Jack felt sure that by setting an ambush at a suitable point he could produce a panic among the guards and paddlers almost as effectual for his purpose as the panic in Elbel's camp. But he had a not unnatural shrinking from such a course. An ambuscade—concealing oneself to shoot another man down—went against the grain with him. He knew that it was fair by all the rules of warfare, and warfare had been thrust upon him by the State troops. But he preferred if possible to attain his end by other means, involving the minimum of bloodshed and suffering. The scenes in Elbel's camp and in the forest were too fresh in his memory for him to court a repetition of this wholesale destruction, even of the savages who wore the uniform of King Leopold.
The disposition of the enemy's forces suggested a plan whereby his end might be gained with little or no serious fighting. If the plan failed there still remained the alternative of an attack in force on the long-drawn-out line of the flotilla.
He had noticed, when coming up the river to Ilola with his uncle, that, about half a day's paddling from the flotilla's point of departure, the channel was divided by a small island. Only on the near side was the river navigable at this season, even by canoes; on the other side the channel was wide but shallow, thickly beset by sandbanks. By striking to the left and taking a short cut through the forest known to Makoko, the river bank opposite this island could be reached in two hours' hard marching. There would still be a good margin of time to make all necessary arrangements for carrying out his plan before the head of the convoy came into view. The men had already had a couple of hours' rest; the worst of their fatigue after the night march was gone; there was now no time to be lost, and Jack gave the order to move off under Makoko's lead.
Before midday the troops were halted opposite the island, a lozenge-shaped eyot about a third of a mile in length and a hundred yards across, covered with rank vegetation and patched with one or two clumps of large trees. On reaching the spot Jack left his litter to superintend the men's work, in spite of his stiff leg. He posted scouts in each direction, up and down the river, to guard against surprise, then set the men to cut a large number of tough creepers which abounded in the forest, and by twisting and knotting the tendrils to make a rope about eighty yards long. While this was being done with marvellous speed by the expert negroes, a few saplings were uprooted and lashed together to form a raft, too slight indeed for serious navigation, but strong enough to convey a few men at a time across the river. When the rope was finished one end was taken across to the eyot and firmly secured to one of the large trees; the other end was left for the present loose. The place where the rope entered the water on each side was carefully screened from view, and a few stones attached to it at intervals sank it beneath the surface of the stream.
Jack directed the work untiringly, encouraging the workers with praise.
"Bravo!" he cried, when all was done. "Now we'll have some chop, Lepoko."
"Plenty hungry, massa," returned the man. "Men all want to know somefing, massa."
"Well, what is it?"
"Dey say: 'Lokolobolo make us do plenty fings. What for? We lib for do anyfing for Lokolobolo; no fit to know what for.' Dat am what dey say, sah."
Jack smiled.
"Well, Lepoko, I'll tell you in confidence, and I know it won't go any further. We're going to see an exhibition of swimming."
"Me no like big talk like dat," said Lepoko, looking puzzled.
"Here's little talk, then. Men no want to swim; we want to see them swim. Savvy?"
"Me know all 'bout dat, sah," cried Lepoko delighted, and he went off to tell the men, Jack smiling at their satisfaction with an explanation that explained so little.
The whole force had a meal, keeping almost perfect silence in obedience to an impressive order from Jack. They were concealed within the forest fringe. When the meal was finished a dozen men with rifles were sent across to hide themselves amid the vegetation on the island, and all waited with rifles ready.
Presently the scout from down stream came running up with the news that the leading canoes of the flotilla were approaching a bend in the river half a mile below the eyot. The paddlers, who had apparently had a meal and a rest, were sending the canoes along at a good rate. Jack bade twelve of his men grasp the rope of creepers, and stand ready to pull when he gave the word. There was dead silence among the troops. They heard the enemy drawing near—the songs of the paddlers, the chatter of the fighting men, occasionally a yell as the chicotte fell with stinging force upon a paddler's back. Jack watched from his coign of vantage in the bush. There were the two war canoes as Makoko had described them; in the second of them was a white officer. They passed the eyot. Then came the store canoes, one after another, keeping about the same distance apart. Jack forgot to count them, for he was beyond measure delighted to see in one of them the shield of the machine gun. "What luck! What tremendous luck!" he thought. "Where the shield is the gun is sure to be." The last of the store canoes passed. Then, at a little longer interval than separated the store canoes, came the first war canoe of the rearguard, the second about a boat's length behind. Jack signed to his twelve men to be ready. Watching carefully the point at which the rope entered the water and the point on the opposite side where it reached the eyot, he waited for the first of the war canoes to approach the line. The nose of the vessel was within two or three yards of the rope when he gave his men the signal.
With desperate energy the twelve sturdy negroes hauled on the rope. Jack could not have timed the movement more fortunately. As the rope became taut and rose to the surface it struck the bottom of the canoe about a fourth of its length from the bow. The united pull of the twelve men lifted the forepart of the vessel bodily from the water; the stern dipped under, and in a moment the canoe filled and its occupants were struggling in the water.
