BOSAMBO OF MONROVIA.
For many years have the Ochori people formed a sort of grim comic relief
to the tragedy of African colonisation. Now it may well be that we shall
laugh at the Ochori no more. Nor, in the small hours of the night, when
conversation flags in the little circle about the fires in fishing
camps, shall the sleepy-eyed be roused to merriment by stories of Ochori
meekness. All this has come about by favour of the Liberian Government,
though at present the Liberian Government is not aware of the fact.
With all due respect to the Republic of Liberia, I say that the
Monrovians are naturally liars and thieves.
Once upon a time, that dignity might be added to the State, a warship
was acquired--if I remember aright it was presented by a disinterested
shipowner. The Government appointed three admirals, fourteen captains,
and as many officers as the ship would hold, and they all wore gorgeous
but ill-fitting uniforms. The Government would have appointed a crew
also, but for the fact that the ship was not big enough to hold any
larger number of people than its officers totalled.
This tiny man-of-war of the black republic went to sea once, the
admirals and captains taking it in turn to stoke and steer--a very
pleasing and novel sensation, this latter.
Coming back into the harbour, one of the admirals said--
"It is my turn to steer now," and took the wheel.
The ship struck a rock at the entrance of the harbour and went down. The
officers escaped easily enough, for your Monrovian swims like a fish,
but their uniforms were spoilt by the sea water. To the suggestion that
salvage operations should be attempted to refloat the warship, the
Government very wisely said no, they thought not.
"We know where she is," said the President--he was sitting on the edge
of his desk at Government House, eating sardines with his fingers--"and
if we ever want her, it will be comforting to know she is so close to
us."
Nothing more would have been done in the matter but for the fact that
the British Admiralty decided that the wreck was a danger to shipping,
and issued orders forthwith for the place where it lay to be buoyed.
The Liberian Government demurred on account of expense, but on pressure
being applied (I suspect the captain of H.M.S. _Dwarf_, who was a man
with a bitter tongue) they agreed, and the bell-buoy was anchored to the
submerged steamer.
It made a nice rowdy, clanging noise, did that bell, and the people of
Monrovia felt they were getting their money's worth.
But all Monrovia is not made up of the freed American slaves who were
settled there in 1821. There are people who are described in a lordly
fashion by the true Monrovians as "indigenous natives," and the chief
of these are the Kroomen, who pay no taxes, defy the Government, and at
intervals tweak the official nose of the Republic.
The second day after the bell was in place, Monrovia awoke to find a
complete silence reigning in the bay, and that in spite of a heavy
swell. The bell was still, and two ex-admirals, who were selling fish on
the foreshore, borrowed a boat and rowed out to investigate. The
explanation was simple--the bell had been stolen.
"Now!" said the President of the Liberian Republic in despair, "may
Beelzebub, who is the father and author of all sin, descend upon these
thieving Kroomen!"
Another bell was attached. The same night it was stolen. Yet another
bell was put to the buoy, and a boat-load of admirals kept watch.
Throughout the night they sat, rising and falling with the swell, and
the monotonous "clang-jangle-clong" was music in their ears. All night
it sounded, but in the early morning, at the dark hour before the sun
comes up, it seemed that the bell, still tolling, grew fainter and
fainter.
"Brothers," said an admiral, "we are drifting away from the bell."
But the explanation was that the bell had drifted away from them, for,
tired of half measures, the Kroomen had come and taken the buoy, bell
and all, and to this day there is no mark to show where a sometime
man-of-war rots in the harbour of Monrovia.
The ingenious soul who planned and carried out this theft was one
Bosambo, who had three wives, one of whom, being by birth Congolaise,
and untrustworthy, informed the police, and with some ceremony Bosambo
was arrested and tried at the Supreme Court, where he was found guilty
of "theft and high treason" and sentenced to ten years' penal servitude.
They took Bosambo back to prison, and Bosambo interviewed the black
gaoler.
"My friend," he said, "I have a big ju-ju in the forest, and if you do
not release me at once you and your wife shall die in great torment."
