CHAPTER XI
The Valley of the Shadow
Barega Tells His Story--Malaria--The Major Writes Home--The End of aLong Vigil--Mabruki: Medicine-man--A Moving Dialogue--On The Brink
Ignorant of how the pigmies had rounded off their work, the travellersaccompanied the Bahima chief along the narrow path into the forest. Atfirst he went too fast for them, until Mbutu explained that they hadbeen wandering for twelve days through the forest, and were on the vergeof starvation. He told also how his master, like the chief himself, hadbeen a prisoner among Arabs, and had escaped when barely recovered froma terrible wound inflicted on him during a great single-handed fightwith the Arab chief. Mbutu did not fail to impress his compatriot withthe rank and prowess of the Englishman. As for his present worn andenfeebled condition, that was obvious to the most casual glance. Onhearing all this the rescued Muhima expressed his sympathy with a graceand courtesy that seemed to Tom wonderfully well bred, and furtheracquaintance with the people confirmed his belief, first formed from hisknowledge of Mbutu, that Central Africa contains some of Nature'sgentlemen.
As they went on their way, Tom asked the chief through Mbutu to tell hisown story. He was nothing loth, and at once began a narrative whichbeguiled more than an hour of weary walking. It was often interruptedby questions from Mbutu, who, as he translated, mingled comments andexplanatory remarks with the chief's own statements. Stripped of theseannotations, and rendered into straightforward English, it ran somewhatas follows:--
"You ask me for my story? Know then, O white man, that I am Barega, achief among chiefs, owning no man lord. Not of a handful of men and afew hundred cattle am I chief; no, I am Barega; many chiefs own my sway;my rule extends over ten times thirty Bahima, great hunters all of them,and multitudes of Bairo like the stars of heaven. No menial delvers ofthe soil are we Bahima; no, we tend countless herds of cattle and goats,whose flesh we eat and milk we drink. And I--I am Barega, a mightychief. The Bugandanwe is mine--the king-drum handed down from myfather's fathers through a hundred years, whose sound strikes terrorinto the souls of our enemies, and even disquiets Magaso himself, thedevil that haunts our groves and feasts on our bananas. Bananas!--I eatthem not; my meat is the flesh of oxen, sheep, and goats; but the Bairoeat them, the Bairo our servants, whose blood is not our blood, northeir ways our ways.
"Know this, O white man, son of the Great King, for thou didst find me aprisoner, and 'tis not well that thou shouldst think me one of thecommon people, born of slaves. No, I am a mighty chief. Four yearshave I ruled my tribe, and there are none like them in all the earth forstrength or wealth, for skill in hunting or prowess in war. My fatherhad many sons, but out of them all he chose me to rule after him. True,I have an elder brother, Murasi is his name; and a younger brother,Mwonga; but Murasi is a reed, a straw blown hither and thither by thebreath of Mabruki, my medicine-man, who quaffs lakes of museru and thenweeps rivers of tears. As for Mwonga, he is but a boy, and him I keepas my chief mutuma, head of the fifty boys who guard my dwelling andfulfil my behest, and whom I train in arms and all manly doing. Murasi Idid not slay; no, nor does he languish in the prison where he lies; heis fed with good food and wine. The white man wonders? True, otherchiefs would have slain him, but I am merciful, I do but keep him inprison. Were Murasi free, he would plot against me, work mischief amongmy people, try to rob me of my hut and place. He must not be free; itis I, Barega, that say it.
