CHAPTER XX
An End and a Beginning
Mr. Barkworth keeps Cool--In Suspense--Tom's Escort--The Padre'sStory--An Appreciation--Tom's Reward--Farewell--Herr Schwab'sLament--Fame--Mbutu Returns Home--Inspiration--Proposals
One morning, towards the end of March, Mr. Barkworth was seated atbreakfast at The Orchard, Winterslow, dividing his attentionsimpartially among his food, his letters, and his daughter, who satfacing him at the other end of the table. His day was never properlybegun unless the letters and the bacon arrived together. He had openedtwo letters, and cut the third, and Lilian was pouring out his secondcup of coffee, when a sudden ejaculation from her father caused her tohold her hand.
"Scandalous, 'pon my soul and body, perfectly scandalous!" he exclaimed.
"What is it, Father?" asked Lilian, not very anxiously, for she wasaccustomed to little volcanic explosions at home: plenty of rumble butno fire.
"What, indeed! Just listen to this, h'm! 'My dear Barkworth, I foundan opportunity in the lobby last night of speaking to the Prime Ministeron the matter of a search-expedition for your friend Mr. Burnaby. Hewas very sympathetic, but said that, much as he should have liked toserve me, he was afraid our hands were too full just now to think of it.One can understand it, poor man. You see, what with these complicationsthreatening in Persia, and the various little troubles in all parts ofthe world, connected with our imperial policy, one can hardly expect--'Faugh!" He tore the letter across. "Fiddlesticks! I'd like to seePalmerston back for a week. We'd soon see then, h'm! We'd have anexpedition off to Central Africa in a winking. We want a little more ofthe 'Civis Romanus sum' in our milk-and-water politicians. Cicero, youknow, my dear."
"But, Father, I don't understand what Cicero and Lord Palmerston have todo with Mr. Burnaby."
"Now, that's just it. Women never can see that sort of thing; yourmother couldn't, poor woman! I'll explain so that any child couldunderstand it. Cicero was a great Roman orator and statesman, you know,my dear. In one of his speeches he asked how many Roman citizens hishearers imagined had been insulted with impunity, how many Romanmerchants robbed, or ship-owners kept in captivity,--meaning that hedefied 'em to say a single one. Now suppose that Cicero had been LordPalmerston, what would he have said?--tell me that, now!"
"Wasn't Lord Palmerston an Irish peer, Father?"
"Eh! what? Yes, must have been, or he couldn't have sat in the House.But what's that to do with it?"
"Why, Father, if Cicero had been Lord Palmerston, would not he havesaid: 'Just thread on the tail of me coat', or something to thateffect?"
Mr. Barkworth looked sharply at his daughter, but she was demurelypeeling an egg. As he was hesitating whether to explode or not, therewas a knock at the door, and a maid entered bearing a salver.
"A telegram, sir, and there's a shilling to pay."
"Con-found these extra charges!" broke out Mr. Barkworth irritably."What's the good of paying taxes to bolster up a wretched Post Officethat can't give us free delivery? Give the man his shilling, and tellhim not to dare show his face again!"
He tore open the envelope, stared at the message for some moments ininarticulate surprise, and then ejaculated:
"God bless my soul, he's found! Tom's found! We can do without thePrime Minister! 'Gad, didn't I say he'd turn up some day! Listen,Lilian; a despatch from the cable company forwarded by the Post Office:'Tom found; mail follows.--O'Brien.' Might have said a little more;what's a shilling or two, eh?--Well, Jane, what is it now?"
"Another telegram, sir, and, if you please, this man wants a shillingtoo."
Mr. Barkworth pulled out a handful of silver, and picked it over.
"Here, I can't find a shilling; give him this half-crown and tell him toput it in the Post Office Savings Bank. Now what's this about, h'm?"
Lilian watched him anxiously as he opened the brown envelope, halffearing it might contain a contradiction of the good news.
"Eh! what!" he exclaimed. "It's from Jack Burnaby himself. 'Tom found;am starting for Mombasa to-morrow; will you come?'"
"Oh, do take me, Father!" cried Lilian, clasping his arm. "I'm sure youwon't go without me."
"H'm! Don't know that I'll go at all. Running your poor father off hislegs again! Very short notice, too. Just like Burnaby; just as youngas ever he was, spite of the K.C.B.--What are you doing, Lilian,waggling your hand about so frantically at the window?"
"Just calling the telegraph man, Father. You didn't give him a reply."
"That's true; well, we'll go, begad. Here's a form. Write it for me.'Yes, tickets for two via Marseilles and Brindisi.' That's right.Another one to Dr. O'Brien. 'Hurray! always said so.' Now, we must goby the 6.15 up-train to-night, so get your packing done. And for pity'ssake don't get excited; try to keep as cool as I am. And so that fineyoung fellow's found, eh? Where, and how, and when, and what's he beendoing? Gad, I want to know all about it. Think we'll catch the 4.20,Lilian; the packing will do itself if only you keep cool."
Mr. Barkworth showed his wonderful coolness by setting everybody in afluster for the rest of the day. The whole household was called upon toassist him in his preparations. He had a genius for mislaying histhings, and then accused the first person he came across of deliberatelyputting them out of their places; and when the gardener had been calledin to find his master's newest suit of pyjamas, and the cook to rout outthe straps of his hold-all, everybody was quite ready to see the back ofthe fussy old gentleman. Lilian got him safely away in the nick of timeto catch the 6.15, and after spending the night at Claridge's, theysought out Tom's uncle, and arranged to meet him at Charing Cross forthe night French mail.
It was Major Burnaby no longer. His services had been recognized bypromotion to a lieutenant-colonelcy, an honour crowned by the confermentof a Knight Commandership of the Bath. Mr. Barkworth was vastly proudof the fame of Sir John Burnaby, K.C.B., and regarded his honours as aremarkable testimony to his own foresight and discrimination. All theway down to Dover he plied his friend with questions, comments, andsuggestions, though Sir John explained more than once that he knewnothing beyond the bare fact that Tom was at last found. Ever since thenews of his disappearance reached England, Mr. Barkworth had atintervals fired off cable messages at Dr. O'Brien in Kisumu, asking forinformation, or upbraiding him for not displaying greater activity inthe search; and he was now firmly convinced that the recovery of thelong-lost Tom was in great part due to his indefatigable enquiries.
On the voyage out he lost no opportunity of telling the whole story, andmagnified Tom's achievements (of which, since the fight by the bridge,he, of course, knew nothing), until the young Englishman appeared a newCincinnatus, the saviour of his country. He became more and morefidgety as he drew nearer to the journey's end.
"I never in my life so took to a young fellow, never," he would say, toexcuse his excitement; "if he had been my own son I couldn't have feltit more."
When the boat steamed slowly into the harbour at Mombasa, Mr. Barkworthwas the first of the passengers to cross the gangway.