"Of your ju-ju I know nothing," said the gaoler philosophically, "but I
receive two dollars a week for guarding prisoners, and if I let you
escape I shall lose my job."
"I know a place where there is much silver hidden," said Bosambo with
promptitude. "You and I will go to this place, and we shall be rich."
"If you knew where there was silver, why did you steal bells, which are
of brass and of no particular value?" asked his unimaginative guard.
"I see that you have a heart of stone," said Bosambo, and went away to
the forest settlement to chop down trees for the good of the State.
Four months after this, Sanders, Chief Commissioner for the Isisi,
Ikeli, and Akasava countries, received, _inter alia_, a communication of
a stereotyped description--
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN.
Wanted,--on a warrant issued by H.E. the President of Liberia,
Bosambo Krooboy, who escaped from the penal settlement near
Monrovia, after killing a guard. He is believed to be making for
your country.
A description followed.
Sanders put the document away with other such notices--they were not
infrequent in their occurrence--and gave his mind to the eternal problem
of the Ochori.
Now, as ever, the Ochori people were in sad trouble. There is no other
tribe in the whole of Africa that is as defenceless as the poor Ochori.
The Fingoes, slaves as they are by name and tradition, were ferocious as
the Masai, compared with the Ochori.
Sanders was a little impatient, and a deputation of three, who had
journeyed down to headquarters to lay the grievances of the people
before him, found him unsympathetic.
He interviewed them on his verandah.
"Master, no man leaves us in peace," said one. "Isisi folk, N'Gombi
people from far-away countries, they come to us demanding this and that,
and we give, being afraid."
"Afraid of what?" asked Sanders wearily.
"We fear death and pain, also burning and the taking of our women," said
the other.
"Who is chief of you?" asked Sanders, wilfully ignorant.
"I am chief lord," said an elderly man, clad in a leopard skin.
"Go back to your people, chief, if indeed chief you are, and not some
old woman without shame; go back and bear with you a fetish--a most
powerful fetish--which shall be, as me, watching your interest and
protecting you. This fetish you shall plant on the edge of your village
that faces the sun at noon. You shall mark the place where it shall be
planted, and at midnight, with proper ceremony, and the sacrifice of a
young goat, you shall set my fetish in its place. And after that
whosoever ill-treats you or robs you shall do so at some risk."
Sanders said this very solemnly, and the men of the deputation were duly
impressed. More impressed were they when, before starting on their
homeward journey, Sanders placed in their hands a stout pole, to the end
of which was attached a flat board inscribed with certain marks.
They carried their trophy six days' journey through the forest, then
four days' journey by canoe along the Little River, until they came to
Ochori. There, by the light of the moon, with the sacrifice of two goats
(to make sure), the pole was planted so that the board inscribed with
mystic characters would face the sun at noon.
News travels fast in the back lands, and it came to the villages
throughout the Isisi and the Akasava country that the Ochori were
particularly protected by white magic. Protected they had always been,
and many men had died at the white man's hand because the temptation to
kill the Ochori folk had proved irresistible.
"I do not believe that Sandi has done this thing," said the chief of the
Akasava. "Let us go across the river and see with our own eyes, and if
they have lied we shall beat them with sticks, though let no man kill,
because of Sandi and his cruelty."
So across the water they went, and marched until they came within sight
of the Ochori city, and the Ochori people, hearing that the Akasava
people were coming, ran away into the woods and hid, in accordance with
their custom.
The Akasava advanced until they came to the pole stuck in the ground and
the board with the devil marks.
Before this they stood in silence and in awe, and having made obeisance
to it and sacrificed a chicken (which was the lawful property of the
Ochori) they turned back.
After this came a party from Isisi, and they must needs come through the
Akasava country.
They brought presents with them and lodged with the Akasava for one
night.
"What story is this of the Ochori?" asked the Isisi chief in command; so
the chief of the Akasava told him.
"You may save yourself the journey, for we have seen it."
"That," said the Isisi chief, "I will believe when I have seen."
"That is bad talk," said the Akasava people, who were gathered at the
palaver; "these dogs of Isisi call us liars."
