THE KALUBI’S OATH
“Be silent!” I whispered, and all understood my tone if they did not
catch the words. Then steadying myself with an effort, for this hideous
vision, which might have been a picture from hell, made me feel faint, I
glanced at Komba, who was a pace or two in front of us. Evidently he was
much disturbed--the motions of his back told me this--by the sense of
some terrible mistake that he had made. For a moment he stood still,
then wheeled round and asked me if we had seen anything.
“Yes,” I answered indifferently, “we saw a number of men gathered round
a fire, nothing more.”
He tried to search our faces, but luckily the great moon, now almost
at her full, was hidden behind a thick cloud, so that he could not read
them well. I heard him sigh in relief as he said:
“The Kalubi and the head men are cooking a sheep; it is their custom to
feast together on those nights when the moon is about to change. Follow
me, white lords.”
Then he led us round the end of the long shed at which we did not even
look, and through the garden on its farther side to the two fine huts I
have mentioned. Here he clapped his hands and a woman appeared, I know
not whence. To her he whispered something. She went away and presently
returned with four or five other women who carried clay lamps filled
with oil in which floated a wick of palm fibre. These lamps were set
down in the huts that proved to be very clean and comfortable places,
furnished after a fashion with wooden stools and a kind of low table of
which the legs were carved to the shape of antelope’s feet. Also there
was a wooden platform at the end of the hut whereon lay beds covered
with mats and stuffed with some soft fibre.
“Here you may rest safe,” he said, “for, white lords, are you not the
honoured guests of the Pongo people? Presently food” (I shuddered at the
word) “will be brought to you, and after you have eaten well, if it is
your pleasure, the Kalubi and his councillors will receive you in yonder
feast-house and you can talk with them before you sleep. If you need
aught, strike upon that jar with a stick,” and he pointed to what looked
like a copper cauldron that stood in the garden of the hut near the
place where the women were already lighting a fire, “and some will wait
on you. Look, here are your goods; none are missing, and here comes
water in which you may wash. Now I must go to make report to the
Kalubi,” and with a courteous bow he departed.
So after a while did the silent, handsome women--to fetch our meal, I
understood one of them to say, and at length we were alone.
“My aunt!” said Stephen, fanning himself with his pocket-handkerchief,
“did you see that lady toasting? I have often heard of cannibals, those
slaves, for instance, but the actual business! Oh! my aunt!”
“It is no use addressing your absent aunt--if you have got one. What did
you expect if you would insist on coming to a hell like this?” I asked
gloomily.
“Can’t say, old fellow. Don’t trouble myself much with expectations as
a rule. That’s why I and my poor old father never could get on. I always
quoted the text ‘Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof’ to him,
until at length he sent for the family Bible and ruled it out with red
ink in a rage. But I say, do you think that we shall be called upon to
understudy St. Lawrence on that grid?”
“Certainly, I do,” I replied, “and, as old Babemba warned you, you can’t
complain.”
“Oh! but I will and I can. And so will you, won’t you, Brother John?”
Brother John woke up from a reverie and stroked his long beard.
“Since you ask me, Mr. Somers,” he said, reflectively, “if it were a
case of martyrdom for the Faith, like that of the saint to whom you have
alluded, I should not object--at any rate in theory. But I confess that,
speaking from a secular point of view, I have the strongest dislike to
being cooked and eaten by these very disagreeable savages. Still, I
see no reason to suppose that we shall fall victims to their domestic
customs.”
I, being in a depressed mood, was about to argue to the contrary, when
Hans poked his head into the hut and said:
“Dinner coming, Baas, very fine dinner!”
So we went out into the garden where the tall, impassive ladies were
arranging many wooden dishes on the ground. Now the moon was clear of
clouds, and by its brilliant light we examined their contents. Some
were cooked meat covered with a kind of sauce that made its nature
indistinguishable. As a matter of fact, I believe it was mutton,
but--who could say? Others were evidently of a vegetable nature. For
instance, there was a whole platter full of roasted mealie cobs and
a great boiled pumpkin, to say nothing of some bowls of curdled milk.
Regarding this feast I became aware of a sudden and complete conversion
to those principles of vegetarianism which Brother John was always
preaching to me.
