AN ANGEL UNAWARES.
Not much sleep did Laurence get that night--such, indeed, as he obtained
being of the "with one eye open" order. Simple trust in anybody or
anything was not one of his failings, as we think we have shown;
wherefore having carefully scrutinized the plastered walls of his rude
quarters, he took the precaution to secure the wicker door from the
inside, and lay down with his Express, so covering the same that but the
very slightest movement of the hand would be needed on his part in order
to rake from stem to stern whosoever should be so ill-advised as to
essay a stealthy ingress.
Still more would he have applauded his own foresight in taking these
precautions could he have known that a large portion of the night was
spent by his "entertainers" keenly debating the expediency of
treacherously putting him to death. Here, it was urged, was an
opportunity such as might never again come their way. Here was one of
the leaders of that dreaded band of slave-hunters--one whose very name
was a terror and a scourge. Here was this man actually in their hands.
It was in their power to slay him without the smallest risk to
themselves. Let them not miss such an opportunity of setting up his head
above their gates. As for his party, now that its existence was known,
they could surprise it, and slaughter every man it contained. They, the
Wajalu, were numerous, and had good fire-weapons, and knew how to use
them. Why should they not rid the land of this terror? It was in their
power to do so.
This sounded all very plausible; many tales do, until their other side
is told. And the other side was unfolded by the head man, Mgara, and
others, much to this effect: The slave-hunters were more numerous than
many there imagined. They had been reinforced by a large body of
Wangoni--fierce and formidable fighters. To surprise and overwhelm such
a force would be impossible, and in the event of failure what would
their own fate be? Moreover, it was certain that the slavers were much
better armed than the Wajalu. Their best policy would be to treat the
man well; he had already given what was as good as an assurance of his
protection. These counsels prevailed.
And soon the wisdom thereof was made manifest, for with earliest dawn
one of their scouts came running in with the news that the slave-hunters
were approaching; that they were in great numbers, and mostly armed with
rifles; that it was too late for retreat, in that a large detachment had
already gained a position which was practically such as to surround the
village.
The effect of this news was to stamp with an expression of the most
terror-stricken despair the countenance of every man who heard it. But
Mgara, remembering the words of their white "guest," hurried to the hut
where the latter was sleeping.
Yet as the head man approached the door with a quick deferential word
of greeting, Laurence Stanninghame was wide awake. The talk outside, the
rapid note of fear underlying the tone, had not escaped him, and even
though he understood not a word of their talk among themselves he knew
what these people wanted of him. And the situation looked serious, for
he felt far less confident of his ability to redeem his half-implied
pledge than when, moved by the first instincts of self-preservation, he
had given the same.
Well, and what then? The extinction of this horde of cannibal barbarians
was a mere trifle, a drop in the bucket, when looked at beside other
dark and ruthless deeds which he had witnessed, and even actually aided
in. But hard, pitiless, utterly impervious to human suffering as he had
become, there was one point in Laurence Stanninghame's character--a weak
point, he regarded it--which he had never succeeded in eradicating. He
could not forget or ignore a good turn. These people, monstrous,
repulsive as they were in his sight, had saved his life--twice
indeed--the first time unconsciously from the Ba-gcatya, the second time
from themselves. They might have slain him barbarously at almost any
moment--he was but one among a number; yet they had not, but instead had
treated him hospitably and well. He was resolved, at any risk, to save
them.
Mgara, entering, lost no time in making known his errand.
"O stranger guest, whom we have treated as a friend," he began, "save us
from the slave-yoke, and the guns and spears of your people, for they
are upon us already." And rapidly he narrated the tidings brought in by
the scouts.
"I will do what I can, Mgara," answered Laurence. "Listen. All your
people must retire within the huts; not one must be seen. Further, two
of your men must bear a token from me to El Khanac, my brother-chief,
who leads yonder host, and that at once. Now, call those two men."
