THE HOODED KING
There was a certain Portuguese governor--this was in the days when
Colhemos was Colonial Minister--who had a small legitimate income and an
extravagant wife. This good lady had a villa at Cintra, a box at the
Real Theatre de Sao Carlos, and a motor-car, and gave five o'clocks at
the Hotel Nunes to the aristocracy and gentry who inhabited that spot,
of whom the ecstatic Spaniard said, "dejar a Cintra, y ver al mundo
entero, es, con verdad caminar en capuchera."
Since her husband's salary was exactly $66.50 weekly and the upkeep of
the villa alone was twice that amount, it is not difficult to understand
that Senhor Bonaventura was a remarkable man.
Colhemos came over to the Foreign Office in the Praco de Commercio one
day and saw Dr. Sarabesta, and Sarabesta, who was both a republican and
a sinner, was also ambitious, or he had a Plan and an Ideal--two very
dangerous possessions for a politician, since they lead inevitably to
change, than which nothing is more fatal to political systems.
"Colhemos," said the doctor dramatically, "you are ruining me! You are
bringing me to the dust and covering me with the hatred and mistrust of
the Powers!"
He folded his arms and rose starkly from the chair, his beard all
a-bristle, his deep little eyes glaring.
"What is wrong, Baptisa?" asked Colhemos.
The other flung out his arms in an extravagant gesture.
"Ruin!" he cried somewhat inadequately.
He opened the leather portfolio which lay on the table and extracted six
sheets of foolscap paper.
"Read!" he said, and subsided into his padded armchair a picture of
gloom.
The sheets of foolscap were surmounted by crests showing an emaciated
lion and a small horse with a spiral horn in his forehead endeavouring
to climb a chafing-dish which had been placed on edge for the purpose,
and was suitably inscribed with another lion, two groups of leopards and
a harp.
Colhemos did not stop to admire the menagerie, but proceeded at once to
the literature. It was in French, and had to do with a certain condition
of affairs in Portuguese Central Africa which "constituted a grave and
increasing menace to the native subjects" of "Grande Bretagne." There
were hints, "which His Majesty's Government would be sorry to believe,
of raids and requisitions upon the native manhood" of this country which
differed little from slave raids.
Further, "Mr. Commissioner Sanders of the Territories regretted to
learn" that these labour requisitions resulted in a condition of affairs
not far removed from slavery.
Colhemos read through the dispatch from start to finish, and put it down
thoughtfully.
"Pinto has been overdoing it," he admitted. "I shall have to write to
him."
"What you write to Pinto may be interesting enough to print," said Dr.
Sarabesta violently, "but what shall I write to London? This
Commissioner Sanders is a fairly reliable man, and his Government will
act upon what he says."
Colhemos, who was really a great man (it was a distinct loss when he
faced a firing platoon in the revolutionary days of '12), tapped his
nose with a penholder.
"You can say that we shall send a special commissioner to the M'fusi
country to report, and that he will remain permanently established in
the M'fusi to suppress lawless acts."
The doctor looked up wonderingly.
"Pinto won't like that," said he, "besides which, the M'fusi are quite
unmanageable. The last time we tried to bring them to reason it
cost--Santa Maria!... and the lives!... phew!"
Colhemos nodded.
"The duc de Sagosta," he said slowly, "is an enthusiastic young man. He
is also a royalist and allied by family ties to Dr. Ceillo of the Left.
He is, moreover, an Anglomaniac--though why he should be so when his
mother was an American woman I do not know. He shall be our
commissioner, my dear Baptisa."
His dear Baptisa sat bolt upright, every hair in his bristling head
erect.
"A royalist!" he gasped, "do you want to set Portugal ablaze?"
"There are moments when I could answer 'Yes' to that question," said the
truthful Colhemos "but for the moment I am satisfied that there will be
no fireworks. It will do no harm to send the boy. It will placate the
Left and please the Clerics--it will also consolidate our reputation for
liberality and largeness of mind. Also the young man will either be
killed or fall a victim to the sinister influences of that corruption
which, alas, has so entered into the vitals of our Colonial service."