"I was a prisoner with the Arabs--cats, jackals, beasts unfit to herdwith the Bahima's dogs! I hide my face; it shames me to have been theircaptive. And yet it was no shame; if any man cries shame, I say helies. I was far from my village, hunting great elephants. Twenty of mybest spearmen were with me, tall men and big of heart. We were far inthe forest towards the setting sun, and one day we saw, in a gladebeyond us, a herd of elephants with tusks longer than a man and whiterthan milk. My men stretched their net and dug a pit, the skewerscunningly planted at the bottom, so that they might drive the animalstherein and take them thus. But that, forsooth, is poor sport for ahunter like Barega. 'No, let us take them with our spears,' I said,'and have true tales of a mighty killing to tell about our fires ofwinter nights.' Know, O white man, that we Bahima tell truth and nolies. So then did we stalk those noble animals, but they lifted up theirtrunks and smelt us, and straightway uttered a great voice and fled.But we are fleet of foot; no pot-bellied sluggards are we, like theAnkole; no, we are slim, and straight, and lithe of limb as thou seest;we are thy cousins, O white man! Swiftly then did we pursue theelephants; leopards could not have gone more silently. They forgot us,and stayed to rest and pluck the tender leaves at the ends of thebranches. Not a word, not a cry. I was in front of my men; the chiefmust ever show the way. I marked the prince and lord of the elephantsand said: 'He is mine; let no man touch him.' I poised my spear; Iflung it with aim swift and sure; it smote behind the ear; the beastfell. Ere he could rise, another spear, and another, from this sameright hand pierced him, and in a little he died.
"Two other elephants had fallen to the spears of my men, the rest hadfled. Then did we make a camp, and sat us down to rest by our spoils.The sun went down, and as we sang our hunting-song around our fire,behold! there came out of the forest, silently, like the servaline, aband of Arabs. Around us they made a ring, and with their loudfire-sticks they slew ten of my people. I sprang to my feet; not mineto flee; no, I hurled at them my last spear, and then a blazing brandsnatched from the fire. See, there is the scar on my hand to-day--themark of the fire. But they were more than we; they threw themselvesupon me, and put their cursed ropes upon my hands and feet. Then theycarried me and my ten men to a fortress many marches in the forest, andloaded me with the chains of slaves. Many days was I thus fettered;then, at the rising of the sun they came to me and said: 'Dog!'--woe isme, that I, Barega, was called a dog!--'take us to your village.''Pig!' I cried, 'I would rather die!' Then did they beat me with theirwhips till, in my pain, I called on Muhanga, the Mighty Spirit thatupholds the sky and rules the thunder and rain, to slay me. Yet Ibethought myself: 'They will not all come to my village till they havespied it out.' I know their ways. 'I will deceive them; I will leadthem into the forest, and then Muhanga will send a storm, and I shallescape.' And then a band of them loosed me, and fettered me with otherchains, and made me walk with them, my hands bound together, my two feetlinked to a block of wood between them, so that I hobbled slowly andwith pain.
"Then came we into the forest, by winding tracks that I knew well. Ninenights ago the sky opened, Muhanga threw his flaming spears and pouredout his floods. The Arabs cursed Muhanga; I praised him in my heart.They crouched in hollow trees and in big bushes to escape the storm.'Let the dog wash,' they said of me. But in the black darkness, whenthe thunder roared, I wrenched my hands apart till a link snapped, andthen with my free hand tore at my ankle-chains until I had wrested oneof them from the block. I could not cast off my fetters altogether; thestorm began to abate, and I dared not stay. I ran and ran hard throughthe night, and for days and nights after, away, away, far from thetracks I knew. Woe is me! An evil spirit must have led mine enemy!To-day, when the sun rose, I saw them close upon me, but only four ofthem; the others, I make no doubt, were searching for me otherwhere inthe forest. I ran from them, but the clank of my chains called themafter me, and when I was nigh to falling, thou camest out of the forest,O white man, and smotest them even as Muhanga smiteth in his wrath, anddidst save me, and I hold thee in my heart for ever. But they are manyand will now pursue us; they will come with their whole band, and withtheir fire-sticks will seek us out, to kill me and all my people.Therefore let us make what haste we can, and in my village the white manshall live in peace; he shall see my wives and warriors and all mygathered store; he shall eat my best cattle and drink my newest milk andstrongest wine till his cheeks are round and his muscles firm again. I,Barega, have said it."
