THE DAY OF RECKONING
There was silence in the village for almost a minute after Gavin
vanished into the hut, and the men who had pursued him stood still,
apparently irresolute. The entrance was dark and narrow, and they
could not see inside, but it was evident that they recognized it was a
very determined man who awaited them in its shelter. He was also
white, which had no doubt its effect upon the negro mind, since it
usually happens that when a race or caste asserts its superiority
loudly enough its claims are admitted, especially when they are backed
by visible force.
So while the seconds slipped away the negroes stood hesitating, and
glancing at one another as well as at the hut which lay in the shadow.
Their ebony limbs and scanty draperies were forced up against the
glaring dust and sand in a flood of searching brilliancy. Nares, who
felt his nerves tingle, could see the tension in their dusky faces and
the oily gleam of their bodies as the perspiration broke from them.
There was something curiously suggestive of pent up fury in the poses
they had fallen into. In the meanwhile he could not move. Indeed, the
big negro who held him fast had savagely drawn his arms behind his
back, and the strain in the muscles was becoming almost intolerably
painful.
Then several men broke away from the others and ran towards the hut,
and once more Nares held his breath. He could have shouted as he saw
the first dark form bound on, clutching a long Snider rifle in both
hands, but he restrained himself. In another moment or two a thin
flash blazed from the doorway of the hut, and the man went down with a
shrill scream and lay clawing at the sand. Nares heard no detonation.
He was only conscious of the little curl of blue smoke in the entrance
of the hut, and the black object that writhed in the pitiless glare in
front of it. Then the fallen man's comrades stopped, and a little
shiver ran through him as he turned to Ormsgill, who nodded as if he
understood him.
"You can only face it," said the latter. "They would scarcely listen
to their Headman, and I can't move a limb. It's a single-shot rifle.
They're bound to kill him." Then he broke off with a little gasp.
"Ah," he said a moment later, "two of them are trying it now."
Nares did not wish to look, but he could not help it. The scene held
his gaze, and he saw the two figures move cautiously towards the hut,
keeping one wall of it between them and the doorway as far as they
could. This, however, did not serve them. The deadly fire flashed
again, and one negro who collapsed suddenly fell on his hands and
knees. Then there was another streak of sparks and smoke, and the
second man staggering forward went down headlong with a thud. Several
Sniders flashed, and there was silence again.
"It's too much," said Ormsgill. "I can't stand this."
He struggled furiously, and he and the men who held him swayed to and
fro, a cluster of scuffling, staggering figures for a moment or two.
The effort, however, was futile, and he stood still again with his
arms pinioned fast behind his back and the perspiration dripping from
him while the Suzerain looked at him from his stool with a little grim
smile.
"It is not your affair," he said.
Ormsgill said nothing, though the veins were swollen on his forehead
and his face was suffused with blood, and at a sign from the Headman
the negroes who held him relaxed their grasp a trifle. Nares also
stood still, with every nerve in him thrilling. The man inside the hut
no doubt deserved his fate, but that did not seem to count then, and
the missionary felt only a sympathy with him that was almost
overwhelming in its intensity. It was one man against a multitude, for
there was no sign that Herrero was making any effort, and, after all,
that man sprang from the same stock as he did. Then deep down in him
he felt a thrill of pride, for Gavin was making a very gallant fight
of it. It was in many ways a shameful work that he and his comrade had
done, selling proscribed arms to the people who had turned against him
now, fomenting discord between them and their neighbors, and
debauching them with villainous rum, but, at least, he made it clear
that the courage of his kind was in him. This was all at variance with
Nares' beneficent creed, but the man was dying, indomitable, a white
man.
Those who meant to kill him drew back a little farther from the hut,
and standing and squatting flung up the long rifles. They were by no
means marksmen, but the hut was large and built of cane and branch
work. The heavy Snider bullets smashed through it, and for a few
minutes the stagnant air was filled with the jarring detonations.
There was no answering flash from the hut and Nares could see that its
shadowy entrance was empty. Then as the ringing of the Sniders died
away and a man here and there stole forward cautiously it seemed to
him that a dimly seen white object dragged itself towards the doorway
and crouched in it. He did not think it would be visible to the
assailants, for they were keeping a little behind the hut, but it was
clear to him that the one man against a multitude was bent on fighting
still.