“I am sure you are quite right,” I said to him, nervously, “in holding
that vegetables are the best diet in a hot climate. At any rate I have
made up my mind to try the experiment for a few days,” and throwing
manners to the winds, I grabbed four of the upper mealie cobs and the
top of the pumpkin which I cut off with a knife. Somehow I did not seem
to fancy that portion of it which touched the platter, for who knew what
those dishes might have contained and how often they were washed.
Stephen also appeared to have found salvation on this point, for he,
too, patronized the mealie cobs and the pumpkin; so did Mavovo, and so
did even that inveterate meat-eater, Hans. Only the simple Jerry tackled
the fleshpots of Egypt, or rather of Pongo-land, with appetite, and
declared that they were good. I think that he, being the last of us
through the gateway, had not realized what it was which lay upon the
grid.
At length we finished our simple meal--when you are very hungry it takes
a long time to fill oneself with squashy pumpkin, which is why I suppose
ruminants and other grazing animals always seem to be eating--and washed
it down with water in preference to the sticky-looking milk which we
left to the natives.
“Allan,” said Brother John to me in a low voice as we lit our pipes,
“that man who stood with his back to us in front of the gridiron was the
Kalubi. Against the firelight I saw the gap in his hand where I cut away
the finger.”
“Well, if we want to get any further, you must cultivate him,” I
answered. “But the question is, shall we get further than--that grid? I
believe we have been trapped here to be eaten.”
Before Brother John could reply, Komba arrived, and after inquiring
whether our appetites had been good, intimated that the Kalubi and
head men were ready to receive us. So off we went with the exception of
Jerry, whom we left to watch our things, taking with us the presents we
had prepared.
Komba led us to the feast-house, where the fire in the pit was out,
or had been covered over, and the grid and its horrible burden had
disappeared. Also now all the mats were rolled up, so that the clear
moonlight flowed into and illuminated the place. Seated in a semicircle
on wooden stools with their faces towards the gateway were the Kalubi,
who occupied the centre, and eight councillors, all of them grey-haired
men. This Kalubi was a tall, thin individual of middle age with, I
think, the most nervous countenance that I ever saw. His features
twitched continually and his hands were never still. The eyes, too, as
far as I could see them in that light, were full of terrors.
He rose and bowed, but the councillors remained seated, greeting us with
a long-continued and soft clapping of the hands, which, it seemed, was
the Pongo method of salute.
We bowed in answer, then seated ourselves on three stools that had been
placed for us, Brother John occupying the middle stool. Mavovo and Hans
stood behind us, the latter supporting himself with his large bamboo
stick. As soon as these preliminaries were over the Kalubi
called upon Komba, whom he addressed in formal language as
“You-who-have-passed-the-god,” and “You-the-Kalubi-to-be” (I thought I
saw him wince as he said these words), to give an account of his mission
and of how it came about that they had the honour of seeing the white
lords there.
Komba obeyed. After addressing the Kalubi with every possible title
of honour, such as “Absolute Monarch,” “Master whose feet I kiss,”
“He whose eyes are fire and whose tongue is a sword,” “He at whose nod
people die,” “Lord of the Sacrifice, first Taster of the Sacred meat,”
“Beloved of the gods” (here the Kalubi shrank as though he had been
pricked with a spear), “Second to none on earth save the Motombo the
most holy, the most ancient, who comes from heaven and speaks with the
voice of heaven,” etc., etc., he gave a clear but brief account of all
that had happened in the course of his mission to Beza Town.
Especially did he narrate how, in obedience to a message which he had
received from the Motombo, he had invited the white lords to Pongo-land,
and even accepted them as envoys from the Mazitu when none would respond
to King Bausi’s invitation to fill that office. Only he had stipulated
that they should bring with them none of their magic weapons which
vomited out smoke and death, as the Motombo had commanded. At this
information the expressive countenance of the Kalubi once more betrayed
mental disturbance that I think Komba noted as much as we did. However,
he said nothing, and after a pause, Komba went on to explain that no
such weapons had been brought, since, not satisfied with our word that
this was so, he and his companions had searched our baggage before we
left Mazitu-land.
Therefore, he added, there was no cause to fear that we should bring
about the fulfilment of the old prophecy that when a gun was fired among
the Pongo the gods would desert the land and the people cease to be a
people.
