After having scanned de Morin attentively for some time, the King
suddenly said to him—
"How is it that your father has not been mentioned before to-day? Why
did you not let me know sooner what was the real object of your
journey?"
"I wanted to tell you long ago," replied our friend. "Did I not ask
you for a private interview? You acceded to my request, and my sister
came with us on the following morning to your palace. If you had
received us then, you would have known everything."
"But," remarked Munza, "you have seen me frequently, and might have
spoken to me."
"You insulted us, and were no longer our friend. Secrets of such
importance as ours are only confided to a friend. If I speak out to-day,
it is only because I have forgiven you since you asked for my
sister's hand."
Munza was at a loss for an answer. He, however, did not seem
satisfied.
"How," said he, after a pause, "can your father be living southward
of my kingdom? Where has he come from?"
"From the same country as ourselves, and we came along the same road
that we did."
"In that case, in order to reach the south, he must have passed
through my territory?"
"So he did."
"Impossible. He would have come to the palace, where I receive all
strangers."
"He remembered that you had prevented Schweinfurth continuing his
journey, and consequently, instead of stopping here, he went on in
the direction of the province governed by your brother, Degberra."
"And did Degberra know him?"
"Undoubtedly," replied de Morin, boldly. "Either Degberra or his
subjects. You can send couriers to your brother, and you will soon
know that what I say is true. Question, if you like, the man who is
our interpreter, and whom you have already recognized as having been
with Schweinfurth. He will tell you that, when he was left by your
friend, Aboo-Sammit, in a seriba, situated to the south-east of this
place, he entertained our father."
Munza entered into conversation with Nassar for a few moments, and,
then, turning towards us, he asked—
"You wish to go to Degberra?"
"Yes," replied de Morin. "We wish to go to him, first of all, but
afterwards farther still, if, as we suppose, our father has reached a
more distant kingdom."
"And the Sultana will accompany you?"
"Undoubtedly. Our sister cannot leave us as long as she is not
married."
"And do you imagine that I shall let her escape in this way?"
exclaimed the King.
"Why not?"
"Because she will never return."
"It is in your power to compel her to return."
"How so, if she is no longer in my dominions?"
"She will always be in your dominions if you accompany her with your
powerful army."
"What! you wish—" exclaimed Munza, with flashing eyes.
"I do not wish anything," said de Morin. "I merely point out to you a
means of not leaving us, of joining our father with us, and of
demanding from him the hand of his daughter. If you do not feel
yourself either brave enough, or powerful enough to advance
southwards, let us continue our journey; white men do not know what
fear is—they are both brave and strong. You have now heard all I have
to say in the name of our sister and ourselves. Decide—we are going
back to our encampment, there to await a visit or a message from you.
Only, remember that your wives belong to our sister. You have no
longer any right to dispose of them; you have given them to her, and
a great King like you cannot go back from his word."
We left Munza to his reflections, rejoined our escort, and, a few
moments afterwards, entered our enclosure. After the first feeling of
surprise had passed away, we, all of us, set to work calmly to
consider de Morin's plan, and we could not help coming to the
conclusion that, even granting that it would be difficult of
realization, and might involve us in terrible straits, it still held
out some appreciable advantages. In common justice to our friend we
were also bound to confess that he had no choice of means to his end,
and that we were this very morning in a position of great difficulty.
For some days past we have, all of us, been thoroughly convinced,
though we dare not say so out loud, that the King of the Monbuttoos
would never allow us either to continue our journey towards the
south, or to return by the way we came. His passion for Madame de
Guéran was a warrant of imprisonment for us; neither prayers nor
persuasion would have any effect upon him, and if we desired our
liberty we could only obtain it by force.
We next mustered our little army. Thirty soldiers remained to us,
and, amongst the bearers, there were not more than twenty whom we
could trust with arms, and that only should the worst come to the
worst. Taking ourselves, Nassar, and the interpreters into our
calculations, we could rely upon fifty-five men, well-armed, and
capable of holding out for a considerable time against several
hundreds of negroes. But, granting that we slaughtered them
wholesale, and by means of our long-range rifles, laid all these
enemies low, would not more still, and ever increasing hordes, rise
up in answer to the summons of their King? Worn out, destitute of
ammunition, hopeless, and distressed at so much bloodshed, should we
not end by giving up the futile struggle, or succumbing to superior
numbers? A handful of Europeans have been known to make head against
an entire African tribe, but it would be quite another thing to
oppose a regular nation of warriors, commanded by a King, fiery,
resolute, and personally interested in obtaining a victory.
Suppose, for the sake of argument, we overcome all these obstacles,
and a lucky shot rids us of Munza—suppose all his soldiers take to
flight, and our path is open? What then? Would not our little force,
diminished enough already, be still further reduced in the course of
so terrible a struggle? Should we find in a hostile country, where
every man would have some relative to avenge, the means necessary for
our onward progress? And, even if we were to reach the district
governed by Degberra, would not he oppose us just as his brother had
done?
