THE MESSENGERS
The return trip began promptly the following morning, and progressed
uninterruptedly for two weeks. One by one they picked up the
water-holes found on the journey out.
A few details had to be adjusted to compensate for Kingozi's lack of
eyes. The matter of meat supplies, for example.
"Good luck I gave some attention to your shooting, old sportsman," he
remarked to Simba in English, then in Swahili: "Here are five
cartridges. Go get me a zebra and a kongoni."
Simba was no shot, but Kingozi knew he would stalk, with infinite
patience and skill, fairly atop his quarry before letting off one of
the precious cartridges.
In the matter of rhinoceros and similar dangers, they simply took a
chance.
Kingozi marched at the end of a stick held by Simba. He gave his whole
energies to getting over the day's difficulties of all sorts. His
relations with the Leopard Woman swung back. Perhaps vaguely, in the
back of his mind, he looked forward to the interpretation of that
unpremeditated kiss; but just now a mixed feeling of responsibility and
delicacy prevented his going forward from the point attained. During
the march they walked apart most of the time. The weariness of forced
travel abridged their evenings.
Chaké walked guarded, and slept in chains.
Whenever the location of water-holes permitted, the safari made long
jumps. The two messengers sent out with a scrawled letter to Doctor
McCloud--whom they knew as Bwana Marefu--were of course far ahead. With
any luck Kingozi hoped to meet the surgeon not far from the mountains
where dwelt the _sultani_ of the ivory stockade.
Thus the march went through a fortnight. The close of the fourteenth
day found them camped near water in a _donga_. The dim blue of
mountains had raised itself above the horizon ahead. This rejoiced the
men. They were running low of _potio_, and they knew that from the
_sultani's_ subjects in these mountains a further supply could be had.
As a consequence, an unwonted _kalele_ was smiting the air. Each man
chatted to his next-door neighbour at the top of his lungs, laughing
loudly, squealing with delight. Kingozi sat enjoying it. He had been so
long in Africa that this happy rumpus always pleased him. Suddenly it
fell to silence. He cocked his ear, trying to understand the reason.
Across the open veldt two figures had been descried. They were coming
toward the camp at a slow dogtrot; and as they approached it could be
seen that save for a turban apiece they were stark naked; and save for
a spear and a water gourd apiece they were without equipment. One held
something straight upright before him, as medieval priests carried a
cross. The turbans were formed from their blankets; mid-blade of each
spear was wound with a strip of red cloth; the object one carried was a
letter held in the cleft of a stick.
By these tokens the safari men knew the strangers to be messengers.
The mail service of Central Africa is slow but very certain. You give
your letter to two reliable men and inform them that it is for _Bwana_
So-and-so. Sooner or later _Bwana_ So-and-so will get that letter. He
is found by a process of elimination. In the bazaars the messengers
inquire whether he has gone north, south, east, or west. Some native is
certain to have known some of his men. So your messengers start west.
Their progress thenceforward is a series of village visits. The gossip
of the country directs them. Gradually, but with increasing certainty,
their course defines itself, until at last--months later--they come
trotting into camp.
These two jogged in broadly agrin. Cazi Moto and Simba led them at once
to Kingozi's chair.
"These men bring a _barua_ for you, _bwana_," said Cazi Moto.
Kingozi took the split wand with the letter thrust crosswise in the
cleft.
"Who sent them?" he asked.
"The _Bwana_ M'Kubwa[10], _bwana_."
[10: _Bwana M'Kubwa_--the great lord, i.e., the chief officer of any
district.]
"Have they no message?"
"They say no message, _bwana_."
"Take them and give them food, and see that they have a place in one of
the tents."
"Yes, _bwana_."
"And send Bibi-ya-chui to me."
The Leopard Woman sent word that she was bathing, but would come
shortly. Kingozi sat fingering the letter, which he could not read. It
was long and thick. He could feel the embossed frank of the Government
Office. The situation was puzzling. It might contain secret orders, in
which case it would be inadvisable to allow the Leopard Woman a sight
of its contents. But Kingozi shook off this thought. At about the time
he felt the cool shadow of the earth rise across his face as the sun
slipped below the horizon, he became aware also by the faint perfume
that the Leopard Woman had come.
"I am in a fix," he said abruptly. "Runners have just come in with this
letter. It is official, and may be secret. I am morally certain you
ought not to know its contents; but I don't see how I am to know them
unless you do. Will you read it to me, and will you give me your word
not to use its contents for your own or your government's purposes?"
She hesitated.
"I cannot promise that."
"Well," he amended after a moment, "you will stick to the terms of your
other promise--that you will not attempt to leave my safari or send
messages until we arrive."
"The fresh, even start," she supplied. "That promise is given."
He handed her the envelope.
A crackle of paper, then a long wait.
"I shall not read you this," she said finally in a strangled,
suppressed voice.
"Why not?" he demanded sharply.
"It contains things I would not have you know."
He felt the paper thrust into his hands, reached for her wrists, and
pinioned them. For once his self-control had broken. His face was
suffused with blood and dark with anger.
But his speech was cut short by an uproar from the camp. Cries,
shrieks, shouts, yells, and the sound of running to and fro steadily
increased in volume. It was a riot.
In vain Kingozi called for Cazi Moto and Simba. Finally he grasped his
_kiboko_ and started in the direction of the disturbance. The Leopard
Woman sprang to his side, and guided him. He laid about him blindly
with the _kiboko_, and in time succeeded in getting some semblance of
order.
"Cazi Moto! Simba!" he shouted angrily.
"Bwana?" "Sah?" two panting voices answered.
"What is this?"
They both began to speak at once.
"You, Cazi Moto," commanded Kingozi.
"These men are liars," began Cazi Moto.
"What men?"