At any other time such a feat would have provoked yells of triumph from the performers. It was a tribute to Jack's discipline that his men made no other sound than a grunt of satisfaction, which must be entirely smothered by the shouts of the men in the water. And at a word from Jack they rushed at full speed down stream with the rope, holding it a few inches above the gunwale level of the last canoe, the crew of which were frantically back-paddling to escape the mysterious fate of the other. But the paddlers had not got into their swing when the rope, stretched tight between the fastening on the eyot and the running men, overtook them. It caught them about the knees; they were swept from the thwarts, and fell towards the opposite bank; and the sudden weight on the starboard side turned the canoe completely over. Not half a minute from the time when Jack gave the first sign the whole of the rearguard was out of action. In mortal dread of crocodiles the men swam desperately for the banks, some on one side, some on the other; but as they landed they fell an easy prey to Jack's men, and were promptly hauled into the forest and tied up.
But while they were still in the water the news of the disaster had been communicated with marvellous rapidity from canoe to canoe, and reached the head of the flotilla and the white officer. Standing up and lifting his field glass to his eyes he could just see, over the intervening vessels, a capsized canoe, a number of men swimming in the river, and others moving on the bank. There was no sign of the cause of the disaster. The paddlers indeed were shouting "Lokolobolo! Lokolobolo!" in accents of terror; but the name appeared to convey nothing to the lieutenant, who was disposed to attribute the upset to a hippopotamus or a snag.
Certainly it was causing a great deal of confusion in the flotilla, and some of the paddlers, the rearguard being removed, seemed inclined to turn their canoes and head down stream. It was very annoying. Shouting to the men in the leading war canoe to paddle just enough to keep their vessel stationary against the stream, the lieutenant hurried to the scene of the accident. On the way the shouts of the paddlers became more coherent; what was this they were saying? Ilombekabasi? Absurd! But it was as well to prepare for anything that might occur, so the officer ordered his men to be ready to fire when he gave the word. At present he saw nobody to fire at.
His canoe was going rapidly on the current towards the eyot when a volley flashed from the undergrowth on the right bank, and he heard the shots strike the side of his vessel. The effect of the discharge at a range of only thirty yards was instantaneous. Jack had ordered his men to aim at or near the waterline; not a man had been hit; but the paddlers waited for no more. With one accord they sprang overboard and swam for the nearest shore, that of the eyot. One or two of the soldiers replied to the volley, aiming hap-hazard at the bank; the rest awaited the order of their officer, who, however, was either dazed by the unexpected attack or unwilling to waste ammunition by aimless firing into the bush. The boat meanwhile was drifting down the stream: a second volley bored another score of tiny holes in the thin side. The occupants were without paddlers or paddles; they had no means of beaching the vessel; and Jack, watching her progress, felt that it was only a question of minutes before, riddled like a sieve, she would have shipped enough water to sink her. Then the occupants, officer and men, would share the fate of their comrades. He sent Makoko with twenty rifles and twice as many spearmen to the nearest point where the hapless party might be expected to land; and at the same time he despatched a band of the same size up river to deal with the war canoe, which had by this time gone out of sight.
In a few minutes the lieutenant and his men struggled one after another up the bank. Those who retained their weapons were unable to use them, for they were dripping wet. Jack's men dealt with them as with the others, leaving the white officer, however, unbound. Him they led to Jack, who commiserated the crestfallen man on his unfortunate plight, and promised him excellent treatment if he made no attempt to escape.
For some time Jack's party had made no further effort to conceal themselves. The store canoes had been moving aimlessly about the river, the paddlers not knowing whether to go ahead or to retreat. At Jack's bidding Lepoko now ordered them to beach their vessels, promising that Lokolobolo would protect them, and, if they pleased, would take them into his service. They obeyed with alacrity, and soon the whole of the stores and the machine gun were in Jack's possession. He wondered why the latter had not been taken up the river with the main body, and questioning the officer, learnt that in the haste and confusion one of the parts of the gun could not be found, and but for the delay in searching for it he himself would have arrived an hour or more earlier.
The capture of the convoy had been effected so quickly that Jack felt there might still be time by a forced march to reach the fort before the arrival of the enemy's main column. Hastily selecting from the stores such food and other articles as he urgently needed, and taking care to bring with him the machine gun, he made instant preparations to return. He placed Makoko in charge of the flotilla, with a body of thirty riflemen and eighty spearmen, ordering him to drop down the river half a day's paddling and await further instructions. He arranged for a chain of messengers to keep up communication between Makoko and himself; then he set out with the bulk of his force for Ilombekabasi, sending a scout to order the men who had gone up river to join him across country as soon as they had captured the only remaining canoe.
[1] Now I am well.
Two days after, on a strip of open ground half-way between Ilombekabasi and Elbel's ruined camp, a group of six negroes were assembled. Three of them were in the uniform of the State troops; the other three were Lepoko, Imbono, and Mboyo. All were unarmed. In the midst of the group were two rough chairs such as were used by native chiefs. The southern wall of Ilombekabasi was thronged with men, women, and children eagerly surveying the scene; lower down the hill the State troops, in a rude encampment hastily constructed on the previous day, were drawn up in orderly ranks, and gazed north with equal intentness.
All at once a great cry of "Lokolobolo!" rent the air, and floated down the hill from the fort to the camp. No answering shout met it. But an officer in white left the camp and walked slowly up the slope. At the same time a tall figure in tattered garments of European cut limped out of the fort, and moved downwards. The group of negroes fell apart as the white men arrived. The latter touched their helmets in military salute; and the younger of the two smilingly motioned to the elder to seat himself on one of the chairs, he himself taking the other. They sat facing each other, and the negroes moved a few paces back on each side.
