"Honour thy Father and thy Mother"
Jack felt himself in a distressing predicament. Could he allow Samba's
father and mother, for whom he suspected the boy must have made heroic
exertions, to undergo a punishment which, as he had learnt from more
than one of the refugees, frequently ended in the death of the victim?
Yet how prevent it? Whatever might be urged against it, the use of the
chicotte had become established as a recognized instrument of
administration in the Congo Free State. As a stranger and a foreigner
he had, to begin with, no right to interfere, and his previous
relations with Elbel had been such that a protest and an attempt at
dissuasion would be equally useless. His action on behalf of Lofundo's
son had been taken on the spur of the moment; it would not dispose
Elbel to pay any attention to calmer and more deliberate measures now.
Even a threat to report him would probably have no effect on the
Belgian. He was only doing what the officers of the State, or the
officials of the Trusts holding authority from the State, were
accustomed to do, whether by themselves or their agents. A protest
from Jack would merely aggravate the punishment of the wretched people.
Although Elbel had not taken any open step against Jack since their
last meeting, the latter felt assured that he was nursing his spite and
only awaiting a favourable opportunity to indulge it. Indeed it was
likely that something had already been done. Perhaps Elbel was in
communication with Boma. He had mentioned that a captain of the State
forces was on his way up the river; for all that Jack knew the officer
might deal very summarily with him when he arrived. That Elbel would
tamely endure the humiliation he had suffered Jack did not for a moment
believe.
Jack put these points to Barney.
"If I attempt to do anything for Samba's people," he added, "I must be
prepared to back up my demands by force, and that will mean bloodshed.
I can't run the risk, Barney. Uncle left me in charge, and, as I've
told you, said I wasn't to fight except in self-defence."
"Bedad, sorr, but he'd fight himself if he were here."
"That may be, but I can't take the responsibility."
"Cannot we get the people out uv the scoundhrel's clutches widout
fighting, sorr? The bhoy escaped, to be sure."
"True; how did you get away, Samba?"
The boy explained that he had been imprisoned separately from his
parents: he did not know why. They had been chained by the neck and
fastened to a tree in front of Boloko's hut; he had been roped by the
ankle and secured to another tree farther away. In the middle of the
night he had wriggled and strained at his bonds until, after much toil
and pain, he had released his foot. Then, when the sentry's back was
turned, he had slipped away, stolen behind the huts, and with great
difficulty clambered over the stockade.
"And are your parents still chained to the tree?"
Samba did not know. He had not ventured to approach them after
releasing himself, for his sole hope was in the Inglesa, and if he were
recaptured he knew that his parents' fate was sealed. But if the
Inglesa wished, he would steal back into the village and see if the
prisoners were still at the same spot.
"That will never do," said Jack. "The boy would certainly be caught,
Barney."
"That's the truth, sorr. But 'tis the morning for Lingombela to go to
the village for eggs; could he not find out what you wish to know?"
"He's a discreet fellow. Yes, let him try. He must be very careful.
I wonder that Elbel has not forbidden our men to go into the village;
and if he suspects any interference there'll be trouble."
Barney went out to send Lingombela on his errand. Meanwhile Jack got
Samba to tell him, through Lepoko, how he had found his parents. The
boy gave briefly the story of his wanderings, his perils from the wild
beasts of the forest, his hunger and want, his capture by the Bambute,
his escape, his adventure with the crocodile, his second capture and
more successful escape under cover of a great forest storm. Jack was
deeply impressed at the time; but many of the details came to him later
from others, and each new fact added to his admiration for the
indomitable young traveller.
The pigmies who had captured Samba at the river were a different tribe
from those with whom he had lived in the forest. Like those, however,
they made much of him, giving him plenty of food, but never letting him
go out of their sight.
One night, a fierce tempest swept through the forest, snapping great
trees and whirling them about like feathers. Thunder crashed,
lightning cut black paths through the foliage; and the Bambute cowered
in their huts, dreading lest these should be crushed by a falling tree
or scorched by the lightning's flame, yet feeling safer within than
without. But Samba rejoiced in the elemental disturbance. Reckless of
the terrors of the storm in his fixed determination to escape, he stole
out when the uproar was at its height and plunged into the forest. All
other peril was banished by the fury of the tempest. Once he passed a
leopard within a few feet, but the beast was too much scared by the
lightning to seize the opportunity of securing an easy meal.
After many days of wandering and privation Samba came within a day's
journey of what had been his village. Stumbling accidentally upon one
of his fellow-villagers, he told him his story, and was taken by him to
a cave in the forest where several of the fugitives from Banonga were
in hiding, some badly wounded. Samba came to them like a sunbeam.
