Samba Part 3

"I learnt a little doctoring in the hospital, sorr," said Barney.

"Sure I think I could mend his arm."

"Well, well, Nando and the other man had better bring him along to the canoe--gently, you know. Don't make him squeal."

The two negroes lifted the boy, and the party set off to return to the river.

"A fine responsibility you have let me in for, Jack," said Mr.

Martindale as they went along. "I've no notion of a Crusoe and Friday relationship."

"Why not say Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, uncle?"

"A man of my girth!" said Mr. Martindale, chuckling. "But joking apart, Jack, this is a serious business. What am I to do with the boy, supposing he gets better? I am not a philanthropist; I can't start a boys' home; and the little chap will be of no use to us in our proper work. For the life of me I don't see daylight through this."

"We may find him useful in other ways, uncle. Besides, we may come across his people."

"And we may not--we may not, Jack. Still, have your way; only remember he's your protege; I wash my hands of him. And mind you, I'm not going to start a crusade. There's been terrible work in this village: no mistake about it; but I'm not convinced it's the doing of white men: in fact, I refuse to believe it."

"But they're responsible. They shouldn't employ natives who are so blackguardly."

"That's where it is, you see. You Britishers employed Red Indians in our war of Independence, didn't you?"

"Yes, and Lord Chatham thundered against it, and it was put a stop to."

"They taught you history at Rugby, did they? Glad to hear it. Well, I dare say Leopold will put a stop to it if representations are made to him. It's none of my business, but I'll mention the matter when I get back to Boma. Now, Sambo----"

"Samba, uncle."

"Bo or ba, it's all the same. You'll have to be a good boy, Samba.

But what's the good of talking! He can't understand what I say.

Doesn't know good from bad, I warrant. Well, well!"

They reached the canoe and laid Samba gently down upon rugs. The rude craft was soon under way. For a time Samba lay asleep, with his arm about Pat's neck; but by and by, when the paddlers paused in the song with which they accompanied their strokes, the boy awoke, and began to sing himself, in a low musical voice that struck pleasantly upon the ear after the rougher tones of the men.

"Bauro lofundo! (he sang); bauro lofundo! Bompasu la Liw.a.n.ga bao lindela ud' okunda ilaka nkos'i koka."

This he repeated again and again until he was tired and slept once more.

"Very pretty," said Mr. Martindale. "The boy'd make a fortune in New York, Jack. But what does it all mean, anyway?"

"Berrah nice song, sah," said Nando. "Me tell all 'bout it. People of Bauro, sah, plenty bad lot. Bompasu and Liw.a.n.ga been and gone after 'long 'long into de forest, not come back till parrots one two free twenty all dah."

"Well, I can't make much of that. Doesn't seem to have any more sense than the songs that our gals sing at home."

But further inquiry brought out the story. It appeared that a rubber collector, not satisfied with exacting from the people of Bauro the usual quant.i.ty of rubber, had required them to furnish him by a certain day with twenty young parrots which he wished to take with him to Europe. Being unable to obtain so large a number by the given date, the people were declared to be surpa.s.singly obstinate and wicked, and the sentries Bompasu and Liw.a.n.ga were let loose upon them until the twenty parrots were delivered.

"Humph!" grunted Mr. Martindale. "Say, wasn't it Macaulay who said he'd write a nation's history from its ballads? Rubber and parrots; what next, I wonder? These Congo people have original ideas in taxation."

"Begorra, sorr," said Barney, "and don't I wish the taxes in the ould counthry were uv the same kind. Sure and ivery man in the counthry would be glad to supply the collectors wid scores uv sparrows or peewits or any other fowl, and murphies and blackthorns--ivery mortal thing but money, sorr."

In the course of a few hours the stream they had hitherto been navigating ran into a larger tributary of the Congo some hundred and fifty miles above the point where it joined the main river. The canoe had scarcely entered the broader river when the crew suddenly stopped paddling, and Nando, turning round with some excitement, said--

"Smoke-boat, sah."

"What?"

"Smoke-boat nebber dis way before, sah."

"A steamer, eh?"

"A launch flying the Congo State flag, uncle--blue with a golden star,"

said Jack, standing up in the canoe and taking a long look ahead.

Nando explained that the rapids, a day's paddling down stream, had prevented the State officers. .h.i.therto from bringing steam launches into this part of the river. Evidently the vessel now approaching must have been carried, as a whole or in sections, overland past these rapids--a work of great difficulty and labour, for the rapids were at least three miles in length, and the sh.o.r.es were at some parts rocky, at others covered with dense scrub.

Almost before Nando had finished his explanation the canoe had been put about, and the men began to paddle hard up stream towards the mouth of the little river, into which the launch could not follow them.

"Hi, now, Nando, what are you about?" cried Mr. Martindale.

Nando replied that it was always best to avoid the State officials. He would lie in a creek until the launch was past.

"I don't see why we should run away," said Mr. Martindale. "However, after what we've just seen, I've no wish to meet them. I might say something that would lead to a row with the Company."

He lit a cigar and lay back in the canoe. Jack turned flat on his face and watched the launch. It was soon clear that Nando's plan was impossible. The launch was a swift one: it came on with increased speed, and when within hailing distance a voice in French called peremptorily upon the canoe to stop.

"Nando, stop paddling," said Mr. Martindale, leisurely turning round on his seat. "Answer their hail, Jack."

"Who are you?" shouted Jack in English.

The foreigner in the bow of the launch was somewhat taken aback. He had thought to do the questioning, not to be questioned. But he replied stiffly--

"I am Monsieur Elbel, of de Societe Cosmopolite du Commerce du Congo."

The launch was now within a few yards of the canoe. Monsieur Elbel was a short thick-set man with reddish hair, and a thick red moustache that stuck out rigidly a couple of inches on each side of his nose. He wore a white topee and white trousers, but his coat was blue, with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, and gold lace at the shoulders. All but himself on deck were negroes.

Mr. Martindale ordered the paddlers to bring the canoe round, so that he might face the Belgian. Then, still seated, he blew out a cloud of smoke and said--

"Well, I don't know you, Mr. Elbel, and if the work in Banonga yonder is due to you I don't wish to. Paddle ahead, Nando."

The crew looked somewhat awestruck, but obediently dropped their paddles into the stream. Monsieur Elbel's cheeks had turned a fiery red several shades deeper than his hair, and the veins upon his forehead swelled. The canoe sped past him while he was still endeavouring to collect himself. Suddenly a tall negro at his side threw out his hand, exclaiming: "Ok'ok'ok'oka!"[2]

The Belgian looked in the direction pointed out, and the negro followed up his exclamation with a rapid excited sentence. Monsieur Elbel at once sent the launch in pursuit of the canoe, ran her alongside, and cried:

"Halt! I bid you halt. You are rude. I vill run you down if you have not care. Dat boy I see in your canoe I know him; he belong to my societe: I demand him to be given up."

"Not so fast, Mr. Elbel. I treat men as they treat me. You have no right to stop me. I am an American, a citizen of the United States, travelling in the Free State, which I believe, is open to all the world. Besides, I have a patent from your company. I propose to continue my journey."

"But--but--I tell you, dat boy is not American: he is subject of Congo State, in concession of my societe; still vunce, I demand him."