So Manuel duc de Sagosta was summoned, and prepared for the subject of
his visit by telephone, came racing up from Cintra in his big American
juggernaut, leapt up the stairs of the Colonial Office two at a time,
and came to Colhemos' presence in a state of mind which may be described
as a big mental whoop.
"You will understand, Senhor," said Colhemos, "that I am doing that
which may make me unpopular. For that I care nothing! My country is my
first thought, and the glory and honour of our flag! Some day you may
hold my portfolio in the Cabinet, and it will be well if you bring to
your high and noble office the experience...."
Then they all talked together, and the dark room flickered with
gesticulating palms.
Colhemos came to see the boy off by the M.N.P. boat which carried him to
the African Coast.
"I suppose, Senhor," said the duc, "there would be no objection on the
part of the Government to my calling on my way at a certain British
port. I have a friend in the English army--we were at Clifton
together----"
"My friend," said Colhemos, pressing the young man's hand warmly, "you
must look upon England as a potential ally, and lose no opportunity
which offers to impress upon our dear colleagues this fact, that behind
England, unmoved, unshaken, faithful, stands the armed might of
Portugal. May the saints have you in their keeping!"
He embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks.
* * * * *
Bones was drilling recruits at headquarters when Hamilton hailed him
from the edge of the square.
"There's a pal of yours come to see you, Bones," he roared.
Bones marched sedately to his superior and touched his helmet.
"Sir!"
"A friend of yours--just landed from the Portuguese packet."
Bones was mystified, and went up to the Residency to find a young man in
spotless white being entertained by Patricia Hamilton and a very
thoughtful Sanders.
The duc de Sagosta leapt to his feet as Bones came up the verandah.
"Hullo, Conk!" he yelled hilariously.
Bones stared.
"God bless my life," he stammered, "it's Mug!"
There was a terrific hand-shaking accompanied by squawking inquiries
which were never answered, uproarious laughter, back patting, brazen and
baseless charges that each was growing fat, and Sanders watched it with
great kindness.
"Here's old Ham," said Bones, "you ought to know Ham--Captain Hamilton,
sir, my friend, the duke of something or other--but you can call him
Mug--Miss Hamilton--this is Mug."
"We've already been introduced," she laughed. "But why do you let him
call you Mug?"
The duc grinned.
"I like Mug," he said simply.
He was to stay to lunch, for the ship was not leaving until the
afternoon, and Bones carried him off to his hut.
"A joyous pair," said Hamilton enviously. "Lord, if I was only a boy
again!"
Sanders shook his head.
"You don't echo that wish?" said Pat.
"I wasn't thinking about that--I was thinking of the boy. I dislike this
M'fusi business, and I can't think why the Government sent him. They are
a pretty bad lot--their territory is at the back of the Akasava, and the
Chief of the M'fusi is a rascal."
"But he says that he has been sent to reform them," said the girl.
Sanders smiled.
"It is not a job I should care to undertake--and yet----"
He knitted his forehead.
"And yet----?"
"I could reform them--Bones could reform them. But if they were reformed
it would break Bonaventura, for he holds his job subject to their
infamy."
At lunch Sanders was unusually silent, a silence which was unnoticed,
save by the girl. Bones and his friend, however, needed no stimulation.
Lunch was an almost deafening meal, and when the time came for the duc
to leave, the whole party went down to the beach to see him embark.
"Good-bye, old Mug!" roared Bones, as the boat pulled away. "Whoop! hi!
how!"
"You're a noisy devil," said Hamilton, admiringly.
"Vox populi, vox Dei," said Bones.
He had an unexpected visitor that evening, for whilst he was dressing
for dinner, Sanders came into his hut--an unusual happening.
What Sanders had to say may not be related since it was quite
unofficial, but Bones came to dinner that night and behaved with such
decorum and preserved a mien so grave, that Hamilton thought he was ill.
The duc continued his journey down the African Coast and presently came
to a port which was little more than a beach, a jetty, a big white
house, and by far the most imposing end of the Moanda road. In due time,
he arrived by the worst track in the world (he was six days on the
journey) at Moanda itself, and came into the presence of the Governor.
Did the duc but know it, his Excellency had also been prepared for the
young man's mission. The mail had arrived by carrier the day before the
duc put in his appearance, and Pinto Bonaventura had his little piece
all ready to say.