What he told them about Mr. Martindale gave them courage and hope.
Some set off at once to seek out the Inglesa whose praise Samba was so
loud in singing; they would implore his protection: others, more
timorous or less hardy, dreading the long and toilsome journey,
resolved to remain where they were, for they were at least in no
straits for food. None of them could give Samba any news of his
parents: so after remaining a day or two with them he went on alone.
He reached the site of the desolated village in the evening, and took
refuge in the branches of a tree. His intention was to push on next
day and search the forest beyond the village. But with morning light
something impelled him to wander round the scene of his happy
childhood. Here had stood his father's hut; there, not far away, the
old chief Mirambo had dwelt. It seemed to Samba that the place was
altered in appearance since he had left it in company with Mr.
Martindale. An attempt had been made to repair the ruins of Mirambo's
hut. Somewhat startled, Samba approached it curiously, and was still
more startled to hear low groans proceeding from a spot where a corner
of the site had been covered with rough thatch. Entering, he
discovered with mingled joy and terror that his father and mother lay
there, nearly dead from wounds and starvation.
With the negro's instinct for returning to his old haunts, Mboyo had
come back with his wife to Banonga, and managed to rig up a precarious
shelter in his father's shattered hut. Then his strength failed him.
He had been wounded in the attack on the village, but had made good his
escape to the forest with his favourite wife. His other wives and
children had disappeared; of them he never heard again. The unwonted
exposure soon told upon his wife Lukela; she fell ill, and, weakened as
Mboyo was by his wounds, they were unable to scour the forest as they
might otherwise have done for food. As the days passed their condition
had gone from bad to worse, and at last they had painfully,
despairingly, made their way back to their old home, to die.
But Samba did not mean them to die. He set himself at once to rescue
them. As he knew well, there was little or no food near by; the wanton
destruction of plantations had been very thorough. They were too weak
to travel. He emptied his tin, to which he had clung through all his
wanderings, of the food it contained, and making a rough barrier for
them against wild beasts, cheered them with hopeful words and started
back on his tracks for a further supply of food.
When he reached the cavern where he had left his fellow-villagers, he
found it empty. Apparently even the timid ones had set off to seek the
protection of the good Inglesa. He could do nothing that night, but
next morning he went down to the stream whence they had obtained their
supply of fish and plied his spear until he had caught several. Then
he made the long journey back, filling his tin as he went with berries
and nuts and anything else from which nourishment could be obtained.
His parents were already a little better, thanks to the food he had
already given them, and perhaps also to the new spirit awakened in them
by the unexpected arrival of their dearly loved son.
Thus for several days Samba watched over them, making long journeys for
food. Each time he left them his absence became more prolonged; food
was harder to get, and he was less able to hunt for it. While his
parents slowly regained a little strength, Samba weakened from day to
day. At last he could scarcely drag one foot after the other; he was
worn out by the terrible fatigue of constant marching through the
forest, and by want of sleep, for he stinted himself of rest so that
his parents might be left alone as little as possible. More than once
he sank exhausted to the ground, feeling that he could go no farther,
do no more. His strength was spent; his head swam with dizziness; a
mist gathered before his eyes. Thus he would remain, half conscious,
perhaps for minutes, perhaps for hours; he knew not: he had lost count
of time. Then with the enforced rest the small remnant of his strength
returned to him, and with it the memory of his parents' plight. Upon
him depended the life of the two beings he held dearest in the world.
As the perils to which they were exposed were borne in upon his fevered
intelligence he would struggle to his feet, and grope his way painfully
along the forest track, his feet blistered, his flesh torn with spikes
and thorns: above all, a dreadful gnawing hunger within him, for he
would scarcely spare himself sufficient food for bare sustenance while
his parents were ill and in want.
This dark and terrible period was illumined by one ray of hope. His
weariness and toil were bearing fruit. Day by day his parents grew
stronger; in a fortnight they were able to move about, and a week later
they were ready to start for the cavern. But now it was Samba who
required tendance. He could walk only a few yards at a time, supported
by Mboyo, who almost despaired of reaching the cavern before starvation
again overtook them. But the weary journey was completed at last, and
after a few days' stay at the cavern within easier reach of food, the
party became fit to undertake a longer march, and set out hopefully for
Mr. Martindale's camp.
Jack could only conjecture what the terrors of that march had been, for
before Samba's story was finished Lepoko returned from the village. He
reported that Elobela, furious at the boy's escape, had announced that
he would double the punishment to be meted out to his parents. This
practice of striking at children through parents, and at parents
through children, was so much the rule in the Congo system of tax
collection that Jack did not doubt Elbel would carry out his threat.
