Cupid in Africa

by Percival Christopher Wren

  CHAPTER XVIII_Trial_

  After breakfast Bertram attended Court, which was a table under a tree,and took his seat on the Bench, an inverted pail, as a Ruler and a Judge,for the first and last time in his life. He felt that it was a strangeand terrible thing that he should thus be suddenly called upon to try aman for his life.

  Suppose that his two fellow-judges, Berners and Clarence, disagreed as tothe death-sentence, and he had to give his verdict, knowing that a man’slife depended on it! . . .

  A couple of _askaris_ of the King’s African Rifles, police-orderlies of“Leesey” Lindsay’s, brought in the prisoner. He was a powerful anddecidedly evil-looking negro, clad in a striped petticoat. He had moreof the appearance of furtive intelligence than is usual with _shenzis_ ofhis tribe. Bertram decided that he carried his guilt in his face and hadtrickster and traitor written all over it. He then rebuked himself forpre-judging the case and entertaining prejudice against an untried, andpossibly innocent, man.

  “Guilty,” said Augustus Gus. “Who’s coming for a walk?”

  “I’m President of this Court,” replied Berners. “Who asked you to openyour head? If I’m not sure as to his guilt, I may consult you later. OrI may not.”

  “Look here, Berners—let’s do the thing properly,” was the reply.“There’s a Maxim—or is it a Hotchkiss—of English Law which says that aman is to be considered Guilty until he is proved to be Innocent.Therefore we start fair. He is Guilty, I say. Now we’ve got to provehim Innocent. Do be a sport, and give the poor blighter a show.”

  “I b’lieve it’s the other way about,” said Berners.

  “Oh, indeed!” commented Augustus. “You’d say the feller’s innocent andthen start in to prove him guilty, would you? . . . Dirty trick, I callit. Filthy habit.”

  Wavell appeared at the entrance to his tent, holding a green,silk-covered book in his hand. The cover was richly embroidered and hada flap, like that of an envelope, provided with strings for tying itdown. It was a copy of the Koran, and on it all witnesses were sworn,repeating an oath administered by Wavell in Arabic. . . .

  “Ready?” asked he of the President, and proceeded with great patience,skill and knowledge of languages and dialects, to interpret thestatements of Wadegos, Swahilis, Arabs, and assorted Africans.Occasionally it was beyond his power, or that of any human being, toconvey the meaning of some simple question to a savage mind, and to get arational answer.

  For the prosecution, Lindsay, who was down with dysentery, had producedfellow-villagers of the accused, from each of whom Wavell obtained thesame story.

  Prisoner was enamoured of a daughter of the headman of the village, and,because his suit was dismissed by this gentleman, he had led a Germanraiding-party to the place, and, moreover, had shown them where hiddentreasures were _cached_, and where fowls, goats, and cattle had beenpenned in the jungle, and where grain was stored. Also, he had “smeltout” enemies of the _Germanis_ among his former neighbours, wicked menwho, he said, had led English raiding-parties into the country of the_Germanis_, and had otherwise injured them. These enemies of the_Germanis_ were all, as it happened, enemies of his own. . . . When thisraiding-party of _askaris_, led by half a dozen _Germanis_, had burnt thevillage, killed all the villagers who had not escaped in time, andcarried off all they wanted in the way of livestock, women, grain andgear, they had rewarded accused with a share of the loot. . . .

  “Do they all tell the same tale in the same way, as though they hadconcocted it and learnt it by heart?” asked Bertram.

  “No,” replied Wavell. “I didn’t get that impression.”

  “Let’s question them one by one,” said Berners.

  A very, very old man, a sort of “witch-doctor” or priest, by hisornaments, entered the witness-box—otherwise arose from the group ofwitnesses and stood before the Court—to leeward by request.

  “Hullo, Granpa! How’s things?” said Augustus.

  The ancient ruin mumbled something in Swahili, and peered with horny eyesbeneath rheumy, shrivelled lids at the Court, as he stood trembling, hispalsied head ashake.

  “Don’t waggle your head at _me_, Rudolph,” said Augustus severely, as theold man fixed him with a wild and glassy eye. “_I_’m not going to upholdyou. . . . Pooh! _What_ an odour of sanctity! You’re a _high_ priest,y’know,” and murmured as he sought his handkerchief, “Poignant! . . .Searching. . . .”

  The old man repeated his former mumble.

  “He says he did not mean to steal the tobacco,” interpreted Wavell.

  “Sort of accident that might happen to anybody, what?” observed Augustus.“Ask him if he knows the prisoner.”

  The question was put to him in his own tongue, and unfalteringly hereplied that he had not meant to steal the tobacco—had not _really_stolen it, in fact.

  Patiently Wavell asked, and patiently he was answered. “Do you know theprisoner?”

  “I never steal.”

  “Do you know this man?”

  “Tobacco I would never steal.”

  “What is this man’s name?”

  “Tobacco.”