The two men formed a strange contrast: the one, a tall slim young fellow not yet nineteen, his bronzed face clean shaved, showing firm well-cut lips and an obstinate kind of chin; his nose prominent, his brown eyes large and searching, his hair black as night and somewhat unruly; not a handsome face, but a strong one, worth looking at twice and not easily forgotten: the other nearly as tall, but much broader and more stiffly built; some ten years older; lips and chin concealed by thick brown moustache and beard, blue irritable eyes blinking through big spectacles under fierce and shaggy brows.
"Instead of replying to your summons to surrender, Monsieur Jennaert," said Jack slowly in his best French, "I thought it better to meet you, so that we might clearly understand each other. I am obliged to you for so readily agreeing to my proposal."
The Belgian bowed.
"Yours, monsieur, is the third or fourth summons of the same kind. Monsieur Elbel summoned us——"
"Where is Monsieur Elbel, monsieur?"
"Monsieur Elbel, monsieur, is dead." Lieutenant Jennaert started.
"Dead, monsieur?"
"Yes, he was pursued into the forest by a man whose son he had thrashed, whose relatives his men had maimed and butchered, whose village he had burned. The man killed him. Well, as I was about to say, Monsieur Elbel summoned us more than once. At first he was much stronger than we were, both in arms and men. But when he began to back his summons by force of arms he failed,—more than once. As you know, four days ago we captured his camp for the second time and dispersed his troops, largely with the aid of rifles which had once been his."
"Yes, I know that," said Lieutenant Jennaert somewhat impatiently. "But Monsieur Elbel was not a trained soldier, and his men were only forest guards. I did not come to hear of your exploits, monsieur, but to receive your surrender. I am a soldier; my men are State troops; the case is different."
"Quite so, monsieur. I appreciate the difference between his men and yours. But you will pardon my pointing out that you are in a far more critical position than Monsieur Elbel before his camp was stormed."
"You think so, monsieur?" said the officer with an amused smile. "Would it be indiscreet to ask your reasons?"
"Not at all. I wish to be entirely frank. It is to the interest of us both."
"Assuredly, monsieur."
Lieutenant Jennaert's smile was now quite indulgent. He was at first inclined to be peremptory with this young man, who appeared to presume on the victories he had obtained over a Company's official, and a captain taken at a disadvantage, and never particularly competent, in his subordinate's opinion. But the young fellow was certainly very polite; why not humour him by letting him talk? So Jennaert smiled again. The other continued—
"Well, monsieur, what is the position? Take mine first. You see before you a fortified camp, difficult of approach, as Monsieur Elbel could have told you, and as you can judge for yourself; well provisioned, and with a good water supply; garrisoned by four hundred or more well-armed men—all now provided with Albinis or Mausers, and a machine gun."
The officer started.
"A machine gun?"
"Yes—a machine gun."
"Monsieur Elbel made no mention of a machine gun."
"No, it is a new acquisition. But if you would like to assure yourself on the point I can convince you."
The officer hesitated. Jack turned to Lepoko.
"Run up and tell Mr. Barney to show the big gun on the blockhouse."
Lepoko ran away.
"It is very hot, monsieur," said Jack pleasantly. "The rains, I am told by my friends the chiefs here, are long overdue. I am afraid you would have found your journey rather more difficult if it had been a little later, with the river in flood.—Ah! there it is!"
A number of men had hoisted the gun on to the edge of the parapet, in full view of the group below.
"You see, monsieur, we are well provided. A machine gun, you will admit, is even more useful within walls than without. Now as to your position. You have under your command some three hundred men trained—more or less. Whether as a military force they are better than our men can only be decided if unfortunately you determine to put the matter to the test. But consider your risks. Two days ago we captured your stores."—The officer jumped.—"Your rearguard is in our hands, and that was your machine gun."—The officer stared.—"You are at least three weeks from your base, with perhaps two days' provisions in hand, no reserve of ammunition, and, as I said, the rains overdue. Yonder country, during the rains, is a swamp."
Lieutenant Jennaert turned pale. His messengers sent back to hurry on the dilatory convoy had strangely failed to return. But recovering himself, with a feeble attempt to smile he said—
"You are joking, monsieur. You permit yourself a ruse. Ah! ah! I am not to be entrapped in that way."
"Pardon me, monsieur. You shall have the fullest assurance as to the truth of what I am saying. Lepoko, ask Mr. Barney to send out the white officer."
The Belgian was now looking very uncomfortable. This was a strange turning of the tables; his summons to surrender had been completely forgotten. Jack had no need to kill time by keeping up the conversation, for in a minute or two the lieutenant captured in the river left the fort under an armed guard and walked quickly down.
"Beuzemaker!" exclaimed Lieutenant Jennaert under his breath.
"Yes, monsieur—Monsieur Beuzemaker."
Lieutenant Beuzemaker smiled ruefully as he joined the group. He gave a rapid narrative of the capture of the convoy.
"It only remains, therefore," said Jack, "for you to decide upon your course, monsieur. May I make you a proposal? You shall surrender your arms and ammunition except a dozen rifles. I will supply you with canoes to take your men down the river, and provisions for a fortnight. Within ten days you should enter a district where more food can be obtained. As you know, the country hereabouts has been made almost a desert by your people."
But this was too much. Was it he, Lieutenant Jennaert, who was being called upon to surrender? He rose in a fury.
"Never! The thing is absurd! Monsieur, I take my leave. Beuzemaker!——"
He stopped, biting his lips.
