Sanders sat in the little telegraph office, and the Morse sounder rattled and clacked for half anhour. Other sounders were at work elsewhere, delicate needles vacillated in cable offices, and an Under-Secretary was brought from the House of Commons to the bureau of the Prime Minister to answer a question.
At four o'clock in the afternoon came the message Sanders expected: "London says permit for Corklan forged. Arrest. Take extremest steps. Deal drastically, ruthlessly. Holding in residence three companies African Rifles and mountain battery support you. Good luck. Administration."
Sanders came out of the office, and Bones met him.
"Men all aboard, sir," he reported.
"We'll go," said Sanders.
He met the girl half-way to the quay. "I know it is something very serious," she said quietly; "you have all my thoughts." She put both her hands in his, and he took them. Then, without a word, he left her.
Mr. P. T. Corklan sat before his new hut in the village of Fimini. In that hut—the greatest the N'gombi had ever seen—were stored hundreds of packages all well wrapped and sewn in native cloth.
He was not smoking a cigar, because his stock of cigars was running short, but he was chewing a toothpick, for these, at a pinch, could be improvised.He called to his headman. "Wafa?" he asked.
"Lord, he will come, for he is very cunning," said the headman.
Mr. Corklan grunted. He walked to the edge of the village, where the ground sloped down to a strip of vivid green rushes. "Tell me, how long will this river be full?" he asked.
"Lord, for a moon."
Corklan nodded. Whilst the secret river ran, there was escape for him, for its meandering course would bring him and his rich cargo to Spanish territory and deep water.
His headman waited as though he had something to say. "Lord," he said at last, "the chief of the N'coro village sends this night ten great teeth and a pot."
Corklan nodded. "If we're here, we'll get 'em. I hope we shall be gone."
And then the tragically unexpected happened. A man in white came through the trees towards him, and behind was another white man and a platoon of native soldiers.
"Trouble," said Corklan to himself, and thought the moment was one which called for a cigar.
"Good-morning, Mr. Sanders!" he said cheerfully.
Sanders eyed him in silence.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," said Corklan.
"Corklan, where is your still?" asked Sanders.
The plump man laughed. "You'll find it way back in the forest," he said, "and enough sweet potatoes to distil fifty gallons of spirit—all proof, sir, decimal 1986 specific gravity water extracted by Soemmering's method—in fact, as good as you could get it in England."
Sanders nodded. "I remember now—you're the man that ran the still in the Ashanti country, and got away with the concession."
"That's me," said the other complacently. "P. T. Corklan—I never assume an alias."
Sanders nodded again. "I came past villages," he said, "where every man and almost every woman was drunk. I have seen villages wiped out in drunken fights. I have seen a year's hard work ahead of me. You have corrupted a province in a very short space of time, and, as far as I can judge, you hoped to steal a Government ship and get into neutral territory with the prize you have won by your——"
"Enterprise," said Mr. Corklan obligingly. "You'll have to prove that—about the ship. I am willing to stand any trial you like. There's no law about prohibition—it's one you've made yourself. I brought up the still—that's true—brought it up in sections and fitted it. I've been distilling spirits—that's true——"
"I also saw a faithful servant of Government, one Ali Kano," said Sanders, in a low voice. "He was lying on the bank of this secret river of yours with two revolver bullets in him."
"The nigger was spying on me, and I shot him," explained Corklan.
"I understand," said Sanders. And then, after a little pause: "Will you be hung or shot?"
The cigar dropped from the man's mouth. "Hey?" he said hoarsely. "You—you can't—do that—for making a drop of liquor—for niggers!"
"For murdering a servant of the State," corrected Sanders. "But, if it is any consolation to you, I will tell you that I would have killed you, anyway."
It took Mr. Corklan an hour to make up his mind, and then he chose rifles.
To-day the N'gombi point to a mound near the village of Fimini, which they call by a name which means, "The Waters of Madness," and it is believed to be haunted by devils.
"
Bones," said Captain Hamilton, in despair, "you will never be a Napoleon."
"Dear old sir and brother-officer," said Lieutenant Tibbetts, "you are a jolly old pessimist."