"I will give you all the assistance I possibly can," he said, as they
sat at _dejeuner_, "but, naturally, I cannot guarantee you immunity."
"Immunity?" said the puzzled duc.
Senhor Bonaventura nodded gravely.
"Nothing is more repugnant to me than slavery," he said, "unless it be
the terrible habit of drinking. If I could sweep these evils out of
existence with a wave of my hand, believe me I would do so; but I cannot
perform miracles, and the Government will not give me sufficient troops
to suppress these practices which every one of us hold in abhorrence."
"But," protested the duc, a little alarmed, "since I am going to reform
the M'fusi...."
The Governor choked over his coffee and apologized. He did not laugh,
because long residence in Central Africa had got him out of the habit,
and had taught him a certain amount of self-control in all things except
the consumption of marsala.
"Pray go on," he said, wearing an impassive face.
"It will be to the interests of Portugal, no less than to your
Excellency's interest," said the young man, leaning across the table and
speaking with great earnestness, "if I can secure a condition of peace,
prosperity, sobriety, and if I can establish the Portuguese law in this
disturbed area."
"Undoubtedly," acknowledged the older man with profound seriousness.
So far from the duc's statement representing anything near the truth, it
may be said that a restoration of order would serve his Excellency very
badly indeed. In point of fact he received something like eight
shillings for every "head" of "recruited labour." He also received a
commission from the same interested syndicates which exported
able-bodied labourers, a commission amounting to six shillings upon
every case of square-face, and a larger sum upon every keg of rum that
came into the country.
Sobriety and law would, in fact, spell much discomfort to the elegant
lady who lived in the villa at Cintra, and would considerably diminish
not only Senhor Bonaventura's handsome balance at the Bank of Brazil,
but would impoverish certain ministers, permanent and temporary, who
looked to their dear Pinto for periodical contributions to what was
humorously described as "The Party Fund."
Yet the duc de Sagosta went into the wilds with a high heart and a
complete faith, in his youthful and credulous soul, that he had behind
him the full moral and physical support of a high-minded and patriotic
Governor. The high-minded and patriotic Governor, watching the caravan
of his new assistant disappearing through the woods which fringe Moanda,
expressed in picturesque language his fervent hope that the mud, the
swamp, the forest and the wilderness of the M'fusi country would swallow
up this young man for evermore, amen. The unpopularity of the new
Commissioner was sealed when the Governor learnt of his visit to
Sanders, for "Sanders" was a name at which his Excellency made
disapproving noises.
The predecessor of the duc de Sagosta was dead. His grave was in
the duc's front garden, and was covered with rank grass. The new-comer
found the office correspondence in order (as a glib native clerk
demonstrated); he also found 103 empty bottles behind the house, and
understood the meaning of that coarse grave in the garden. He found
that the last index number in the letter-book was 951.
It is remarkable that the man he succeeded should have found, in one
year, 951 subjects for correspondence, but it is the fact. Possibly nine
hundred of the letters had to do with the terrible state of the
Residency at Uango-Bozeri. The roof leaked, the foundations had settled,
and not a door closed as it should close. On the day of his arrival the
duc found a _mamba_ resting luxuriously in his one armchair, a discovery
which suggested the existence of a whole colony of these deadly
brutes--the _mamba_ bite is fatal in exactly ninety seconds--under or
near the house.
The other fifty dispatches probably had to do with the late
Commissioner's arrears of pay, for Portugal at that time was in the
throes of her annual crisis, and ministries were passing through the
Government offices at Lisbon with such rapidity that before a cheque
could be carried from the Foreign Office to the bank, it was out of
date.
Uango Bozeri is 220 miles by road from the coast, and is the centre of
the child-like people of the M'fusi. Here the duc dwelt and had his
being, as Governor of 2,000 square miles, and overlord of some million
people who were cannibals with a passion for a fiery liquid which was
described by traders as "rum." It was as near rum as the White City is
to Heaven; that is to say, to the uncultivated taste it might have been
rum, and anyway was as near to rum as the taster could expect to get.
This is all there is to be said about the duc de Sagosta, save that his
headman swindled him, his soldiers were conscienceless natives
committing acts of brigandage in his innocent name, whilst his chief at
Moanda was a peculating and incompetent scoundrel.