"Where's Tom?" he cried, without waiting to greet Major Lister, who,like his former chief, had won a step in rank. "Why isn't he here tomeet us?"
"Impossible, sir," said Lister laconically. "How d'e do, Sir John?"
"Glad to see you, Lister. You remember Miss Barkworth?" The majorbowed. "We're all anxious, of course. Where is the boy? how is he?"
"Ah! you don't know then? Of course; you couldn't have got Corney'sletter before you started. It was the padre who found Tom. On the dayCorney sent you the cable he had got a pencilled note from the padre,brought here by train from Kisumu, where it had been carried by a nativein a canoe round the Nyanza. I have it in my pocket."
He took out of his pocket-book a small, crumpled, dirty note, and handedit to Sir John, who translated aloud the almost illegible writing: "Ihave just found Tom Burnaby. He is badly wounded. I am taking him, a
ssoon as he can be moved, to Bukoba."
They were all walking now towards the hotel, and a painful silence fellupon the group as they heard the brief message.
"I suppose Corney started at once?" said Sir John.
"Oh yes! He caught the first train. Your cable arrived just before heleft, and he asked me to assure you he would do everything he could."
"Of course he would. And you have heard nothing since?"
"Not a word."
"Why Bukoba, do you think? Wouldn't Entebbe have been a more naturalpoint to make for?"
"There's nothing to show where the padre wrote from, but I take it thatBukoba is the nearest point on the Nyanza. The padre knows the Germancommandant, and has probably arranged with him."
"Ah! it is trying, this suspense; but I suppose we shall get anexplanation before long."
"Before long! I should think so," cried Mr. Barkworth. "Burnaby, I'mgoing across to Bukoba; start to-morrow morning. Never imagined theboy'd be wounded--badly wounded, the padre says. This is terrible,terrible!"
"I guessed you would go on," said Lister, "and wired to Port Florence,as soon as your boat was signalled, to fix a launch for you. We mayfind a reply at the hotel."
"Thanks, Lister," said Sir John. "Yes, I shall go on to-morrow."
It was a sad and silent party on the hotel veranda that evening. SirJohn was almost angry with the doctor for not cabling the whole of thepadre's message, though on reflection he saw that he had been sparedthree weeks of intolerable anxiety. It was a keen disappointment tothem all to meet, instead of Tom himself, a messenger of bad news, andthey were all disinclined to talk. Mr. Barkworth did indeed find somerelief from his anxiety in opening his mind to a Monsieur ArmandDesjardins whom he met in the smoking-room. He poured out a recital ofTom's heroic deeds, drawing freely upon his imagination to fill up thegaps, until he had worked the impressionable Frenchman into a fit ofenthusiasm. Monsieur Desjardins was a 'functionary' of course, and ajournalist to boot, and he seized on Mr. Barkworth as an abundantreservoir of 'copy'. He went down to see the party off when they leftnext morning, and said to Lilian, to whom he had been speciallyattentive:
"I burn with envy to see dis Monsieur Tom; truly he is a hero, and I goto put him in a book. Good-bye, mees! you spik French? Oui, je m'ensouviens. Eh bien, mademoiselle, vos beaux yeux vont guerir bientot lejeune malade, n'est-ce-pas? Hein?"
"What's that, what's that?" exclaimed Mr. Barkworth suspiciously.
"Nothing, Father," said Lilian with a blush. "Monsieur Desjardins ispleased to be complimentary."
"Well, it's a good thing he don't do it in English, for compliments inEnglish just sound--piffle, humbug! Train's off; good-bye, Mossoo!"
On reaching Port Florence the travellers found that a launch was waitingfor them. They embarked without delay, and reached Bukoba on the thirdevening after leaving Mombasa. The German commandant--no longer CaptainStumpff, who, like so many of his kind, had carried things a little toofar and been recalled three months before--put his bungalow at theirdisposal, and told them that a runner had come in that very afternoonwith the news that Father Chevasse was only a day's march distant, andwas bringing the wounded Englishman in a litter. Dr. O'Brien had goneinto the interior with an escort of German native soldiers as soon as helearnt where to find the padre, and all the information brought back bythem was that he had found the Englishman under the missionary's care ina large native camp. Mr. Barkworth was for starting at once to meet thereturning wanderer, but was persuaded to restrain his impatience andaccept the German officer's hospitality.
Next day, an hour before sunset, Sir John, sitting with Mr. Barkworthand Lilian on the veranda of the bungalow, heard faintly in the distancethe regular thump, thump of drums.
"At last!" he exclaimed, and, getting up, looked eagerly towards thehills. The sound became every moment more distinctly audible, formingnow, as it were, a ground bass to strains of song which came fitfully onlight gusts of wind, in strange harmony with the fading light, the redglory beyond the hills, and the sombre shadows of the distant trees.Sir John unstrapped his field-glass, and, looking through it, saw thehead of a procession emerge from a belt of wood nearly a mile away. Thetrees stood out black against the crimson sky; the pale green above wasdeepening to a blue; and the sounds came more distinctly to the ear--afew notes ascending and descending by curious intervals, the same phrasebeing repeated again and again in the same low solemn chant, swellingand dying on the breeze. Mr. Barkworth had let his cigar go out, andwas walking up and down the veranda like a caged lion. Lilian satmotionless in her chair, her fingers tightly intertwined, her cheekspale. Not a word was spoken; the only sounds were the light swish ofthe ripples on the shore, the hum from the woods and marshes preludingthe dark, and the ever-approaching song with its melancholy dirge-likeaccompaniment of drums. The three watchers on the veranda were tensewith anxiety. Was it a funeral march? Was Tom coming back to them onlyfor burial?
The procession drew nearer and nearer. It was possible now todistinguish the figures with the naked eye. A drummer walked at thehead; behind him there were four negroes bearing a litter covered withan awning; and yes, it was the tall figure of the padre walking at oneside. Behind, as far as the eye could reach, stretched a long line ofblack forms, marching in single file, keeping step to the drums, andsinging their monotonous song, that now came low in tone but immense involume, like a sonorous emanation from the splendid sky. Nearer andnearer; and now the figure of the doctor could be seen behind thelitter, and Mbutu by his side. Nearer still; and then, at a few yards'distance from the bungalow, the drums ceased to beat, the voices felllike a breaking wave, the rearmost of the column continuing to sing forsome seconds after the foremost had stopped. There was a great silence.The sun's rim had just dipped below the purple horizon. The doctor cameforward, and at the same moment the principal drummer gave a signal tap,and a thousand stalwart negroes, armed with musket, spear, and pike,formed up in a half-circle about the litter. Sir John stepped down fromthe veranda; the litter was brought to meet him. Removing the awning,the doctor showed him a thin, pale, wasted form, with large bright eyesgazing eagerly out into the dusk, which the commandant had nowilluminated with a number of flaring torches. Tom's face broke into aglad contented smile as he saw his uncle looking down upon him.
