Chapter II: The Disciplinarians

Lieutenant Augustus Tibbetts of the Houssas stood at attention before his chief. He stood as straight as a ramrod, his hands to his sides, his eyeglass jammed in his eye, and Hamilton of the Houssas looked at him sorrowfully.

“Bones, you’re an ass!” he said at last.

“Yes, sir,” said Bones.

“I sent you to Ochori to prevent a massacre, you catch a chief in the act of ambushing an enemy and instead of chucking him straight into the Village of Iron you fine him ten dollars.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bones.

There was a painful pause.

“Well, you’re an ass!” said Hamilton, who could think of nothing better to say.

“Yes, sir,” said Bones; “I think you’re repeating yourself, sir. I seem to have heard a similar observation before.”

“You’ve made Bosambo and the whole of the Ochori as sick as monkeys, and you’ve made me look a fool.”

“Hardly my responsibility, sir,” said Bones, gently.

“I hardly know what to do with you,” said Hamilton, drawing his pipe from his pocket and slowly charging it. “Naturally, Bones, I can never let you loose again on the country.” He lit his pipe and puffed thoughtfully. “And of course----”

“Pardon me, sir,” said Bones, still uncomfortably erect, “this is intended to be a sort of official inquiry an’ all that sort of thing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Hamilton.

“Well, sir,” said Bones, “may I ask you not to smoke? When a chap’s honour an’ reputation an’ all that sort of thing is being weighed in the balance, sir, believe me, smokin’ isn’t decent--it isn’t really, sir.”

Hamilton looked round for something to throw at his critic and found a tolerably heavy book, but Bones dodged and fielded it dexterously. “And if you must chuck things at me, sir,” he added, as he examined the title on the back of the missile, “will you avoid as far as possible usin’ the sacred volumes of the Army List? It hurts me to tell you this, sir, but I’ve been well brought up.”

“What’s the time?” asked Hamilton, and his second-in-command examined his watch.

“Ten to tiffin,” he said. “Good Lord, we’ve been gassin’ an hour. Any news from Sanders?”

“He’s in town--that’s all I know--but don’t change the serious subject, Bones. Everybody is awfully disgusted with you--Sanders would have at least brought him to trial.”

“I couldn’t do it, sir,” said Bones, firmly. “Poor old bird! He looked such an ass, an’ moreover reminded me so powerfully of an aunt of mine that I simply couldn’t do it.”

No doubt but that Lieut. Francis Augustus Tibbetts of the Houssas, with his sun-burnt nose, his large saucer eyes, and his air of solemn innocence, had shaken the faith of the impressionable folk. This much Hamilton was to learn: for Tibbetts had been sent with a party of Houssas to squash effectively an incipient rebellion in the Akasava, and having caught N’gori in the very act of most treacherously and most damnably preparing an ambush for a virtuous Bosambo, Chief of the Ochori, had done no more than fine him ten dollars.

And this was in a land where even the Spanish dollar had never been seen save by Bosambo, who was reported to have more than his share of silver in a deep hole beneath the floor of his hut.

Small wonder that Captain Hamilton held an informal court-martial of one, the closing stages of which I have described, and sentenced his wholly inefficient subordinate to seven days’ field exercise in the forest with half a company of Houssas.

“Oh, dash it, you don’t mean that?” asked Bones in dismay when the finding of the court was conveyed to him at lunch.

“I do,” said Hamilton firmly. “I’d be failing in my job of work if I didn’t make you realize what a perfect ass you are.”

“Perfect--yes,” protested Bones, “ass--no. Fact is, dear old fellow, I’ve a temperament. You aren’t going to make me go about in that beastly forest diggin’ rifle pits an’ pitchin’ tents an’ all that sort of dam’ nonsense; it’s too grisly to think about.”

“None the less,” said Hamilton, “you will do it whilst I go north to sit on the heads of all who endeavour to profit by your misguided leniency. I shall be back in time for the Administration Inspection--don’t for the love of heaven forget that His Excellency----”

“Bless his jolly old heart!” murmured Bones.

“That His Excellency is paying his annual visit on the twenty-first.”

A ray of hope shot through the gloom of Lieut. Tibbetts’ mind.

“Under the circumstances, dear old friend, don’t you think it would be best to chuck that silly idea of field training? What about sticking up a board and gettin’ the chaps to paint, ‘Welcome to the United Territories,’ or ‘God bless our Home,’ or something.”

Hamilton withered him with a glance.

His last words, shouted from the bridge of the Zaire as her stern wheel went threshing ahead, were, “Remember, Bones! No shirking!”

“Honi soit qui mal y pense!” roared Bones.

II

Hamilton had evidence enough of the effect which the leniency of his subordinate had produced. News travels fast, and the Akasava are great talkers. Hamilton, coming to the Isisi city on his way up the river, found a crowd on the beach to watch his mooring, their arms folded hugging their sides--sure gesture of indifferent idleness--but neither the paramount chief, nor his son, nor any of his counsellors awaited the steamer to pay their respects.

