The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

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      A man of the Akasava suggested an evil thing.

      “That we shall consider,” said Oko.

      He had already decided. He had none of the subtlety of mind which distinguished Fembeni. He saw an end, and was for crowding in the space of life left to him as much of life as his hand could grasp.

      They sat in palaver till early in the morning, the firelight reflected on the polished skin of their bodies.

      Then Oko left the circle and crept to the girl’s hut. They saw him stoop and enter, and heard a little scream.

      “Oko has killed her,” said Fembeni.

      “It is best,” said the other men.

      Fembeni rose and went to the hut.

      “Oko,” he called softly, then stooped and went in.

      Facing him was a ragged square of dim light, where a great hole had been cut in the farther side of the hut.

      “Oko,” he called sharply, then two hands of steel caught him by the throat and two others pulled his legs from under him.

      He went to the ground, too terrified to resist.

      “Fembeni,” said a soft voice in his ear, “I have been waiting for you.”

      He was rolled on to his face and he made no resistance. His hands were pulled behind, and he felt the cold steel bands encircle his wrist and heard a “snick” as they fastened.

      He was as expeditiously gagged.

      “As for Oko,” said Sanders’ voice, “he is dead, and if you had heard him cry you also would have been dead.”

      That ended the one-sided conversation, Sanders and his sergeant sitting patiently in their little lair waiting for the rest of the men to come.

      With the morning arrived a detachment of Houssas under Sergeant Ahmed, following the trail Sanders had followed. There were four dead men to be buried — including him who had stood on guard at the edge of the swamp.

      There was a white-faced girl to be guarded back across the swamp to the seclusion of the forest, and with her went the women of the outlaws’ village.

      Fembeni and his four companions stood up for judgment.

      “One only thing I would ask you, Fembeni,” said Sanders, “and that is this: you are by some account a Christian. Do you practise this magic, or are you for the ju-jus and gods of your fathers?”

      “Lord,” said Fembeni eagerly, “I am a Christian in all ways. Remember this, master, I am of your faith.”

      Sanders, with his lips parted, and his eyes narrowed, looked at the man.

      “Then it is proper that I should give you time to say your prayers,” he said. “Abiboo, we hang this man last.”

      “I see that you are a devil,” said Fembeni, “otherwise you would not follow us in the night with none to show you the way. Now I tell you, Sandi, that I am no Christian, for all God-folk are foolish save you, and I know that you are no God-man. Therefore, if I am to, hang, let me hang with the rest.”

      Sanders nodded.

IX. The Queen of the N’gombi

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      There are certain native traits, certain inherent characteristics, which it is inexpedient to describe in print.

      The N’Gombi people had a weakness for forbidden fruit; they raided and burnt and pillaged, but in the main the treasure which they carried away with them took the shape of eligible women.

      Sanders was at some pains to teach them that this was one of the forms of hunting which his soul loathed. He pointed his lesson with whippings, banishments, and once, after a particularly unpleasant episode, by a hanging from a gallows which he caused to be erected in the N’Gombi city of Shusha.

      Here, before the duly impressed people, in the presence of a puisne judge brought especially from the coast — there had been a little trouble over a summary execution — and in a space kept clear by a half-battalion of Houssas (imported for the occasion), Lombasi, a king of the N’Gombi, died the death amidst the plaudits of his fickle subjects. And this happened in the sight of every chief, every headman, and the new king of the N’Gombi.

      Yet three weeks later the offence for which the king suffered was repeated by his successor.

      “Make your own arrangements,” telegraphed the Administration when a despairing Sanders had reported the fresh crime. “Hang Bogali at your discretion; if necessary, burn crops and village.”

      Sanders did neither. He deposed the king as he had deposed half a dozen other kings, thrashed him publicly, distributed his property, and appointed — whom should be appoint?

      He had half a mind to send for Bosambo of the neighbouring Ochori, but that would be a dangerous experiment.

      The deposed Bogali had two sons and a daughter. One of the sons was far gone in sleeping sickness, and the other was a fairly easygoing, foolish youth, who would be in the hands of his councillors.

      “It shall be the woman,” decided Sanders; and so, against all precedent, he set up E’logina as Queen of the N’Gombi.

      A tall, resolute girl of sixteen, she was at that time with a husband of no great character and several lovers, it there was any truth in popular rumour.

      With fitting solemnity Sanders placed her in the chair of state, and she was very grave and very stately — accepting her new position as by right.

      “E’logina,” said Sanders, “you shall rule this country, and there shall be no women palavers. And I am behind you to enforce your order. If any man say to you: ‘I will not obey you because you are a woman,’ behold! he shall obey because I am a man; and whosoever sets your authority at defiance shall suffer very painfully.”

      “Lord!” said the girl, “I will rule wisely.”

      “As for your lovers,” said Sanders, “of whom I have heard, you shall give them no preference over other councillors, or they will lead you to destruction.”

      “Master!” said the girl, “it is said in the N’Gombi country, ‘A lover has strong arms, but no brains.’”

      “That is true in other countries,” said Sanders.

      There were no more women palavers in the N’Gombi from that day. A minor chief who raided an outlying village and carried away girls was summoned to her presence, and certain things happened to him which changed his habits of life, for this lady of the N’Gombi was elementary but effective.

      Sanders heard of the happening, and wisely pretended ignorance. The art of government lies in knowing nothing at the proper moment.

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