Such was Barega's story. Tom ha
d listened with an interest that for atime made him forget his feeling of intense weakness. He walked alongas well as he could, stooping occasionally to avoid creepers, using hismusket now as a staff, now as a means of fending off obstructions. Buthe felt that collapse ere long was inevitable, and all that he couldhope for was that he might retain sufficient strength to reach theBahima village before he broke down.
The collapse came on the second evening after their adventure with theArabs. They had fed mainly on roots, and drunk from the rills they metat intervals along the track. Barega's woodcraft served them well wheneven Mbutu's was at fault, but all three were racked with the gnawingpains of hunger. Sores had broken out in several parts of Tom's body;his head was never free from pain; and on the evening of the second day,just as they stopped to find a camping-place for the night, he tottered,and would have fallen but for the ready support of Mbutu's arm.
"It's no good, Mbutu," he said, with an attempt to smile; "I'm done up.I can't hold out any longer."
"Soon get well, sah," said Mbutu, helping him tenderly to recline withhis back against a tree. But the boy was in reality stricken withterror lest his master should die. He had recognized the dreaded signsof malaria, and there, in the midst of the forest, with no medicines athand and no nourishing food, he feared that there would be but one end,and that speedily. Tom fell into a heavy sleep almost as soon as he laydown, and Mbutu held an anxious consultation with the chief. What couldbe done? They could carry the invalid between them, but progress wouldbe slow, and he needed immediate attention, and above all, something toprotect him from insects during the day. They were still at least threedays' march from the village. Mbutu was almost in despair, when thechief made a suggestion. Let them build a grass hut, he said, at areasonably safe distance from the track, and let Mbutu watch his masterthere while he himself hurried on alone to his village. They were notfar from the edge of the forest, which was already becoming thinner. Hewould start at once for help, and could cover the distance to thevillage at a run in a night and a day.
The plan seemed feasible, and indeed the only possible one under thecircumstances. To force a way for a quarter of a mile from the track,clear a space, and build a grass hut upon it was the work of rather morethan two hours. When it was done, the two Bahima gently carried Tom tothe resting-place and laid him down on a comfortable couch of leaves,and then the chief, tightening his strip of bark cloth around his loins,started, promising to travel, without resting, through the night, and touse his utmost speed.
Mbutu, left alone with the invalid, spent the last half-hour of daylightin collecting a small quantity of ripe berries, and then sat down towatch. He dared not light a fire in case the Arabs happened to be nearenough to see or smell the smoke. It was no small testimony to Mbutu'sdevotion that he was so willing, for all his dread of goblins, to remainwith his master, unable now to talk the boy's fears away or to defendhim against danger.
As Mbutu sat, touching his master's hand and brow occasionally, andtrembling as he felt how hot they were, he suddenly remembered that hehad seen him put a packet of the quinine given him by the missionaryinto his vest pocket. He wondered whether it was still there. The Arabswere not likely to have taken it; he only feared lest, with the wettingsit had suffered, the drug should have lost its virtue.
Gently lifting the burnous which he had thrown over his master, andfeeling in his clothes, he was overjoyed to find in the pocket where hehad seen it put a small paper packet, showing only too plain signs ofthe soakings it had gone through. He opened it, the paper dropping topieces under his touch. There was a little something there, not apowder any longer, but a paste. Was there the least remnant of virtuein it? There could be no harm in trying a dose, and Mbutu carefully andtenderly put a small quantity of the paste between Tom's parted lips.Twice again during the night he repeated the dose, anxiously feeling theinvalid's brow each time, as though hoping for an instant result. Notfor a moment did he close his eyes, but when he felt drowsiness stealingupon him he rose and walked to and fro before the hut, murmuring thehalf-forgotten words of some fetish spell he had learnt when a child.But he had little faith in fetish now. If only the white medicine-manwere there! He had unbounded confidence in Dr. Corney O'Brien.