"These men who brought the _barua_. They tell lies, bad lies, and we
beat them for it."
"Since when have you beaten liars? And since when have I ceased to deal
punishment? And since when has it been permitted that such a _kalele_
be raised in my camp?" pronounced Kingozi coldly. "For attending to
such things you are my man; and Simba is my man; and Mali-ya-bwana is
my man; and Jack is my man. Because you have done these things I fine
you six rupees each one."
"Yes, _bwana_," said Cazi Moto submissively.
"These other men--what manner of 'lie' do they tell? Bring them here."
The messengers were produced.
"What is it you tell that my men beat you for telling lies? They must
be bad lies, for it is not the custom of men to beat men for telling
lies."
"We tell no lies, _bwana_" said one of the messengers earnestly. "We
tell the truth."
"What is it you tell?"
"We said what has happened: that across the Serengëtti came white men
from the country of Taveta, and that these white men were many, and had
many _askaris_ with them, and our white men from Nairobi met them, and
fought so that those from Taveta were driven back and some were killed.
And down the N'Gouramani River many of our white men with _Mahindi_[11]
fought with strange white men on a hill below Ol Sambu, but were driven
off. And many _Mahindi_ are coming in to Mombasa, all with guns, and
all the _askaris_ are brought into Nairobi. And we told these safari
men that the white men were making war on the white men, so they cried
out at this, and beat us."
[Footnote 11: Mahindi--East Indians.]
Kingozi had listened attentively.
"Well, Cazi Moto?" he demanded.
"But this is a lie; a bad lie," said Cazi Moto, "to say that white men
make war on white men!"
"Nevertheless it is true," rejoined Kingozi quietly. "These other white
men are the _Duyches_[12], and they make war."
[Footnote 12: Duyches--Germans.]
He turned and walked back to his camp unassisted. He groped for his
chair and sat down. His hand encountered the letter.
"You do not need to read this to me now," he told the Leopard Woman
quietly. "I know what it tells." He thought a moment. "It is clear to
me now. You knew, this war was to be declared."
She did not reply.
"You know about _when_ this war was to be declared," he pursued his
thought. "Yes, it fits."
Her silence continued.
"You should have killed me," he thought aloud. "That alone could have
accomplished your mission properly. You might have known I would make
you go back, too. Or perhaps you thought you could command your own men
in spite of me?"
"Perhaps," she said unexpectedly.
He raised his voice:
"Cazi Moto!"
The chastened headman came running.
"To-morrow," Kingozi told him, "the men go on half _potio_. There will
be plenty of meat but only half _potio_."
"Yes, _bwana_."
"And if any man grumbles, or if any man objects even one word to what I
do or where I go, bring him to me at once. Understand?"
"Yes, _bwana_."
"_Bassi_."
"What is it you intend to do now?" asked the Leopard Woman curiously.
"Go back, of course."
"Back--where?"
"To M'tela."
She gasped.
"But you cannot do that! You have not considered; you have not thought."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"But it means blindness; blindness for always!"
"I know my duty."
"But to be blind, to be blind always; never to see the sun, the wide
veldt, the beasts, and the birds! Never to read a book, to see a man's
face, a woman's form; to sit always in darkness waiting--you cannot do
that!"
He winced at her words but did not reply. Her hands fluttered to his
shoulders.
"Please do not do this foolishness," she pleaded softly; "it is not
worth it! See, I have given my word! If you had thought I would go
ahead of you to M'tela, all that danger is past. A fresh start, you
said it yourself. Do you think I would deceive you?"
She was hovering very close to him; he could feel her breath on his
cheek. Firmly but gently he took her two wrists and thrust her away
from him.
"Listen, my dear," he said gently, "this is a time for clear thinking.
My country is at war with Germany; and my whole duty is to her. You are
an Austrian."
"My country, too, is at war," she said unexpectedly.
"Ah, you knew that would happen, too," he said after a startled pause.
"I know only this: that if in times of peace it was important to my
government that M'tela's friendship be gained, it is ten times as
important in time of war. I must go back and do my best."
"But why?" she interjected eagerly. "This savage tribe--it is in the
remote hinterland; it knows nothing of the white man or the white man's
quarrels. What difference can it make?"
"That is not my affair. For one thing, he is on the border."
"But what difference of that? The border means nothing. The fate of
their colonies will be fought in Europe, not here. What happens to this
country depends on who wins there below."
"Can you state positively of your own knowledge that no invasion or
movement of German troops is planned across M'tela's country? On your
sacred word of honour?" propounded Kingozi suddenly.
"On my word of honour," she repeated slowly, "no such movement."
"Do you know what you are talking about?"
She was silent.
"It doesn't sound reasonable--an invasion from that quarter--what could
they gain either on that side or on this?" Kingozi ruminated. A sudden
thought struck him. "And that there is no reason whatever, from my
point of view as a loyal British subject, against my going out at this
time? On your word?"
"Oh!" she cried distressedly, "you ask such questions! How can I
answer----"
He stopped her with grave finality.
"That is sufficient. I go back."
She did not attempt to combat him.
"I have done my duty, too," she said dully. "Mine is not the Viennese
conscience. My parole; I must take that back. From to-morrow I take it
back."
"I understand. I am sorry. To-morrow I place my guard."
"Oh, why cannot you have the sense?" she cried passionately. "I cannot
bear it! That you must be blind! That I must kill you if I can, once
more!"
Kingozi smiled quietly to himself at this confession.
"So you would even kill me?" he queried curiously.
"I must! I must! If it is necessary, I must! I have sworn!"
"Don't you suppose I shall take precautions?"
"Oh, I hope so! I do hope so!" she cried.
Her distress was so genuine, her unconsciousness of the anomaly of her
attitude so naïve that Kingozi forbore even to smile.
"I must go on," he concluded simply.