Chapter V: The Remedy

Beyond the far hills, which no man of the Ochori passed, was a range of blue mountains, and behind this again was the L’Mandi country. This adventurous hunting men of the Ochori had seen, standing in a safe place on the edge of the Great King’s country. Also N’gombi people, who are notoriously disrespectful of all ghosts save their own, had, upon a time, penetrated the northern forest to a high knoll which Nature had shaped to the resemblance of a hayrick.

A huntsman climbing this after his lawful quarry might gain a nearer view of the blue mountains, all streaked with silver at certain periods of the year, when a hundred streams came leaping with feathery feet from crag to crag to strengthen the forces of the upper river, or, as some said, to create through underground channels the big lakes M’soobo and T’sambi at the back of the N’gombi country.

And on summer nights, when the big yellow moon came up and showed all things in her own chaste way, you might see from the knoll of the hayrick these silver ribbons all a-glitter, though the bulk of the mountain was lost to sight.

The river folk saw little of the L’Mandi, because L’Mandi territory lies behind the country of the Great King, who looked with a jealous eye upon comings and goings in his land, and severely restricted the movement and the communications of his own people.

The Great King followed his uncle in the government of the pleasant O’Mongo lands, and he had certain advantages and privileges, the significance of which he very imperfectly interpreted.

His uncle had died suddenly at the hands of Mr. Commissioner Sanders, C.M.G., and the land itself might have passed to the protection of the Crown, for there was gold in the country in large and payable quantities.

That such a movement was arrested was due largely to the L’Mandi and the influence they were able to exercise upon the European Powers by virtue of their military qualities. Downing Street was all for a permanent occupation of the chief city and the institution of a conventional régime; but the L’Mandi snarled, clicked their heels, and made jingling noises with their great swords, and there was at that moment a Government in office in England which was rather impressed by heel-clicking and sword-jingling, and so the territory of the Great King was left intact, and was marked on all maps as Omongoland, and coloured red, as being within the sphere of British influence. On the other hand, the L’Mandi people had it tinted yellow, and described it as an integral portion of the German Colonial Empire.

There was little communication between L’Mandi and Sanders’s territory, but that little was more than enough for the Commissioner, since it took the shape of evangelical incursions carried out by missionaries who were in the happy position of not being obliged to say as much as “By your leave,” since they had secured from a Government which was, as I say, impressed by heel-clicking and sword-jingling, an impressive document, charging “all commissioners, sub-commissioners, magistrates, and officers commanding our native forces,” to give facilities to these good Christian gentlemen.

There were missionaries in the Territories who looked askance at their brethren, and Ferguson, of the River Mission, made a journey to headquarters to lay his views upon the subject before the Commissioner.

“These fellows aren’t missionaries at all, Mr. Sanders; they are just political agents utilizing sacred symbols to further a political propaganda.”

“That is a Government palaver,” smiled Sanders, and that was all the satisfaction Ferguson received. Nevertheless, Sanders was watchful, for there were times when the L’Mandi missioners and their friends strayed outside their sphere.

Once the L’Mandi folk had landed in a village in the middle Ochori, had flogged the headman, and made themselves free of the commodities which the people of the village had put aside for the payment of their taxation.

In his wrath, Bosambo, the chief, had taken ten war canoes; but Sanders, who had been in the Akasava on a shooting trip, was there before him, and had meted out swift justice to the evil-doers.

“And let me tell you, Bosambo,” said Sanders severely, “that you shall not bring spears except at my word.”

“Lord,” said Bosambo, frankness itself, “if I disobeyed you, it was because I was too hot to think.”

Sanders nodded.

“That I know,” he said. “Now I tell you this, Bosambo, and this is the way of very wise men--that when they go to do evil things with a hot heart, they first sleep, and in their sleep their spirits go free and talk with the wise and the dead, and when they wake, their hearts are cool, and they see all the folly of the night, and their eyes are bright for their own faults.”

“Master,” said Bosambo, “you are my father and my mother, and all the people of the river you carry in your arms. Now I say to you that when I go to do an evil thing I will first sleep, and I will make all my people sleep also.”

There are strange stories in circulation as to the manner in which Bosambo carried out this novel reform. There is the story of an Ochori wife-beater who, adjured by his chief, retired to slumber on his grievance, and came to his master the following morning with the information that he had not closed his eyes. Whereupon Bosambo clubbed him insensible, in order that Sanders’s plan might have a fair chance.

At least, this is the story which Hamilton retailed at breakfast one morning. Sanders, appealed to for confirmation, admitted cautiously that he had heard the legend, but did not trouble to make an investigation.

“The art of governing a native country,” he said, “is the art of not asking questions.”

“But suppose you want to know something?” demanded Patricia.

“Then,” said Sanders, with a twinkle in his eyes, “you must pretend that you know.”

“What is there to do to-day?” asked Hamilton, rolling his serviette.

He addressed himself to Lieutenant Tibbetts, who, to Sanders’s intense annoyance, invariably made elaborate notes of all the Commissioner said.