"Uncle Jack!" he whispered.
The older man murmured a word or two--no one heard them--and laid hishand gently upon his nephew's. Then, too deeply moved for speech, heturned and walked beside the litter as it was borne towards thebungalow.
Mr. Barkworth had been blowing his nose violently, and more than once helifted his spectacles and rubbed them with quite unnecessary vigour. Asthe litter approached he took Lilian by the hand.
"Come inside, my dear," he said hurriedly. "Not good for him to see toomany at once, you know. Uncle enough for to-night. He looks very ill.Glad we have him, though. Thank God, thank God!"
When the doctor had settled the invalid comfortably for the night, Mr.Barkworth waylaid him.
"Will he get over it?" he asked anxiously.
"Indeed and he will. He has had a narrow shave, but I think he will do.The constitution of a horse, sorr--thorough-bred, nothing spavined, nobroken wind, sound everywhere."
"Where was he? What has he been doing all these months?"
"Faith, I have not got to the bottom of it yet; but so far as I can makeout he has been administering a corner of the Congo Free State, raisinga regular army, smashing the slave-trade, and taching the negroessomething of the blessings of civilization. I mean it, bedad; the padretould me all he knew, but sure there's a deal more to be touldyet.--Have ye got a cigar, Mr. Barkworth? I forgot my case, and havebeen wearying for one for three weeks. Hark'e! Those blacks outsideare beginning a hullabaloo. I must put a stop to that. Come and seewhat they're after."
The host of natives who had solemnly escorted Kuboko to the shore of theGreat Lake had begun to build fires in the neighbourhood of t
he bungalowin preparation for camping. The German commandant made a wry face whenhe saw their intention, and had already sent some of his men to orderthem to a more convenient distance. The awed silence with which theyhad looked on at the greeting between Kuboko and his friends had givenplace to chattering and laughing and singing, and the doctor took painsto impress upon them that the noise would disturb Kuboko's rest. Hisexpostulation was effectual; they ate their evening meal in comparativesilence.
It was long past midnight before any of the Europeans retired to rest.Seated in the largest room of the German commandant's bungalow, Sir JohnBurnaby and his party listened while the padre told of his discovery ofTom. Never before had Mr. Barkworth so keenly felt the drawbacks hesuffered through want of familiarity with French. He would not allowthe padre's story to be interrupted by any attempt at interpretation,but listened with a painful effort to follow it, and got Lilian, tiredas she was, to give it privately in outline afterwards. But he thereand then vowed that one of his first duties on reaching home would be toagitate for the compulsory teaching of conversational French, anddecided to found a prize at his old school for proficiency in thesubject.
Father Chevasse told how, as he was returning by easy stages from avisit to a mission-station at the upper end of Lake Tanganyika, he hadheard vague rumours of battles fought far to the north between the Arabsand a confederation of negroes under the leadership of a white man. Ashe proceeded, the stories became more and more circumstantial and thedetails more and more extraordinary. He learnt that the intrepidcommander was quite young, a man of marvellous powers, able to turnlakes into engines of destruction, and to bring fire out of the heavens.Such stories, even after he had made all allowances for the natives'exuberant imagination, awakened his curiosity; and suddenly it occurredto him that, improbable as it seemed, the white man might be no otherthan the long-lost Tom. "Nothing British surprises me," he interpolatedwith a smile. He hastened his march, made diligent enquiry at everyvillage through which he passed, and by and by encountered people whohad actually formed part of the confederacy and fought under thestranger's command. The information given by them did but strengthen hisgrowing conviction, and when he at last, under the guidance of a Muhima,reached Mwonga's village, he was rejoiced to find that his surmise wascorrect. Almost the first person he saw on entering the stockade wasMbutu, who ran up to him, threw himself at his feet, and broke out intoejaculations of delight mingled with entreaty. He was led to a hut inthe centre of the village, and there saw Tom, lying on a couch coveredwith clean linen--Tom indeed, but the pale shadow of his former self.Bit by bit the padre learnt from one and another the story of his deeds,from his capture by the Arabs to the final destruction of their islandfortress. After that noteworthy event every vestige of the strongholdhad been burnt or razed to the ground. A search was made for thetreasure which rumour attributed to the Arabs, and beneath the flooringof Rumaliza's house, in cellars extending for many yards under thesurface of the soil, had been discovered an immense hoard, theaccumulation of many years--hundreds of ivory tusks worth untold gold.The few Arabs who had survived the fight had been sent eastwards underescort, and their Manyema dependants disbanded. Many of these threw intheir lot with the conquerors. Then the Bahima force had started on itsreturn journey, bringing the captured treasure in triumph to thevillage.
Tom's wound had become more and more painful, and though he tried atfirst to walk with his men, he found himself obliged, after one day, togive up the attempt, and was carried for the rest of the way in alitter. On the journey he had talked long and earnestly with thekatikiro and other officials, suggesting and advising them as to theirmovements and the future government of the village in case he died. Theyhad only reached the village two days before the missionary's arrival,and, at Mbutu's entreaty, the katikiro was arranging to despatchmessengers to the shore of the Victoria Nyanza with a request for help.The padre at once sent off one of his own attendants under a strongescort to Bukoba, the nearest European station, and the Germancommandant had forwarded the message immediately to Kisumu.
"My own knowledge and skill in surgery is but slight," added themissionary, "but I did what I could until our friend Dr. O'Brienarrived."
"He extracted the bullet," said the doctor; "capitally too. It was anugly wound."
"And Tom bore the pain with marvellous fortitude. Happily, he sank intounconsciousness before I had completed my task, and never so much asmurmured when he awoke to the full sense of his agony and helplessness.I made arrangements at once to convey him here, and the villagers, whosedevotion to him transcends anything I have ever before seen in thenatives, of their own accord organized the procession which you havejust witnessed. We were already half-way here when Dr. O'Brien reachedus, and his skill completed what my clumsier hands had begun. I havegiven you only a sketch of what this young hero has been able, underGod's mercy, to accomplish; indeed, I am not able to fill in all thedetails, for Tom himself has been too ill to talk, and is, besides, veryreticent about his own actions. One fact stands out pre-eminent, and nodistrust of native stories can explain it away. He has stamped out apestilent gang of slave-raiders, and may with a whole heart sing'Magnificat!' And though we dare not be so sanguine as to expect thatthe lessons of self-sacrifice, courage, justice, brotherly kindness, hehas by his example taught the natives, will never be effaced from theirminds, yet they must bear fruit, and certainly he has prepared the wayfor me and my brethren, Catholic or Protestant. You have a nephew to beproud of, Sir John."
Next morning, the commandant, who had considerately effaced himself onthe previous night, resumed his autocratic air, and told the assemblednatives bluntly that he would be delighted to see the last of them. Intheir wholesome dread of the Wa-daki, they took the very broad hint andprepared to return to their remote wilds.
