thing. It cast a shadow and a hush of Death over everything; the people seemed to live in continual fear of some unknown terror. As I waited in this strange courtyard with my five companions, I took the opportunity to get my bearings. The doorway by which I had entered led out into the square by some steps, and was about six feet above the level of the ground outside. Its heavy, iron-studded wooden door stood ajar. The only other entrance to the courtyard was opposite this one, and led into the private apartments of the palace. The middle of the courtyard was some two feet below the level of the surrounding veranda.
Suddenly the private door flew open, and a swarm of men entered, armed with guns, spears, swords, and bows and arrows. At a sign from me my men quietly fixed bayonets. Then the King came in, gorgeously robed in red velvet, and sat down on a chair near me, after shaking hands and indicating another chair that had been brought for me. I then, through my interpreter, explained my mission. As the King proved to be on bad terms with Ozuma Munyi, the man I sought, he was quite willing to give me a free hand, but did not dare to take any open action himself, as Ozuma was head of a very powerful party and might prove nasty later on. He, however, agreed to send a messenger to call him. We waited for fully half an hour, not knowing whether the rebel chieftain would come or not. Needless to say, that half-hour was one of poignant anxiety, as on that message depended the success or failure of our expedition. The messenger was told to say that Ozuma's daughter was with us, and that if he himself would not come we should return to Asaba with her. Meanwhile I called Townsend in, and we arranged that, as Ozuma's party entered, Townsend and twelve men should manage to intermingle with them, and thus, unnoticed, get into the courtyard. We felt that to fill the place with soldiers beforehand might frighten our man.
Soon the messenger returned with the good news that Ozuma Munyi was coming, and shortly afterwards a body of men, armed to the teeth, entered from the square outside, accompanied by Townsend and some of his men. When Ozuma and I had shaken hands the tug-of-war began. He was an enormous, powerfully-built man, and nothing that I could say would move him to accompany us. At last, seeing that persuasion was useless, I glanced across at Townsend and nodded. He uttered one word that had the result of an explosion. A flash of bayonets and a rush of khaki-uniformed men from behind the veranda columns, and the whole place was in an uproar. The King and his followers promptly disappeared through the inner doorway, and Ozuma's men were kept at bay by the bayonets of my four Hausa guards, whilst our rebel himself, and the twelve men told off to capture him, rolled and tumbled and fought all over the courtyard—one man against twelve—amid Ozuma's frenzied shouts of "The King has sold me! The King has sold me!" Then, crash! out through the doorway he hurtled, with five men on top of him. By the time Townsend and I reached the bottom of the steps, however, the struggle was over, and half the column was sitting on the prostrate body of our prisoner.
"OUT THROUGH THE DOORWAY HE HURTLED, WITH FIVE MEN ON TOP OF HIM."
Having called the men off and pinioned his arms securely, we lost no time in forming up into marching order and setting out for home, as our surroundings began to take on a threatening aspect. Hundreds of armed blacks were gathering from all sides, wondering at the happenings which were being enacted in the shadow of their mystery-tree.