Just before dawn the gunbearer woke up feeling cold. He crept out of his
blanket and to the fire, which had died down and was nearly out. On
reaching the fire he saw his master sleeping in his chair without other
covering than the clothes he had ridden in throughout the afternoon. The
man quietly got his own blanket and gently spread it over his master's
knees.
Wrenshaw was wide awake in an instant. His hand shot out to his pistol,
but, recognising his gunbearer, the movement was arrested. He accepted
the attention; to have refused the grimy blanket would have been
ungracious and have hurt the man; besides, he was chilled to the bone.
He told the gunbearer to rake the fire together and throw on some more
wood. There was still some coffee in the pot, and this he heated and
drank.
Feeling warmer, he got up and paced about to restore his circulation and
get rid off his stiffness.
So after all he had slept; well, he was glad he had, for now he felt
rested and refreshed.
He woke the interpreter and told him to feed the horses. The cook got up
and took charge of the fire.
Looking towards the other side of the plain he saw signs that the
Barushu were also astir. The points of light twinkled at him across the
intervening space.
The sky in the east was becoming tinged with red. The silence was broken
only by the sound of his animals munching their corn. This, slight as it
was, woke a flock of guinea fowl roosting in some trees not far away;
they began to exchange shrill greetings.
As it became lighter he could see a thin ribbon of white mist suspended
over the swamp. This did not interfere with his view of the high ground
on which the Barushu had camped during the night, but he could
distinguish nothing but the dark shadow of the palm trees and
undergrowth. The light of the first was becoming rapidly paler as the
day dawned.
The gunbearer, who had the usual eyesight of uncivilised man, was the
first to notice movement on the other side.
"The Barushu are coming, Morena."
"Good, many of them?"
"Yes, many."
Wrenshaw took his glasses and scanned the further edge of the swamp.
Yes, there they came, in single file. He smiled as he noted the
twistings of the secret path which they followed. On they came, a thin
black stream fed constantly from the palm tree forest. Soon the head of
the column disappeared in the stratum of mist which obscured the greater
part of the swamp, but the stream of natives from the palm trees did not
cease.
Wrenshaw untied his rifle from the tent pole and put it and the horse
pistol on his camp table. Then he pushed the table into the patrol tent
and, placing his chair in the entrance, sat down. In this position he
had only to stretch out his hand to reach his weapons if the necessity
arose; in the meantime they were out of sight.
Although he had been expecting for some time to see the first Barushu
emerge from the mist, he was a little startled when he realised that the
van of the oncoming column was within three hundred yards of him. The
natives had left the secret path, but still moved in single file.
By this time it was quite light.
Wrenshaw took up his glasses again and examined his visitors. They were
an ugly looking lot and quite naked. He presently became aware that
there was something strange about them; what was it? Oh, of course,
contrary to their custom, they carried no assegais. Well, that, at any
rate, was a good sign.
Then again, they were walking extraordinarily slowly. Marking time,
obviously, until their fellows had crossed the swamp. On second thoughts
Wrenshaw rejected that explanation. He kept his glasses fixed on the
foremost man. The fellow appeared to be lame, lame in the right leg. He
shifted his glasses. By Jingo, the whole lot were lame, all lame or
stiff in the right leg.
It was the gunbearer who solved the mystery.
"Morena."
"Well?"
"Why do the Barushu carry their assegais in their toes to-day?"
"Why, indeed?"
So the devils meant trouble after all. Stalking him, were they? He would
make some of 'em smart for this.
The white man took some cartridges from his pocket and placed them handy
on the table. He glanced at his letter, which stood erect in its holder
like a miniature notice-board.
He looked at the dull-brained cook and felt sorry for him. His
interpreter, who was standing, appeared to be feeling faint. The
gunbearer was quite unperturbed.
Close to a large dead tree, which stood alone in the plain about a
hundred yards from where Wrenshaw was sitting, the leader halted and the
Barushu began to bunch into knots, talking quietly. Wrenshaw didn't like
the look of things. Something must be done, and done quickly. He must
make the first move, and lose no time about it.
"Go," he said to the interpreter, "and tell the Barushu that they may
pile their assegais against that tree, and after that they may come
forward and talk to me."
"Morena, I am afraid."
"So it seems, but what's the matter with your hands, with your coat?"
The interpreter was terrified, and, which was worse, showed it. He
fiddled with the buttons of his coat, doing them up, undoing them, and
again doing them up. His pale, yellow face had become greenish, his eyes
were rolling, and he seemed unable to stand still.
This would never do. Even if the Barushu meant no mischief, such an
exhibition of fear wasn't good for them.
"Pick up that log," said Wrenshaw, pointing to a huge piece of wood
collected overnight for the fire, "and hold it in your arms."
The frightened man obeyed, he held the log as a woman does a baby.
Wrenshaw turned to the gunbearer, "You go and tell them to stack their
assegais and come forward to talk. Don't go too near them, shout from
halfway. I have my rifle ready."
If the Barushu made to kill his man he would open fire at once and get
in a few shots before the end came.
The gunbearer stepped forward. The Barushu watched his approach. A
single man and unarmed. They could see that the white man was alone save
for a Government servant in clothes; he, at any rate, was of no account.
Then there was the half-caste at the fire; well, after all, what could
two men do against so many? What was the trap? No, let this fellow come
forward, they would wait and see what he was going to do.