But before they departed they wished to take a formal farewell of thegreat muzungu who had taught them so much and saved them from theirhereditary foe. Msala was deputed to seek an interview with Sir John,and he asked, with his usual eloquence, that Kuboko might be brought outto his sorrowing people, that they might look upon his face once more.Sir John consulted the doctor, who pursed up his lips and lookeddoubtful, but confessed that Tom himself had asked that the peopleshould not be allowed to go until he had seen them and bidden themgood-bye. Accordingly, about eight o'clock in the morning, Tom wascarried out in his litter and placed on the veranda, where he lay in theshade during the scene of farewell.
It was in truth a remarkable scene. Arranged in three concentricsemicircles stood the throng of a thousand negroes, includingrepresentatives of almost every race known to the eastern half ofCentral Africa. A few steps in advance of the rest stood Mwonga, theyoung Bahima chief, with the katikiro and a few other of his principalofficers. Their black faces were all aglow, their bright eyes fixed onthe tall figure of Sir John Burnaby, who stood just within the verandaof the bungalow. By his side lay Tom--the black man's lovedKuboko--thin as a lath, pale and haggard, the head of his couch raisedso that he might see the crowd of natives. On one side, a little inadvance, for he had offered to interpret the katikiro's speech, stoodthe tall dignified White Father, his lips parted in a slight smile, hiseyes beaming a compassionate kindliness. With him stood the littledoctor, a striking contrast with his short, neat, wiry frame, histwinkling gray eyes, his stubby beard. And on the other side was thestout figure of Mr. Barkworth, his rubicund side-whiskered face cheerfuland benevolent as ever; and the fair girl at his elbow, white andradiant, looking alternately at the negroes and at Tom.
The signal being given, the katikiro stepped forward and stood beforeSir John. He had never before had the opportunity of addressing a groupof white men, and his gait showed that he fully realized the importanceof the occasion. Sticking his spear in the ground, so as to have theuse of both arms for gesture, he began his oration. The exordium was along account of himself, his family, his achievements in hunting andwar, his importance as katikiro first to Barega and then to Barega's
successor, Mwonga. He proceeded to recount with minutecircumstantiality how he found Kuboko in the forest, carried him to thevillage, and from that time on had been his most devoted friend anddisciple. He passed on to a chronological narrative of the subsequentevents in the village: the contest with Mabruki, the making of bigmedicine, the protracted siege, the wonderful machines invented byKuboko for the discomfiture of the enemy, and, finally, the formation ofthe great confederacy which, by obedience to Kuboko, had succeeded indefeating time after time the enemy who had for many years crushednative Africa beneath his iron heel. All this was narrated with manyrepetitions, many picturesque adornments, much extravagance of languageand gesture, and the padre's translation in French almost did justice tothe Muhima's fervour.
But Msala's eloquence was to soar a still higher pitch. So far he haddealt with facts, with just enough embroidery to make the presentment ofthem artistic. He went on to express the opinions and emotions of hiscommunity.
"Never was such a white man seen," he said. "We have had nothing to dowith white men. We have heard about them,--about the Wa-daki, who liveday and night with kiboko; about the white men of the Lualaba, who buyrubber and ivory at their own prices, or for nothing at all. But neversuch a white man as this. Surely he must be a mighty chief in his ownland. Never did he raise his hand to strike us; Kuboko was his name,but kiboko had he none" (he evidently deeply relished the jingle)."When Mabruki did him wrong, and Barega would have cut off the villain'shead, Kuboko said: 'Nay, let him pay back the bulls.' Did he order athing to be done? He showed how to do it. Was there little food?Kuboko had no more than the rest. He did justice and showed mercy; heeven sported with the little children, teaching them how to smite ballswith a stick, and giving them turns equally, doing favour to none abovethe others. And what was all this to gain? The Wa-daki, as men tellus, give one and take two; but Kuboko took nothing. He might have beenchief, but would not. 'Nay,' he said, 'I will stay with you until theArabs are destroyed, and then I go to my own people, and Mwonga shall bechief.' In the caverns of Rumaliza lay thousands of tusks, long as aman, the spoils of our hunting and the hunting of our fathers. All thisbelonged by right to the victor; but did he say: 'It is mine, I willtake all of it'? Nay, he said: 'My brothers, it is yours; divide itamong yourselves.' We threw ourselves at his feet, and implored him totake this great treasure, but he shook his head, and even waxed angry,and bade us hold our peace. Only at the last, when Mwonga himselfoffered the two tusks that have come down from chief to chief, andbegged Kuboko, if he loved him, to take them for his own,--only then didhe yield and say: 'I will take them as a gift from your people, and keepthem ever to remind me of you.' That is Kuboko.
"And now he leaves us. Our women and children are wailing, and ourhearts are heavy and sad. Who will lead us now in war? Who will guideus in peace? True, we have Kuboko's words, and treasure them in ourhearts; but even as water dries up in the sun, even as smoke rises intothe sky and is seen no more, so Kuboko's words, as the days pass, willfade from our memories. Yet how could we keep him? We are black; he iswhite. He comes from the land of the Great White King, who willassuredly make him his katikiro when he hears what he has done, even asI, Msala, am Mwonga's katikiro. But though he be far away, in the landof big medicine, our thoughts will turn to him. He will be to us as aGood Spirit, to hearten us against Magaso, and Irungo, and all the otherevil spirits who blight our crops and steal our cattle. He will be evenas the Buchwezi, the spirits of our ancestors, whom we do not see, butwho nevertheless see us and watch our doings and maybe help us in ourhour of need. We, Bahima and Bairo, Ruanda and Banyoro, bid Kubokofarewell. I, Msala, say it."
It is impossible to do justice in sober English to the impassionedeloquence of the katikiro. As he paused at the end of every sentence toallow the missionary to interpret, loud grunts and ejaculations ofapproval burst from the throats of the throng behind him. When thespeech was ended, one great voluminous shout rent the air, and every manheld out his spear in front of him with the precision of an automaton.The drums gave forth three solemn rolls, and then Mwonga and thekasegara advanced to the veranda, and twenty bearers laid two greattusks beside Kuboko's litter.
"Thank you, thank you!" said Tom. "Uncle, will you speak to them forme?"