Having finished his speech, he sat down in a humble place behind us.
Then the Kalubi, after formally accepting us as ambassadors from Bausi,
King of the Mazitu, discoursed at length upon the advantages which would
result to both peoples from a lasting peace between them. Finally he
propounded the articles of such a peace. These, it was clear, had been
carefully prepared, but to set them out would be useless, since they
never came to anything, and I doubt whether it was intended that they
should. Suffice it to say that they provided for intermarriage, free
trade between the countries, blood-brotherhood, and other things that
I have forgotten, all of which was to be ratified by Bausi taking a
daughter of the Kalubi to wife, and the Kalubi taking a daughter of
Bausi.
We listened in silence, and when he had finished, after a pretended
consultation between us, I spoke as the Mouth of Brother John, who,
I explained, was too grand a person to talk himself, saying that the
proposals seemed fair and reasonable, and that we should be happy to
submit them to Bausi and his council on our return.
The Kalubi expressed great satisfaction at this statement, but remarked
incidentally that first of all the whole matter must be laid before the
Motombo for his opinion, without which no State transaction had legal
weight among the Pongo. He added that with our approval he proposed that
we should visit his Holiness on the morrow, starting when the sun was
three hours old, as he lived at a distance of a day’s journey from Rica.
After further consultation we replied that although we had little time
to spare, as we understood that the Motombo was old and could not
visit us, we, the white lords, would stretch a point and call on him.
Meanwhile we were tired and wished to go to bed. Then we presented our
gifts, which were gracefully accepted, with an intimation that return
presents would be made to us before we left Pongo-land.
After this the Kalubi took a little stick and broke it, to intimate that
the conference was at an end, and having bade him and his councillors
good night we retired to our huts.
I should add, because it has a bearing on subsequent events, that
on this occasion we were escorted, not by Komba, but by two of the
councillors. Komba, as I noted for the first time when we rose to say
good-bye, was no longer present at the council. When he left it I cannot
say, since it will be remembered that his seat was behind us in the
shadow, and none of us saw him go.
“What do you make of all that?” I asked the others when the door was
shut.
Brother John merely shook his head and said nothing, for in those days
he seemed to be living in a kind of dreamland.
Stephen answered. “Bosh! Tommy rot! All my eye and my elbow! Those
man-eating Johnnies have some game up their wide sleeves, and whatever
it may be, it isn’t peace with the Mazitu.”
“I agree,” I said. “If the real object were peace they would have
haggled more, stood out for better terms, or hostages, or something.
Also they would have got the consent of this Motombo beforehand. Clearly
he is the master of the situation, not the Kalubi, who is only his tool;
if business were meant he should have spoken first, always supposing
that he exists and isn’t a myth. However, if we live we shall learn, and
if we don’t, it doesn’t matter, though personally I think we should be
wise to leave Motombo alone and to clear out to Mazitu-land by the first
canoe to-morrow morning.”
“I intend to visit this Motombo,” broke in Brother John with decision.
“Ditto, ditto,” exclaimed Stephen, “but it’s no use arguing that all
over again.”
“No,” I replied with irritation. “It is, as you remark, of no use
arguing with lunatics. So let’s go to bed, and as it will probably be
our last, have a good night’s sleep.”
“Hear, hear!” said Stephen, taking off his coat and placing it doubled
up on the bed to serve as a pillow. “I say,” he added, “stand clear a
minute while I shake this blanket. It’s covered with bits of something,”
and he suited the action to the word.
“Bits of something?” I said suspiciously. “Why didn’t you wait a minute
to let me see them. I didn’t notice any bits before.”
“Rats running about the roof, I expect,” said Stephen carelessly.
Not being satisfied, I began to examine this roof and the clay walls,
which I forgot to mention were painted over in a kind of pattern with
whorls in it, by the feeble light of the primitive lamps. While I was
thus engaged there was a knock on the door. Forgetting all about the
dust, I opened it and Hans appeared.
“One of these man-eating devils wants to speak to you, Baas. Mavovo
keeps him without.”
“Let him in,” I said, since in this place fearlessness seemed our best
game, “but watch well while he is with us.”
