When both parties were gathered together on the edge of the marsh, Max
felt strangely uncomfortable. Both Crouch and Edward seemed thoroughly
at home, and the former was talking to the chief as if he had found an
old friend whom he had not seen for several years. Putting aside the
strangeness of his surroundings, Max was not able to rid his mind of the
thought that these men were cannibals. He looked at them in disgust.
There was nothing in particular to distinguish them from the other races
he had seen upon the coast, except, perhaps, they were of finer physique
and had better foreheads. It was the idea which was revolting. In the
country of the Fans there are no slaves, no prisoners, and no
cemeteries; a fact which speaks for itself.
Crouch and the chief, whose name was M’Wané, led the way through the
jungle. They came presently to the body of the wounded leopard, which
lay with an arrow in its heart. It was the "twang" of the bowstring
that Max had heard in the jungle. And now took place an incident that
argued well for the future.
M’Wané protested that the leopard belonged to Crouch, since the
Englishman had drawn first blood. This was the law of his tribe.
Crouch, on the other hand, maintained that the law of his tribe was that
the game was the property of the killer. The chief wanted the
leopard-skin, and it required little persuasion to make him accept it,
which he was clearly delighted to do.
Crouch skinned the leopard himself, and presented the skin to M’Wané.
And then the whole party set forth again, and soon came to a track along
which progress was easy.
It was approaching nightfall when they reached the extremity of the
forest, and came upon a great range of hills which, standing clear of
the mist that hung in the river valley, caught the full glory of the
setting sun. Upon the upper slopes of the hills was a village of two
rows of huts, and at each end of the streets thus formed was a
guard-house, where a sentry stood on duty. M’Wané’s hut was larger than
the others, and it was into this that the Europeans were conducted. In
the centre of the floor was a fire, and hanging from several places in
the roof were long sticks with hooks on them, the hooks having been made
by cutting off branching twigs. From these hooks depended the scant
articles of the chief’s wardrobe and several fetish charms.
For two hours Crouch and the chief talked, and it was during that
conversation that there came to light the most extraordinary episode of
which we have to tell. From that moment, and for many weeks afterwards,
it was a mystery that they were wholly unable to solve. Both Crouch and
Harden knew the savage nature too well to believe that M’Wané lied.
Though his story was vague, and overshadowed by the superstitions that
darken the minds of the fetish worshippers, there was no doubt that it
was based upon fact. As the chief talked, Crouch translated to his
friends.
The chief first asked what they were doing on the Kasai, and Crouch
answered that they were there for big game--for rhinoceros, buffalo and
leopard. The chief answered that there was certainly much game on the
Kasai, but there was more on the "Hidden River." That was the first
time they ever heard the name.
Crouch asked why it was called the "Hidden River"; and M’Wané answered
that it would be impossible for any one to find the mouth. On the
southern bank of the Kasai, about two days up-stream, there was a large
mangrove swamp, and it was beyond this that the "Hidden River" lay.
"Can you pass through the swamp in a canoe?" asked Crouch.
The chief shook his head, and said that a canoe could pass the mangrove
swamp, but it could not penetrate far up the river, because of a great
waterfall, where the water fell hundreds of feet between huge pillars of
rock.
"One can carry a canoe," said Crouch.
"Perhaps," said M’Wané, as if in doubt. "But, of those that pass the
cataract, none come back alive."
"Why?" asked Crouch.
"Because of the Fire-gods that haunt the river. The Fire-gods are
feared from the seacoast to the Lakes."
Crouch pricked up his ears like a terrier that scents a rat. The little
man sat cross-legged, with his hands upon his ankles; and as he plied
the Fan chief with questions, he positively wriggled where he sat.
He found out that the "Fire-gods" were white men--a fact that astonished
him exceedingly. He was told that they were not white men like himself
and his friends, but wicked spirits who controlled the thunder and who
could make the earth tremble for miles around. Even the Fans feared
them, and for several months none of the tribes had ventured into the
valley of the "Hidden River."
"They’re men with rifles," said Harden. "These people have never seen a
firearm in their lives."
At that he led M’Wané from the hut, and, followed by Max and Crouch, he
walked a little distance from the village. There, in the moonlight, he
picked up a stone from the ground, and set this upon a branch. From a
distance of about twenty paces, with M’Wané at his side, he lifted his
rifle to his shoulder, and struck the stone with a bullet, so that it
fell upon the ground.
"There," said he, "that is what your Fire-gods do; they are armed with
rifles--like this."
But M’Wané shook his head. He had heard of rifles. Tribes they had
raided upon the coast had spoken of the white men that could slay at a
distance. But the Fire-gods were greater still. Every evening, in the
valley of the Hidden River, loud thunder rent the air. The birds had
left the valley--even the snakes had gone. The Fire-gods were kings
over Nature. Moreover, they were merciless. Hundreds of natives--men
of the Pende tribe, the Pambala and the Bakutu--had gone into the
valley; but no one had returned.
At that Crouch set off towards the hut without a word. The others,
following, found him seated cross-legged at the fire, tugging at the
tuft of hair which grew beneath his lip. For some minutes the little
wizened sea-captain spoke aloud to himself.
"I’ll find out who these people are," said he. "White men may have gone
up the river to trade; but it’s bad for business if you get a reputation
for murder. I don’t understand it at all. I’ve heard of a white race
in the centre of the continent; maybe it’s they. I hope it is. At any
rate, we’ll go and see."
For a few brief moments he lapsed into silence. Then he tapped M’Wané
on the arm.
"Will you take us to the Hidden River?" he asked.
M’Wané sprang to his feet, violently shaking his head. He protested
that he dared do nothing of the sort. They could not disbelieve him,
for the man was actually trembling in his limbs.
Crouch turned to Harden.