Nevertheless there was no bloodshed, and in the morning the Isisi went
on their way.
The Ochori saw them coming, and hid in the woods, but the precaution was
unnecessary, for the Isisi departed as they came.
Other folk made a pilgrimage to the Ochori, N'Gombi, Bokeli, and the
Little People of the Forest, who were so shy that they came by night,
and the Ochori people began to realise a sense of their importance.
Then Bosambo, a Krooman and an adventurer at large, appeared on the
scene, having crossed eight hundred miles of wild land in the earnest
hope that time would dull the memory of the Liberian Government and
incidentally bring him to a land of milk and honey.
Now Bosambo had in his life been many things. He had been steward on an
Elder Dempster boat, he had been scholar at a mission school--he was the
proud possessor of a bound copy of _The Lives of the Saints_, a reward
of industry--and among his accomplishments was a knowledge of English.
The hospitable Ochori received him kindly, fed him with sweet manioc
and sugar-cane, and told him about Sandi's magic. After he had eaten,
Bosambo walked down to the post and read the inscription--
TRESPASSERS BEWARE.
He was not impressed, and strolled back again thinking deeply.
"This magic," he said to the chief, "is good magic. I know, because I
have white man's blood in my veins."
In support of this statement he proceeded to libel a perfectly innocent
British official at Sierra Leone.
The Ochori were profoundly moved. They poured forth the story of their
persecutions, a story which began in remote ages, when Tiganobeni, the
great king, came down from the north and wasted the country as far south
as the Isisi.
Bosambo listened--it took two nights and the greater part of a day to
tell the story, because the official story-teller of the Ochori had only
one method of telling--and when it was finished Bosambo said to
himself--
"This is the people I have long sought. I will stay here."
Aloud he asked:
"How often does Sandi come to you?"
"Once every year, master," said the chief, "on the twelfth moon, and a
little after."
"When came he last?"
"When this present moon is at full, three moons since; he comes after
the big rains."
"Then," said Bosambo, again to himself, "for nine months I am safe."
They built him a hut and planted for him a banana grove and gave him
seed. Then he demanded for wife the daughter of the chief, and although
he offered nothing in payment the girl came to him. That a stranger
lived in the chief village of the Ochori was remarked by the other
tribes, for news of this kind spreads, but since he was married, and
into the chief's family at that, it was accepted that the man must be of
the Ochori folk, and such was the story that came to headquarters. Then
the chief of the Ochori died. He died suddenly in some pain; but such
deaths are common, and his son ruled in his place. Then the son died
after the briefest reign, and Bosambo called the people together, the
elders, the wise men, and the headmen of the country.
"It appears," he said, "that the many gods of the Ochori are displeased
with you, and it has been revealed to me in a dream that I shall be
chief of the Ochori. Therefore, O chiefs and wise men and headmen, bow
before me, as is the custom, and I will make you a great people."
It is characteristic of the Ochori that no man said "nay" to him, even
though in the assembly were three men who by custom might claim the
chieftainship.
Sanders heard of the new chief and was puzzled.
"Etabo?" he repeated--this was how Bosambo called himself--"I do not
remember the man--yet if he can put backbone into the people I do not
care who he is."
Backbone or cunning, or both, Bosambo was certainly installed.
"He has many strange practices," reported a native agent to Sanders.
"Every day he assembles the men of the village and causes them to walk
past a _pelebi_ (table) on which are many eggs. And it is his command
that each man as he passes shall take an egg so swiftly that no eye may
see him take it. And if the man bungle or break the egg, or be slow,
this new chief puts shame upon him, whipping him."
"It is a game," said Sanders; but for the life of him he could not see
what game it was. Report after report reached him of the new chief's
madness. Sometimes he would take the unfortunate Ochori out by night,
teaching them such things as they had never known before. Thus he
instructed them in what manner they might seize upon a goat so that the
goat could not cry. Also how to crawl on their bellies inch by inch so
that they made no sound or sign. All these things the Ochori did,
groaning aloud at the injustice and the labour of it.
