A VOICE IN THE FOREST
Things were very unsatisfactory to the trader on the last night of his
stay as a guest in the village. He had intended it to be the last night
that he or any of the people of the village should sleep in those huts.
But if he carried out his first plan, and fell upon them in the dark
hours just after midnight, killing, burning, and plundering, and then
taking up his march to the next village to do the same thing, he would
have to give up all hope of the ivory. While he was sitting by himself,
trying to think of a way out of the difficulty, Mpoko stole up to him
in the dark and pulled at his sleeve. “Come quickly,” he murmured,
“there is a palaver going on behind the ruined huts, and it is about
ivory.”
[Illustration]
The Arab was naturally suspicious, and the life that he had led had
made him more so. He had been almost sure in the last day or two that
there was something he had not yet found out about that ivory. He knew
a great deal about native tribes, and he was aware that they are very
good at hiding anything they do not wish to have known. He remembered
that Mpoko had been limping about the village as if suffering from a
severe beating; indeed, the boy seemed hardly able to walk now. That
was just what would have happened if he had heard something his elders
were saying and they had found it out. And what could be more natural
than that he should revenge himself by telling what he had heard? The
trader would have done that himself in Mpoko’s place.
Mpoko slid along in the shadow and dropped on all fours, signing to
the trader to do likewise. They wormed along through tall grass and
thorn bushes and thickets for what seemed hours and hours, in the dark.
Mpoko would have liked to lead the Arab round and round the village all
night. As it was, they followed a very roundabout cattle track, and the
trader’s clothes, which were not made for crawling, suffered a great
deal from thorns and mire.
At last they reached a pile of ruined thatch and mud wall, and sure
enough, there were men on the other side of the heap, talking together
in low tones. Mpoko ducked into the shadow and vanished like a scared
rabbit. The trader crouched motionless, his hand on his dagger,
listening.
“Then everything is ready?” said the chief.
“Everything,” said the smith.
“And the stranger does not suspect?” said the oldest of the villagers.
“I think,” said Mpoko’s father, “that he has quite given up any thought
of the ivory now. We have scared him very well.”
“What a joke it will be?” said the smith, “when we tell people that the
stranger was afraid of Tswki!”
“A feeble old man without sons,” said one of the hunters, “and all that
ivory which the trader, with his strong men armed with the weapons that
kill far off, does not dare to go and take!”
“It is all the better,” said the chief, rising. “When the trader
has gone, we will get the ivory and carry it to the trading station
ourselves.”
Then the group of men went away, and the Arab, gritting his teeth with
rage, found his way back to his own tent. His mind was quite made
up. He would break camp early in the morning and go straight over the
mountain into Tswki’s country and get that ivory and, if possible, a
gang of slaves. Then he would come back and punish the villages, and if
there were any joke to be told it would be on them, not on him.
He got Mpoko into his hut while his porters were packing, and
questioned him closely. It was not for nothing that Mpoko had played
biti and other games in which he had learned not to show his feelings.
He said that what the trader had heard of Tswki was indeed true. He
had not given them any trouble for a long time--many years. Mpoko had
heard that there was a stockade of elephant’s tusks, all picked for
their great size, round the group of huts in which Tswki lived with his
family. Remembering what the Alo Man had told of the riches of the king
whom he had visited, Mpoko described the carved ivory oil dishes and
knife handles, the war trumpets and combs and bowls, which he said he
had heard that Tswki had. White men would give many, many brass rods
for such things, but until now it had not been safe to try to get them.
Now the villages had agreed to forget all private quarrels and join
in raiding Tswki’s country. Yes, Mpoko knew the road up the mountain.
No, it was not very easy to find. One might get lost in the forest. He
would not like to show the trader the way, because it might get him
into trouble with his father.
The trader pulled at his black beard impatiently. It would not do to
get lost in the forest. Neither would it do to arouse suspicion. Mpoko
suggested that the Alo Man also knew the road up the mountain. The
trader asked if the Alo Man would be the guide. Mpoko thought he would
hardly do that, but he was going to visit Tswki, and Mpoko might get
leave to go with him for a few miles and then slip away and join the
trader. This seemed a good idea, and the trader agreed. He was glad
that the Alo Man would be out of the way when the villages were raided,
for he had an uneasy notion that with a good leader the people might
give him some trouble. If they traveled fast, they could overtake the
Alo Man before they got to Tswki’s country and could make sure that he
would give them no further trouble.