At the time when the duc was finding life a bitter and humiliating
experience, and had reached the stage when he sat on his predecessor's
grave for company, a small and unauthorized party crossed the frontier
from the British Territories in search of adventure.
Now it happened that the particular region through which the border-line
passed was governed by the Chief of the Greater M'fusi, who was a
cannibal, a drunkard, and a master of two regiments.
The duc had been advised not to interfere with the chief of his people,
and he had (after one abortive and painful experience) obeyed his
superiors, accepting the hut tax which was sent to him (and which was
obviously and insolently inadequate) without demur.
No white man journeyed to the city of the M'fusi without invitation
from the chief, and as Chief Karata never issued such invitation, the
Greater M'fusi was a _terra incognita_ even to his Excellency the
Governor-General of the Central and Western Provinces.
Karata was a drunkard approaching lunacy. It was his whim for weeks on
end to wear on his head the mask of a goat. At other times, "as a mark
of his confidence in devils," he would appear hidden beneath a plaited
straw extinguisher which fitted him from head to foot. He was eccentric
in other ways which need not be particularized, but he was never so
eccentric that he welcomed strangers.
Unfortunately for those concerned, the high road from the Territories
passed through the M'fusi drift. And one day there came a panting
messenger from the keeper of the drift who flung himself down at the
king's feet.
"Lord," said he, "there is a white man at the drift, and with him a
certain chief and his men."
"You will take the men, bringing them to me tied with ropes," said the
king, who looked at the messenger with glassy eyes and found some
difficulty in speaking, for he was at the truculent stage of his second
bottle.
The messenger returned and met the party on the road. What was his
attitude towards the intruders it is impossible to say. He may have been
insolent, secure in the feeling that he was representing his master's
attitude towards white men; he may have offered fight in the illusion
that the six warriors he took with him were sufficient to enforce the
king's law. It is certain that he never returned.
Instead there came to the king's kraal a small but formidable party
under a white man, and they arrived at a propitious moment, for the
ground before the king's great hut was covered with square bottles, and
the space in front of the palace was crowded with wretched men chained
neck to neck and waiting to march to the coast and slavery.
The white man pushed back his helmet.
"Goodness gracious Heavens!" he exclaimed, "how perfectly horrid!
Bosambo, this is immensely illegal an' terrificly disgustin'."
The Chief of the Ochori looked round.
"Dis feller be dam' bad," was his effort.
Bones walked leisurely to the shady canopy under which the king sat, and
King Karata stared stupidly at the unexpected vision.
"O King," said Bones in the Akasavian vernacular which runs from Dacca
to the Congo, "this is an evil thing that you do--against all law."
Open-mouthed Karata continued to stare.
To the crowded kraal, on prisoner and warrior, councillor and dancing
woman alike, came a silence deep and unbroken.
They heard the words spoken in a familiar tongue, and marvelled that a
white man should speak it. Bones was carrying a stick and taking
deliberate aim, and after two trial strokes he brought the nobbly end
round with a "swish!"
A bottle of square-face smashed into a thousand pieces, and there arose
on the hot air the sickly scent of crude spirits. Fascinated, silent,
motionless, King Karata, named not without reason "The Terrible,"
watched the destruction as bottle followed bottle.
Then as a dim realization of the infamy filtered through his thick
brain, he rose with a growl like a savage animal, and Bones turned
quickly. But Bosambo was quicker. One stride brought him to the king's
side.
"Down, dog!" he said. "O Karata, you are very near the painted hut where
dead kings lie."
The king sank back and glared to and fro.
All that was animal in him told of his danger; he smelt death in the
mirthless grin of the white man; he smelt it as strongly under the hand
of the tall native wearing the monkey-tails of chieftainship. If they
would only stand away from him they would die quickly enough. Let them
get out of reach, and a shout, an order, would send them bloodily to the
ground with little kicks and twitches as the life ran out of them.
But they stood too close, and that order of his meant his death.
"O white man," he began.
"Listen, black man," said Bosambo, and lapsed into his English; "hark
um, you dam' black nigger--what for you speak um so?"
