The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar WallaceЧитать онлайн книгу.
might have been content to allow his policemen to carry out the good work, but no sooner did news come that Oko had broken for that section of the N’Gombi country which impinges on Musunkusu, than Sanders went flying up river in his steamer because something told him he had identified one of the nine men.
Wrote Sergt. Ahmed, the Houssa, who prided himself on his English, to his wife at headquarters:
“At daylight, when search for murderer was officially resumed, came our Lord Sundah very actively angry. By orders I took left bank of Kulula River with three men, being ordered to shoot aforesaid Oko if resistance offered. Abiboo (sergeant) took right or other bank, and our lord searched bush. Truly Oko must be a very important man that Sundah comes officially searching for same, saying bitter reproach words to his humble servants.”
Ahmed’s picture of his chief’s agitation may be a little exaggerated, but I do not doubt that there was a substratum of fact therein.
On the second day of the hunt, Sanders’ steamer was tied up at the mission station, and he found himself walking in the cool of the evening with Ruth Glandynne. So he learnt about Fembeni, the Isisi man who had found the light and was hot and eager for salvation.
“H’m!” said Sanders, displaying no great enthusiasm.
But she was too elated over her first convert to notice the lack of warmth in his tone.
“It is just splendid,” she said, her grey eyes alight and her pretty face kindling with the thought, “especially when you remember, Mr. Sanders, that I have only an imperfect knowledge of the language.”
“Are you sure,” asked the incredulous Sanders, “that Fembeni understands what it is all about?”
“Oh, yes!” She smiled at the Commissioner’s simplicity. “Why, he met me halfway, as it were; he came out to meet the truth; he—”
“Fembeni?” said Sanders thoughtfully. “I think I know the man; if I remember him aright he is not the sort of person who would get religion if he did not see a strong business end to it.”
She frowned a little. Her eyebrows made a level line over resentful eyes.
“I think that is unworthy of you,” she said coldly.
He looked at her, the knuckle of his front finger at his lips.
She was very pretty, he thought, or else he had been so long removed from the society of white women that she seemed beautiful only because she stood before a background of brutal ugliness.
Slim, straight, grave-eyed, complexion faultless, though tanned by the African sun, features regular and delicate, hair (a quantity) russet-brown.
Sanders shook his head.
“I wish to heaven you weren’t monkeying about in this infernal country,” he said.
“That is beside the question,” she replied with a little smile. “We are talking of Fembeni, and I think you are being rather horrid.”
They reached the big square hut that Sanders had built for her, and climbed the wooden steps that led to the stoep.
Sanders made no reply, but when she had disappeared into the interior of the hut to make him some tea, he beckoned to Abiboo, who had followed him at a respectful distance.
“Go you,” he said, “and bring me Fembeni of the Isisi.”
He was stirring his tea whilst the girl was giving him a rosy account of her work, when Fembeni came, a tall man of middle age, wearing the trousers and waistcoat which were the outward and visible signs of his inward and spiritual grace.
“Come near, Fembeni,” said Sanders gently.
The man walked with confidence up the steps of the Stoep, and without invitation drew a chair towards him and seated himself.
Sanders said nothing. He looked at the man for a very long time, then:
“Who asked you to sit in my presence?” he said softly.
“Lord,” said Fembeni pompously, “since I have found the blessed truth — ?”
Something in Sanders’ eyes caused him to rise hurriedly.
“You may sit — on the ground,” said Sanders quietly, “after the manner of your people, and I will sit on this chair after the manner of mine. For behold, Fembeni, even the blessed truth shall not make black white or white black; nor shall it make you equal with Sandi, who is your master.”
“Lord, that is so,” said the sullen Fembeni, “yet we are all equal in the eyes of the great One.”
“Then there are a million people in the Isisi, in the N’Gombi, the Akasava, and the Ochori, who are your equals,” said Sanders, “and it is no shame for you to do as they do.”
Which was unanswerable, according to Fembeni’s sense of logic.
The girl had listened to the talk between her novitiate and the commissioner with rising wrath, for she had not Sanders’ knowledge of native people.
“I think that is rather small of you, Mr. Sanders,” she said hotly. “It is a much more important matter that a heathen should be brought to the truth than that your dignity should be preserved.”
Sanders frowned horribly — he had no society manners and was not used to disputation.
“I do not agree with you. Miss Glandynne,” he said a little gruffly, “for, whilst the Isisi cannot see the ecstatic condition of his soul which leads him to be disrespectful to me, they can and do see the gross materialism of his sotting body.”
A thought struck him and he turned to the man. That thought made all the difference between life and death to Fembeni.
“Fembeni,” he said, relapsing into the language of the Isisi, “you are a rich man by all accounts.”
“Lord, it is so.”
“And wives — how many have you?”
“Four, lord.”
Sanders nodded and turned to the girl.
“He has four wives,” he said.
“Well?”
There was a hint of defiance in the questioning “Well?”
“He has four wives,” repeated Sanders. “What is your view on this matter?”
“He shall marry one in the Christian style,” she said, flushing. “Oh, you know, Mr. Sanders, it is impossible for a man to be a Christian and have more wives than one!”
Sanders turned to the man again.
“In this matter of wives, Fembeni,” he said gently; “how shall you deal with the women of your house?”
Fembeni wriggled his bare shoulders uncomfortably.
“Lord, I shall put them all away, save one,” he said sulkily, “for that is the blessed way.”
“H’m!” said Sanders for the second time that morning.
He was silent for a long time, then:
“It is rather a problem,” he said.
“It presents no difficulty to my mind,” said the girl stiffly.
She was growing very angry, though Sanders did not realise the fact, being unused to the ways of white women.
“I think it is rather horrid of you, Mr. Sanders, to discourage this man, to put obstacles in his faith — ?”
“I put no obstacle,” interrupted the Commissioner. He was short of speech, being rather so intent upon his subject that he took no account of the fine feelings of a zealous lady missionary. “But I cannot allow this to happen in my district; this