The Alo Man had already gone when the trader and his men set forth. In
fact, he had gone the night before, although nobody knew it but the
chief and one or two other people. Mpoko kept a little ahead of the
trader’s party, swinging from tree to tree like a monkey, or peering
back from behind a thorn bush or grass clump. Just as the trail began
to be hard to find, he dropped to the ground and stood waiting for them
as they came panting up the path.
Very little was said as the Arab and his men followed the slim brown
figure of the boy through the jungle. Every man had firearms, and
they had given a little shooting exhibition the day before that had
impressed the people deeply. The Arab felt sure that when he got ready
to take his prisoners, they would be too scared to make any fight.
He expected to have some trouble getting the ivory, but he was not
a coward and did not mind fighting when he was sure that he would
win in the end. He counted very much on the surprise he would give
the old chief when he made the attack. Each one of his men, with gun
and revolver, was equal to many Africans armed only with spears, and
according to all accounts Tswki depended on the strength of his town
there on the hillside and not on a strong guard.
Of course the trader did not know that about an hour after he left
the village, Mpoko’s father, with every fighting man he could muster,
in full war dress, with feather headdresses, long spears, round
hide-covered shields and horn-handled knives, had started up that very
trail. The men of the village had come on at such a pace that they had
to check themselves for fear of catching up with the men they were
following. A scout was sent on now and then to make sure that the Arab
was still going up the mountain.
From time to time other parties of warriors came in from trails that
branched off into the forest. By the time the belt of forest began to
grow thinner and the trail came out on the rocky open ground above,
there was a very considerable band of grim, fierce-looking spearmen
crowding up through the trees and crouching behind bushes.
Mpoko looked back and caught a glimpse of the flutter of plumes. He
pointed up the mountain to a pile of boulders clear against the sky on
the top of the ridge.
“That is the way to Tswki’s country,” he said. “I do not dare to go any
farther. I may get beaten as it is.”
“You will get something worse than a beating if you don’t come,” said
the Arab. “Come with us and we will give you a share in the ivory. Go
back and you will be killed.”
Mpoko had not counted on this. He looked at the pile of rocks far
above, and at the sunburnt bare slope strewn with boulders. He looked
at the forest behind. He was sure from what he had seen of the Arab’s
shooting that he would not live to get back to the shelter of the
trees. He dug one toe into the earth and whimpered. “Do not shoot,” he
said. “I will go.”
Laden with their guns, the Arab’s men could not climb as fast as Mpoko
could, and he kept some distance ahead. The trail made a turn toward
the right, about halfway to the top, and here the elephant pit had been
formed by the washing out of a deep hole in the rainy season. It was
covered over with woven grass and boughs, and it looked as if the long
grass had blown over the trail just there. Mpoko scampered across and
ducked behind a boulder beyond. Out from the woods came streaming a
company of tribesmen, shouting and waving their spears. The Arab looked
at the pile of rocks above, and saw that behind those rocks he and his
men could defy any number of enemies with spears. The warriors behind
them were not yet within range of the firearms, but they soon would
be. The slave traders began to run. If they could not get to the top,
at least they could get behind the boulders where the road made that
turn.
Then down they tumbled into a great hole. The woven screen of foliage
held long enough to let them all get on, and then gave way, exactly as
it would do if an elephant were to step on it. The trader’s men went
down all in a heap, and a revolver or two went off in the confusion.
They could hear the yells of the men coming up the hill.
The Arab could not make out at first what had happened. He knew he had
been trapped, but he could not see how it had been done. The walls of
the hole were of solid rock, much too high to climb, and overhung the
bottom of the pit.
Of course, no one could get at him and his men to kill them without
taking a chance of being shot, but they could be left there to starve
or die of thirst. The Arab had left many of his prisoners to starve or
die of exhaustion by the roadside, and now he knew how they had felt.
It was not at all pleasant.
A cheerful jabbering seemed to be going on outside. After some time
the Alo Man’s voice could be heard, speaking alone. “Listen, men!” it
said. “We can do nothing as long as they have their weapons. Let us
give them a chance to live. If they give up their weapons, we can talk
to them.”
The Arab made up his mind quickly. “Let down a rope,” he shouted in the
clearest Bantu he knew, “and we will tie our guns to it.”
[Illustration]
After a little talk, a couple of long leather thongs were flung over
the edge of the pit. The Arab thought he might be able to keep back
some of the weapons, but he found that whoever was in command seemed to
know exactly how many there ought to be. Then the edge of the pit was
ringed with fierce, feather-crowned faces looking down at the captives,
and there was more talk. Finally the slave traders were pulled out
and set in the midst of the crowd, each guarded by a tall and active
spearman, and feeling very much depressed and frightened. They knew
that if the villagers chose to be disagreeable, they could be very
disagreeable indeed.