Hans whispered a word over his shoulder, and next moment a tall man
wrapped from head to foot in white cloth, so that he looked like a
ghost, came or rather shot into the hut and closed the door behind him.
“Who are you?” I asked.
By way of answer he lifted or unwrapped the cloth from about his face,
and I saw that the Kalubi himself stood before us.
“I wish to speak alone with the white lord, Dogeetah,” he said in
a hoarse voice, “and it must be now, since afterwards it will be
impossible.”
Brother John rose and looked at him.
“How are you, Kalubi, my friend?” he asked. “I see that your wound has
healed well.”
“Yes, yes, but I would speak with you alone.”
“Not so,” replied Brother John. “If you have anything to say, you must
say it to all of us, or leave it unsaid, since these lords and I are
one, and that which I hear, they hear.”
“Can I trust them?” muttered the Kalubi.
“As you can trust me. Therefore speak, or go. Yet, first, can we be
overheard in this hut?”
“No, Dogeetah. The walls are thick. There is no one on the roof, for I
have looked all round, and if any strove to climb there, we should hear.
Also your men who watch the door would see him. None can hear us save
perhaps the gods.”
“Then we will risk the gods, Kalubi. Go on; my brothers know your
story.”
“My lords,” he began, rolling his eyes about him like a hunted creature,
“I am in a terrible pass. Once, since I saw you, Dogeetah, I should have
visited the White God that dwells in the forest on the mountain yonder,
to scatter the sacred seed. But I feigned to be sick, and Komba, the
Kalubi-to-be, ‘who has passed the god,’ went in my place and returned
unharmed. Now to-morrow, the night of the full moon, as Kalubi, I must
visit the god again and once more scatter the seed and--Dogeetah, he
will kill me whom he has once bitten. He will certainly kill me unless
I can kill him. Then Komba will rule as Kalubi in my stead, and he will
kill you in a way you can guess, by the ‘Hot death,’ as a sacrifice to
the gods, that the women of the Pongo may once more become the mothers
of many children. Yes, yes, unless we can kill the god who dwells in
the forest, we all must die,” and he paused, trembling, while the sweat
dropped from him to the floor.
“That’s pleasant,” said Brother John, “but supposing that we kill the
god how would that help us or you to escape from the Motombo and these
murdering people of yours? Surely they would slay us for the sacrilege.”
“Not so, Dogeetah. If the god dies, the Motombo dies. It is known from
of old, and therefore the Motombo watches over the god as a mother over
her child. Then, until a new god is found, the Mother of the Holy Flower
rules, she who is merciful and will harm none, and I rule under her and
will certainly put my enemies to death, especially that wizard Komba.”
Here I thought I heard a faint sound in the air like the hiss of a
snake, but as it was not repeated and I could see nothing, concluded
that I was mistaken.
“Moreover,” he went on, “I will load you with gold dust and any gifts
you may desire, and set you safe across the water among your friends,
the Mazitu.”
“Look here,” I broke in, “let us understand matters clearly, and, John,
do you translate to Stephen. Now, friend Kalubi, first of all, who and
what is this god you talk of?”
“Lord Macumazana, he is a huge ape white with age, or born white, I know
not which. He is twice as big as any man, and stronger than twenty men,
whom he can break in his hands, as I break a reed, or whose heads he can
bite off in his mouth, as he bit off my finger for a warning. For that
is how he treats the Kalubis when he wearies of them. First he bites off
a finger and lets them go, and next he breaks them like a reed, as also
he breaks those who are doomed to sacrifice before the fire.”
“Ah!” I said, “a great ape! I thought as much. Well, and how long has
this brute been a god among you?”
“I do not know how long. From the beginning. He was always there, as the
Motombo was always there, for they are one.”
“That’s a lie any way,” I said in English, then went on. “And who is
this Mother of the Holy Flower? Is she also always there, and does she
live in the same place as the ape god?”
“Not so, lord Macumazana. She dies like other mortals, and is succeeded
by one who takes her place. Thus the present Mother is a white woman of
your race, now of middle age. When she dies she will be succeeded by her
daughter, who also is a white woman and very beautiful. After she dies
another who is white will be found, perhaps one who is of black parents
but born white.”
“How old is this daughter?” interrupted Brother John in a curiously
intent voice, “and who is her father?”