Sir John stepped forward and, gripping his coat-collar, began:
"My friends, I am touched by the eloquent words of your excellentkatikiro. For many months I had mourned my nephew as dead, and now myjoy at seeing him again is all the greater because I know that duringhis long absence he has been doing good things. I thank you, myfriends, for bringing him back to me. I thank you, too, for the respectand affection you have shown for him. The story your katikiro has toldis a wonderful one. I cannot profess yet to understand it; but I dounderstand that by your willing obedience, loyalty, and devotion to mynephew you have been able to rid yourselves, once for all as I hope andbelieve, of the enemy who has oppressed you for so many years.Men"--here Sir John's right hand left his coat-collar and was stretchedout towards his attentive audience--"men, now that you are free,remember the price of your freedom. My nephew owes his life to your latebrave chief, whose own life he had saved; since then he has spenthimself in your service. Nothing good was ever done except at somecost. You know what Kuboko did for you. The katikiro has spoken of it.Now in his name I beg you to turn his self-sacrifice to lasting account.Obey and support your young chief. You have learnt what union means.Don't quarrel among yourselves and eat your hearts out in miserablelittle jealousies. Other white men will come to your village. Theofficers of the Congo State will visit you. Render them willingobedience, and though at times they may be severe, though among whitemen there are bad as well as good, remember that the great white nationsmean nothing but good to their black brethren. My nephew, you tell me,has sought nothing for himself. He takes with him nothing but yourgood-will and the memory of your common sufferings and common triumphs.It is what I should have expected of him, and I am proud of it. Now weare going home, and very likely we shall never see you again. ButKuboko will not forget you; nor shall I forget this great throng, comeso many miles to do him honour. Men, for him and for myself, I saygood-bye, and good luck to you!"
When the shouts with which the natives received Sir John's brief speechhad subsided, Tom asked that the principal men might be allowed to cometo his litter and bid him a more personal farewell. Accordingly,Mwonga, with Msala, Mwonda, the kasegara, and eight others marched up insingle file. They passed by the left side of the litter, and as Tomgave them his limp hand in turn, each stooped down, pressed it lightlyto his brow, and descended in solemn silence to his place in front ofthe attentive crowd. The simple scene was too much for Mr. Barkworth'sfeelings; his handkerchief was diligently employed, and he wasunfeignedly glad when, the ceremony being now at an end, the processionre-formed in preparation for starting on the long homeward march. Thedrums gave out their hollow notes, the multitude swayed as they markedtime, and striking up an improvised song in which Kuboko's uncle and thewhite lady had the largest mention next to Kuboko himself, they filedoff westward towards the forest.
Dr. O'Brien insisted on Tom's having a clear day's rest before hisjourney was resumed. On the second morning, therefore, the party ofseven embarked on the launch, and were conveyed rapidly across theNyanza to Port Florence. Tom thought of the many things that hadhappened since he last saw the lake, and laughed with something of hisold spirit when the padre reminded him of the fight with thehippopotamus. On reaching the eastern shore they took up their quartersin Sir John's old bungalow, and there Mr. Barkworth pestered Mbutuconstantly to tell him again and again of the momentous doings inMwonga's village.
One day, happening to be at Port Florence, he went down to the quayamong other curious spectators to watch the arrival of a German steamerfrom down the lake. As the passengers came off, Mr. Barkworth waspuzzled by one face among them, which he seemed to recognize withoutbeing able to remember whose it was or where he had seen
it. Thepassenger was a thick-set, bearded man, wearing gold spectacles, limpingbadly, and carrying a big leather valise in his left hand. As hestepped off the gangway he stumbled, and would have fallen but for thepurser's sustaining arm. He poured out a stream of very warm German, andas he limped away the purser turned to a man standing near and made someremark about the testy passenger. Mr. Barkworth caught the name.
"Swob! Swob!" he muttered. "Thought I knew him. It's the German traderI saw last year. And a prisoner in the Arab fort! Hi, Mr. Swob!"
He toddled after the German, who turned as he heard his name thustravestied.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Swob," said Mr. Barkworth, coming up with him."Extremely sorry to hear of your sad experiences. It must have been aterrible time, sir. And but for that fine young fellow--
"Ach ja!" interrupted Herr Schwab; "I know all zat. I vant to forget it,nozink else."
"Naturally, my dear sir. I do hope that you will not sufferpermanently, and that--"
"Not per-ma-nent-ly! Look at me, look at me, I say. I hafe vun legqvite caput, goot for nozink. I hafe marks on my body zat vill remaintill my death-day. Not suffer! Vy, I suffer vizout end: I suffer in myperson, I suffer in my pockett, I suffer in my pride. I suffer allofer.And vy? I did nozink. I go to sell zinks--nozink more--and zey keep me,vill not let me go. Naturally, I protest. I say I appeal to Berlin,and zen zey chain me opp--yes, to a post--me, a Gairman sobjeck--and soam I chained for veeks and veeks. Himmel, but I grow meagre--vat youcall skinny. I lose almost all ze flesh from my bones. Zen come Mr.Burnaby. By night zere is vun colossal combat. In ze yard of ze chief'shouse, zink I, I must be secure. But not so. Ofer ze vall come tousandfire-balls. I call: 'Hafe care, mind me, I am Schwab.' But zere hearsnone. A fire-ball fall upon my toe, and I am in com-bus-tion. Zen, mygoodness! from ze chief's house run hundert shrieking defils.Portuguese, De Castro, so vas his name, struck me vid his sword as hepass me by. Zerefore am I lame to-day. Never shall I forget zat mostfear-ful night. Efen still I shiver before ze zought. I vas let free;Mr. Burnaby, I must say, vat you call did me vell; but I hafe somegrudge against him. Sir, zere vas hundert tousand pound sterling iforyin ze vaults below zat house: hundert tousand, sure as a gun. Now I didexpect Mr. Burnaby to gife me at least--at least, vun tousand poundvorth for damages. I lose qvite so much in commission, to say nozinkabout ze vear and tear of my intellecks. No more is my brain as it vas.But Mr. Burnaby shut me opp, sir, shut me opp. He say somezink about zeifory belong on account of law to ze Congo State and on account of rightto ze blacks. Zat is not business, it is vat you call rot. He vill notgife me vun single tusk, and ven I say I vill write to ze Kaiser he say:'Hang ze Kaiser!' Vat is zat for a kind of business, sir!"
The German's dudgeon was too much for Mr. Barkworth's gravity, and hehad recourse to the never-failing safety-valve for his feelings--hishandkerchief. When he had blown off his amusement, he asked:
"And what have you been doing since you left the fort?"
"I vent to all ze places vere I had left bags. Now I return to my home.Of Africa I hafe now enough. I travel to Duesseldorf, and zere, if zeKaiser vill not gife me a pension, and if nozink more remains, Iestablish myself as barber, for I am at least--Mr. Burnaby vill sayit,--at least vell capable to cut his hair!"
His tone was indescribably bitter. He continued:
"But first of all I go to Kisumu to despatch vun cable to ze Kaiser. Itell him he shall take ze Congo State. Ze Belgians, vat are zey? Nogood. Ze Congo State shall be Gairman, sir."
"Well! well!" said Mr. Barkworth, humouring him; "let's hope it's not sobad as that. In the meantime, you'll come and see Mr. Burnaby to saygood-bye?"
