The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
So two days passed. An hour’s distance from the city of the Ochori he called a conference.
“Knowing the world,” he said, “I am acquainted with the Ochori, who are slaves; you shall behold their chief embrace my feet. Since it is fitting that one, such as I, who know the ways of white men and their magic, should be received with honour, let us send forward a messenger to say that the Lord Elebi comes, and bid them kill so many goats against our coming.”
“That is good talk,” said O’Sako, his lieutenant, and a messenger was despatched.
Elebi with his caravan followed slowly.
It is said that Elebi’s message came to Bosambo of Monrovia, chief of the Ochori, when he was in the despondent mood peculiar to men of action who find life running too smoothly.
It was Bosambo’s practice — and one of which his people stood in some awe — to reflect aloud in English in all moments of crisis, or on any occasion when it was undesirable that his thoughts should be conveyed abroad.
He listened in silence, sitting before the door of his hut and smoking a short wooden pipe, whilst the messenger described the quality of the coming visitor, and the unparalleled honour which was to fall upon the Ochori.
Said Bosambo at the conclusion of the recital, “Damn nigger.” The messenger was puzzled by the strange tongue.
“Lord Chief,” he said, “my master is a great one, knowing the ways of white men.”
“I also know something of white men,” said Bosambo calmly, in the River dialect, “having many friends, including Sandi, who married my brother’s wife’s sister, and is related to me. Also,” said Bosambo daringly, “I have shaken hands with the Great White King who dwells beyond the big water, and he has given me many presents.” With this story the messenger went back to the slowly advancing caravan, and Elebi was impressed and a little bewildered.
“It is strange,” he said, “no man has ever known an Ochori chief who was aught but a dog and the son of a dog — let us see this Bosambo. Did you tell him to come out and meet me?”
“No,” replied the messenger frankly, “he was such a great one, and was so haughty because of Sandi, who married his brother’s wife’s sister; and so proud that I did not dare tell him.”
There is a spot on the edge of the Ochori city where at one time Sanders had caused to be erected a warning sign, and here Elebi found the chief waiting and was flattered. There was a long and earnest conference in the little palaver house of the city, and here Elebi told as much of his story as was necessary, and Bosambo believed as much as he could.
“And what do you need of me and my people?” asked Bosambo at length.
“Lord chief,” said Elebi, “I go a long journey, being fortified with the blessed spirit of which you know nothing, that being an especial mystery of the white men.”
“There is no mystery which I did not know,” said Bosambo loftily, “and if you speak of spirits, I will speak of certain saints, also of a Virgin who is held in high respect by white men.”
“If you speak of the blessed Paul—” began Elebi, a little at sea.
“Not only of Paul but Peter, John, Luke, Matthew, Antonio, and Thomas,” recited Bosambo rapidly. He had not been a scholar at the Catholic mission for nothing. Elebi was nonplussed.
“We will let these magic matters rest,” said Elebi wisely, “it is evident to me that you are a learned man. Now I go to seek some wonderful treasures. All that I told you before was a lie. Let us speak as brothers. I go to the wood of devils, where no man has been for many years. I beg you, therefore, to give me food and ten men for carriers.”
“Food you can have but no men,” said Bosambo, “for I have pledged my word to Sandi, who is, as you know, the husband of my brother’s wife’s sister, that no man of mine should leave this country.” With this Elebi had to be content, for a new spirit had come to the Ochori since he had seen them last, and there was a defiance in the timid eyes of these slaves of other days which was disturbing. Besides, they seemed well armed.
In the morning the party set forth and Bosambo, who took no risks, saw them started on their journey. He observed that part of the equipment of the little caravan were two big baskets filled to the brim with narrow strips of red cloth.
“This is my magic,” said Elebi mysteriously, when he was questioned, “it is fitting that you should know its power.” Bosambo yawned in his face with great insolence.
Clear of Ochori by one day’s march, the party reached the first straggling advance guard of the Big Forest. A cloud of gum-trees formed the approach to the wood, and here the magic of Elebi’s basket of cloth strips became revealed.
Every few hundred yards the party stopped, and Elebi tied one of the strips to a branch of a tree.
“In this way,” he communicated to his lieutenant, “we may be independent of gods, and fearless of devils, for if we cannot find the ivory we can at least find our way back again.” (There had been such an experiment made by the missionaries in traversing the country between Bonguidga and the Big River, but there were no devils in that country.) In two days’ marches they came upon a place of graves. There had been a village there, for Isisi palms grew luxuriously, and pushing aside the grass they came upon a rotting roof. Also there were millions of weaver birds in the nut-palms, and a choked banana grove.
The graves, covered with broken cooking pots, Elebi found, and was satisfied.
In the forest, a league beyond the dead village, they came upon an old man, so old that you might have lifted him with a finger and thumb.
“Where do the young men go in their strength?” he mumbled childishly; “into the land of small devils? Who shall guide them back to their women? None, for the devils will confuse them, opening new roads and closing the old. Oh, Ko Ko!” He snivelled miserably.
“Father,” said Elebi, dangling strips of red flannel from his hand, “this is white man’s magic, we come back by the way we go.” Then the old man fell into an insane fit of cursing, and threw at them a thousand deaths, and Elebi’s followers huddled back in frowning fear.
“You have lived too long,” said Elebi gently, and passed his spear through the old man’s neck.
They found the ivory two days’ journey beyond the place of killing. It was buried under a mound, which was overgrown with rank vegetation, and there was by European calculation some £50,000 worth.
“We will go back and find carriers,” said Elebi, “taking with us as many of the teeth as we can carry.” Two hours later the party began its return journey, following the path where at intervals of every half-mile a strip of scarlet flannelette hung from a twig.
There were many paths they might have taken, paths that looked as though they had been made by the hand of man, and Elebi was glad that he had blazed the way to safety.
For eight hours the caravan moved swiftly, finding its direction with no difficulty; then the party halted for the night.
Elebi was awakened in the night by a man who was screaming, and he leapt up, stirring the fire to a blaze.
“It is the brother of Olambo of Kinshassa, he has the sickness mongo,” said an awestricken voice, and Elebi called a council.
“There are many ways by which white men deal with this sickness,” he said wisely, “by giving certain powders and by sticking needles into arms, but to give medicine for the sickness when madness comes is useless — so I have heard the fathers at the station say, because madness only comes when the man is near death.”
“He was well last night,” said a hushed voice. “There are many devils in the forest, let us ask him what he has seen.” So a deputation went to the screaming, writhing figure that lay trussed and tied on the ground, and spoke with him. They found some difficulty in gaining an opening,