Swift of resource, Laurence picked up a flat piece of wood and, scraping
it smooth with his knife, wrote upon it in pencil:
"_I owe these people my life. Keep ours in hand until we meet._"
"These are the messengers, Mgara?" he went on, as the head man returned
accompanied by two men. "Are they reliable, and above all, fearless?"
"They are both, Sidi," answered the chief, now very deferential. "One is
my son, the other my brother's son."
"Good. Let them now get a piece of white flaxen cloth, and bind it and
this token to a staff. Then let them seek out El Khanac yonder."
In a moment this was done, and, bearing the impromptu white flag and the
writing on the board, the two young men started off into the scrub.
"Retire now into your houses, Mgara, you and all your people. I alone
will stand within the gate, and maybe it will be well with you."
The Wajalu, who had been hanging on every word, now hastened to obey;
nevertheless there was terror and dejection in every face. And their
thoughts were much the same as those of their would-be deliverer. Had
he the power to make good his word?
The hot morning hours dragged slowly by, and still no sign of attack.
The village was a deserted place, in its brooding, death-like silence,
so still, so complete as to render distinctly audible the sweep of the
wings of carrion birds circling aloft. The severed heads grinned
hideously from the stockade, and the unearthly molten stillness of the
silent noon was such as to get upon the nerves of the ordinary watcher.
But he who now stood there had no nerves--not in a matter of this kind.
His experiences had been such as to kill and crush them out of all
being.
Ha! What was this? The crows and vultures, which, emboldened by the
deathly silence, had been circling nearer and nearer to the tree tops,
suddenly and with one accord shot upward, now seeming mere specks in the
blue ether. Then the silence was broken in appalling fashion. Rending
the air in a terrific note of savagery and blood-thirst, there burst
forth the harsh, hissing war-yell of the Wangoni.
It came from the forest edge on the farther side of the village.
Laurence realized, with vexation and concern, that his merciful plan
would be extremely difficult to carry out. That these ferocious
auxiliaries should be allowed to initiate the attack he had not reckoned
upon; and now to restrain them would be a herculean task.
"Back, back!" he shouted, meeting the crowd of charging savages who,
shield and spear uplifted, were bearing down in full career upon the
village.
In the headlong, exciting moment of their charge they hardly recognized
him. Laurence Stanninghame's life hung upon a hair. Then, with a great
burst of laughter, mocking, half defiant, they surged past him. They
"saw red," and no power on earth seemed able to stop those human wolves
now rushing upon their helpless prey.
"Back, back!" thundered Laurence again. "The village is dead, I tell
you. It is the abode of death!"
This told. Barbarians have a shrinking horror of infectious disease.
Thoughts of smallpox, cholera, what not, arose in the minds of these. No
other consideration on earth could have restrained that charge, yet this
one did. They stopped short.
"Lo! the stillness, the silence," went on Laurence, pointing to the
lifeless village. "Would you, too, travel the voiceless and weaponless
path of death?"
But mutterings both loud and deep went through the Wangoni ranks. What
was this? They had been ordered to charge--been signalled to charge, and
now they were forbidden to enter the village. "El Afa" (the serpent) had
been absent from the expedition, and now turned up here, alone. Savages
are ever suspicious, and these were no exception to the rule of their
kind.
"_Whau_, what does it mean?" half sneered their leader, scowling
resentfully upon Laurence as the warriors crowded around, growling like
a pack of baffled wolves. "Had we not better send some in to see if
these dogs are indeed all dead?"
"Not so, Mashumbwe," was the unconcerned reply. "Tarry until the others
arrive, then will we act together."
But a furious clamour arose at the words. The Wangoni did not entirely
believe the explanation; and to further their doubts there now arose
from the inside of the huts the puling wail of infants which the mothers
had not been entirely able to stifle.
"_Au_, we will add those to the death number, at least," said the chief,
giving the signal to his followers to advance.
"Not so!" said Laurence decisively. "Hearken, Mashumbwe, you are chief
of your own people, but I am chief of all--_of all_! Not a man stirs
until El Khanac comes up. Not a man, do you hear?"