"I zink not, sir. I nefer forgif him; he owe me tousand pound.Business are business. Long ago I say: 'Step nefer in betveen ze viteman and ze black.' He step in,--and I step out, sir."
And with that he walked away.
Three days after this, the travellers left for Mombasa. Father Chevassesaw them off at the railway-station.
"But we shall see you again?" said Lilian warmly, as they shook hands."You will come and see us in England some day, won't you?"
The padre smiled a strange, almost wistful smile.
"I may not," he said quietly. "We White Fathers, when we put our handsto the plough, never turn back. I shall never even see my belovedNormandy again. I shall live and die in Africa.--God bless you!" hesaid to Tom; "I shall not forget you, though I may never see you again."
All Mombasa was on tiptoe with excitement when it was flashed along theline that the wanderer was returning. Everybody knew that he had savedthe expedition, but what had happened since then was a mystery, and afruitful subject for speculation among the European colony. Dr. O'Briengrumbled a little when he saw the crowd awaiting the train at theterminus.
"They might have had the common sense, not to say common decency, tokeep out of the way just now. Making a peep-show of us, indeed!"
But he managed to get the invalid into the hotel without mishap, andafterwards referred everybody who applied to him for information to Mr.Barkworth. "He's brimmin' with it," he said. Mr. Barkworth, indeed,was pounced on at once by an inquisitive stranger, who included amonghis numerous avocations that of occasional correspondent to the _Times_,and who cabled a column of extremely good 'copy' as soon as he hadsufficiently pumped the garrulous old gentleman. This fact, no doubt,explained the number of telegrams which came during the next few daysaddressed to Tom--telegrams of congratulation from strangers, requestsfrom publishers for the offer of his forthcoming volume, an invitationfrom a New York agency to undertake a lecture tour in the States. Andyet not one-tenth of his story had been told. Mbutu had not vocabularyenough to give a consecutive narrative; it was only when Tom himself,after being mercifully spared excitement for a fortnight, was at lastpronounced well enough to talk, that his friends wormed out of him bitby bit the whole story of his adventures. He dwelt lightly upon his ownachievements, and Mr. Barkworth, when he retailed the narrativeafterwards to all and sundry, did not fail to eulogize the "astonishingmodesty of this fine young fellow; a true Englishman, you know." Allwhich was duly doled out to the British public by the indefatigablenewspaper-man.
One evening, when they had been in Mombasa for about six weeks, Sir JohnBurnaby was sitting with Mr. Barkworth, Major Lister, and the doctor inthe smoking-room of the hotel. They were the only occupants of theroom. The doctor had just announced that Tom would be well enough toleave for home by the boat sailing in three days, and the pleasure ofall the gentlemen had been expressed in Mr. Barkworth's exclamation:"That's capital!" For a time they sat in silence, puffing at theircigars, each thinking over the events of the past twelvemonth in his ownway. Then Major Lister, who was not usually the first to speak, saidsuddenly:
"Tom going back to Glasgow, sir?"
"That's a question that's been puzzling me," returned Sir John. "On theone hand, he has gone a certain way in his profession and might do wellin it; on the other--"
"On the other, Burnaby," interrupted Mr. Barkworth, "he's not going backif I know it. Why, the boy's a born soldier and administrator, h'm; Iknew it!"
"To tell the truth," said Sir John, "I've been wondering whether, on thestrength of his doings out here, we couldn't get him a crib in theDiplomatic Service, or, if he wants to stay in Africa, in the service ofone of the companies or protectorates. He asked me the other day if theCongo Free State people would give him something to do."
"That's out of the question," said Mr. Barkworth decisively. "I've reada lot of things I don't like about these Belgians, and if there isanything fishy in their methods of administration, the youngster wouldonly eat his heart out. No; he's an Englishman; let him stick to theold country and the old flag, h'm!"
"We'll leave it till we get home," suggested Sir John. "I've a littlemore influence than I had a year ago, and I dare say we shall be able toget the boy something to suit him. Depend upon it I'll do my best; Idon't forget that but for him
I might be a bleached skeleton to-day."
"And that boy Booty--what about him, now?" asked Mr. Barkworth. "He's afine fellow, you know. Too bad to leave him among these heathens to bowdown to wood and stone, h'm! What can we do for him?"
"Put him in the K.A.R.," suggested Major Lister.
"I don't think he'd get on with them," said Sir John. "These Bahima areuncommonly proud."
"Have the boy in and let him speak for himself," said the doctor. "Wecannot dispose of a human creature as if he were a bag of bones."
"Very well; ring for him."
In a minute or two Mbutu came in, dressed in loose garments of spotlesslinen. He looked rather shyly at the group of gentlemen, and yet stoodproudly, and with an air of dignity.
"Mbutu," said Sir John, "we are all going back to England on Thursday,and your master will be with us. We should like to do something foryou. You have been a faithful servant. Your master tells me that youhave been his right hand--tending him in sickness, and never tired ofhelping him in health. You more than once saved his life. What wouldyou like us to do for you?"
Mbutu was silent for some moments. Then he said, stumblingly:
"Sah my fader and mudder. No want leabe sah. No leabe him nebber, nottill long night come. Big water? No like big water. Sah him villageober big water? Mbutu go; all same for one."
"I'm sure my nephew will be sorry to part with you," said Sir Johnkindly, "but I am afraid you cannot go with him. You see, he will notwant your help in his own land. There are no forests to go through; noblack men to need interpreters. I am afraid our cold bleak winters wouldnot suit you, my boy."
"Tell you what," put in Mr. Barkworth, "let him try. Booty, you can comewith me, and you'll often see your young master, let's hope. I'll takeyou as odd man, you know; clean the boots, run errands, rub down thepony, all that sort of thing, you know. Good suit of clothes; buttons,if you like, for best; a kind mistress and a comfortable home."
Mbutu drew himself up.
"Me Muhima," he said, addressing Sir John. "Muhima no slave. Cleanboots for sah? Oh yes! sah fader and mudder. No for nudder master. Ohno! not for red-faced pussin."
"There's no gratitude--" Mr. Barkworth was beginning from sheer force ofhabit; but the boy went on:
"Found brudder, sah; brudder chief. Mbutu not go ober big water; berrahwell. Go to brudder; be him katikiro, sah. Fink of master always, eberand eber, sah."
"I think you are wise," said Sir John. "You can talk it over with yourmaster to-morrow."
"And just remember," put in the doctor, "that I will be in Kisumu fortwo years or more, and if ever you want any help, ask for Dr. O'Brien."
Tom had a long talk with Mbutu next day, and loth though he was to partwith him, could not but approve his plan of returning to his brother'svillage. He took care that he should not go empty-handed; indeed, inpoint of worldly wealth the new katikiro was probably a greater man thanhis brother the chief. But it was only after much persuasion that hecould be induced to accept anything whatever. As the doctor had decidedto return to Kisumu at once, now that Tom's convalescence was assured,Mbutu agreed to go back with him without waiting to see his master off.The boy burst into tears for the first time in Tom's experience when themoment of parting came.