Bones was by way of being examined in subjects C and D, for promotion to captaincy, and Hamilton was the examining officer. By all the rules and laws and strict regulations which govern military examinations, Bones had not only failed, but he had seriously jeopardized his right to his lieutenancy, if every man had his due.
"Now, let me put this," said Hamilton. "Suppose you were in charge of a company of men, and you were attacked on three sides, and you had a river behind you on the fourth side, and you found things were going very hard against you. What would you do?"
"Dear old sir," said Bones thoughtfully, and screwing his face into all manner of contortions in his effort to secure the right answer, "I should go and wet my heated brow in the purling brook, then I'd take counsel with myself."
"You'd lose," said Hamilton, with a groan. "That's the last person in the world you should go to for advice, Bones. Suppose," he said, in a last desperate effort to awaken a gleam of military intelligence in his subordinate's mind, "suppose you were trekking through the forest with a hundred rifles, and you found your way barred by a thousand armed men. What would you do?"
"Go back," said Bones, "and jolly quick, dear old fellow."
"Go back? What would you go back for?" asked the other, in astonishment.
"To make my will," said Bones firmly, "and to write a few letters to dear old friends in the far homeland. I have friends, Ham," he said, with dignity, "jolly old people who listen for my footsteps, and to whom my voice is music, dear old fellow."
"What other illusions do they suffer from?" asked Hamilton offensively, closing his book with a bang. "Well, you will be sorry to learn that I shall not recommend you for promotion."
"You don't mean that," said Bones hoarsely.
"I mean that," said Hamilton.
"Well, I thought if I had a pal to examine me, I would go through with flying colours."
"Then I am not a pal. You don't suggest," said Hamilton, with ominous dignity, "that I would defraud the public by lying as to the qualities of a deficient character?"
"Yes, I do," said Bones, nodding vigorously,"for my sake and for the sake of the child." The child was that small native whom Bones had rescued and adopted.
"Not even for the sake of the child," said Hamilton, with an air of finality. "Bones, you're ploughed."
Bones did not speak, and Hamilton gathered together the papers, forms, and paraphernalia of examination.
He lifted his head suddenly, to discover that Bones was staring at him. It was no ordinary stare, but something that was a little uncanny. "What the dickens are you looking at?"
Bones did not speak. His round eyes were fixed on his superior in an unwinking glare.
"When I said you had failed," said Hamilton kindly, "I meant, of course——"
"That I'd passed," muttered Bones excitedly. "Say it, Ham—say it! 'Bones, congratulations, dear old lad'——"
"I meant," said Hamilton coldly, "that you have another chance next month."
The face of Lieutenant Tibbetts twisted into a painful contortion. "It didn't work!" he said bitterly, and stalked from the room.
"Rum beggar!" thought Hamilton, and smiled to himself.
"Have you noticed anything strange about Bones?" asked Patricia Hamilton the next day.
Her brother looked at her over his newspaper. "The strangest thing about Bones is Bones," hesaid, "and that I am compelled to notice every day of my life."
She looked up at Sanders, who was idly pacing the stoep of the Residency. "Have you, Mr. Sanders?"
Sanders paused. "Beyond the fact that he is rather preoccupied and stares at one——"
"That is it," said the girl. "I knew I was right—he stares horribly. He has been doing it for a week—just staring. Do you think he is ill?"
"He has been moping in his hut for the past week," said Hamilton thoughtfully, "but I was hoping that it meant that he was swotting for his exam. But staring—I seem to remember——"
The subject of the discussion made his appearance at the far end of the square at that moment, and they watched him. First he walked slowly towards the Houssa sentry, who shouldered his arms in salute. Bones halted before the soldier and stared at him. Somehow, the watchers on the stoep knew that he was staring—there was something so fixed, so tense in his attitude. Then, without warning, the sentry's hand passed across his body, and the rifle came down to the "present."
"What on earth is he doing?" demanded the outraged Hamilton, for sentries do not present arms to subaltern officers.