Mashumbwe tossed back his ringed head, and his eyes glared. He was a
tall, fine savage, with all the pride of mien inseparable from his rank
and Zulu blood. Thus they stood, the savage and the white man, looking
into each other's eyes; the one in a blaze of haughty anger, the other
cool, resolute, and absolutely unflinching. How it would end Heaven
alone knew.
But now the very thing that Laurence had been longing for happened. A
hurried murmur ran through the Wangoni lines. The main body of the
slave-hunters had emerged from the scrub, and had quietly surrounded the
village. Laurence was satisfied. He had gained time so far, and with it
his object.
"What astonishing freak is this, Stanninghame?" said Hazon, who, having
taken in the situation at a glance, was promptly at his colleague's
side, displaying, too, the piece of pencilled board. "What becomes of
our pact when such a consideration as this comes in?" he continued,
meaningly tapping the inscription on the board. "Have we obtained all we
wanted on those terms up till now, or not?"
"No, we haven't; but now, having obtained almost all we wanted, we can
afford to do this for once. If it had been your life instead of mine
these people had saved twice, Hazon, I would willingly have spared
theirs; now will you do less for me?"
"But it will breed a mutiny among our people," said Hazon doubtfully,
with a half glance at the crowd of scowling Wangoni.
"Oh, a mutiny! By all means. We shall know how to deal with that, as we
did before."
It seemed as though such knowledge were about to be called into
requisition, for the announcement that all this "property" was to be
relinquished absolutely was received by the more important section of
the slave-hunters with a sullen silence more eloquent even that the
wolfish growls of the Wangoni. The latter's disappointment lay in the
fact that they were balked in giving vent to their instincts of sheer
savagery--the delight of plunder and massacre. That of the former,
however, was a more weighty factor to reckon with; for the smatter of
civilization in the Arab and Swahili element had brought with it the
commercial instinct of cupidity. It speaks volumes, therefore, for the
ascendency which these two resolute white men had set up over their wild
and lawless following, that the latter should have contented itself with
mere sullen obedience.
Having gained his point Laurence returned within the village, and,
calling Mgara, suggested that some of the people should carry forth
food to their unwelcome visitors.
"I fear it may leave scarcity in your midst," he added; "but well-fed
men are in better mood than hungry ones, Mgara, and are you not spared
the slave-yoke and the spear?"
The head man, with many deferential expressions of gratitude, agreed,
and soon a file of women and boys were told off, bringing goats and
millet and rice for the slave-hunters. As they passed tremblingly among
the ranks of the Wangoni the latter handled their great spears
meaningly, and with much the same expression of countenance as a cat
might wear when contemplating an inaccessible bird cage.
"Ho, dog!" cried Mashumbwe, as a youth passed before him without making
obeisance. "Do you dare stand before me--before me! thou spawn of these
man-eating jackals? Lo! lie prostrate forever." And with the words he
half threw, half thrust his great spear into the unfortunate lad's body.
The blood spurted forth in a great jet, and, staggering, the boy fell.
"_Au!_ And am I to be defiled with the blood of such as this," growled
the chief, upon whom several red drops had squirted. "Let that carrion
be removed."
Several of the Wangoni sprang forward, and, as the quivering body was
dragged away, these savages gave vent to their pent-up ferocity by
stabbing it again and again. Having tasted blood they rolled their eyes
around in search of further victims. But the remaining Wajalu had
withdrawn in terror: and well for all concerned that it was so,
otherwise the Wangoni, inspired by the example of their chief, would
certainly have commenced a massacre which even the prestige and
authority of Hazon and Laurence combined would have been powerless to
quell. But there was no one outside to begin upon, and, though a
truculent, unruly crowd, their interests in the long run lay in
submitting to the authority of the white chiefs.
So the Wajalu rejoiced much, if tremblingly, as the last of the dreaded
host disappeared. For good or for ill their village was spared--spared
to continue its most revolting forms of savagery and cannibalism and
parricide--spared for good or for ill in that it had entertained an
angel unawares in the person of that hard, pitiless, determined
slave-hunter, Laurence Stanninghame.