"Good-bye!" said Tom, putting his hand on the boy's head as he knelt bythe couch. "You have been loyal and true to me, and I know that youwill be a true katikiro to your brother. I should like to hear aboutyou whenever you can get to Kisumu to send me a message. And see, I'llgive you my watch. You don't need it to tell the time; but it willremind you of this wonderful year we have spent together. Perhaps Ishall see you again some day. Good-bye, good-bye!"
Two days later Tom was carried on board the homeward-bound steamer amidthe sympathetic cheers of a great crowd of Europeans and natives.Little had been seen of him, but from the government officials to themeanest coolie everybody knew all about him, and was ready to laud himto the skies.
As the gangway was about to be removed, a round little figure was seenrushing wildly up the quay, holding a blue envelope in his right hand,and shouting to the seamen.
"Just vun leetle moment!" cried Monsieur Armand Desjardins, panting ashe tumbled on board. He made his way to the long chair on which Tom waslying, and handed him the envelope. "Monsieur Burnaby, vun leetle gift,vun souvenir, for to make you understan' my vair high consideration andmy immense entusiasm. Adieu, my dear Monsieur Burnaby; dat you mayarrive sound and safe at de end of de road, and vun fine day return forto see us now so desolate, dat is de prayer of your vair devoted ArmandDesjardins. Adieu, mademoiselle, j'ai bien l'honneur de vous saluer;messieurs ... mademoiselle...."
And with his hand on his heart the vivacious little Frenchman made hisbest bow, and backed down the gangway.
The bell sounded, the screw revolved, and in a few minutes the vesselwas steaming out of the harbour. Tom's friends stood at the rail,gazing at the receding shore and the waving hats and handkerchiefs untilthey had well-nigh faded from sight. Then they placed their deck-chairsin a semicircle around Tom, and sighed a sigh of great contentment.
"Well, we're off at last," said Mr. Barkworth, lighting a cigar andlooking round over his spectacles on the group, with even more than hisusual benevolence. "England, home, and beauty, and all that sort ofthing, you know. No place like home. Well, what did mossoo give you,Tom? What I never can make out is, why a Frenchman can't do things inthe same way as rational people. Why make a ballroom bow on the deck ofa steamer, eh? Tell me that, now. What are you smiling at, Tom? Somebit of buffoonery, I'll warrant, h'm!"
"Monsieur Desjardins has dropped into verse," replied Tom, laughingoutright. "A rhymed valedictory."
"Read it," said Sir John.
"Your accent is better than mine," said Tom, passing the paper toLilian, his eyes twinkling. In her perfect accent, and with dueattention to the mute e's, she began to read:
"O mon heros si jeune! o guerrier intrepide! L'Afrique a ton depart a le coeur triste et vide. Lea bords du vaste lac resonnent de sanglots, Et ton nom, o Thomas, se mele au bruit des flots."
Only Sir John and his nephew noticed that at this point the readerflushed a little, and crumpled the paper slightly in her hand. Therewas a momentary pause, as though everybody expected more to come, butLilian was silent, and her father exclaimed:
"H'm! Translate, Lilian; why couldn't the mossoo say what he had to sayin English?"
Sir John took the verses from her, and after an amused glance at themput them in his pocket.
"They're decent enough Alexandrines, Barkworth," he said with a chuckle."Lilian's thinking of Tom's blushes, I suspect."
"Well then, translate, somebody. What's the fellow say?"
"Translate 'em in rhyme, a line each, sort of game," suggested MajorLister.
"A good idea!" exclaimed Sir John. "Place aux dames; you begin, Lilian;and it must be heroic measure, of course, to match the theme."
"How will this do?" asked Lilian after a moment or two.
"'O youthful hero, warrior brave and bold!'"
"Capital! and the right heroic strain. I go on:
'Deserted Afric's heart is sad and cold'.
Now, Lister, it's your turn."
Major Lister puffed solemnly at his pipe for at least a minute before hesaid slowly, pausing after every word:
"'The shores of the vast lake resound with sobs'."
"As literal as a Kelly's crib, 'pon my word!" cried Sir John, laughing;"but I can't say much for your sense of rhythm. Now Barkworth, you're infor the last line. Come along, no shirking:
'Et ton nom, o Thomas, se mele au bruit des fiots'."
"What's it mean in plain English? I never made poetry in my life; usedto get swished horribly for my verses at school; never could see anygood in 'em."
"Gammon! It means: 'And your name, O Thomas, mingles with the noise ofthe waves'."
"There now, didn't I tell you so! Gammon indeed!
Utter tomfoolery!How can his name do any such thing! Pure bosh; I knew it!"
"Play the game and don't argue. You've only to cap Lister's brilliantline, 'The-shores-of-the-vast-lake-re-sound-with-sobs--' syllable bysyllable. Come along."
"I can't rhyme with 'sobs'. The only rhyme I know is 'lobs'; used tobowl 'em at Winchester forty odd years ago; 'sobs', 'lobs'--can't bringit in anyhow.
'The shores of the vast lake resound with sobs--'"
He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin.
"'The wapping waves exclaim, where's Thing-um-bobs?'"
put in Tom quietly, and Mr. Barkworth's protest that he didn't call thattranslating was drowned in laughter.
It was some weeks later. The scene was the breakfast-room at TheOrchard, Winterslow. Lilian was already at the head of the table by thesteaming urn, Tom was cutting a rose in the garden, and Sir Johnstanding with his hands in his pockets at the open French window. Hehad come down overnight to spend a week with his old friend, whose guestTom had been ever since his arrival in England.
"Kept you waiting, eh?" said Mr. Barkworth, coming in briskly, hisrubicund face aglow. "Glorious morning. Letters not arrived yet? Ah!here they are. One for Tom; foreign post-mark. Hi!" he shouted. "Comealong; letter for you. Bacon's getting cold."
Tom entered, cut the big square envelope, read the contents, and passedit to his uncle.
"That's the third," he said with a smile. He was quite the old Tom oncemore, bright-eyed, fresh-coloured, supple as ever; a little older inlooks, to be sure, with an air of manliness and grit that rejoiced SirJohn's heart.
"Another offer? Come, that's capital. Who is it this time, Burnaby?"
"The King of the Belgians, by George! His secretary offers Tom acommission in the Free State forces, with a very prettily-turnedcompliment."
"How proud you'll be, Mr. Burnaby!" said Lilian.
"Proud! Not he!" retorted her father. "He won't accept that, or I'm aDutchman."
"It's a little embarrassing, though," said Tom. "People are very kind.A crib in Nigeria a week ago, then one in Rhodesia, and now one in theCongo Free State!"