"Monsieur Beuzemaker is my prisoner," said Jack suavely, rising. "He will accompany me back to my camp. Of course, if you accept our terms, we will release all the prisoners."
The Belgian turned away in a rage. The meeting broke up; the two parties went their several ways. Jack, as he walked back to the fort, hoped that on thinking the matter over the officer would see the wisdom of compliance. The alternative was starvation. He must see that it would be no easy matter to storm the fort, and that Jack had only to sit tight for a few days. The State troops, none too well disciplined at the best, would soon be clamouring for food. With a starving soldiery, an active well-fed enemy on his rear, and a swarm of scouts cutting off his foraging parties, he must see the impossibility of making his way back through several hundred miles of country inhabited by tribes only waiting an opportunity to rise against their oppressors. So that when Barney met him as he re-entered the fort, and asked eagerly, "Well, sorr, and did the patient swallow the pill?" he smiled as he shook his head, saying—
"Not yet, Barney. But hewillswallow it, bitter as it is."
"Or his men will swallow him, bedad!"
And a few hours later a negro soldier marched up the hill with a white flag. Lieutenant Jennaert's note was very brief.
MONSIEUR,—
J'agrée vos conditions.
JENNAERT,Lieutenant dans l'armée de l'État du Congo.
It was a fortnight later. Ilombekabasi was the scene of great activity. Gangs of negroes were busy carrying, hauling, stones of all shapes and sizes from the dry bed of the stream that once flowed past the fort; other gangs were building a wall above the original northern wall of the fort, a few yards beyond the spring whence the water supply was derived. On the cultivable land on the west and east men and women were digging, ploughing, planting, hoeing, for in some parts seed sown only two weeks before was already sprouting. Barney O'Dowd superintended the mason work, sporting a red fez taken from one of the slain Askari and dry-cleaned by a process of his own. In his mouth was his old short clay pipe, in which, after long deprivation, he was smoking a mixture made by himself from tobacco grown on a bed in front of his hut. It was not shag, he said, nor twist, but it made a betther smoke than cavendish, and sure 'twould give a man a little comfort till the rale thing could be grown. The agriculturists were directed by Imbono. An air of cheerful industry pervaded the whole settlement.
When the State troops under Lieutenant Jennaert had disappeared, Jack determined, after a breathing space, to enlarge the fort and to plant new crops. The enlargement was prompted not merely by the wish to have the source of the water supply within the wall, but by the expectation that the defeat of Bula Matadi would cause an increase of the population. And, in fact, within a week of Jennaert's departure, natives from distant parts to which the news had penetrated came flocking into Ilombekabasi to join the community which looked up to Lokolobolo as its invincible chief.
Looking round upon the cheerful faces of the people; observing their willingness to work, and eagerness to please; watching the happy family life they led when unmolested and free from anxieties, Jack felt that his toil had not been in vain, and was immeasurably glad that Providence had laid this charge upon him. If only his uncle had lived to see this day!
Jack found that his feelings were shared by Mr. Arlington and his friend the missionary. They had awaited the issue of his hazardous enterprise with more anxiety than they cared to admit, and while they hailed his success with cordial congratulations, they were scarcely less troubled about the future. The Congo State could not permit this leaven of revolt to spread; it would certainly organize an expeditionary force of sufficient strength to crush Jack and his people; and then would not their lot be infinitely worse than it had ever been?
"Even so we shall have had some months of happiness, and set an example," said Jack, talking things over with his friends the day before they left Ilombekabasi. "But I hope for better things. We may have the rains upon us any day now; the country for miles around will be one vast morass; we shall be safe in our castle for six months, perhaps. And what may not be done in six months, Mr. Arlington?"
"You mean?"
"I mean if you and Mr. Dathan will hurry home and tell what you have seen and know. Mr. Arlington, you are no longer a member of Parliament, I believe?"
"No. The House of Commons is no longer what it was."
"Surely it is what men like you choose to make it, sir. If you would go home, stand at a bye-election, and return to the House, what an immense influence a man with your record might wield! Do you know what I would do in your place, sir? You do not mind my speaking out?"
"Not a bit. I am deeply interested."
"Well, sir, I would badger the Foreign Secretary; I would move the country until England moved the world."
"Go on the stump like Gladstone?"
"Why not, sir? Isn't the cause of the negroes every bit as good as the cause of the Bulgarians or Macedonians or Armenians? Nay, ten times better, because they're more helpless and suffer under a Christian King! And you would succeed, sir."
"I haven't Gladstone's power of moving the masses."
"What does that matter? The facts don't need any eloquence to back them, sir. I don't mean that you are not eloquent," he added with a smile. "I haven't heard you speak, but I have read your speeches; and if you tell what you have seen here, the country must listen, and something will surely be done. Why, if you go to my old school and speak to the fellows in the schoolhouse, I'll back there's not a boy there but will want to rush off here by the first train, to lend a hand!"
"Upon my word, Mr. Challoner, I think you'd better come back with us and do the stumping yourself."
"No, no," said Jack, his face flushing. "I cannot leave these people. My place is here, and here I'll stick until I'm driven out, or until Leopold is brought to book."
"Well, I'll do what I can. I promise you that. Perhaps I've ploughed the lonely furrow long enough. What do you say, Dathan? Shall we join hands in this? We rowed in the same boat at Trinity; we kept the head of the river. This boat's rather low down now, but d'you think we could make a bump?"
