Chapter X: Henry Hamilton Bones

Lieutenant Francis Augustus Tibbetts of the Houssas was at some disadvantage with his chief and friend. Lieutenant F. A. Tibbetts might take a perfectly correct attitude, might salute on every possible occasion that a man could salute, might click his heels together in the German fashion (he had spent a year at Heidelberg), might be stiffly formal and so greet his superior that he contrived to combine a dutiful recognition with the cut direct, but never could he overcome one fatal obstacle to marked avoidance--he had to grub with Hamilton.

Bones was hurt. Hamilton had behaved to him as no brother officer should behave. Hamilton had spoken harshly and cruelly in the matter of a commission with which he had entrusted his subordinate, and with which the aforesaid subordinate had lamentably failed to cope.

Up in the Akasava country a certain wise man named M’bisibi had predicted the coming of a devil-child who should be born on a night when the moon lay so on the river and certain rains had fallen in the forest.

And this child should be called “Ewa,” which is death; and first his mother would die and then his father; and he would grow up to be a scourge to his people and a pestilence to his nation, and crops would wither when he walked past them, and the fish in the river would float belly up in stinking death, and until Ewa M’faba himself went out, nothing but ill-fortune should come to the N’gombi-Isisi.

Thus M’bisibi predicted, and the word went up and down the river, for the prophet was old and accounted wise even by Bosambo of the Ochori.

It came to Hamilton quickly enough, and he had sent Bones post-haste to await the advent of any unfortunate youngster who was tactless enough to put in an appearance at such an inauspicious moment as would fulfil the prediction of M’bisibi.

And Bones had gone to the wrong village, and that in the face of his steersman’s and his sergeant’s protest that he was going wrong. Fortunately, by reliable account, no child had been born in the village, and the prediction was unfulfilled.

“Otherwise,” said Hamilton, “its young life would have been on your head.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bones.

“I didn’t tell you there were two villages called Inkau,” Hamilton confessed, “because I didn’t realize you were chump enough to go to the wrong one.”

“No, sir,” agreed Bones, patiently.

“Naturally,” said Hamilton, “I thought the idea of saving the lives of innocent babes would have been sufficient incentive.”

“Naturally, sir,” said Bones, with forced geniality.

“I’ve come to one conclusion about you, Bones,” said Hamilton.

“Yes, sir,” said Bones, “that I’m an ass, sir, I think?”

Hamilton nodded--it was too hot to speak.

“It was an interestin’ conclusion,” said Bones, thoughtfully, “not without originality--when it first occurred to you, but as a conclusion, if you will pardon my criticism, sir, if you will forgive me for suggestin’ as much--in callin’ me an ass, sir: apart from its bein’ contrary to the spirit an’ letter of the Army Act--God Save the King!--it’s a bit low, sir.” And he left his superior officer without another word. For three days they sat at breakfast, tiffin and dinner, and neither said more than:

“May I pass you the bread, sir?”

“Thank you, sir; have you the salt, sir?”

Hamilton was so busy a man that he might have forgotten the feud, but for the insistence of Bones, who never lost an opportunity of reminding his No. 1 that he was mortally hurt.

One night, dinner had reached the stage where two young officers of Houssas sat primly side by side on the verandah sipping their coffee. Neither spoke, and the séance might have ended with the conventional “Good night” and that punctilious salute which Bones invariably gave, and which Hamilton as punctiliously returned, but for the apparition of a dark figure which crossed the broad space of parade ground hesitatingly as though not certain of his way, and finally came with dragging feet through Sanders’ garden to the edge of the verandah.

It was the figure of a small boy, very thin; Hamilton could see this through the half-darkness.

The boy was as naked as when he was born, and he carried in his hand a single paddle.

“O boy,” said Hamilton, “I see you.”

“Wanda!” said the boy in a frightened tone, and hesitated, as though he were deciding whether it would be better to bolt, or to conclude his desperate enterprise.

“Come up to me,” said Hamilton, kindly.

He recognized by the dialect that the visitor had come a long way, as indeed he had, for his old canoe was pushed up amongst the elephant grass a mile away from headquarters, and he had spent three days and nights upon the river. He came up, an embarrassed and a frightened lad, and stood twiddling his toes on the unaccustomed smoothness of the big stoep.

“Where do you come from, and why have you come?” asked Hamilton.

“Lord, I have come from the village of M’bisibi,” said the boy; “my mother has sent me because she fears for her life, my father being away on a great hunt. As for me,” he went on, “my name is Tilimi-N’kema.”

“Speak on, Tilimi the Monkey,” said Hamilton, “tell me why the woman your mother fears for her life.”