"Don't be in a hurry, Tom," said his uncle. "I had a long talk withUnderwood of the Foreign Office yesterday. There's some idea of--but Iwon't give it away. Only I'll say this: that I don't think it'll beeither Rhodesia or Nigeria, much less the Congo."
"I'm in no hurry, Uncle; it's very comfortable here, and a few months'rest will do me all the good in the world."
"Really!" returned Sir John, with a significant glance at Lilian. "Bythe way, I suppose you haven't seen Desjardins' latest article in theParis _Figaro_? I have it in my pocket. He's running you for all you'reworth--and more--as a world-hero, Tom. Here it is."
He handed a newspaper cutting to Tom. As he replaced a pile of papersin his pocket, a folded sheet fell to the floor. He picked it up,casually opened it, scanned it, and smiled.
"Now I think of it, Barkworth," he said, "we never showed you on theboat the second stanza of the little Frenchman's effusion, did we?"
"Oh, you really mustn't!" cried Lilian, starting up and flushing.
"What! what!" said her father. "Another verse of that rubbish! Let mesee it."
Sir John handed him the paper; he put on his spectacles, and Lilian,throwing a reproachful look at Sir John, fled to the garden, while Tomtilted back his chair and laughed a little awkwardly. Mr. Barkworthpursed up his mouth and frowned.
"Why, hang it!" he cried, "here's my daughter's name! What does thewretched little man mean by writing my daughter's name! What's themeaning of it, Burnaby? I can't read the stuff."
"I'll read it to you:
'Tu vas, comble de gloire, illustrer ta patrie: Tu vas briser des coeurs, et provoquer l'envie. Quel ange te conduit par dela l'ocean?-- La mer repond tout bas, murmurant "Lilian"'.
Perhaps Tom will oblige by translating."
"Not I, sir; I think you'll do it best. If you'll excuse me, I'll goand----"
"Yes, go and find her, certainly, my boy."
"Well now, Burnaby, just translate, please. There appears to be somemystery here, and I mean to get to the bottom of it, h'm!"
"You must make allowances for a Frenchman's sentiment, you know,Barkworth. What he says is something to this effect: 'Covered withglory, you're going to shed lustre on your country, and there you'llbreak all the girls' hearts and make all the boys jealous. What angelis wafting you over the ocean?'--A little high-falutin, you see. Itends--'And the sea whispers the name----'"
"Confound his impudence!" broke in Mr. Barkworth. "What right----whatare you laughing at, Burnaby? Why--God bless me, you don't mean there'sanything in it? Eh? What? 'Gad, I'm delighted, delighted, immenselypleased, old man!--Look at them in the garden, Jack; aren't they a finecouple, now!"
"They're rather young yet, Barkworth, eh?"
"Young! Of course they're young. Makes me young again myself to seethem there, God bless them! Call 'em in; I must shake hands with Tom,the young dog; I know him!"
"I'd let 'em alone if I were you, Barkworth. Come round to the stables,and I'll tell you what Underwood said to me."
_It is early morning in Zanzibar. The Arab quarter is scarcely astir;there are few passengers in its narrow tortuous lanes, with their squarehouses, each standing aloof, dark, repellent, prison-like for all itswhitewash. But in the market-place the slant rays of the sun light up abusy scene. In and out among the booths of the merchants and theunsheltered heaps in which the lesser traders expose their wares, movesa jostling crowd--negroes of Zanzibar; visitors from the coast tribes;Somalis from the north; Banyamwesi, even Baganda and Banyoro, from thefar interior--chattering, chaffering, haggling in a hundred variants ofthe Swahili tongue. Now and again the half-naked crowd parts to make wayfor a grave stately Arab in spotless white, with voluminous turban, orfor some Muscat donkey whose well-laden panniers usurp the narrowspace._
_Suddenly above the hum of the market rises a strident voice. Thewayfarers turn, and see a gaunt, bent, hollow-eyed figure in mendicantrags; standing on a carpet at the entrance of an alley, he has begun toharangue with the fervour of madness all who choose to hear._
"_Hearken, ye faithful, sons of the Prophet, hearken while I tell of theshame that has befallen Islam! Verily, the day of our calamity has comeupon us! Woe unto us! woe unto us! The hand of our foes is heavy uponus; they lie in wait for us, even as a lion for harts in the desert.Wallahi! the land was ours, from the sun's rising unto its setting, fromthe marge of the sea unto the uttermost verge of the Forest. Where noware all they that went forth, and in the name of Allah got them richesand slaves? Where are the leaders of old--Hamed ben Juna the mighty,Sefu his son strong in battle, yea, and the great Rumaliza? All, allare gone! I alone am left, even I, the least of their servants. TheFerangi--defiled be their graves!--shall they afflict us for ever? Arewe dogs, that here, even here in our birthplace, the land of ourfathers, we slink from the foot of the infidel? Awake, awake, O yeslothful! Haste ye! haste ye! Smite the Ferangi and spare not! Grindthem into the dust; yea, crush them, destroy them utterly. Do ye lingeror doubt? Behold, I will lead you! Lo, my sword!--is it not red withinfidel blood? Let us sweep like the whirlwind upon them; like thelightnings of Allah will we rend and consume them. They that pollute ourland shall be stricken, and none shall be left, no, not one alive forthe wailing. By the beard of the Prophet I swear it!_"
"_Essalam alekam!_" _says a Somali in respectful greeting to a venerableseller of sweetmeats_. "_Who is he, O Giver of Delight?_"
"_Knowest thou not, O Lion of the Desert? He is a mad nebi from theGreat Forest afar._"
"_Mashallah! And his name, O Kneader of Joy?_"
"_Men call him Mustapha._"
* * * * * * * *
HERBERT STRANG
_Complete List of Stories_
ADVENTURES OF DICK TREVANION, THEADV
ENTURES OF HARRY ROCHESTER, THEA GENTLEMAN AT ARMSA HERO OF LIEGEAIR PATROL, THEAIR SCOUT, THEBARCLAY OF THE GUIDESBLUE RAIDER, THEBOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADEBRIGHT IDEASBROWN OF MOUKDENBURTON OF THE FLYING CORPSCARRY ONCRUISE OF THE GYRO-CAR, THEFIGHTING WITH FRENCHFLYING BOAT, THEFRANK FORESTERHUMPHREY BOLDJACK HARDYKING OF THE AIRKOBOLONG TRAIL, THELORD OF THE SEASMOTOR SCOUT, THENO MAN'S ISLANDOLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN, THEONE OF CLIVE'S HEROESPALM TREE ISLANDROB THE RANGERROUND THE WORLD IN SEVEN DAYSSAMBASETTLERS AND SCOUTSSULTAN JIMSWIFT AND SURETHROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINESTOM BURNABYTOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTSWITH DRAKE ON THE SPANISH MAINWITH HAIG ON THE SOMME
Tom Burnaby: A Story of Uganda and the Great Congo Forest Page 22