Bones passed on. He stopped before one of the huts in the married lines, and stared at the wife of Sergeant Abiboo. He stared long and earnestly,and the woman, giggling uncomfortably, stared back. Then she began to dance.
"For Heaven's sake——" gasped Sanders, as Bones passed on.
"Bones!" roared Hamilton.
Bones turned first his head, then his body towards the Residency, and made his slow way towards the group.
"What is happening?" asked Hamilton.
The face of Bones was flushed; there was triumph in his eye—triumph which his pose of nonchalance could not wholly conceal. "What is happening, dear old officer?" he asked innocently, and stared.
"What the dickens are you goggling at?" demanded Hamilton irritably. "And please explain why you told the sentry to present arms to you."
"I didn't tell him, dear old sir and superior captain," said Bones. His eyes never left Hamilton's; he stared with a fierceness and with an intensity that was little short of ferocious.
"Confound you, what are you staring at? Aren't you well?" demanded Hamilton wrathfully.
Bones blinked. "Quite well, sir and comrade," he said gravely. "Pardon the question—did you feel a curious and unaccountable inclination to raise your right hand and salute me?"
"Did I—what?" demanded his dumbfounded superior.
"A sort of itching of the right arm—an almost overpowerin' inclination to touch your hat to poor old Bones?"
Hamilton drew a long breath. "I felt an almost overpowering desire to lift my foot," he said significantly.
"Look at me again," said Bones calmly. "Fix your eyes on mine an' think of nothin'. Now shut your eyes. Now you can't open 'em."
"Of course I can open them," said Hamilton. "Have you been drinking, Bones?"
A burst of delighted laughter from the girl checked Bones's indignant denial. "I know!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Bones is trying to mesmerize you!"
"What?"
The scarlet face of Bones betrayed him.
"Power of the human eye, dear old sir," he said hurriedly. "Some people have it—it's a gift. I discovered it the other day after readin' an article inThe Scientific Healer."
"Phew!" Hamilton whistled. "So," he said, with dangerous calm, "all this staring and gaping of yours means that, does it? I remember now. When I was examining you for promotion the other day, you stared. Trying to mesmerize me?"
"Let bygones be bygones, dear old friend," begged Bones.
"And when I asked you to produce the company pay-sheets, which you forgot to bring up to date, you stared at me!"
"It's a gift," said Bones feebly.
"Oh, Bones," said the girl slowly, "you stared at me, too, after I refused to go picnicking with you on the beach."
"All's fair in love an' war," said Bones vaguely. "It's a wonderful gift."
"Have you ever mesmerized anybody?" asked Hamilton curiously, and Bones brightened up.
"Rather, dear old sir," he said. "Jolly old Ali, my secretary—goes off in a regular trance on the slightest provocation. Fact, dear old Ham."
Hamilton clapped his hands, and his orderly, dozing in the shade of the verandah, rose up. "Go, bring Ali Abid," said Hamilton. And when the man had gone: "Are you under the illusion that you made the sentry present arms to you, and Abiboo's woman dance for you, by the magic of your eye?"
"You saw," said the complacent Bones. "It's a wonderful gift, dear old Ham. As soon as I read the article, I tried it on Ali. Got him, first pop!"
The girl was bubbling with suppressed laughter, and there was a twinkle in Sanders's eye. "I recall that you saw me in connection with shooting leave in the N'gombi."
"Yes, sir and Excellency," said the miserable Bones.
"And I said that I thought it inadvisable, because of the trouble in the bend of the Isisi River."
"Yes, Excellency and sir," agreed Bones dolefully.
"And then you stared."
"Did I, dear old—Did I, sir?"
His embarrassment was relieved by the arrival of Ali. So buoyant a soul had Bones, that from the deeps of despair into which he was beginning to sink he rose to heights of confidence, not to say self-assurance, that were positively staggering.
"Miss Patricia, ladies and gentlemen," said Bones briskly, "we have here Ali Abid, confidential servant and faithful retainer. I will now endeavour to demonstrate the power of the human eye."
He met the stolid gaze of Ali and stared. He stared terribly and alarmingly, and Ali, to do him justice, stared back.