One of the chiefs, a very tall and commanding figure in a splendid
leopard-skin robe, was Tswki himself, as the Arab discovered with
horror and dismay. The Alo Man was talking to this chief and trying to
make him agree to something.
“Hear now this plan,” said the Alo Man, persuasively. “It is true
that these men have planned to come into your country and make war,
and steal your ivory, and you have seen for yourself that they came
with weapons in their hands and sent no messenger to tell you of their
coming and ask permission to enter your village. You know also that
they are taking slaves wherever they can, against the new law. If you
kill them, as they deserve, they will do no more harm, it is true [the
Arab’s teeth began to chatter]; but they will do you no good. On the
other hand, if you tie them and march them under guard across your
country to the white men, they will do you great good. You will then be
able to say to the white men: ‘See, I have kept your words in my heart.
I found these men, who are wicked and sell men and women against the
law, coming to catch slaves in my country. If you search their packs
you will find fetters that they intended to put on the slaves they
captured. I did not kill them, although I could have done so. I did not
let them go free to carry off the people of some other chief. I have
brought them to you for punishment, because you have said that this is
right. I have done this so that you may know that I am a good man and
speak the truth.’ Then the white man will believe that you are a good
man, and he will be your friend. It is very good when one has powerful
friends.”
[Illustration]
This was probably the first chance that Tswki had ever had to be
thought a good, honest man. The newness of it may have interested him.
He was surprised that the village people had not killed the slave
traders themselves without calling on him, but really it was much more
clever to have done this. They could not have taken their prisoners to
the white men without going through his country. Now he would get the
credit of it all. Tswki was not called “The Snake” for nothing. He saw
that the plan was a wise one. The snake is thought by African tribes to
be very wise.
“Your plan is good,” said Tswki finally, after thinking it over. “That
is what I will do.”
“Listen, you men,” said the Alo Man in Swahili to the trader’s
party. “You came into our country pretending friendship and planning
wickedness. We know that you tried to come into this chief’s country
and steal his ivory and his people, because you thought that he was
old and feeble and could not fight you. [Tswki gave a kind of grunt.]
You have weapons which kill with a noise from a long way off, and you
trust in these to make you strong, like the elephant raging in the
jungle. But you have fallen into a pit through the plan of a boy, and
your strength has been taken from you as the Elephant’s skin was taken
by the little Hyrax. You are to be sent to the officers in the white
man’s country, who have made laws to stop the stealing of men and women
and children, and the spoiling of our country with the drink in the
square-faced bottles. Your men will wait for you awhile and go away.
If they try to come up the river, we will stop them. Now we have no
more to do with you, for you belong to Tswki.”
Tswki had been listening attentively to this speech, for he understood
some Swahili. He had a word to add.
“If the other men come up the river to steal your people,” he said, “we
will take them also to the officers to be punished.”
This showed how Tswki’s ideas had changed in the last hour or two.
He had never before said “we” when speaking to a chief of the river
villages.
Well pleased with their day’s work, Tswki and his men moved off down
the other side of the mountain. Well pleased with themselves, the Alo
Man, the chiefs, and their people moved off down the slope on this
side. They carried with them the goods of the traders, including the
guns, revolvers, powder, and shot, which they tumbled into the river.
The Alo Man was happy because, for once, the people of the different
villages had united against an enemy; even Tswki had shown signs of
friendliness! His white teeth flashed in a joyous smile as he began
making a song of triumph about the trader and the elephant pit.
Mpoko also was happy. He was thinking that when he was a chief he
would rule wisely and keep his people safe from all enemies, as his
father and the other chiefs and the Alo Man had done that day. He was
wondering also about those strange new rulers who had said that the
stealing of men and women and children must stop, and who did not
approve of the drink that took away a man’s senses and made him do
silly things. Mpoko felt that he had seen and heard and done a great
deal since last night.
The people in the village, waiting to catch the first sound of the Alo
Man’s drum, heard far away the tap-tap-tapping that sent through the
forest the glad news that all was right. The women began to prepare all
sorts of good things for the evening meal, and as the sun went down
upon the peaceful village and the shining river and the great mountain
standing up out of the level country beyond the forest, the Alo Man and
his company came home.
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[Illustration]
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[Illustration]
Transcriber’s Note:
This book was written in a period when many words had not become
standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been
left unchanged.
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, or
partially printed letters, were corrected. Final stops missing at the
end of sentences and abbreviations were added.