“The daughter was born over twenty years ago, Dogeetah, after the Mother
of the Flower was captured and brought here. She says that the father
was a white man to whom she was married, but who is dead.”
Brother John’s head dropped upon his chest, and his eyes shut as though
he had gone to sleep.
“As for where the Mother lives,” went on the Kalubi, “it is on the
island in the lake at the top of the mountain that is surrounded by
water. She has nothing to do with the White God, but those women who
serve her go across the lake at times to tend the fields where grows the
seed that the Kalubi sows, of which the corn is the White God’s food.”
“Good,” I said, “now we understand--not much, but a little. Tell us next
what is your plan? How are we to come into the place where this great
ape lives? And if we come there, how are we to kill the beast, seeing
that your successor, Komba, was careful to prevent us from bringing our
firearms to your land?”
“Aye, lord Macumazana, may the teeth of the god meet in his brain for
that trick; yes, may he die as I know how to make him die. That prophecy
of which he told you is no prophecy from of old. It arose in the land
within the last moon only, though whether it came from Komba or from
the Motombo I know not. None save myself, or at least very few here, had
heard of the iron tubes that throw out death, so how should there be a
prophecy concerning them?”
“I am sure I don’t know, Kalubi, but answer the rest of the question.”
“As to your coming into the forest--for the White God lives in a forest
on the slopes of the mountain, lords--that will be easy since the
Motombo and the people will believe that I am trapping you there to be a
sacrifice, such as they desire for sundry reasons,” and he looked at the
plump Stephen in a very suggestive way. “As to how you are to kill the
god without your tubes of iron, that I do not know. But you are very
brave and great magicians. Surely you can find a way.”
Here Brother John seemed to wake up again.
“Yes,” he said, “we shall find a way. Have no fear of that, O Kalubi. We
are not afraid of the big ape whom you call a god. Yet it must be at a
price. We will not kill this beast and try to save your life, save at a
price.”
“What price?” asked the Kalubi nervously. “There are wives and
cattle--no, you do not want the wives, and the cattle cannot be taken
across the lake. There are gold dust and ivory. I have already promised
these, and there is nothing more that I can give.”
“The price is, O Kalubi, that you hand over to us to be taken away
the white woman who is called Mother of the Holy Flower, with her
daughter----”
“And,” interrupted Stephen, to whom I had been interpreting, “the Holy
Flower itself, all of it dug up by the roots.”
When he heard these modest requests the poor Kalubi became like one upon
the verge of madness.
“Do you understand,” he gasped, “do you understand that you are asking
for the gods of my country?”
“Quite,” replied Brother John with calmness; “for the gods of your
country--nothing more nor less.”
The Kalubi made as though he would fly from the hut, but I caught him by
the arm and said:
“See, friend, things are thus. You ask us, at great danger to ourselves,
to kill one of the gods of your country, the highest of them, in order
to save your life. Well, in payment we ask you to make a present of the
remaining gods of your country, and to see us and them safe across the
lake. Do you accept or refuse?”
“I refuse,” answered the Kalubi sullenly. “To accept would mean the last
curse upon my spirit; that is too horrible to tell.”
“And to refuse means the first curse upon your body; namely, that in a
few hours it must be broken and chewed by a great monkey which you call
a god. Yes, broken and chewed, and afterwards, I think, cooked and eaten
as a sacrifice. Is it not so?”
The Kalubi nodded his head and groaned.
“Yet,” I went on, “for our part we are glad that you have refused, since
now we shall be rid of a troublesome and dangerous business and return
in safety to Mazitu land.”
“How will you return in safety, O lord Macumazana, you who are doomed to
the ‘Hot Death’ if you escape the fangs of the god?”
“Very easily, O Kalubi, by telling Komba, the Kalubi-to-be, of your
plots against this god of yours, and how we have refused to listen to
your wickedness. In fact, I think this may be done at once while you are
here with us, O Kalubi, where perhaps you do not expect to be found.
I will go strike upon the pot without the door; doubtless though it is
late, some will hear. Nay, man, stand you still; we have knives and our
servants have spears,” and I made as though to pass him.