"We'll make a shot for it, George. And please God, we like Bishop Latimer, will light such a candle in England as shall not be put out until this wrong is crushed and right is done."
Jack felt more than satisfied. If his countrymen had not grown strangely deaf, surely they would listen to these two—ay, and do more than listen.
"You leave to-morrow?" he said.
"Yes. My leg won't carry me yet, but with a canoe and a litter I can make shift to get along until we reach the Nyanza. Can you lend me an interpreter?"
"Lepoko is a good fellow. I think I can spare him now. We'll see what he says."
He sent for the man, and explained that he wished him to accompany the travellers during the first part of their journey.
"Me plenty sorry, massa," said Lepoko. "Me no fit to go. What for? Me comfy heah! No lib for go talk talk for nudder massa. What for? Nando go to Boma with old massa; what den? He come back, get cotched, chicotte, feel plenty bad. No, no, sah; Lepoko know all 'bout dat. Lepoko go long long, do anyfing for massa; he lib for lub Lokolobolo, no nudder massa dis time. Why, me hab got wife in Ilombekabasi; what for leabe wife? No good at all; dat what Bula Matadi make black man do, leabe wife, leabe pickin, go 'way all 'lone 'lone. Make black man sick inside, sah; feel awful bad. No, no, I tell massa. Nando go. He know Inglesa plenty fine; he hab no got wife; he die of shame 'cos he leabe Samba in fire hut; no one lub Nando now. Oh yes, sah! Nando go: me tell him one time."
After this breathless speech, Lepoko ran off to find his brother. Nando at first was by no means disposed to leave the fort on so long and hazardous a journey. But at last he was persuaded, though on bidding Jack good-bye he said earnestly—
"Me nebber, nebber, nebber lib for hab nudder brudder what talk Inglesa: oh no!"
One afternoon a few days after this, one of the look-outs on the south-eastern blockhouse reported that he saw a crowd of people emerging from the forest a couple of miles away. Hurrying to the spot, Jack took a long look through his field-glasses and made out that the approaching throng was composed of natives, men, women, and children, the women being laden with babies and bundles. When the crowd came within earshot of the fort, a negro stepped forward, and, lifting his hands to his mouth, vociferated—
"Yo! Yo!"
"Answer him, Lianza," said Jack to the man of the brazen throat.
"I am here," shouted Lianza.
"Is that Ilombekabasi?"
"It is Ilombekabasi."
"And Lokolobolo?"
"And Lokolobolo."
"I am Lokua. My chief is Makole. We come from Limpoko to see Lokolobolo."
"Lokolobolo says that Makole and Lokua may enter, but no more."
"I am going."
"Are you going?"
"O!"
The negro returned to his company, who were now squatting in a series of circles just above the site of Elbel's ruined camp. He presently returned with a negro in chief's array, a head taller than himself.
The two negroes were admitted. Makole stood before Jack, a bundle of palm leaves in one hand. They exchanged greetings.
"I am proud to see Lokolobolo," said Makole. "I come from Limpoko. All my people have come with me, my four wives, my children, all my people. We have heard of the great things done by Lokolobolo in Ilombekabasi, and how he beat Elobela and Mutela and other servants of the Great White Chief who eats up the black men. We come to ask Lokolobolo to let us be his people. I am Makole, the chief; I have four wives and many children; but I say I will be Lokolobolo's servant; all my people shall be his servants, if he will take us into Ilombekabasi and let us live in peace."
"Why do you wish to leave Limpoko?" asked Jack.
"We do not wish to leave Limpoko. But what can we do, O Lokolobolo? The rubber is done; we have no more of it; day by day the servants of the Great White Chief beat us and kill us because we cannot fill our baskets; Limpoko will soon be a wilderness. We come before we are all gone, and we beg Lokolobolo to hear our entreaty."
"Shall we admit Makole?" asked Jack of Imbono, who had come to his side.
"Makole is a tall man, a great chief. We will be blood brothers and live together."
"You may bring your people in, Makole. But I warn you it may not be to live in peace. We have offended Bula Matadi; Bula Matadi will come with a great host to destroy us. All who live in Ilombekabasi must not look for ease and peace, but for work and war. Your people must share with the rest; they must build their own huts, till the fields, repair the walls, learn to scout and to fight in our way. It is not peace, Makole."
"I praise Lokolobolo! I trust Lokolobolo! I will do all he says, and my people shall learn all that he teaches," cried the chief, slapping his thighs. Then, unwrapping the bundle of palm leaves, he displayed a shrivelled hand, and said—
"This is my gift to Lokolobolo."
"What is this, Makole?" asked Jack, shuddering.
"It is the hand of Boloko, who whipped us and killed us, who can say how many? We met him as we came through the forest, and my young men killed him, and I bring his hand to Lokolobolo to show that he is dead, and will trouble us no more."
"But we do not deal with our enemies thus," said Jack.
The chief looked surprised.
"It is the way of the servants of the Great White Chief," he said. "They kill us, and cut off our hands, and take them to their chiefs, and the chiefs are pleased and pay brass rods for them. I thought Lokolobolo would be pleased."
"Lokolobolo is Inglesa," said Lepoko. "It is only Bula Matadi that pays for the hands of black men. Give it to Mboyo; he is Boloko's brother. Boloko hated Mboyo, he hated Samba; Mboyo will be pleased."