Dr. Corney O'Brien was, alas! more than a thousand miles away, sittingin the smoking-room of the Mombasa club, waiting with some impatiencefor Major Burnaby to finish the letter he was writing at the table. Itwas a letter home, to Mr. Barkworth, and the doctor knew why hisfriend's face wore such a look of concern as his pen scratched over thepaper.
... "I thought," he wrote, "that I knew my nephew pretty well, but Iknow only now--alas! too late, I fear--what grit there was in him. Weold stagers are too much inclined, perhaps, to pooh-pooh the enthusiasmsof our juniors. The boy was built for a soldier and nothing else, and Iblame myself now for not moving heaven and earth to get him into theservice. When I saw him come into camp that evening, I own I was atfirst desperately annoyed with you for allowing him to follow us up;although I could not help admitting it was an uncommonly plucky thing ofthe youngster to undertake such an enterprise through a strange andsavage country. He showed both courage and resource in the adventurewith that rascally Portuguese; but what I feel most proud of is the gritwith which he stuck to his task when every step must have been agony.But for him the expedition might easily have come to grief. The enemy'splan was as good as any I ever met with; if it had come off it wouldhave been touch and go with us. You may be quite sure that in my reporthome I have taken care to represent in its true light the service he didus. Nothing has yet been heard of him. I've offered the most temptingrewards. He either died of his wound, or is a prisoner with the Arabs.In the latter case the strange thing is that no attempt has been made toget a ransom for him. Perhaps the Portuguese is in some way concerned;if so, then God help him! I have asked Father Chevasse to do what hecan--the missionaries have as good a chance to get news of him asanyone,--and be sure that I will let you know if anything turns up. Iam entitled to come home on furlough, but I've arranged to stay out herea month or two longer. It was very pleasant to get your cable ofcongratulation, and to hear of all the nice things said of me at home;but you'll believe me when I say that I'd give it all up and drop out ofsight gladly, if by so doing I could get a glimpse of Tom."
For three terrible nights and days Mbutu kept faithful watch over hissick master in the forest. It seemed an age to the poor boy. Tom wasunconscious almost all the time, his eyes burning bright, his cheeksflushed, his lips ever and anon muttering and babbling of thingsincomprehensible to Mbutu. The Muhima hardly dared to leave him for amoment, and when he did leave him, wore himself out in scouring theforest within a short radius in search of food. He ventured on thesecond day to light a fire, over which, in a bowl he carved out of hardWood, he tried to brew a decoction from some leaves and berries, for hefound it impossible to get his master to take such solid roots as thoseon which he barely sustained himself. The quinine was soon exhausted.Fortunately there was plenty of good water, and at short intervals hepoured a small quantity between Tom's parched lips. He hoped that thepigmies would again provide food, but there was never a sign of thelittle people. As hour after hour dragged slowly by, the boy fretted,feeling his helplessness, in an agony of grief for his master, andbeside himself with despair when, after brief intervals ofsemi-consciousness, Tom relapsed into delirium, tossing and moaning onhis couch of leaves.