“Lord,” he said, “I will give you the Mother of the Holy Flower and her
daughter; aye, and the Holy Flower itself dug up by the roots, and I
swear that if I can, I will set you and them safe across the lake, only
asking that I may come with you, since here I dare not stay. Yet the
curse will come too, but if so, it is better to die of a curse in a day
to be, than to-morrow at the fangs of the god. Oh! why was I born! Why
was I born!” and he began to weep.
“That is a question many have asked and none have been able to answer, O
friend Kalubi, though mayhap there is an answer somewhere,” I replied in
a kind voice.
For my heart was stirred with pity of this poor wretch mazed and lost in
his hell of superstition; this potentate who could not escape from the
trappings of a hateful power, save by the door of a death too horrible
to contemplate; this priest whose doom it was to be slain by the very
hands of his god, as those who went before him had been slain, and as
those who came after him would be slain.
“Yet,” I went on, “I think you have chosen wisely, and we hold you to
your word. While you are faithful to us, we will say nothing. But
of this be sure--that if you attempt to betray us, we who are not so
helpless as we seem, will betray you, and it shall be you who die, not
us. Is it a bargain?”
“It is a bargain, white lord, although blame me not if things go wrong,
since the gods know all, and they are devils who delight in human woe
and mock at bargains and torment those who would injure them. Yet, come
what will, I swear to keep faith with you thus, by the oath that may not
be broken,” and drawing a knife from his girdle, he thrust out the tip
of his tongue and pricked it. From the puncture a drop of blood fell to
the floor.
“If I break my oath,” he said, “may my flesh grow cold as that blood
grows cold, and may it rot as that blood rots! Aye, and may my spirit
waste and be lost in the world of ghosts as that blood wastes into the
air and is lost in the dust of the world!”
It was a horrible scene and one that impressed me very much, especially
as even then there fell upon me a conviction that this unfortunate man
was doomed, that a fate which he could not escape was upon him.
We said nothing, and in another moment he had thrown his white wrappings
over his face and slipped through the door.
“I am afraid we are playing it rather low down on that jumpy old boy,”
said Stephen remorsefully.
“The white woman, the white woman and her daughter,” muttered Brother
John.
“Yes,” reflected Stephen aloud. “One is justified in doing anything to
get two white women out of this hell, if they exist. So one may as well
have the orchid also, for they’d be lonely without it, poor things,
wouldn’t they? Glad I thought of that, it’s soothing to the conscience.”
“I hope you’ll find it so when we are all on that iron grid which I
noticed is wide enough for three,” I remarked sarcastically. “Now be
quiet, I want to go to sleep.”
I am sorry to have to add that for the most of that night Want remained
my master. But if I couldn’t sleep, I could, or rather was obliged to,
think, and I thought very hard indeed.
First I reflected on the Pongo and their gods. What were these and why
did they worship them? Soon I gave it up, remembering that the problem
was one which applied equally to dozens of the dark religions of this
vast African continent, to which none could give an answer, and least
of all their votaries. That answer indeed must be sought in the horrible
fears of the unenlightened human heart, which sees death and terror
and evil around it everywhere and, in this grotesque form or in that,
personifies them in gods, or rather in devils who must be propitiated.
For always the fetish or the beast, or whatever it may be, is not
the real object of worship. It is only the thing or creature which is
inhabited by the spirit of the god or devil, the temple, as it were,
that furnishes it with a home, which temple is therefore holy. And these
spirits are diverse, representing sundry attributes or qualities.
Thus the great ape might be Satan, a prince of evil and blood. The Holy
Flower might symbolise fertility and the growth of the food of man from
the bosom of the earth. The Mother of the Flower might represent mercy
and goodness, for which reason it was necessary that she should be
white in colour, and dwell, not in the shadowed forest, but on a soaring
mountain, a figure of light, in short, as opposed to darkness. Or she
might be a kind of African Ceres, a goddess of the corn and harvest
which were symbolised in the beauteous bloom she tended. Who could tell?
Not I, either then or afterwards, for I never found out.