Halfway the gunbearer stopped and delivered his message in a loud voice
that all could hear. Then he repeated it. No one heard his voice the
third time, although he shouted lustily, for the Barushu broke into
peals of laughter. "Oh, this white man, how cunning he is; so he has
found us out and has spoilt our very good joke. Well, well, better do as
we are told, put our assegais against the tree and hear what he is going
to say to us. But it would have been very funny."
Each man lifted his right foot, and removing his assegai from between
his toes placed it against the dead tree.
At length all the Barushu were seated, marshalled to their places by the
imperturbable gunbearer. At a signal from Nanzela, who sat slightly in
advance of his followers, a good two thousand men clapped their hands in
greeting to the chief official of the District.
So far, so good. Normal relations had been established. The usual formal
inquiries concerning the well-being of each were put and answered.
"Come nearer, Nanzela, and sit here," said Wrenshaw. "I wish to speak to
you."
Nanzela walked to the spot pointed out to him and sat down.
"The time has come when all men pay the tax to the Government. Have you
had warning of it?"
"I have."
"All the people are paying the tax willingly and well."
Nanzela made no reply, but gazed at the speaker with an expression of
indifference.
Wrenshaw put his hand carelessly on the butt of his rifle and resumed.
"There are but two paths for a man to travel, the one is towards peace,
and the other to trouble, war."
Nanzela blinked. He had not been able to see the white man's rifle from
where he sat until called to come closer, nor had he noticed it before
Wrenshaw's careless gesture drew his attention to it. His arms and those
of his people were piled against the tree, and so, for the moment, out
of reach. The white man's hand was on his rifle. All white men were good
shots, and Wrenshaw had a reputation for being better than most. If he
chose the wrong path now he would be the first to suffer. It would not
be wise to run risks.
"It is only a foolish man who seeks trouble."
"Exactly," said Wrenshaw, "that is why all men are paying willingly and
in full. I see you have your purse on your arm and have come to pay your
tax." And again his hand caressed the butt of his rifle.
Nanzela unbuckled an armlet which held his money.
Turning to the interpreter Wrenshaw told him to put down the log, which
he was still nursing, and get a book of tax receipt forms from the
pack-saddle.
Nanzela shook half-a-sovereign from his purse.
The official made out a receipt for ten shillings, which he gave in
exchange for the money. Then, raising his voice, he said: "Every man who
has paid the tax must carry his tax-paper in a stick so that all may see
that he has paid willingly and in full."
The gunbearer cut a reed, slit it a few inches down its length, and
offered it to Nanzela. The Chief slipped his tax-paper into the slit and
bound the top with a shred of bark.
How simple it all was! Now man after man came forward, paid his tax, and
received in exchange a small square of coloured paper, which he slipped
into a split reed, making it fast with a shred of bark. Their Chief had
paid, they naturally followed his example.
Wrenshaw had only one book of receipts with him; he had thrown it into
the pack-saddle at the last moment. The book held one hundred forms, and
these he had now used.
Some of the men had no money with them, which was not to be wondered at,
since they had come out looking for trouble and certainly with no
intention of paying tax. He seized upon this as an excuse for collecting
no more tax that day, and informed Nanzela that he would accompany him
and his people back to the village and encamp there, so that each man
might bring his money from his hut. He made no reference to the night
spent on the high land near the river.
The animals were saddled up and the interpreter sent back on his pony
with a note calling upon the Native Commissioners to follow to Nanzela's
village with all possible speed, bringing their census books, tax
receipt forms, and the rest of their travelling office.
A strange procession now formed. First walked the Chief with his
assegai--recovered from the tree--in one hand and the tax-paper in the
other. Then a body-guard of fully-armed men, some with and some without
tax-papers. In the midst of these rode Wrenshaw, with his rifle gripped
between his saddle and his thigh. Then followed the gunbearer leading
the mule; the cook slouched along behind.
The rear was brought up by the remainder of Nanzela's men, a few of whom
had tax-papers, which they carried well in the air, much to the envy of
those who had not yet paid. The little papers in the sticks appealed to
the child-like fancy of these savages; taxpaying had become a game, a
receipt in a stick, a toy.
To say that Wrenshaw was much relieved is not to overstate the case. As
he looked round him upon this mob of armed men eager to pay their tax
and receive in exchange a piece of coloured paper, he realised better
than anyone else could how tight a corner he had been in.
His thoughts were disturbed by a commotion as the ranks parted and a man
ran up to him with a letter in a stick; as the native held it up it
resembled a miniature notice-board.
Good heavens! It was his letter home; in the excitement of starting he
had forgotten it. The man who brought it was one of Nanzela's people who
had gone back to pick up anything which the white man or his servants
might have left behind. He hoped, no doubt, to find a stray cartridge or
two in the grass, or perhaps a spoon or a table knife.
Wrenshaw did not remove the letter from the stick, but carried it as the
natives did their tax-papers. The simple people became impatient to pay
their tax; was not the white man also playing this new game?
* * * * *
The letter home was never sent. In place of it Wrenshaw despatched a
brief account of his adventure, told in a very matter-of-fact way.
* * * * *
Over the mantelpiece of his den hangs a frame; in place of a picture it
contains a letter in a stick which, at a short distance, looks like a
miniature notice-board.