"I'm dashed if I can understand it!" said Sanders, knitting his brows,
when the last report came in. "With anybody but the Ochori this would
mean war. But the Ochori!"
Notwithstanding his contempt for their fighting qualities, he kept his
Police Houssas ready.
But there was no war. Instead, there came complaint from the Akasava
that "many leopards were in the woods."
Leopards will keep, thought Sanders, and, anyway, the Akasava were good
enough hunters to settle that palaver without outside help. The next
report was alarming. In two weeks these leopards had carried off three
score of goats, twenty bags of salt, and much ivory.
Leopards eat goats; there might conceivably be fastidious leopards that
cannot eat goats without salt; but a leopard does not take ivory tusks
even to pick his teeth with. So Sanders made haste to journey up the
river, because little things were considerable in a country where people
strain at gnats and swallow whole caravans.
"Lord, it is true," said the chief of the Akasava, with some emotion,
"these goats disappear night by night, though we watch them; also the
salt and ivory, because that we did not watch."
"But no leopard could take these things," said Sanders irritably. "These
are thieves."
The chief's gesture was comprehensive.
"Who could thieve?" he said. "The N'Gombi people live very far away;
also the Isisi. The Ochori are fools, and, moreover, afraid."
Then Sanders remembered the egg games, and the midnight manoeuvres of
the Ochori.
"I will call on this new chief," he said; and crossed the river that
day.
Sending a messenger to herald his coming, he waited two miles out of the
city, and the councillors and wise men came out to him with offerings of
fish and fruit.
"Where is your chief?" he asked.
"Lord, he is ill," they said gravely. "This day there came to him a
feeling of sickness, and he fell down moaning. We have carried him to
his hut."
Sanders nodded.
"I will see him," he said grimly.
They led him to the door of the chief's hut, and Sanders went in. It was
very dark, and in the darkest corner lay a prostrate man. Sanders bent
over him, touched his pulse lightly, felt gingerly for the swelling on
the neck behind the ears for a sign of sleeping sickness. No symptom
could he find; but on the bare shoulder, as his fingers passed over the
man's flesh, he felt a scar of singular regularity; then he found
another, and traced their direction. The convict brand of the Monrovian
Government was familiar to him.
"I thought so," said Sanders, and gave the moaning man a vigorous kick.
"Come out into the light, Bosambo of Monrovia," he said; and Bosambo
rose obediently and followed the Commissioner into the light.
They stood looking at one another for several minutes; then Sanders,
speaking in the dialect of the Pepper Coast, said--
"I have a mind to hang you, Bosambo."
"That is as your Excellency wishes," said Bosambo.
Sanders said nothing, tapping his boot with his walking-stick and gazing
thoughtfully downward.
"Having made thieves, could you make men of these people?" he said,
after a while.
"I think they could fight now, for they are puffed with pride because
they have robbed the Akasava," said Bosambo.
Sanders bit the end of his stick like a man in doubt.
"There shall be neither theft nor murder," he said. "No more chiefs or
chiefs' sons shall die suddenly," he added significantly.
"Master, it shall be as you desire."
"As for the goats you have stolen, them you may keep, and the teeth
(ivory) and the salt also. For if you hand them back to Akasava you will
fill their stomachs with rage, and that would mean war."
Bosambo nodded slowly.
"Then you shall remain, for I see you are a clever man, and the Ochori
need such as you. But if----"
"Master, by the fat of my heart I will do as you wish," said Bosambo;
"for I have always desired to be a chief under the British."
Sanders was half-way back to headquarters before he missed his
field-glasses, and wondered where he could have dropped them. At that
identical moment Bosambo was exhibiting the binoculars to his admiring
people.
"From this day forth," said Bosambo, "there shall be no lifting of goats
nor stealing of any kind. This much I told the great Sandi, and as a
sign of his love, behold, he gave me these things of magic that eat up
space."
"Lord," said a councillor in awe, "did you know the Great One?"
"I have cause to know him," said Bosambo modestly, "for I am his son."
Fortunately Sanders knew nothing of this interesting disclosure.