As for the Pongo themselves, their case was obvious. They were a dying
tribe, the last descendants of some higher race, grown barren from
intermarriage. Probably, too, they were at first only cannibals
occasionally and from religious reasons. Then in some time of dearth
they became very religious in that respect, and the habit overpowered
them. Among cannibals, at any rate in Africa, as I knew, this dreadful
food is much preferred to any other meat. I had not the slightest doubt
that although the Kalubi himself had brought us here in the wild
hope that we might save him from a terrible death at the hands of the
Beelzebub he served, Komba and the councillors, inspired thereto by the
prophet called Motombo, designed that we should be murdered and eaten as
an offering to the gods. How we were to escape this fate, being unarmed,
I could not imagine, unless some special protection were vouchsafed to
us. Meanwhile, we must go on to the end, whatever it might be.
Brother John, or to give him his right name, the Reverend John Eversley,
was convinced that the white woman imprisoned in the mountain was none
other than the lost wife for whom he had searched for twenty weary
years, and that the second white woman of whom we had heard that night
was, strange as it might seem, her daughter and his own. Perhaps he
was right and perhaps he was wrong. But even in the latter case, if two
white persons were really languishing in this dreadful land, our path
was clear. We must go on in faith until we saved them or until we died.
“Our life is granted, not in Pleasure’s round,
Or even Love’s sweet dream, to lapse, content;
Duty and Faith are words of solemn sound,
And to their echoes must the soul be bent,”
as some one or other once wrote, very nobly I think. Well, there was but
little of “Pleasure’s round” about the present entertainment, and any
hope of “Love’s sweet dream” seemed to be limited to Brother John (here
I was quite mistaken, as I so often am). Probably the “echoes” would be
my share; indeed, already I seemed to hear their ominous thunder.
At last I did go to sleep and dreamed a very curious dream. It seemed to
me that I was disembodied, although I retained all my powers of thought
and observation; in fact, dead and yet alive. In this state I hovered
over the people of the Pongo who were gathered together on a great plain
under an inky sky. They were going about their business as usual, and
very unpleasant business it often was. Some of them were worshipping a
dim form that I knew was the devil; some were committing murders; some
were feasting--at that on which they feasted I would not look; some were
labouring or engaged in barter; some were thinking. But I, who had
the power of looking into them, saw within the breast of each a tiny
likeness of the man or woman or child as it might be, humbly bent
upon its knees with hands together in an attitude of prayer, and with
imploring, tear-stained face looking upwards to the black heaven.
Then in that heaven there appeared a single star of light, and from this
star flowed lines of gentle fire that spread and widened till all the
immense arc was one flame of glory. And now from the pulsing heart of
the Glory, which somehow reminded me of moving lips, fell countless
flakes of snow, each of which followed an appointed path till it lit
upon the forehead of one of the tiny, imploring figures hidden within
those savage breasts, and made it white and clean.
Then the Glory shrank and faded till there remained of it only
the similitude of two transparent hands stretched out as though in
blessing--and I woke up wondering how on earth I found the fancy to
invent such a vision, and whether it meant anything or nothing.
Afterwards I repeated it to Brother John, who was a very spiritually
minded as well as a good man--the two things are often quite
different--and asked him to be kind enough to explain. At the time he
shook his head, but some days later he said to me:
“I think I have read your riddle, Allan; the answer came to me quite of
a sudden. In all those sin-stained hearts there is a seed of good and
an aspiration towards the right. For every one of them also there is at
last mercy and forgiveness, since how could they learn who never had a
teacher? Your dream, Allan, was one of the ultimate redemption of even
the most evil of mankind, by gift of the Grace that shall one day glow
through the blackness of the night in which they wander.”
That is what he said, and I only hope that he was right, since at
present there is something very wrong with the world, especially in
Africa.
Also we blame the blind savage for many things, but on the balance are
we so much better, considering our lights and opportunities? Oh!
the truth is that the devil--a very convenient word that--is a good
fisherman. He has a large book full of flies of different sizes and
colours, and well he knows how to suit them to each particular fish. But
white or black, every fish takes one fly or the other, and then comes
the question--is the fish that has swallowed the big gaudy lure so much
worse or more foolish than that which has fallen to the delicate white
moth with the same sharp barb in its tail?
In short, are we not all miserable sinners as the Prayer Book says, and
in the eye of any judge who can average up the elemental differences of
those waters wherein we were bred and are called upon to swim, is there
so much to choose between us? Do we not all need those outstretched
Hands of Mercy which I saw in my dream?
But there, there! What right has a poor old hunter to discuss things
that are too high for him?