"Close your eyes," commanded Bones. "You can't open them, can you?"
"Sir," said Ali, "optics of subject are hermetically sealed."
"I will now put him in a trance," said Bones, and waved his hand mysteriously. Ali rocked backward and forward, and would have fallen but for the supporting arm of the demonstrator. "He is now insensible to pain," said Bones proudly.
"Lend me your hatpin, Pat," said Hamilton.
"I will now awaken him," said Bones hastily, and snapped his fingers. Ali rose to his feet with great dignity. "Thank you, Ali; you may go,"said his master, and turned, ready to receive the congratulations of the party.
"Do you seriously believe that you mesmerized that humbug?"
Bones drew himself erect. "Sir and captain," he said stiffly, "do you suggest I am a jolly old impostor? You saw the sentry, sir, you saw the woman, sir."
"And I saw Ali," said Hamilton, nodding, "and I'll bet he gave the sentry something and the woman something to play the goat for you."
Bones bowed slightly and distantly. "I cannot discuss my powers, dear old sir; you realize that there are some subjects too delicate to broach except with kindred spirits. I shall continue my studies of psychic mysteries undeterred by the cold breath of scepticism." He saluted everybody, and departed with chin up and shoulders squared, a picture of offended dignity.
That night Sanders lay in bed, snuggled up on his right side, which meant that he had arrived at the third stage of comfort which precedes that fading away of material life which men call sleep. Half consciously he listened to the drip, drip, drip of rain on the stoep, and promised himself that he would call upon Abiboo in the morning, to explain the matter of a choked gutter, for Abiboo had sworn, by the Prophet and certain minor relatives of the Great One, that he had cleared every bird's nest from the ducts about the Residency.
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip!
Sanders sank with luxurious leisure into the nothingness of the night.
Drip-tap, drip-tap, drip-tap!
He opened his eyes slowly, slid one leg out of bed, and groped for his slippers. He slipped into the silken dressing-gown which had been flung over the end of the bed, corded it about him, and switched on the electric light. Then he passed out into the big common room, with its chairs drawn together in overnight comradeship, and the solemn tick of the big clock to emphasize the desolation. He paused a second to switch on the lights, then went to the door and flung it open.
"Enter!" he said in Arabic.
The man who came in was naked, save for a tarboosh on his head and a loin-cloth about his middle. His slim body shone with moisture, and where he stood on the white matting were two little pools. Kano from his brown feet to the soaked fez, he stood erect with that curious assumption of pride and equality which the Mussulman bears with less offence to his superiors than any other race.
"Peace on this house," he said, raising his hand.
"Speak, Ahmet," said Sanders, dropping into a big chair and stretching back, with his clasped hands behind his head. He eyed the man gravely and without resentment, for no spy would tapupon his window at night save that the business was a bad one.
"Lord," said the man, "it is shameful that I should wake your lordship from your beautiful dream, but I came with the river."[7]He looked down at his master, and in the way of certain Kano people, who are dialecticians to a man, he asked: "Lord, it is written in the Sura of Ya-Sin, 'To the sun it is not given to overtake the moon——'"
"'Nor doth the night outstrip the day; but each in his own sphere doth journey on,'" finished Sanders patiently. "Thus also begins the Sura of the Cave: 'Praise be to God, Who hath sent down the book to his servant, and hath put no crookedness into it.' Therefore, Ahmet, be plain to me, and leave your good speeches till you meet the abominable Sufi."
The man sank to his haunches. "Lord," he said, "from the bend of the river, where the Isisi divides the land of the N'gombi from the lands of the Good Chief, I came, travelling by day and night with the river, for many strange things have happened which are too wonderful for me. This Chief Busesi, whom all men call good, has a daughter by his second wife. In the year of the High Crops she was given to a stranger from the forest, him they call Gufuri-Bululu, and he took her away to live in his hut."
Sanders sat up. "Go on, man," he said.