"Bury it at once, out of sight," said Jack, "Bring your people in, Makole. Lepoko, take him to Mr. Barney; he will show him where to build his huts."
All Ilombekabasi flocked to the gates to see the entrance of this new contingent. They came in laughing, singing, dancing, the mothers eagerly asking where was Lokolobolo that they might point him out to their little ones. But Lokolobolo was not to be seen.
Jack had turned sadly from the sight of this joyous entry, and made his way towards the largest of the huts—the hut built for Mr. Martindale. There Samba lay—had lain since Barney, with a woman's tenderness, had carried him from Elbel's camp to the beloved Ilombekabasi which he had thought never to see again. Little indeed he saw of the fort and of what was passing there as he lay, day by day, on his simple bamboo bed; for though his wounds slowly healed, not all the loving care lavished upon him by his parents and by Barney, who spent every spare hour at his bedside—not the constant companionship of Pat himself—brought back strength to his slowly wasting form.
Still, he was always cheerful. The ready smile lit up his face as Lokolobolo appeared in the narrow doorway. Barney rose as Jack entered and made room for him at the head of the bed.
"How are you now, Samba?" asked Jack, taking his hand.
"Better, master, better," answered the boy, his voice scarcely audible.
"That's right. Getting a little appetite, eh? Must eat, you know, if you're to grow strong."
"See mykwanga," said the mother, coming forward. "He eats no more than a bird."
"It is nice, mother; I will eat more by and by. I am so tired now."
"Poor little fellow! You are in no pain?"
"No, master, no pain; only tired."
"Cheer up! You will feel better in the morning."
He pressed the boy's hand and turned to leave with Barney. At the door Mboyo overtook him.
"He will not go yet to the Great Spirit, O Lokolobolo?" he whispered anxiously.
"We cannot tell, Mboyo. All we can do is to tend him well. Hope for the best."
"Poor bhoy!" said Barney as they went away; "'tis mighty little betther he is, sorr, I'm fearing. 'Twould tax the strength uv a horse to get over it, widout docthors an' all."
As they walked across the camp, here a man, there a woman, paused in their work to ask Lokolobolo how Samba was. Children came up—Lofinda, for whom Samba had shaped a tiny gun; Lokilo, proud of his little fishing-rod, Samba's gift; Isangila, wearing a necklace of dried maize he had made for her—and asked shyly when Samba would come out and play with them again. Some brought offerings of food specially prepared, delicate fish and rare fruits, the choicest spoil of forest and stream for miles around. Everybody loved the boy; and Jack loved him with a particular affection. Over and above his winning ways, Samba stood for so much to Jack, who, in thoughtful moods, seemed to see him as the spirit of the negro race, the embodiment of all that was best in the black man, the representative of millions of his kind, helpless pawns in a royal game of beggar my neighbour. It was Samba whose woful plight had first brought home to his heart the terrible realities of the rubber slavery; it was Samba who had been the means of founding Ilombekabasi; to him was due the torch of freedom lit at last in this stricken land—a torch that Jack, in his heart of hearts, dared to hope would never be extinguished. Surely the conscience of Christendom was awakening! Pray God the awakening came not too late!
A great silence lay upon Ilombekabasi. To a stranger beyond the walls the place might have seemed deserted, so still it was, with none of the cheerful bustle that marks the beginning of a new day. Men and women were gathered in little knots; they talked in whispers; some were sobbing; the eyes of most were dim with tears. Even the children were subdued and quiet; they forgot their play, staring at their elders with puzzled, solemn eyes. Why was the world so sad to-day? Was it because Samba was going away? Surely he would come back to them; he had come back before.
Samba was leaving Ilombekabasi.
Four persons stood by the little bamboo bed. At the foot a dog crouched, whimpering. Father and mother bent in mute agony over their son; Lukela, the fountain of her tears dried through long weeping, hovering above her boy as though by sheer power of love to guard him from the dread visitant already at the threshold; Mboyo rocking himself to and fro in the abandonment of sorrow. And the two white men bowed their heads in silent sympathy and grief. They knew that the end was very near.
Jack felt a great lump in his throat as he gazed at the still form, lying with outstretched arms, too weak to move. Poor little fellow! Was this the end of the bright young life, so full of promise? He thought of the days of health, when the boy with happy face went hither and thither, eager to do some service for his beloved master, no matter how hard or how perilous. He thought of the dangers Samba had faced for his parents' sake, and the brightness he had brought into their lives and the lives of hundreds of his people. He thought with agony of the terrible scene when Samba, rather than say a word to the undoing of those he loved, had endured the tortures inflicted by the inhuman agent of a detestable tyranny. And now the end was at hand! The blithe spirit was departing, the poor body done to death by the greed of a Christian King. "Botofé bo le iwa! Rubber is death!" The words rang in Jack's ears; would they were the knell of this despotism, this monstrous "system" that bought wealth with the price of blood!
The end came soon. Samba moved his hand, and turned his eyes, and murmured "Pat!" The watchers barely caught the word, but the dog sprang up, and went to the bed, and nestled his head on the boy's shoulder. Samba murmured his pleasure, a happy smile lit up the brave young eyes, and then the light faded, and went out. Samba had left Ilombekabasi.
They buried him next day in the forest he knew and loved so well, with the ceremonies of his people, and as befitted the son of a chief.