The straggling figures crept on, moving obliquely towards the perilous
entrance, that the hut might shelter them, until they massed together
for a dash at it. Then the flash blazed out again, and one of them
dropped. Another went down screaming a few seconds later, and then the
foremost broke and fled, and there was a sudden scattering of those
behind. There were a host of negroes, but they shrank from that
unerring rifle. They were evidently willing to face a hazard, but this
was certain death. Then the Suzerain of the village signed to the
negroes who held Ormsgill, and they led him forward.
"It seems it may cost us a good deal to kill that man," he said. "Go
and see what terms he will make with me. An offer of a few good rifles
would have some weight just now."
Ormsgill went, and crossing the hot space of dust and sand walked into
the hut. Dazzled as he was by the change from the glare outside, he
could see almost nothing for a moment or two. The place was also
filled with an acrid haze, but by degrees he became accustomed to the
dimness and made out Gavin lying against the wall. He looked up with a
little wry smile, but Ormsgill moving nearer saw that his face was
gray and drawn. There was dust on his thin duck clothing, and in two
spots a small dark-colored stain.
"You are hit?" he said.
"Yes," said Gavin, "I'm done." He gasped before he spoke again with
evident difficulty. "They plugged me twice before they made the last
attempt. I could just hold the rifle. If they'd kept it up they'd have
got in."
"Where's Herrero?"
Gavin appeared to glance across the hut, and Ormsgill saw a huddled
figure lying in the shadow. It did not move at all.
"Yes," said Gavin, "I think the first bullet that came in quieted him,
and I wasn't sorry. He was worrying me. Lost his nerve, though he
never had very much. Well, I suppose you have come to make a bargain
with me?"
"Something like that. Our friend yonder hinted that he would probably
do a good deal for a few rifles."
Gavin smiled dryly. "It isn't worth while now. As you have no doubt
noticed, I can hardly talk to you."
He stopped for a moment with a heavy gasp. "This was my last kick, you
see."
"Ah," said Ormsgill, "is there any other little way in which I could
be of service? Any message you would like sent on?"
The man made a painful effort, but Ormsgill had now some little
difficulty in hearing him. "None," he said. "They have forgotten me
yonder, and, perhaps, it's just as well. Our folks--my mother was Cape
Dutch, you know--believe in everything as it used to be, but I'm like
my father; there was always a kick in me. One of your Colonial
vacillations cost him his farm, for, though he said he was ashamed of
his country, he wouldn't recognize the Boers as his rulers. I,
however, got on with them until I vexed the authorities by something I
did in resentment of the--arrogance of certain mine-grabbing
Englishmen. I believe I might have made terms if I'd truckled to them
a little, but that was a thing I wouldn't do, and so I came out here.
There are probably more of us with the same nonsensical notions."
Ormsgill said nothing for a moment or two. He had also lived among the
outcasts, and knew what comes of disdaining to regard things from the
conventional point of view. Something in him stirred in sympathy with
the dying man, and he sat down in the dust and laid a hand on his
shoulder. Gavin made no further observation that was intelligible,
until at last he feebly raised his head.
"If you wouldn't mind I'd like a drink," he said.
Ormsgill rose and walked out of the hut calling in the native tongue.
The men who squatted about it in the hot sand still clenching their
Sniders apparently failed to understand him, or were unwilling to do
what he asked, and some time had slipped by when at last one of them
brought a dripping calabash. Ormsgill went into the hut with it, and
then took off his shapeless hat as he poured out the water on the hot
soil. Gavin lay face downwards now, clutching his deadly rifle, but
there was no breath in him. Then Ormsgill went back quietly to where
the Headman and his Suzerain were sitting.
"I am afraid you can not have those rifles. The man is dead," he said.
After that he and Nares were led back to their hut, and when it was
made clear to them that they were expected to stay there Ormsgill sat
down in the shadow and pulled out his pipe.
"We wondered what was going on, and now the thing's quite plain," he
said. "It's rebellion."
"How was it they didn't creep round the hut from behind?" asked Nares,
who felt a trifle averse from facing the point that concerned them
most.
"Lost their heads, most probably," said Ormsgill. "Didn't think of it.
Any way, they'd have had to make a dash for the door eventually.
Still, it would have saved them a man or two, and our friend the
Suzerain noticed it."
"Why didn't he point it out to them?"
"I fancy he wanted to see how they'd stand fire, and break them in.
Felt he could afford to throw a few of them away, as he certainly
could, and he only stepped in when the thing was commencing to
discourage them."
"It's quite likely you're right," and Nares looked at his comrade with
a little wry smile. "Still, after all, I'm not sure it's very
material."