"Lord, she has returned and performs wonderful magic," said the man, "for by the wonder of her eyes she can make dead men live and live men die, and all people are afraid. Also, lord, there was a wise man in the forest, who was blind, and he had a daughter who was the prop and staff of him, and because of his wisdom, and because she hated all who rivalled her, the woman D'rona Gufuri told certain men to seize the girl and hold her in a deep pool of water until she was dead."
"This is a bad palaver," said Sanders; "but you shall tell me what you mean by the wonder of her eyes."
"Lord," said the man, "she looks upon men, and they do her will. Now, it is her will that there shall be a great dance on the Rind of the Moon, and after she shall send the spears of the people of Busesi—who is old and silly, and for this reason is called good—against the N'gombi folk."
"Oh," said Sanders, biting his lip in thought, "by the wonder of her eyes!"
"Lord," said the man, "even I have seen this, for she has stricken men to the ground by looking at them, and some she has made mad, and others foolish."
Sanders turned his head at a noise from the doorway. The tall figure of Hamilton stood peering sleepily at the light.
"I heard your voice," he said apologetically. "What is the trouble?"
Briefly Sanders related the story the man had told.
"Wow!" said Hamilton, in a paroxysm of delight.
"What's wrong?"
"Bones!" shouted Hamilton. "Bones is the fellow. Let him go up and subdue her with his eye. He's the very fellow. I'll go over and call him, sir."
He hustled into his clothing, slipped on a mackintosh, and, making his way across the dark square, admitted himself to the sleeping-hut of Lieutenant Tibbetts. By the light of his electric torch he discovered the slumberer. Bones lay on his back, his large mouth wide open, one thin leg thrust out from the covers, and he was making strange noises. Hamilton found the lamp and lit it, then he proceeded to the heart-breaking task of waking his subordinate. "Up, you lazy devil!" he shouted, shaking Bones by the shoulder.
Bones opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. "On the word 'One!'" he said hoarsely, "carry the left foot ten inches to the left front, at the same time bringing the rifle to a horizontal position at the right side. One!"
"Wake up, wake up, Bones!"
Bones made a wailing noise. It was the noise of a mother panther who has returned to her lair to discover that her offspring have been eaten by wild pigs. "Whar-r-ow-ow!" he said, and turned over on his right side.
Hamilton pocketed his torch, and, lifting Bones bodily from the bed, let him fall with a thud.
Bones scrambled up, staring. "Gentlemen of the jury," he said, "I stand before you a ruined man. Drink has been my downfall, as the dear old judge remarked. Ididkill Wilfred Morgan, and I plead the unwritten law." He saluted stiffly, collapsed on to his pillow, and fell instantly into a deep child-like sleep.
Hamilton groaned. He had had occasion to wake Bones from his beauty sleep before, but he had never been as bad as this. He took a soda siphon from the little sideboard and depressed the lever, holding the outlet above his victim's head.
Bones leapt up with a roar. "Hello, Ham!" he said quite sanely. "Well dear old officer, this is the finish! You stand by the lifeboat an' shoot down anybody who attempts to leave the ship before the torpedoes are saved. I'm goin' down into the hold to have a look at the women an' children." He saluted, and was stepping out into the wet night, when Hamilton caught his arm.
"Steady, the Buffs, my sleeping beauty! Dress yourself. Sanders wants you."
Bones nodded. "I'll just drive over and see him," he said, climbed back into bed, and was asleep in a second.
Hamilton put out the light and went back to theResidency. "I hadn't the heart to cut his ear off," he said regretfully. "I'm afraid we shan't be able to consult Bones till the morning."
Sanders nodded. "Anyway, I will wait for the morning. I have told Abiboo to get stores and wood aboard, and to have steam in theZaire. Let us emulate Bones."
"Heaven forbid!" said Hamilton piously.
Bones came blithely to breakfast, a dapper and a perfectly groomed figure. He received the news of the ominous happenings in the N'gombi country with that air of profound solemnity which so annoyed Hamilton.
"I wish you had called me in the night," he said gravely. "Dear old officer, I think it was due to me."
"Called you! Called you! Why—why——" spluttered Hamilton.
"In fact, we did call you Bones, but we could not wake you," smoothed Sanders.