All the people of Ilombekabasi, men, women, and little children, followed him to the grave. They laid by his side the few possessions of the boy—his rifle, his knife, his tin, his wooden spear. And some of his comrades, Makoko and Lingombela and Lianza and Lepoko, fired a salute over him and left him there among the trees.
That night, sitting in Jack's hut, Barney talked of the past and the future.
"Poor ould master came here for gold, sorr. All the gold in all the world is not worth little Samba's life. Whin the master looks down out uv Paradise and sees the people here, I know what he'll say, just as if I heard 'm. He'll say: 'I was niver a philanthrophy, niver did hould wid that sort uv thing. But I'm rale glad that bhoy uv mine wint out wid me in time to make a few poor black people happy. Poor craturs! God bless 'em!' Sure, sorr, black people have got their feelings—same as dogs."
THE END
Butler and Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London
JUST PUBLISHED
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
One of Clive's Heroes
A STORY OF THE FIGHT FOR INDIA
ILLUSTRATED BY W. RAINEY, R.I.
The Headmaster of Harrow: "I have read it and think it a very good book. The historical accuracy is really wonderful in a romance, and the local Indian colour well preserved. Mr. Strang is to be congratulated."
Athenaeum: "An absorbing story.... The narrative not only thrills, but also weaves skilfully out of fact and fiction a clear impression of our fierce struggle for India."
Aberdeen Free Press: "Mr. Strang may congratulate himself on having achieved another superlatively good story."
Guardian: "An excellent tale. Mr. Herbert Strang's care and accuracy in detail are far beyond those of the late Mr. Henty, with whom it is the fashion to compare his work, while he tells a story infinitely better."
Christian World: "A book from Mr. Herbert Strang is now as regular and welcome an event as in former days were Mr. Henty's yearly volumes.One of Clive's Heroeswill thrill many a young heart during the Christmas holidays. Sound history and thrilling romance."
Lady's Pictorial: "When in doubt what to buy for a boy, or boys, for a Christmas gift, choose Mr. Herbert Strang'sOne of Clive's Heroes."
Church Times: "Boys are fortunate indeed to have found in Mr. Strang a worthy successor to their old friend, the late G. A. Henty."
Notts Guardian: "'The successor to Henty' is a title that needs living up to; but Mr. Herbert Strang, upon whom it has been conferred, richly deserves it."
Educational Times: "Far better than Henty."
Education: "A splendid book for boys. We used to think that no one could take Henty's place; and we feel certain that no one will ever be able to take Mr. Strang's."
Saturday Review: "Herbert Strang tells a story as well as Henty told it, and his style is much more finished."
HODDER AND STOUGHTONPUBLISHERS LONDON
*****
JUST PUBLISHED
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
(HERBERT STRANG'S FIRST HALF-CROWN BOOK)
Jack Hardy
OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO
ILLUSTRATED BY W. RAINEY, R.I.
Bookman: "A story about a gallant young middy could not have a more alluring sub-title than 'A Hundred Years Ago.' On his way to join theFurythe gallant midshipman discovered a hotbed of smuggling at Luscombe, and unearthed a spy of Napoleon's. Jack's first fight with the smugglers ended disastrously, and he soon found himself in a French prison. Thence he made a daring escape, recaptured theFury, and picked up a fine prize ship on his way back to Portsmouth. The characters in the story are drawn with originality and humour, especially that fine seaman Babbage.... Finally Jack triumphs all along the line, and his gallantry is rewarded by his appointment to join theVictory. Boys will expect to hear more of Jack Hardy, and of what he did at Trafalgar."
Athenaeum: "Herbert Strang is second to none in graphic power and veracity.... Here is the best of character sketching in bold outline."
Speaker: "A greater than Henty."
School Guardian: "Mr. Herbert Strang fills in stories for boys the place of the late Mr. Henty."
Tribune: "Herbert Strang's former books 'caught on' with our boys as no other books of adventure since Henty's industrious pen fell from his hand."
Dublin Express: "It has become a truism to say that the mantle of Henty has descended to Herbert Strang, and indeed in some respects Mr. Strang surpasses Henty."
HODDER AND STOUGHTONPUBLISHERS LONDON
*****
BY HERBERT STRANG
Kobo
A STORY OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR
Athenaeum: "In Kobo, Herbert Strang has provided much more than a good boys' book for the Christmas market. Whilst readers ofTom Burnabywill not be disappointed of an ample meal of stirring adventures and hard war fights, readers of a more serious turn will find an excellent picture of Japanese life and character, ... not to mention some vivid sketches of modern naval warfare."
Spectator: "An excellent story, such as one might expect to have from the author of that capital book,Tom Burnaby.... 'With a Japanese, duty comes inexorably first.' This, indeed, is the key-note of the whole story. This principle of action dominates Bob's friend, and it dominates the story."
Saturday Review: "Last year a new name of great promise appeared in the list of writers of boys' books. This year the promise shown by Mr. Herbert Strang inTom Burnabyis more than borne out byKoboandBoys of the Light Brigade.... He shares the late Mr. Henty's knowledge of history and war; he is less encyclopaedic in his descriptive methods perhaps than was Henty, though he gives the same air of verisimilitude to his chapters by means of maps and charts ... he has an admirable style, and a sense of humour which he handles with the more effect because he never turns a situation into broad farce."
Academy: "For vibrant actuality there is nothing to come up to Mr. Strang'sKobo."
Daily Telegraph: "This vivid story owes not a little of its attractiveness to its many picturesque touches of local colour."