The lines grew a trifle deeper on Ormsgill's worn face. "No," he said,
"the real question is what our dusky acquaintance means to do with us,
and we have to face it. Personally, I don't think he means us any
harm, but it's certain he won't let us go until he and his friends
have cleaned out San Roque. You see, in an affair of this kind the
first blow must be successful, and he has probably a lurking suspicion
that we might warn Dom Erminio. The trouble is that once the rebellion
breaks out it will be almost impossible for us to reach the coast."
He spoke quietly, but there was a strain in his voice, and Nares
guessed what he felt.
"I suppose he wouldn't be content with our assurance that we'd say
nothing?" he suggested.
"Would you make it?"
Nares sat very still for a few moments, with a curious look in his
eyes, and one hand closed, and his comrade once more recognized that
there had been a change in him of late. He had the fever on him
slightly, and while that is nothing unusual in those forests, he had
grown perceptibly harder and grimmer during the last few weeks. Now
and then he also gave way to outbreaks of indignation, which, so far
as Ormsgill knew, was not a thing he had hitherto been addicted to
doing. Still, the latter was aware that the white man's mental balance
is apt to become a trifle unsettled in that land.
"I can't tell. It's a question I've grappled with in one shape or
other before," he said. "The land is full of iniquities and horrors,
and I think that some of them can only be washed out in blood. That
law stands as it has always done. The great trade road to the south of
us is paved with the bones of the victims, and they still come down to
die, worked out in a few years on the plantations. It is a thing that
can't go on."
He opened and closed a thin hand savagely while his voice rose to a
harsher note. "For one man killed by the bullet if war breaks out a
hundred perish yearly under the driver's lash on the great roads and,
I think, among the coffee plants. They are dumb cattle, here and in
the Congo. They can not tell their troubles, and they have no friends.
How could they when the white man grows rich by their toil and
anguish? Still, this earth is the Lord's, and there are men in it who
will listen when once what is being done in this land of darkness is
clearly told them. One must believe it or throw away all faith in
humanity. I think if it rested with me I would let these bushmen come
down and crush their oppressors, since it seems there is no other way
of making their sorrows known."
He broke off abruptly, and seemed to shrink back within himself, for
it was, after all, but seldom he spoke in that fashion. Ormsgill
nodded.
"It's a very old way of claiming attention, and one that's sometimes
effective," he said. "They might have tried it before, but, you see,
those beneath the yoke have their hands tied, and those who aren't
somewhat naturally don't care. That's one of the things which have
hampered most attempts at emancipation. Only our friend the Suzerain
has sense enough to realize that if they sit still much longer the
yoke will be tolerably securely fastened on all of them. I think he
has the gifts of a leader, but there is another man of the same kind
on the coast. I mean Dom Clemente, and I'm not sure he'd be willing to
have the land swept out in that unceremonious fashion. In fact, one
could almost fancy that in due time he means to do the cleaning up,
tactfully, himself."
He stopped a moment, and smiled somewhat grimly before he went on
again. "After all, this doesn't directly concern either of us. It's a
little hard that now when the thing we have in hand is in one sense
accomplished and neither Domingo nor Herrero can worry us, we should
be kept here indefinitely at the pleasure of this back-country
nigger."
He glanced at the dusky men who squatted not far away in the shadow
watching the hut. They had Snider rifles, and it was evident they were
there to see that nobody came out. Then he sat moodily silent awhile,
with a curious hardness in his lined face. He was lame and worn-out.
The climate had sapped the physical strength out of him, and the wound
in his leg still caused him pain. Also, struggle against it as he
would, the black dejection which preys on the white man in that land
was fastening itself on him. The thing was hard, almost intolerably
so. He was a captive with the opportunity of accomplishing his task
receding every moment further away from him, for it was clear that
once the rebellion broke out it would be almost impossible for him to
convey his boys across the track of it to the wished-for coast. Some
time had slipped by when Nares roused himself to ask another question.
"Are these people likely to meet with any opposition from the natives
when they march?" he said.
"That," said Ormsgill reflectively, "is a thing I'm not quite sure
about. There is one Headman of some importance between them and the
littoral. You know whom I mean, and it would make things difficult for
our jailers if he remained on good terms with the authorities. In
fact, in that case it seems to me these folks would have a good deal
of trouble in getting any further. What he will do I naturally don't
know, but if I was in command of San Roque I would make every effort
to keep him quiet and content just now."
After that he once more sat silent, apparently brooding heavily,
until the sudden darkness fell and the pungent smoke of the cooking
fires drifted about the village. Then, soon after food was brought
them, he sank into restless sleep.