"I’ve a mind to look into this," said he.
"I, too," said the other.
"He won’t take us," said Max.
"I’ll make him," said Crouch. "For the present, I’m going to sleep. The
boys will stick to the canoes. We must get back to the river to-morrow
afternoon. Good-night."
So saying, he curled himself up like a hedgehog, and, resting his head
upon his folded arms, immediately fell asleep.
It was already three months since they had left Banana Point at the
mouth of the Congo. They had journeyed to the foot of the rapids by
steamboat, and thence had carried their canoes across several miles of
country. They had enjoyed a good deal of mixed shooting in the lower
valley, and then they had said good-bye to the few trading stations, or
factories, which lay scattered at wide intervals upon the banks of the
great river, and which were the last links that bound them to such
civilization as the wilds of Africa could show. Max had already gained
much experience of life in the wilds of tropical Africa. This was not
the first time that he had found himself obliged to sleep upon the
ground, without pillow or blankets, or that which was still more
necessary--a mosquito-net.
When he opened his eyes it was daylight, and the first thing that he
beheld was Captain Crouch, seated cross-legged at the fireside, with his
pipe between his teeth. His one eye was fixed in the glowing embers.
He appeared to be deep in thought, for his face was all screwed up, and
he never moved. Thin wreaths of smoke came from the bowl of his pipe,
and the hut reeked of his foul tobacco. Suddenly he snatched the pipe
from his lips, and banged the bowl so viciously upon the heel of his
boot that he broke it in twain. "I have it!" he cried. "I’ve got it!"
Max asked what was the matter.
"I’ve got an idea," said Crouch. "I’ll make this fellow take us to the
Hidden River, whether he wants to or not. They are frightened of these
Fire-gods, are they! By Christopher, I’ll make them more frightened of
me, or my name was never Crouch!"
He got to his feet, and crossed the hut to M’Wané, who still lay asleep.
He seized the chief by the shoulders and shook him violently, until the
man sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Your people," said he. "Big palaver. Now. Be quick."
M’Wané seemed to understand, for he got up and left the hut. Edward
Harden was now awake.
The life that is lived by these Central African tribes finds a parallel
in the ancient history of nearly all races that we know of. Government,
for the most part, is in the hands of the headman of every village. The
maintenance of law and order, the giving of wives, the exchange of
possessions, is settled by "palaver," which amounts to a kind of meeting
of the entire population, presided over by the chief. Near every village
is a regular palaver-ground, usually in the shade of the largest tree in
the neighbourhood.
It was here, on this early morning, that M’Wané summoned all the
inhabitants of the village--men, women and children. They seated
themselves upon the ground in a wide circle, in the midst of which was
the trunk of a fallen tree. Upon this trunk the three Europeans seated
themselves, Crouch in the middle, with his companions on either side.
When all was ready, M’Wané rose to his feet, and announced in stentorian
tones that the little white man desired to speak to them, and that they
must listen attentively to what he had to say. Whereupon Crouch got to
his feet, and from that moment onward--in the parlance of the
theatre--held the stage: the whole scene was his. He talked for nearly
an hour, and during that time never an eye was shifted from his face,
except when he called attention to the parrot.
He was wonderful to watch. He shouted, he gesticulated, he even danced.
In face of his limited vocabulary, it is a wonder how he made himself
understood; but he did. He was perfectly honest from the start.
Perhaps his experience had taught him that it is best to be honest with
savages, as it is with horses and dogs. He said that he had made his
way up the Kasai in order to penetrate to the upper reaches of the
Hidden River. He said that he had heard of the Fire-gods, and he was
determined to find out who they were. For himself, he believed that the
Fire-gods were masters of some kind of witchcraft. It would be madness
to fight them with spears and bows and arrows. He believed, from what
he had heard, that even his own rifle would be impotent. High on a
tree-top was perched a parrot, that preened its feathers in the
sunlight, and chattered to itself. Crouch pointed this parrot out to
the bewildered natives, and then, lifting his rifle to his shoulder,
fired, and the bird fell dead to the ground. That was the power he
possessed, he told them: he could strike at a distance, and he seldom
failed to kill. And yet he dared not approach the Fire-gods, because
they were masters of witchcraft. But he also knew the secrets of magic,
and his magic was greater and more potent than the magic of the
Fire-gods. He could not be killed; he was immortal. He was prepared to
prove it. Whereat, he re-loaded his rifle, and deliberately fired a
bullet through his foot.
The crowd rushed in upon him from all sides, stricken in amazement. But
Crouch waved them back, and stepping up to Edward, told the Englishman
to shoot again. Harden lifted his rifle to his shoulder, and sent a
bullet into the ankle of Crouch’s cork foot. Thereupon, Crouch danced
round the ring of natives, shouting wildly, springing into the air,
proving to all who might behold that he was a thousand times alive.
They fell down upon their faces and worshipped him as a god. Without
doubt he had spoken true: he was invulnerable, immortal, a witch-doctor
of unheard-of powers.
But Crouch had not yet done. Before they had time to recover from their
amazement, he had snatched out his glass eye, and thrust it into the
hands of M’Wané himself, who dropped it like a living coal. They rushed
to it, and looked at it, but dared not touch it. And when they looked
up, Crouch had another eye in the socket--an eye that was flaming red.
A loud moan arose from every hand--a moan which gave expression to their
mingled feelings of bewilderment, reverence and fear. From that moment
Crouch was "the White Wizard," greater even than the Fire-gods, as the
glory of the sun outstrips the moon.
"And now," cried Crouch, lifting his hands in the air, "will you, or
will you not, guide me to the Hidden River where the Fire-gods live?"
M’Wané came forward and prostrated himself upon the ground.
"The White Wizard," said he, "has only to command."