Meanwhile the two prisoners had been removed from the open air before
Boloko's hut at the far side of the village, and conveyed to a
stoutly-built fetish hut near the stockade. This change of quarters
had provoked murmurs not only from the villagers, but from Elbel's own
men. The fetish hut was sacred to the medicine man of the village, and
even he affected to approach it with fear and trembling. The whole
population was talking about the desecration of the hut by the presence
of the two captives; men were shaking their heads and saying that
something would happen; and the medicine man himself--a hideous figure
with his painted skin--did not fail to seize the opportunity of
inflaming the minds of the villagers against the impious white man.
But no one ventured to remonstrate with Elbel. He meanwhile had gone
off with a number of forest guards to an outlying village, leaving
orders that the captives were to be watched with particular vigilance.
Samba's face was an image of despair as he listened to Lepoko's report.
What hope was there of his parents' rescue now?
"Poor little chap!" said Jack. "After going through so much for them
he'll be heart-broken if he loses them now. What can we do for him,
Barney?"
"Faith, I can see nothing for it, sorr, but to lead a storming party.
And I would go first, wid the greatest pleasure in life."
"That's out of the question, especially as Elbel's away. All's fair in
war, they say, Barney; but I shouldn't like to attack the village in
Elbel's absence. In any case I don't want to fight if there's any
other way. Samba, run away with Pat; don't go beyond the gate; I want
to see if I can think of any way of helping your parents."
Both the white men were touched by the boy's wistful look as he left
the hut. Jack stuck his legs out straight in front of him, plunged his
hands into his pockets, and bent his head upon his breast as he
pondered and puzzled. Barney sat for a time leaning forward with his
elbows on his knees, smoking an old clay pipe. But he soon tired of
inaction, and rising, proceeded to open a tin of oatmeal biscuits in
anticipation of lunch. He had just wrenched the lid off when Jack
sprang up with a sudden laugh and slapped him on the shoulder.
"I have it, Barney!" he cried. "They said something would happen;
well, they were right; something shall happen, old man. And it's your
doing!"
"Mine, sorr! Niver a thing have I done this blessed day but smoke me
pipe, and just this very minute tear a hole in my hand wid this
confounded tin."
"That's it, Barney! It was the tin gave me the idea. You know how
giants are made for the Christmas pantomimes?"
"Divil a bit, sorr."
"Well, don't look so surprised. Empty that tin of biscuits while I
tell you, and when that's empty, open another and do the same."
"Bedad, sorr, but all the biscuits will spoil."
"Let 'em spoil, man, let 'em spoil. No, I don't mean that, but at
present I think more of the tissue paper in those tins than of the
biscuits. We'll make a framework, Barney--any stalks or sticks will do
for that--and cover it with that tissue paper, and paint a giant's face
and shoulders on the paper, and we must find some coloured glass or
something for the eyes, and something white for the teeth. We have
some candles left, luckily. Don't you think, Barney, a lighted candle
behind the paper would make a very decent sort of bogie?"
"And is that the way, sorr, they make the giants at the pantomime?"
"Something like that, Barney. But what do you think of the idea?"
"'Tis the divil's own cleverness in it, sorr. But I'll niver enjoy a
pantomime any more, now that I know the way 'tis done. And how will ye
go to work wid the bogie, sorr?"
"Why, we'll make the framework to fit my shoulders. Then you'll see.
The first thing is to get it made. Go and get the materials. We shall
want sticks about three feet long, and ngoji cane[1] to tie them
together, as there are no nails here. And you must send over to Imbono
and ask for some colouring matter. Red and black are all we shall
need. I don't know what we shall do for the eyes; there's no coloured
glass handy, I suppose. We must do without if we can't find anything.
Now, hurry up, Barney, and send Lepoko to me."
For the rest of the day Jack and Barney were very busy in the hut. It
was an easy matter to put the bamboo framework together. The tissue
paper from the two biscuit tins proved just sufficient to cover it.
When this was done, Jack sketched with his pencil as ugly a face as his
artistic imagination was capable of suggesting, then laid on the
pigments with his shaving brush, no other being at hand. He gave the
giant very thick red lips, opened in a hideous grin, heightening the
effect by carefully tying in a number of goat's teeth. The eyes
presented a difficulty. No coloured glass could be found among any of
the villagers' treasures, and after several attempts to supply its
place with leaves, petals of red flowers, and glass beads stuck
together, Jack decided that the best effect would be made by leaving
the eye slits empty. The making of the bogie was kept a close secret
between himself and Barney; but he got some of his men to make two
light bamboo ladders, which they did with great expedition, wondering
not a little to what use Lokolobolo would put them.