  “Have you ever seen that man before?”

  “What man?”

  “This one.”

  “Yes. He is the prisoner.”

  “When have you seen him before?”

  “Last night.”

  “When, before that?”

  “He ate rice with us last night. He is the prisoner.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “Yes, I know he is the prisoner. _He_ stole the tobacco.”

  “Have you known him long?”

  “No. He is only a young man. He steals tobacco.”

  “Does he come from your village?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you known him all his life?”

  “No, because he went and spent some time in the _Germanis’_ country. Ithink he went to steal tobacco.”

  “Did he come back alone from the _Germanis’_ country?”

  “No. He brought _askaris_ and _muzangos_. {183a} They killed my peopleand burnt my village.”

  “You are sure it was this man who brought them?”

  “Is he not a prisoner?”

  Suddenly an ancient hag arose from the group of witnesses and boundedinto Court. At the feet of Wavell she poured forth a torrent ofimpassioned speech.

  “Cheer up, Auntie!” quoth Augustus, and as the woman ceased, added: “Askher if she’d come to Paris for the week-end.”

  “What does she say?” enquired the President of the Court.

  “In effect—that she will be security for _witness’s_ good behaviour, ashe is her only child and never steals tobacco. He only took the tobaccobecause he wanted a smoke. He is ninety years of age, and a goodobedient son to her. It is her fault for not looking after him better.She hopes he will not be hung, as she is already an orphan, and wouldthen be a childless orphan. . . . She undertakes to beat him with a_runga_.” {183b}

  “Does she identify prisoner as the man who led the German raiding-party?”asked Bertram, after Augustus had called for three loud cheers for thewitness, had been himself called to order by the President, and hadthreatened that he would not play if further annoyed by that official.

  Again, in careful Swahili, Wavell endeavoured to find traces of evidencefor or against the accused.

  “Do you know this man?”

  “Yes, _Bwana_.”

  “Who is he?”

  “The prisoner, _Bwana Macouba_ (Great Master).”

  “Why is he a prisoner?”

  “Because he brought the _Germanis_ to Pongwa, oh, _Bwana Macouba Sana_(Very Great Master).”

  “How do you know he brought the _Germanis_ to Pongwa?”

  “Because he has been made prisoner for doing so, oh, _Bwana MacoubaKabeesa Sana_ (Very Greatest Master).”

  “Do you know anything about him?”

  “He is the man who stole the tobacco which my little boy took.”

&n
bsp; All being translated and laid before the Court, it was decided that, sofar, prisoner was scarcely proven guilty.

  “Let’s ask him whether he would like to say anything as to the evidenceof the last two witnesses,” suggested Bertram.

  “He doesn’t understand Swahili,” objected Berners.

  “I feel sure he does,” replied Bertram. “I have been watching his face.He half grinned when they talked about tobacco, and looked venomous whenthey talked about him.”

  “Do you understand Swahili?” asked Wavell, suddenly, of the prisoner.

  “No, not a word,” replied that individual in the same tongue.

  “Can you speak it?”

  “No, not a word,” he reaffirmed in Swahili.

  “Well—did the last two witnesses tell the truth about you?”

  “They did not. I have never seen them before. They have never seen mebefore. I do not know where Pongwa is. I think this is a very finetrial. I like it.”

  Other witnesses swore that the accused had indeed done the treacherousdeed. One swore with such emphasis and certainty that he carriedconviction to the minds of the Court—until it was discovered that witnesswas swearing that prisoner had stolen a bundle of leaf-tobacco from theson of the woman who was an orphan. . . .

  The Court soon found that it could tell when a point was scored againstthe defendant, without waiting for translation, inasmuch as he alwaysseized his stomach with both hands, groaned, rolled his eyes, and criedthat he was suffering horribly from _tumbo_, when evidence was goingunfavourably.

  At length all witnesses had been examined, even unto the last, who sworehe was the prisoner’s brother, and that he saw the prisoner leading the_Germanis_ and, lo, it wasn’t his brother at all, and concluded with:“Yes—this is true evidence. I have spoken well. I can prove it, for Ican produce the _sufuria_ {184} which prisoner gave me to say that I amhis brother, and to speak these truths. He is my innocent brother, andwas elsewhere when he led the _Germanis_ to Pongwa.”

  “Let’s give him something out of the poor-box,” suggested Augustus whenthis speech was interpreted, and then marred this intimation of kindlyfeelings by adding: “and then hang the lot of them.”

  “Has the prisoner anything to say?” asked the President.

  The prisoner had.

  “This is a good trial,” quoth he, in Swahili. “I am now an importantman. All the witnesses are liars. I have never seen any of them before.I do not associate with such. I have never seen Pongwa, and I have neverseen a _Germani_. I will tell . . .”

  Wavell looked at him suddenly, but made no movement.

  “_Noch nichte_!” said he in German, very quietly.

  The man stopped talking at once.