"You shall say 'master' to me, Karata," said Bones easily, "for in my
land 'white man' is evil talk."[8]
[Footnote 8: In most native countries "white man" is seldom employed
save as a piece of insolence. It is equivalent to the practice of
referring to the natives as niggers.]
"Master," said the king sullenly, "this is a strange thing--for I see
that you are English and we be servants of another king. Also it is
forbidden that any white--that any master should stand in my kraal
without my word, and I have driven even Igselensi from my face."
"That is all foolish talk, Karata," said Bones. "This is good talk:
shall Karata live or shall he die? This you shall say. If you send away
this palaver and say to your people that we are folk whom you desire
shall live in the shadow of the king's hut, then you live. Let him say
less than this, Bosambo, and you strike quickly."
The king looked from face to face. Bones had his hand in the uniform
jacket pocket. Bosambo balanced his killing-spear on the palm of his
hand, the chief saw with the eye of an expert that the edge was razor
sharp.
Then he turned to the group whom Bones had motioned away when he started
to speak to the king.
"This palaver is finished," he said, "and the white lord stays in my hut
for a night."
"Good egg," said Bones as the crowd streamed from the kraal.
Senhor Bonaventura heard of the arrival of a white man at the chief's
great kraal and was not perturbed, because there were certain favourite
traders who came to the king from time to time. He was more concerned by
the fact that a labour draft of eight hundred men who had been promised
by Karata had not yet reached Moanda, but frantic panic came from the
remarkable information of Karata's eccentricities which had reached him
from his lieutenant.
The duc's letter may be reproduced.
"ILLUSTRIOUS AND EXCELLENT SENHOR,
"It is with joy that I announce to you the most remarkable
reformation of King Karata. The news was brought to me that the
king had received a number of visitors of an unauthorized
character, and though I had, as I have reported to you, Illustrious
and Excellent Senhor, the most unpleasant experience at the hands
of the king, I deemed it advisable to go to the city of the Greater
M'fusi and conduct an inquiry.
"I learnt that the king had indeed received the visitors, and that
they had departed on the morning of my arrival carrying with them
one of their number who was sick. With this party was a white man.
But the most remarkable circumstance, Illustrious and Excellent
Senhor, was that the king had called a midnight palaver of his
councillors and high people of state and had told them that the
strangers had brought news of such sorrowful character that for
four moons it would be forbidden to look upon his face. At the end
of that period he would disappear from the earth and become a god
amongst the stars.
"At these words, Illustrious and Excellent Senhor, the king with
some reluctance took from one of the strangers a bag in which two
eyes had been cut, and pulled it over his head and went back into
his hut.
"Since then he has done many remarkable things. He has forbidden
the importation of drink, and has freed all labour men to their
homes. He has nominated Zifingini, the elder chief of the M'fusi,
to be king after his departure, and has added another fighting
regiment to his army.
"He is quite changed, and though they cannot see his face and he
has banished all his wives, relatives and councillors to a distant
village, he is more popular than ever.
"Illustrious and Excellent Senhor, I feel that at last I am seeing
the end of the old regime and that we may look forward to a period
of sobriety and prosperity in the M'fusi.
"Receive the assurance, Illustrious and Excellent Senhor, of my
distinguished consideration."
His Excellency went purple and white.
"Holy mother!" he spluttered apoplectically, "this is ruin!"
With trembling hands he wrote a telegram. Translated in its sense it was
to this effect--
"Recall de Sagosta without fail or there will be nothing doing on pay
day."
He saw this dispatched on its way, and returned to his bureau. He picked
up the duc's letter and read it again: then he saw there was a
postscript.
"P.S.--In regard to the strangers who visited the king, the man
they carried away on a closed litter was very sick indeed,
according to the accounts of woodmen who met the party. He was
raving at the top of his voice, but the white man was singing very
loudly.
"P.SS.--I have just heard, Illustrious and Excellent Senhor, that
the Hooded King (as his people call him) has sent off all his
richest treasures and many others which he has taken from the huts
of his deported relatives to one Bosambo, who is a chief of the
Ochori in British Territory, and is distantly related to Senhor
Sanders, the Commissioner of that Territory."
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetter's errors; in all
other respects, every effort has been made to be true to the author's
words and intent.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Keepers of the King's Peace, by Edgar Wallace