In the afternoon, as soon as he was assured that his bogie would turn
out a success, Jack sent Lepoko into Ilola to foment the villagers'
fear that the desecration of the fetish hut would certainly be followed
by a visit from the offended spirit. He was to talk very seriously of
a great medicine man he had once met on the coast, who knew all about
the spirits of the streams and woods, and those who protected the
forest villages. One of these spirits, said the medicine man, took the
form of a giant, and any mortal upon whom he breathed would surely die.
Jack knew that this story would be repeated by the villagers to the
forest guards, and would soon be the property of the whole community.
Reckoning upon the fact that Elbel had his quarters near the gate of
the stockade, and that the fetish hut was on the opposite side of the
enclosure, not far from the stockade itself, so that the whole width of
the village separated them, Jack hoped to create such a panic among the
superstitious sentries that he would have time to free the captives
before Elbel could intervene.
At dead of night, when he believed that the enemy must be sound asleep,
Jack left his camp silently, accompanied only by Samba. He himself
carried the bogie; the boy had the ladders. But even his own parents
would not have recognized the Samba of this midnight sortie. Jack had
been much interested on the way up the Congo by a kind of acacia which,
when cut with an axe, exudes a sticky substance, emitting in the
darkness a strong phosphorescent glow. With this substance a series of
rings had been drawn on Samba's body, and he wore on his head a number
of palm leaves arranged like the Prince of Wales's feathers, smeared
with the same sticky material. He made an awful imp in attendance on
the horrific monster.
Samba stepping close behind Jack to avoid observation, the two made
their way stealthily around the village, keeping within the fringe of
the encircling forest. Then Jack fixed the bogie upon his shoulders,
lighted the candles placed in sconces of twigs cunningly constructed by
Barney, and crept forward towards the stockade, closely followed by
Samba, both bending low so as to escape discovery before the right
moment.
Lepoko had reported that two sentries had been placed over the fetish
hut. Jack guessed that by this time their nerves would be at pretty
high tension, and that they would not improbably be keeping a safe
distance from the awful place they had been set to guard. One of the
ladders was planted by Samba against the stockade. On this Jack
mounted, and the hideous countenance rose slowly and majestically above
the palisade.
A small oil lamp swung from the eaves of the hut. By its light Jack
saw the two sentries some distance away, but near enough to keep an eye
on the entrance so that the inmates could not break out unnoticed. At
first they did not see the apparition. To quicken their perception,
Jack gave a weird chuckle--a sound that would have startled even sturdy
English schoolboys in the depth of night. The negroes turned round
instantly; there was one moment of silence: then shrieking with fear
they rushed helter-skelter into the darkness.
Taking the second ladder from Samba, Jack calmly descended on the other
side, and was quickly followed by the boy. The latter made straight
for the fetish hut. A light shone through the entrance immediately he
had entered; there was a muffled shriek; then voices in rapid talk,
followed by the sound of heavy hammering. By the light of Jack's
electric torch Samba was breaking the fetters.
By this time the whole village was astir. At the first instant of
alarm every man, woman, and child gave utterance to a yell; but as soon
as they caught sight of the dreadful apparition, the vengeful spirit
Whose visit had been predicted, the giant with hideous jaw and flaming
eyes, they ceased their cries, and scampered in awestruck silence
across the compound towards the gate.
Slowly Samba's parents limped out of the hut after him, and with his
assistance mounted the ladder and descended on the other side of the
stockade. Jack had bidden Samba take them for a time into the forest.
To harbour them in his camp would involve further embroilment with
Elbel, a thing to be avoided if possible. They had barely disappeared
in the darkness when a shot rang out, and Jack felt something strike
the framework above his head. Elbel had been awakened from sleep by
the first yell, but on leaving his hut found himself enveloped in so
thick a crowd of quivering, panic-stricken negroes that he could
neither see what had caused their alarm nor get an answer to his
irritable questions. The delay had been just long enough to allow the
prisoners to escape.
Jack heard Elbel's voice raging at the people. As another shot whizzed
by he reached up and extinguished the candles, then slipped over the
stockade, drawing the ladder after him. Burdened with the bogie and
the two ladders he hastened away into the forest. For some minutes he
wandered about, missing the guidance of Samba, who was with his
parents. At length he struck the path, and making his best speed
regained his camp. Barney was awaiting him at the gate with loaded
rifle, the trained men drawn up under arms.
"The bogie did it!" he cried, feeling very hot and tired now that his
task was accomplished.
"Praise be!" ejaculated Barney. "Eyes front! Present arrms! Dismiss!"
[1] This abounds in the forest, and is alike nails, string, and rope
for the natives.