The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ of the king?” said another. Then came a crackling of twigs and the voices of men.

      “They are searching,” whispered a voice. “King, if you speak I will kill you now.”

      “Kill!” said the young king’s even voice, and shouted, “Oh, M’sabo! Betelei! Sandi is here!” That was all Sandi heard.

      Two days later he sat up in bed and demanded information. There was a young doctor with him when he woke, who had providentially arrived from headquarters.

      “The king?” he hesitated.

      “Well, they finished the king, but he saved your life. I suppose you know that?”

      Sanders said “Yes” without emotion.

      “A plucky little beggar,” suggested the doctor.

      “Very,” said Sanders. Then: “Did they catch the chief of the Akasava?”

      “Yes; he was so keen on finishing you that he delayed his bolting. The king threw himself on you and covered your body.”

      “That will do.” Sanders’ voice was harsh and his manner brusque at the best of times, but now his rudeness was brutal.

      “Just go out of the hut, doctor — I want to sleep.” He heard the doctor move, heard the rattle of the “chick” at the hut door, then he turned his face to the wall and wept.

II. Keepers of the Stone

       Table of Contents

      There is a people who live at Ochori in the big African forest on the Ikeli River, who are called in the native tongue “The Keepers of the Stone.” There is a legend that years and years ago, calacala, there was a strange, flat stone, “inscribed with the marks of the devils” (so the grave native storyteller puts it), which was greatly worshipped and prized, partly for its magic powers, and partly because of the two ghosts who guarded it.

      It was a fetish of peculiar value to the mild people who lived in the big forest, but the Akasava, who are neither mild nor reverential, and being, moreover, in need of gods, swooped down upon the Ochori one red morning and came away with this wonderful stone and other movables. Presumably, the “ghosts of brass” went also. It was a great business, securing the stone, for it was set in a grey slab in the solid rock, and many spearheads were broken before it could be wrenched from its place. But in the end it was taken away, and for several years it was the boast of the Akasava that they derived much benefit from this sacred possession. Then of a sudden the stone disappeared, and with it all the good fortune of its owners. For the vanishing of the stone coincided with the arrival of British rule, and it was a bad thing for the Akasava.

      There came in these far-off days (‘95?) a ridiculous person in white with an escort of six soldiers. He brought a message of peace and good fellowship, and talked of a new king and a new law. The Akasava listened in dazed wonderment, but when they recovered they cut off his head, also the heads of the escort. It seemed to be the only thing to do under the circumstances.

      Then one morning the Akasava people woke to find the city full of strange white folk, who had come swiftly up the river in steamboats. There were too many to quarrel with, so the people sat quiet, a little frightened and very curious, whilst two black soldiers strapped the hands and feet of the Akasava chief prior to hanging him by the neck till he was dead.

      Nor did the bad luck of the people end here; there came a lean year, when the manioc root was bad and full of death-water [There is a tremendous amount of free hydrocyanic acid (prussic acid) in manioc — EW], when goats died, and crops were spoilt by an unexpected hurricane. There was always a remedy at hand for a setback of this kind. If you have not the thing you require, go and take it. So, following precedents innumerable, the Akasava visited the Ochori, taking away much grain, and leaving behind dead men and men who prayed for death. In the course of time the white men came with their steamboats, their little brass guns, and the identical block and tackle, which they fastened to the identical tree and utilized in the inevitable manner.

      “It appears,” said the new chief — who was afterwards hanged for the killing of the king of the Isisi— “that the white man’s law is made to allow weak men to triumph at the expense of the strong. This seems foolish, but it will be well to humour them.” His first act was to cut down the hanging-tree — it was too conspicuous and too significant. Then he set himself to discover the cause of all the trouble which had come upon the Akasava. The cause required little appreciation. The great stone had been stolen, as he well knew, and the remedy resolved itself into a question of discovering the thief. The wretched Ochori were suspect.

      “If we go to them,” said the chief of the Akasava thoughtfully, “killing them very little, but rather burning them, so that they told where this godstone was hidden, perhaps the Great Ones would forgive us.”

      “In my young days,” said an aged councillor, “when evil men would not tell where stolen things were buried, we put hot embers in their hands and bound them tightly.”

      “That is a good way,” approved another old man, wagging his head applaudingly; “also to tie men in the path of the soldier-ants has been known to make them talkative.”

      “Yet we may not go up against the Ochori for many reasons,” said the chief; “the principal of which is that if the stone be with them we shall not overcome them owing to the two ghosts — though I do not remember that the ghosts were very potent in the days when the stone was with us,” he added, not without hope.

      The little raid which followed and the search for the stone are told briefly in official records. The search was fruitless, and the Akasava folk must needs content themselves with such picking as came to hand.

      Of how Mr Niceman, the deputy commissioner, and then Sanders himself, came up, I have already told. That was long ago, as the natives say, calacala, and many things happened subsequently that put from the minds of the people all thought of the stone.

      In course of time the chief of the Akasava died the death for various misdoings, and peace came to the land that fringes Togo.

      Sanders has been surprised twice in his life. Once was at Ikeli, which in the native tongue means “little river.” It is not a little river at all, but, on the contrary, a broad, strong, sullen stream that swirls and eddies and foams as it swings the corner of its tortuous course seaward. Sanders sat on a deckchair placed under the awning of his tiny steamer, and watched the river go rushing past. He was a contented man, for the land was quiet and the crops were good. Nor was there any crime.

      There was sleeping sickness at Bofabi, and beri-beri at Akasava, and in the Isisi country somebody had discovered a new god, and, by all accounts that came down river, they worshipped him night and day.

      He was not bothering about new gods, because gods of any kind were a beneficent asset. Milini, the new king of the Isisi, had sent him word: “Master,” said his mouthpiece, the messenger, “this new god lives in a box which is borne upon the shoulders of priests. It is so long and so wide, and there are four sockets in which the poles fit, and the god inside is a very strong one, and full of pride.”

      “Ko, ko!” said Sanders, with polite interest, “tell the lord king, your master, that so long as this god obeys the law, he may live in the Isisi country, paying no tax. But if he tells the young men to go fighting, СКАЧАТЬ