At sundown on the third day after the chief's departure Mbutu waswalking restlessly up and down the track, peering into the tunnel offoliage. The night before, he had been scared by the cries of animalsin his near neighbourhood, and his nerves were in a state of tremor. Hehad kept a large watch-fire burning beside his master's hut, for he feltnow that, even if it did attract the Arabs, it was no worse to be slainby them than by wild beasts. More than once during this third day hehad put his ear to the ground, hoping to hear the tramp of feet from thedirection in which Barega had gone. Now he w
alked farther along thepath, thinking that, if the chief had reached his village, as he hadpromised, in a night and a day, surely there had been time for him toreturn. He lay down again and pressed his ear to the beaten path. Theair was still, not a leaf rustled; the sounds of day had ceased, and thenightly hum and murmur had not yet begun. What was that? Faintly, likethe sound of ripples on a stream, rather a movement than a sound,something touched his ear. He got up and ran still farther along thetrack, then flung himself down again. He could hear nothing but thethrobbing of his heart. He held his breath; yes, the sound was growing,growing; it was the sound of running feet. Was it of animals or men? Itwas too regular, too heavy, to be the pad of animals; it was comingnearer! He almost screamed in his excitement. Thud! thud! thud! nearerand nearer--not one sound now, but many sounds conjoined. Yes, hisdoubts were gone; it was a force of men, running steadily towards him.He got up, and stood, his lips parted, his eyes astare, his body bentforward in the direction of the sound, every nerve tingling, every sinewtense. Minute after minute passed; he stood alone in vaulted darkness.Now the sound was audible through the air: the steady thud of runners,broken in upon at moments by the faint far jingle of metal. Hark! therewas the hum of voices, like the sound of water stirred by gusts of wind.Louder and louder it came; Mbutu's sharp ears were strained towards it.It rose and swelled; he recognized it; it was a marching-song he had notheard for years! His heart gave a great leap for joy; beyond a doubtthese were Barega's men approaching; his agony was over. Hardly knowingwhether to run back to his master or to run forward to meet hisfellow-countrymen, he stood irresolute, his breath coming and going inquick pants. He tried to join in the song, but his throat was parched,and his voice broke in a soundless sob. He waited, waited; there wascommotion in the forest; crickets and cicadas had raised their notes, asthough to drown the unaccustomed sounds. He heard the crackle ofsnapped twigs and the rustle of parted leaves; then, a deeper blacknessin the black, a form appeared, and another, and another.
"Wekaine kenaina? Can you see me?"
The words, shrilled from Mbutu's lips, brought the runners to a deadstop. There was silence for a brief moment.
"Mesitoka! I cannot!" came the answer. "Who are you?"
"Ema Mbutu, muzungu katikiro! I am Mbutu, the white man's katikiro!"
Then ensued a scene that must have provoked from the sylvan deities akindly sympathetic smile. The foremost of the line of strangersadvanced and greeted Mbutu, who was almost beside himself withexcitement and relief. He wasted no time in words; he was all eagernessto lead the negroes to his master. Running in advance, then doublingback like a dog, he led the tall Muhima along the track. It wasBarega's katikiro, and with him were thirty spearmen. In single filethey followed Mbutu, turned aside towards the clearing, and were sooncollected in a group around the blazing watch-fire--thirty tall straightwarriors, the pick of Barega's body-guard, breathing hard, but ready ata word to run again. The katikiro informed Mbutu that their departurehad been delayed by exciting events in their village. They had comewith all speed, and behind them was another band bringing goats andflour and cooking-utensils to provide food for the sick man. A briefrest, and he was ready to start on the return journey, and he proposedto travel through the night, so that the muzungu at his first removalshould not have to endure the day's heat. The spearmen, squatting in acircle about the fire, showed their native politeness by obeying thekatikiro's command to talk in subdued tones.
After an hour's rest, four of the Bahima gently lifted Tom into a litterthey had brought with them, and the order of march was formed. The linewas led by the mugurusi, the chief's provider of firewood, who wasfollowed by fourteen of the spearmen; then came the katikiro at the headof Tom's litter, borne by four, Mbutu walking behind; and the rear wasbrought up by the remaining eleven. They marched with long regularswing, and before they had gone far the omutezi wahanga, or harpist, whostrode along immediately in front of the katikiro, struck up themarching-song:
"Yakuba emundu ngagayala Mukamawange Katabuzi eikyasenga Amaso zamynka mwenywera omwenge".
Bravely he fights; no foeman doth he dread; Never by craven chief will I be led; Let me drink and drink till mine eyes be red.
Three hours' march brought them to the camp, where they wereboisterously greeted by an equal band gathered about a huge fire. Alarge iron pot was placed in the midst of the fire, and in it the fleshof a goat was simmering in stew, thickened with plantain flour. Whenthe new-comers had eaten their fill, a guard was set, the katikirohimself undertaking to share with Mbutu the duty of watching his master.