A look of amazement spread over the youthful face of Lieutenant Tibbetts. "You called me?" he asked incredulously. "Calledme?"
"You!" hissed Hamilton. "I not only called you, but I kicked you. I poured water on you, and I chucked you up to the roof of the hut and dropped you."
A faint but unbelieving smile from Bones. "Are you sure it was me, dear old officer?" he asked, and Hamilton choked. "I only ask," said Bones, turning blandly to the girl, "because I'ma notoriously light sleeper, dear old Miss Patricia. The slightest stir wakes me, and instantly I'm in possession of all my faculties. Bosambo calls me 'Eye-That-Never-Shuts——'"
"Bosambo is a notorious leg-puller," interrupted Hamilton irritably. "Really, Bones——"
"Often, dear old Sister," Bones went on impressively, "campin' out in the forest, an' sunk in the profound sleep which youth an' a good conscience brings, something has wakened me, an' I've jumped to my feet, a revolver in my hand, an' what do you think it was?"
"A herd of wild elephants walking on your chest?" suggested Hamilton.
"What do you think it was, dear old Patricia miss?" persisted Bones, and interrupted her ingenious speculation in his usual aggravating manner: "The sound of a footstep breakin' a twig a hundred yards away!"
"Wonderful!" sneered Hamilton, stirring his coffee. "Bones, if you could only spell, what a novelist you'd be!"
"The point is," said Sanders, with good-humoured patience, which brought, for some curious reason, a warm sense of intimacy to the girl, "you've got to go up and try your eye on the woman D'rona Gufuri."
Bones leant back in his chair and spoke with deliberation and importance, for he realized that he, and only he, could supply a solution to the difficulties of his superiors.
"The power of the human eye, when applied by a jolly old scientist to a heathen, is irresistible. You may expect me down with the prisoner in four days."
"She may be more trouble than you expect," said Sanders seriously. "The longer one lives in native lands, the less confident can one be. There have been remarkable cases of men possessing the power which this woman has——"
"And which I have, sir an' Excellency, to an extraordinary extent," interrupted Bones firmly. "Have no fear."
Thirty-six hours later Bones stood before the woman D'rona Gufuri.
"Lord," said the woman, "men speak evilly of me to Sandi, and now you have come to take me to the Village of Irons."
"That is true, D'rona," said Bones, and looked into her eyes.
"Lord," said the woman, speaking slowly, "you shall go back to Sandi and say, 'I have not seen the woman D'rona'—for, lord, is this not truth?"
"I'wa! I'wa!" muttered Bones thickly.
"You cannot see me Tibbetti, and I am not here," said the woman, and she spoke before the assembled villagers, who stood, knuckles to teeth, gazing awe-stricken upon the scene.
"I cannot see you," said Bones sleepily.
"And now you cannot hear me, lord?"
Bones did not reply.
The woman took him by the arm and led him through the patch of wood which fringes the river and separates beach from village. None followed them; even the two Houssas who formed the escort of Lieutenant Tibbetts stayed rooted to the spot.
Bones passed into the shadow of the trees, the woman's hand on his arm. Then suddenly from the undergrowth rose a lank figure, and D'rona of the Magic Eye felt a bony hand at her throat. She laughed.
"O man, whoever you be, look upon me in this light, and your strength shall melt."
She twisted round to meet her assailant's face, and shrieked aloud, for he was blind. And Bones stood by without moving, without seeing or hearing, whilst the strong hands of the blind witch-doctor, whose daughter she had slain, crushed the life from her body.
"Of course, sir," explained Bones, "you may think she mesmerized me. On the other hand, it is quite possible that she acted under my influence. It's a moot point, sir an' Excellency—jolly moot!"
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 São 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 tochange, 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, forwhilst 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 atdéjeuner, "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 sufficienttroops 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, andunderstood 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 amambaresting luxuriously in his one armchair, a discovery which suggested the existence of a whole colony of these deadly brutes—themambabite 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 rumas 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 aterra incognitaeven to his Excellencythe 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 weresufficient 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," saidBones easily, "for in my land 'white man' is evil talk."[8]
"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 awhite 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.