“_Mask more subtle, and disguise_
_Far less shallow, thou dost need, O_
_Traitor, to deceive my eyes._”
Mammy Illa and her little brown piccaninny were well known on the
steamers that plied up and down the West Coast of Africa. It was
nearly eighteen months since she had first appeared among the batch of
native women who boarded the vessels at Sierra Leone for the purpose
of disposing of various articles of local manufacture to the European
passengers.
She stood now in a corner by the gangway of an outward-bound British
steamer, picturesquely clad in a full, short-sleeved bodice and skirt
of gaily printed blue and yellow cotton cloth. Around her were
arranged carved calabashes, baskets and mats of all shapes made from
crudely dyed rushes, plaited and twisted leather-work, a few pieces of
carved ivory, and roughly made trinkets of gold.
In the midst of all these wares sat a solemn-eyed mite of a girl.
All the world, black and white, who passed up and down to West Africa
could be seen in that first port of call on the coast. And this Yoni
knew when, under an alias, she made her way there.
The town lay behind her now, a delightful little place situated at the
foot, and half-way up, a mountain. It was criss-crossed with red
streets where grew brightly flowering shrubs, tall grass and cocoanut
palms. On the hill at the back, airy bungalows nestled among lime,
lemon and orange trees, with now and again a cluster of fluttering
bananas, a vivid red acacia looking like a splash of fire, or an odd
patch of quaint, stiff cacti with brilliant scarlet and yellow
flowers, all backed by the eternal, glowing green of West Africa, and
set under a sky of blazing blue.
Yoni had no eyes for the treacherous beauty of her native land. Her
gaze was on the passengers. One especially--an overdressed negro in
gray flannels, scarlet tie, and panama hat with a ribbon to match, who
had just emerged from the saloon.
Five months before she had seen him pass out from Africa. On that
occasion she had claimed no acquaintance, knowing there were reasons
that would account for his departure from his native land. But she
could not reconcile herself to his return. Moreover, there was an air
of triumph about him that gave her a feeling of uneasiness.
As Nanza stood by the saloon doorway, a voice speaking in a dialect
probably no other person on board understood, made him turn sharply.
“What are you doing here, my brother?” it was asking.
For a moment he stared at his sister in speechless astonishment. Then
a cunning look crossed his face.
“And you, Yoni?” he asked. “Why do you stand at the gate of Africa,
watching?”
“I have watched these eighteen months,” she replied. “I saw you pass
out, but I did not speak, knowing there would be bitterness in your
heart against me, for my jealousy nearly caused your death. Now I see
you return. Is it safe for you to do so?”
Nanza smiled tigerishly.
“I would stand well in the sight of our cousin, the Lord of Doomana,”
he replied. “So I made a journey to England searching for the lost
Star, by her recovery hoping to attain again his favor. It is not well
to have a Sultan of Kallu as an enemy, and I am hungry for my own
land.”
“It was you then, who found her,” Yoni said with well-feigned
surprise. “She was here but a week ago, and with her was the white
doctor. It was a small Star, white and frozen, who has no love for the
Ruler of the Night. Nor have you, or I, Nanza. I want revenge on the
Sultan, yea, and on the Star too, who stole his heart from me.”
Yoni had spoken to one of Leslie’s unofficial bodyguards. She knew
Nana was in no way responsible for the girl’s return. Now she wanted
to find out why her brother had returned to Africa, and what he was
doing.
Yoni’s act of many months before, which had resulted in Nanza’s first
appearance in any spot approaching civilization, was the proceeding of
a woman scorned. Nanza’s counter-action of staying in Calabar and
playing the spy had made her realize that he was likely to develop
into something more than a jealous woman’s tool, a means of extracting
information she had been unable to obtain from Cooper. In fact, her
brother had seemed likely to develop into a menace to the Sultan.
Nanza’s departure from Africa left her with a feeling of relief. But
his return filled her with fears concerning the safety of her god and
Sultan. All the more because she knew Nanza had lied to her concerning
the reason of his visit to England.
“Was it vengeance that took you to England?” she asked. “If so, I
would like to help you.”
It was news to Nanza that Leslie had been found. But he did not tell
his sister so.
“If you want vengeance, why did you give evidence in favor of what our
cousin said that night in Calabar?” he asked.
“I’m only a woman. I feared he might slay me if I spoke against the
Star. And for the sake of vengeance I desired to live. The Lord of
Doomana was deceived by my action, thinking me then, as always, his
slave. So deceived that he left the Star in my keeping. Then my moment
came and I let her escape. For _your_ sake, Nanza, so that you might
still be the heir. Now you have brought the Star back to the Ruler of
the Night! Who knows what will please a man? And I am in ill-favor all
round. For it is not good to withhold from a Sultan of Kallu the woman
he desires.”
“Nor is it good to withhold from the people of Kallu the blood that is
their due,” Nanza answered, in a tone of savage hate.
Yoni’s face assumed an air of abject terror.
“My brother will not betray me. What I did was from love of you. And
for that piece of treachery to the Lord of Doomana my life is
forfeit.”
As Nanza watched his sister his suspicions died away.
“It was a bad day for you, Yoni, when our cousin went to England on
the trail of vengeance, for he found the trail of love too. They were
so mixed, those two, that we of Kallu could not tell one from the
other until the Sultan gave us his word. And then, _of course_, we
doubted no longer. But now the Star has returned, and all will be
well.”
Two great tears trickled down Yoni’s face.
“It is well for you who have found her. Now you can return home in
honor. I, too, am hungry for my own people, and am shut out from them
forever,” she replied mournfully.
Nanza laughed.
“Who knows?” he said. “Even a sultan may die.”
With that he sauntered off.
Yoni watched him go, convinced that he knew something that might harm
her god. And the knowledge made her determined to warn the Sultan.