The boy was silent for a spell; evidently he was trying to recall the exact formula which had been dinned into his unreceptive brain, and to repeat word for word the lesson which he had learned parrotwise.

“Thus says the woman my mother,” he said at last, with the blank, monotonous delivery peculiar to all small boys who have been rehearsed in speech, “on a certain day when the moon was at full and the rain was in the forest so that we all heard it in the village, my mother bore a child who is my own brother, and, lord, because she feared things which the old man M’bisibi had spoken she went into the forest to a certain witch doctor, and there the child was born. To my mind,” said the lad, with a curious air of wisdom which is the property of the youthful native from whom none of the mysteries of life or death are hidden, “it is better she did this, for they would have made a sacrifice of her child. Now when she came back, and they spoke to her, she said that the boy was dead. But this is the truth, lord, that she had left this child with the witch doctor, and now----” he hesitated again.

“And now?” repeated Hamilton.

“Now, lord,” said the boy, “this witch doctor, whose name is Bogolono, says she must bring him rich presents at the full of every moon, because her son and my brother is the devil-child whom M’bisibi has predicted. And if she brings no rich presents he will take the child to the village, and there will be an end.”

Hamilton called his orderly.

“Give this boy some chop,” he said; “to-morrow we will have a longer palaver.”

He waited till the man and his charge were out of earshot, then he turned to Bones.

“Bones,” he said, seriously, “I think you had better leave unobtrusively for M’bisibi’s village, find the woman, and bring her to safety. You will know the village,” he added, unnecessarily, “it is the one you didn’t find last time.”

Bones left insubordinately and made no response.

II

Bosambo, with his arms folded across his brawny chest, looked curiously at the deputation which had come to him.

“This is a bad palaver,” said Bosambo, “for it seems to me that when little chiefs do that which is wrong, it is an ill thing; but when great kings, such as your master Iberi, stand at the back of such wrongdoings, that is the worst thing of all, and though this M’bisibi is a wise man, as we all know, and indeed the only wise man of your people, has brought out this devil-child, and makes a killing palaver, then M’ilitani will come very quickly with his soldiers and there will be an end to little chiefs and big chiefs alike.”

“Lord, that will be so,” said the messenger, “unless all chiefs in the land stand in brotherhood together. And because we know Sandi loves you, and M’ilitani also, and that Tibbetti himself is as tender to you as a brother, M’bisibi sent this word saying, ‘Go to Bosambo, and say M’bisibi, the wise man, bids him come to a great and fearful palaver touching the matter of several devils. Tell him also that great evil will come to this land, to his land and to mine, to his wife and the wives of his counsellors, and to his children and theirs, unless we make an end to certain devils.’”

Bosambo, chin on clenched fist, looked thoughtfully at the other.

“This cannot be,” said he in a troubled voice; “for though I die and all that is wonderful to me shall pass out of this world, yet I must do no thing which is unlawful in the eyes of Sandi, my master, and of the great ones he has left behind to fulfil the law. Say this to M’bisibi from me, that I think he is very wise and understands ghosts and such-like palavers. Also say that if he puts curses upon my huts I will come with my spearmen to him, and if aught follows I will hang him by the ears from a high tree, though he sleeps with ghosts and commands whole armies of devils; this palaver is finished.”

The messenger carried the word back to M’bisibi and the council of the chiefs and the eldermen who sat in the palaver house, and old as he was and wise by all standards, M’bisibi shivered, for, as he explained, that which Bosambo said would he do. For this is peculiar to no race or colour, that old men love life dearer than young.

“Bogolono, you shall bring the child,” he said, turning to one who sat at his side, string upon string of human teeth looped about his neck and his eyes circled with white ashes, “and it shall be sacrificed according to the custom, as it was in the days of my fathers and of their fathers.”

They chose a spot in the forest, where four young trees stood at corners of a rough square. With their short bush knives they lopped the tender branches away, leaving four pliant poles that bled stickily. With great care they drew down the tops of these trees until they nearly met, cutting the heads so that there was no overlapping. To these four ends they fastened ropes, one for each arm and for each ankle of the devil child, and with other ropes they held the saplings to their place.

“Now this is the magic of it,” said M’bisibi, “that when the moon is full to-night we shall sacrifice first a goat, and then a fowl, casting certain parts into the fire which shall be made of white gum, and I will make certain marks upon the child’s face and upon his belly, and then I will cut these ropes so that to the four ends of the world we shall cast forth this devil, who will no longer trouble us.”

That night came many chiefs, Iberi of the Akasava, Tilini of the Lesser Isisi, Efele (the Tornado) of the N’gombi, Lisu (the Seer) of the Inner Territories, but Lilongo[12] (as they called Bosambo of the Ochori), did not come.