  “You understand German. You speak German!” said Wavell, in thatlanguage, and pointing at him accusingly. “Answer quickly. You speakGerman.”

  “_Ganz klein wenig_—just a very little,” replied the prisoner, adding inEnglish: “I am a very clever man”—and then, in German: “_Ich hab keinEnglisch_.”

  “Prisoner has never seen a _Germani_—but he understands German!” wroteBertram in his notes of the trial. “Also Swahili and English.”

  “Please ask him if he hasn’t had enough trial now, and wouldn’t he liketo be hanged to save further trouble,” said Augustus.

  “_Tiffin tyar hai_, {185} _Sahib_,” said the Mess butler, approaching thePresident, and the Court adjourned.

  The afternoon session of the Court proved dull up to the moment when thelady who was an orphan and the mother of the ninety-year-old, boundedinto Court with a scream of:

  “Ask him where he got his petticoat!”

  Apparently this was very distressful to the defendant, for he wasinstantly seized with violent stomachic pains.

  “Poignant! . . . Searching! . . .” murmured Augustus.

  “Where did you get that _’Mericani_?” asked Wavell of the prisoner,pointing to his only garment.

  “He got it from the _Germanis_. It was part of his share of the loot,”screamed the old lady. “It is from my own shop. I know it by thatmark,” and she pointed to a trade-mark and number stencilled in whitepaint upon the selvedge of the loin-cloth.

  Terrible agonies racked the prisoner as he replied: “She is a liar.”

  “Trade-mark don’t prove much,” remarked the President. “My pants andvest might have same trade-mark as the Kaiser’s—but that wouldn’t provehe stole them from me.”

  The sense of this remark was conveyed to the witness.

  “Then see if a mark like _this_ is not in the corner of that piece of_’Mericani_,” said the old lady, and plucking up her own wardrobe, showedwhere a small design was crudely stitched.

  The _askaris_ in charge of the prisoner quickly demonstrated that anidentical “laundry-mark” ornamented his also. Presumably the worthywoman’s secret price-mark, or else her monogram.

  Terrific agonies seized the prisoner, and with a groan of “_Tumbo_,” hesank to the ground.

  A kick from each of the _askaris_ revived him, and he arose promptly andtook a bright interest in the subsequent proceedings, which consistedlargely in the swearing by several of the villagers that they had seenthe _Germanis_ loot the old lady’s store and throw some pieces of the_’Mericani_ to the accused. Two of the witnesses were wearing petticoatswhich they had bought from the female witness, and which bore her privatemark. . . .

  “Gentlemen,” said the President at length, “I should like your writtenfindings by six o’clock this evening, together with the sentence youwould impose if you were sole judge in this case. The Court is deeplyindebted to Captain Wavell for his courteous and most valuable assistanceas interpreter. The witnesses may be discharged, and the prisonerremoved to custody. . . . Clear the blasted Court, in fact, and come tothe Bristol Bar. . . .”

  “Oh, hang it all, Berners,” objected Augustus, “let’s hang him _now_. Wecan watch him dangle while we have tea. . . .” But the Court had risen,and the President was asking where the devil some bally, fat-headed foolhad put his helmet, eh? . . .

  For an hour Bertram sat in his _banda_ with throbbing, aching head,considering his verdict. He believed the man to be a spy and atreacherous, murderous scoundrel—but what was really _proven_, save thathe knew German and wore a garment marked similarly to those of threeinhabitants of Pongwa? Were these facts sufficient to warrant thepassing of the death sentence and to justify Bertram Greene, who, till afew days ago, was the mildest of lay civilians, to take theresponsibility of a hanging judge and imbrue his hands with the blood ofthis man? If all that was suspected of him were true, what, after all,was he but a savage, a barbarous product of barbaric uncivilisation? . .. What right had anyone to apply the standards of a cultured white manfrom London to a savage black man from Pongwa? . . . A savage who hadbeen degraded and contaminated by contact with Germans moreover. . . .

  After many unsatisfactory efforts, he finally wrote out his judgment onleaves torn from his military pocket-book, and proposed, as verdict, thatthe prisoner be confined for the duration of the war as a spy, andreceive twenty-five strokes of the _kiboko_ for perjury. . . .

  On repairing to Berners’ hut at the appointed time, he found thatClarence had written a longer and better judgment than his own, and hadproposed as sentence that the accused be detained during the King’spleasure at Mombasa Gaol, since it was evident that he had dealings withGermans and had recently been in German East Africa. He found the chargeof leading a German raiding-party Not Proven.

  The sentence of the President was that prisoner should receive twentylashes and two years’ imprisonment, for receiving stolen goods, wellknowing them to be stolen, and for committing perjury.

  “And that ought to dish the lad till the end of the war,” observed he,“whereafter he’ll have precious small use for his German linguisticlore—unless he goes to Berlin for the Iron Cross or a Commission in thePotsdammer Poison-Gas Guards, or somethin’, what?”