“Nothin’ until this afternoon, sir,” said Bones, closing his notebook briskly, “then we’re doin’ a little deep-sea fishin’.”

The girl made a grimace.

“We didn’t catch anything yesterday, Bones,” she objected.

“We used the wrong kind of worm,” said Bones confidently. “I’ve found a new worm nest in the plantation. Jolly little fellers they are, too.”

“What are we doing to-day, Bones?” repeated Hamilton ominously.

Bones puckered his brows.

“Deep-sea fishin’, dear old officer and comrade,” he repeated, “an’ after dinner a little game of tiddly-winks--Bones v. jolly old Hamilton’s sister, for the championship of the River an’ the Sanders Cup.”

Hamilton breathed deeply, but was patient.

“Your King and your country,” he said, “pay you seven and eightpence per diem----”

“Oh,” said Bones, a light dawning, “you mean work?”

“Strange, is it not,” mused Hamilton, “that we should consider----Hullo!”

They followed the direction of his eyes.

A white bird was circling groggily above the plantation, as though uncertain where to alight. There was weariness in the beat of its wings, in the irregularity of its flight. Bones leapt over the rail of the verandah and ran towards the square. He slowed down as he came to a place beneath the bird, and whistled softly.

Bones’s whistle was a thing of remarkable sweetness--it was his one accomplishment, according to Hamilton, and had neither tune nor rhyme. It was a succession of trills, rising and falling, and presently, after two hesitating swoops, the bird rested on his outstretched hand. He came back to the verandah and handed the pigeon to Sanders.

The Commissioner lifted the bird and with gentle fingers removed the slip of thin paper fastened to its leg by a rubber band.

Before he opened the paper he handed the weary little servant of the Government to an orderly.

“Lord, this is Sombubo,” said Abiboo, and he lifted the pigeon to his cheek, “and he comes from the Ochori.”

Sanders had recognized the bird, for Sombubo was the swiftest, the wisest, and the strongest of all his messengers, and was never dispatched except on the most critical occasions.

He smoothed the paper and read the letter, which was in Arabic.

“From the servant of God Bosambo, in the Ochori City, to Sandi,

where-the-sea-runs.

“There have come three white men from the L’Mandi country, and they

have crossed the mountains. They sit with the Akasava in full

palaver. They say there shall be no more taxes for the People of

the River, but there shall come a new king greater than any. And

every man shall have goats and salt and free hunting. They say the

Akasava shall be given all the Ochori country, also guns like the

white man. Many guns and a thousand carriers are in the mountains

waiting to come. I hold the Ochori with all my spears. Also the

Isisi chief calls his young men for your King.

“Peace be on your house in the name of Allah Compassionate and

Merciful.”

“M-m!” said Sanders, as he folded the paper. “I’m afraid there will be no fishing this afternoon. Bones, take the Wiggle and get up to the Akasava as fast as you can; I will follow on the Zaire. Abiboo!”

“Lord?”

“You will find me a swift Ochori pigeon. Hamilton, scribble a line to Bosambo, and say that he shall meet Bones by Sokala’s village.”

Half an hour later Bones was sending incomprehensible semaphore signals of farewell as the Wiggle slipped round the bend of the river.

Sokala, a little chief of the Isisi, was a rich man. He had ten wives, each of whom lived in her own hut. Also each wife wore about her neck a great ring of brass weighing twenty pounds, to testify to the greatness and wealth of her lord.

Sokala was wizened and lined of face, and across his forehead were many deep furrows, and it seemed that he lived in a state of perplexity as to what should become of all his riches when he died, for he was cursed with ten daughters--O’femi, Jubasami, K’sola, M’kema, Wasonga, Mombari, et cetera.

When Wasonga was fourteen, there was revealed to Sokala, her father, a great wonder.

The vision came at the tail end of a year of illness, when his head had ached for weeks together, and not even the brass wire twisted lightly about his skull brought him relief.

Sokala was lying on his fine bed of skins, wondering why strange animals sat by the fire in the centre of his hut, and why they showed their teeth and talked in human language. Sometimes they were leopards, sometimes they were little white-whiskered monkeys that scratched and told one another stories, and these monkeys were the wisest of all, for they discussed matters which were of urgency to the sick man rolling restlessly from side to side.

On this great night two such animals had appeared suddenly, a big grey fellow with a solemn face, and a very little one, and they sat staring into the fire, mechanically seeking their fleas until the little one spoke.

“Sokala is very rich and has ten daughters.”

“That is true,” said the other; “also he will die because he has no son.”

Sokala’s heart beat furiously with fear, but he listened when the little black monkey spoke.

“If Sokala took Wasonga, his daughter, into the forest near to The Tree and slew her, his daughters would become sons and he would grow well.”

And the other monkey nodded.

As they talked, Sokala recognized the truth of all that they had said. He wondered that he had never thought of the matter before in this way. All night long he lay thinking--thinking--long after the fires had died down to a full red glow amidst white ashes, and the monkeys had vanished. In the cold dawn his people found him sitting on the side of the bed, and marvelled that he should have lived the night through.