Hamilton sent for them and still they did not come, sending a message that they were sick. So Hamilton went striding through the street of the city, his long sword flapping at his side, four Houssas padding swiftly in his rear at their curious jog-trot. B’sano, the young chief of the Isisi, came out lazily from his hut and stood with outstretched feet and arms akimbo watching the nearing Houssa, and he had no fear, for it was said that now Sandi was away from the country no man had the authority to punish.

And the counsellors behind B’sano had their bunched spears and their wicker-work shields, contrary to all custom--as Sanders had framed the custom.

“O chief,” said Hamilton, with that ready smile of his, “I waited for you and you did not come.”

“Soldier,” said B’sano, insolently, “I am the king of these people and answerable to none save my lord Sandi, who, as you know, is gone from us.”

“That I know,” said the patient Houssa, “and because it is in my heart to show all people what manner of law Sandi has left behind, I fine you and your city ten thousand matakos that you shall remember that the law lives, though Sandi is in the moon, though all rulers change and die.”

A slow gleam of contempt came to the chief’s eyes.

“Soldier,” said he, “I do not pay matako--wa!”

He stumbled back, his mouth agape with fear. The long barrel of Hamilton’s revolver rested coldly on his bare stomach.

“We will have a fire,” said Hamilton, and spoke to his sergeant in Arabic. “Here in the centre of the city we will make a fire of proud shields and unlawful spears.”

One by one the counsellors dropped their wicker shields upon the fire which the Houssa sergeant had kindled, and as they dropped them, the sergeant scientifically handcuffed the advisers of the Isisi chief in couples.

“You shall find other counsellors, B’sano,” said Hamilton, as the men were led to the Zaire. “See that I do not come bringing with me a new chief.”

“Lord,” said the chief humbly, “I am your dog.”

Not alone was B’sano at fault. Up and down the road old grievances awaited settlement: there were scores to adjust, misunderstandings to remove. Mostly these misunderstandings had to do with important questions of tribal superiority and might only be definitely tested by sanguinary combat.

Also picture a secret order, ruthlessly suppressed by Sanders, and practised by trembling men, each afraid of the other despite their oaths; and the fillip it received when the news went forth--”Sandi has gone--there is no law.”

This was a fine time for the dreamers of dreams and for the men who saw portends and understood the wisdom of Ju-jus.

Bemebibi, chief of the Lesser Isisi, was too fat a man for a dreamer, for visions run with countable ribs and a cough. Nor was he tall nor commanding by any standard. He had broad shoulders and a short neck. His head was round, and his eyes were cunning and small. He was an irritable man, had a trick of beating his counsellors when they displeased him, and was a ready destroyer of men.

Some say that he practised sacrifice in the forests, he and the members of his society, but none spoke with any certainty or authority, for Bemebibi was chief, alike of a community and an order. In the Lesser Isisi alone, the White Ghosts had flourished in spite of every effort of the Administration to stamp them out.

It was a society into which the hazardous youth of the Isisi were initiated joyfully, for there is little difference in the temperament of youth, whether it wears a cloth about its loins or lavender spats upon its feet.

Thus it came about that one-half of the adult male population of the Lesser Isisi, had sworn by the letting of blood and the rubbing of salt:

(1) To hop upon one foot for a spear’s length every night and

morning.

(2) To love all ghosts and speak gently of devils.

(3) To be dumb and blind and to throw spears swiftly for the love

of the White Ghosts.

One night Bemebibi went into the forest with six highmen of his order. They came to a secret place at a pool, and squatted in a circle, each man laying his hands on the soles of his feet in the prescribed fashion.

“Snakes live in holes,” said Bemebibi conventionally. “Ghosts dwell by water and all devils sit in the bodies of little birds.”

This they repeated after him, moving their heads from side to side slowly.

“This is a good night,” said the chief, when the ritual was ended, “for now I see the end of our great thoughts. Sandi is gone and M’ilitini is by the place where the three rivers meet, and he has come in fear. Also by magic I have learnt that he is terrified because he knows me to be an awful man. Now, I think, it is time for all ghosts to strike swiftly.”

He spoke with emotion, swaying his body from side to side after the manner of orators. His voice grew thick and husky as the immensity of his design grew upon him.

“There is no law in the land,” he sang. “Sandi has gone, and only a little, thin man punishes in fear. M’ilitini has blood like water--let us sacrifice.”

One of his highmen disappeared into the dark forest and came back soon, dragging a half-witted youth, named Ko’so, grinning and mumbling and content till the curved N’gombi knife, that his captor wielded, came “snack” to his neck and then he spoke no more.

Too late Hamilton came through the forest with his twenty Houssas. Bemebibi saw the end and was content to make a fight for it, as were his partners in crime.