Pall Mall Gazette "Mr. Herbert Strang, whose splendid story,Tom Burnaby, proved so brilliantly successful last year, has written another that will rank as its equal for vivid interest."
Westminster Gazette: "An adventure story after a boy's own heart."
*****
BY HERBERT STRANG
Brown of Moukden
Athenaeum: "Herbert Strang may be congratulated on another first-rate book.... Characterization is a strong feature, ... and Ah Lum, the literary chief of the brigands, is a memorable type."
Spectator: "Mr. Strang has very rightly taken up again the subject in which his story ofKoboachieved such a success last year.... The story is very skilfully constructed.... Of particular scenes we may single out for mention the episode of the railway train, ... a most effective piece of narrative.... The relief of humorous passages and situations has been given, and without stint.... Ah Lum, the spectacled brigand chief, with all the wisdom of Confucius and Lao-Tze at his finger tips, is a most amusing person....Brown of Moukdenis certainly a success."
Academy: "Related with the same spirit and intimate knowledge of the East that madeKoboa marked success."
Church Times: "The incident of the locomotive race down the Siberian Railway is, for breathless interest, the equal of anything we know of in the whole range of juvenile fiction.... The book will hold boy readers spellbound."
Army and Navy Gazette: "When Mr. Henty died boys were disconsolate, for they had lost a real friend; but now we have Mr. Herbert Strang most capably taking his place. He was welcomed as showing great promise inTom Burnaby, but he did better inKobo, that strong story of the earlier pages of the Russo-Japanese War, and now he has done better still inBrown of Moukden."
Gentlewoman: "Mr. Herbert Strang may really be said to be the successor of the late Mr. Henty, and parents and others on the look-out for desirable boys' books must be grateful to him each year for an excellent story at Christmastide.... This is the literature we want for young England."
Journal of Education: "Mr. Strang's former books have led us to expect great things from his pen, and these volumes prove him to be in the foremost rank of writers of boys' books. They are thoroughly healthy in tone, full of stirring adventures; and in each case linked to history in a manner that is never oppressive, and adds considerably to the interest of the story."
*****
BY HERBERT STRANG
Boys of the Light Brigade
A STORY OF SPAIN AND THE PENINSULAR WAR
Spectator: "Mr. Strang's name will suffice to assure us that the subject is seriously treated, and a better subject could hardly be found.... Altogether a capital story."
Professor Oman (Chichele Professor of Modern History at Oxford, and Author ofA History of the Peninsular War): "Pray accept thanks from a historian for having got historical accuracy, combined with your fine romantic adventures."
Outlook: "Let us be thankful for a boy's book really worth reading."
Schoolmaster: "We have read this book with great interest and delight. More than four hundred pages of the most thrilling events are told with a marvellous fidelity to history."
Standard: "It is a book which no boy will be able to put down when once started."
The Adventures of Harry Rochester
A STORY OF THE DAYS OF MARLBOROUGH AND EUGENE
Academy: "Tom BurnabyandKobo—the best books of their season—have a worthy successor inThe Adventures of Harry Rochester."
Glasgow Herald: "Mr. Herbert Strang again displays all the qualities that attracted attention and secured for him such a brilliant success when he made his appearance two years ago as the author ofTom Burnaby.... We recommend it to all parents who want something thoroughly sound, as well as interesting, to put into the hands of their boys."
Army and Navy Gazette: "The descriptive power and characterization are quite remarkable."
Dundee Advertiser: "In some essentials, such as constancy in bold action, this well-studied and finely-coloured tale is superior to any written by the lamented Henty. With the need of some one to take Henty's vacant place has come the man."
*****
BY HERBERT STRANG
Tom Burnaby
Field-Marshal Lord Wolseley: "It is just the sort of book I would give to any schoolboy, for I know he would enjoy every page of it."
Sir A. Conan Doyle: "... I think it is a really excellent picture of African life."
Mr. J. L. Paton, Head-master of Manchester Grammar School: "... It is worth reading and thoroughly wholesome. I wish it all success."
Dr. R. P. Scott, Secretary of the Head-masters' Association: "... I have read the book from cover to cover, and found it thoroughly interesting, vivid, healthful, and helpful. I can cordially recommend it to boys, and will do so whenever opportunity offers."
Pall Mall Gazette: "That splendid storyTom Burnaby."
Educational News: "The stirring pages ofTom Burnaby."
Literary World: "... Mr. Strang ... has put as much work into this story as one finds in a really good novel; the little bits of useful information that he sprinkles through it are palatable and readily digestible, and the 'atmosphere' (if one may mix one's metaphors) 'rings true.'"
Mark Lane Express: "... Mr. Strang has come to the front rank with a bound...."
World: "... The tone of the story is excellent; manly and spirited, it cannot fail to rouse a response in a boy's heart."
Financial News: "As a writer of stirring stories the author of the famousTom Burnabystands in the front rank of those who devote their talents to the edification of the rising generation."
School Government Chronicle: "Mr. Herbert Strang understands the taste and temper of the British public-school boy."
Liverpool Mercury: "The record of his career deserved to be bound in leather and blocked on all sides with gold."
Dundee Advertiser: "... as good as the plot is the way in which the author conveys a living impression of the region and its inhabitants."
Glasgow Evening News: "... a masterpiece in the Henty manner."
Englishman (Calcutta): "It is a book that every wholesome-minded boy will revel in, for it is alive with action and picturesque adventure."