Again, suppose we succeed in forcing our way, as many solitary
travellers have done, not through this district, it is true, but
through others equally dangerous, suppose we reach our destination,
and find M. de Guéran a prisoner amongst the Momvoos, the Akkas, or
that other tribe of which the Monbuttoos have occasionally spoken—a
tribe governed by a woman, a species of Amazon. Even then, how should
we, when weakened and scarcely able to defend ourselves, manage to
rescue our fellow countryman? We should share his captivity, and that
would be the only result we should achieve.
How entirely, on the other hand, would the situation be changed if
Munza should make common cause with us, and accompany us as an ally!
We should no longer be merely fifty; we should be two thousand, five
thousand, any number, in fact. Our handful of men would become an
army led and commanded by Europeans, supported by our escort, and
strengthened by the possession of fire-arms. No African tribe could
stand against us, and nothing would prevent our reaching the eastern
extremity of the continent and the Indian ocean.
It may be objected that the King of the Monbuttoos would not dare to
advance more than thirty leagues, a formidable distance in these
parts, beyond his frontier. But we do not want him to do more; thirty
leagues to the south-east will bring us to the nearest spurs of the
Blue Mountains! Munza's army might leave us then; it would, indeed,
be of no further use to us. It would rest with us to cross these
mountains, on the other side of which we should come upon the Lake
Albert Nyanza, and should we succeed in reaching its farther shore,
we should find paths, if not well-worn, at all events marked on the
map by Speke, Grant, and Burton.
But, it may be asked, what about Munza? How have you disposed of him?
Is he likely to let you quietly pursue your journey, whilst he leads
his army back again to his kingdom? Do not forget that you are his
prisoners, bound to follow him, and to return with him. In three
months your position would be much the same as it is now.
Clearly so, if we could not regain our liberty and get rid of the
Monbuttoos; but though that would be a difficult matter now, when the
army is backed by the whole nation, it would be very different,
however, if that army, instead of being at home and amongst its own
countrymen, were occupying a hostile territory. It would be
disheartened by fatigue, decimated, possibly, by the battles it had
been obliged to fight, and weakened in a hundred other ways.
Desperate as we should be, and under a positive necessity to conquer,
we should be in a position to fight it under advantageous
circumstances. God helping us, we should gain the day. Another
objection might, I admit, be urged against this course of proceeding.
We might be asked whether our consciences would not reproach us for
waging open warfare against our allies, by whose aid alone we have
been enabled to surmount so many obstacles?
Our consciences! Why drag them into the discussion? Are we likely to
give way to sentiment in our present position, face to face with an
army of cannibals and a negro king who, only a few hours ago,
proposed to send us the heads of his eighty wives on copper dishes?
Why does he keep us prisoners in his kingdom, and interfere with our
plans? Is it not he who is driving us to cunning and artifice? He is
the stronger, so we must be the cleverer of the two. Our right to
fight against him, and conquer him if we can, is indisputable.
On the question of conscience, we are open to attack in one
particular alone. In order to open up a passage towards the south and
thereby serve our personal interest, is it right for us to draw after
us a whole army, to let it work its will on the way, as is the custom
of all African armies, and spread ruin and desolation on all around?
But even on this score we are above reproach. The King of the
Monbuttoos, as I have already recorded, has for the last fortnight
been making preparations for war on a large scale, and every year, at
this time, when the rainy season is drawing to a close, he attacks
his neighbours, either north or south. We, therefore, are not
altering the course of events in any way, but we may be able to
effect some improvement by using our influence over Munza in
mitigation of the horrors and carnage of savage warfare.
All these arguments and calculations result in the adoption of the
plan proposed by de Morin; but Munza has not yet given his decision,
and we consequently do not know whether he will accept or not.
* * * * * *
He has accepted. One glance at the sky sufficed to enlighten us as
regards his reply.
Towards nine o'clock the whole night was suddenly lit up, quivering
tongues of fire leaped up sky-wards, and made even the stars look
pale. The harem was on fire; more than three hundred huts had fallen
a prey to the devouring element. In a few moments all the dwellings
of Munza's wives had disappeared, and not a trace of them was left
behind.
And whilst the people surge to and fro, in admiration of the
stupendous conflagration, whilst they clap their hands, and dance,
and shout, the drums, ivory horns, and trumpets mingle their harsh
sounds with the surrounding din, and officers hurry through the
crowd, bearing the news that the King has declared war against the
tribes of the south.
The shouts are renewed with redoubled energy, and the crowd chants
the national hymn, "Ee Ee, tchupy, tchupy, Ee, Munza, Ee." The
horizon is ablaze with light, the fire rages in all its fury and
splendour, and the eighty wives of Munza, houseless now, bound two by
two, and escorted by soldiers, are led towards our encampment.