At dawn they resumed the march, the katikiro deciding to finish thejourney by easy stages, resting for three hours at least in the hottestpart of the day. The route lay through country that was thickly wooded,but not such dense forest as the wayworn travellers had just traversed.Every care was taken to protect Tom from the sun's rays and the assaultsof insects, an awning being cleverly arranged about his litter, withair-holes defended from insects by a fine network of goats'-hair. Thesick man was fed at intervals with diluted marwa, and with soup wheneverthe procession stopped.
On the way, especially when they encamped for the night, the katikiro, aman of exceedingly pleasant countenance and genial manner, talked a gooddeal to Mbutu, asking innumerable questions, and showing the most livelyinterest in the story of the ambush. In return he gave the boy, to whomhe appeared to have taken a strong fancy, some very interestinginformation about affairs in his village. He half apologized, indeed,for the non-appearance of his chief with the rescue-party. It was dueto most important events. When week after week passed by, and the chiefhad not returned from his great elephant-hunt, Mabruki, themedicine-man, declared after consulting his fetishes that Barega wasdead. Who was to be his successor? Mabruki had at first sounded someof the more important men as to their willingness to accept himself; butfinding that there was a strong feeling against anyone not of thechief's blood, he had nominated Barega's elder brother, the weak andvicious Murasi, who, drunk or sober, was completely under his thumb.Murasi, accordingly, became chief, and Mabruki appointed himselfkasegara, or steward of the household. The katikiro himself, aneasy-going man, ready, like the Vicar of Bray, to serve anyone so longas he retained his own office, had given his adhesion to the new chief,and remained katikiro.
These arrangements had hardly been made when Barega suddenly reappeared.The majority of the Bahima were unfeignedly glad to see their chiefagain; he had a kingly presence, they knew his prowess as warrior andhunter, and loved him as a fair-dealing ruler in peace. A smallminority of the Bahima, however, with a considerable number of theirBairo dependents, had hoped great things of Murasi's accession, and weredisposed to stick to their new chief. But the medicine-man saw that hisgame was up; he lost no time in obsequiously making his peace withBarega, and was the loudest in upbraiding Murasi when he whimpered athis fall from power. But though Mabruki was outwardly the loyalestsubject of his chief, he was deeply chagrined at the failure of his bidfor greatness, and inwardly resolved to seize the first opportunity,fair or foul, of reinstating the elderly drunkard and getting rid ofBarega.
This news gave some concern to Mbutu. With internal dissension in thevillage he was not sure that his master's life would be safe. But whenhe imparted his fears to the katikiro, that burly and cheerful soullaughed them away, assuring him that the chief's party, alreadynumerically the stronger, would grow still larger as time went on.
On the fourth afternoon after leaving the forest, the katikiro informedMbutu that they were approaching the village. The ground began to risegently, and was less thickly covered with scrub. By and by a largebanana-plantation came into view, a welcome sight to Mbutu's eyes, andbeyond it wide fields of maize, beans, sweet-potatoes, sorghum, andtobacco, in some of which negro women were at work. They lookedcuriously at the closed litter as it passed, and then with one consentflung down their clumsy implements and followed at the end of the line,behind the spearmen.
Passing through these extensive plantations, the procession arrived at awide open space on which a herd of splendid long-horned oxen weretethered. The katikiro explained that these were the chief's owncattle, the animals belonging to the rest of the community being keptbeyond the southern extremity of the village. Then they came to anumber of huts made of grass and wattles, with untidy haycock roofscoming nearly down to the ground, and low doorways. The population hadso largely increased that these huts had been built outside the villagestockade, which at last came into sight, surmounting a steep acclivity.The ascent was by a narrow path, running straight up the incline, with adeep depression of rough land on the left, and on the right abanana-plantation. There was a gate in the stockade, and at this Mbutusaw a large crowd gathered. In front, was a group of young boys, theirgraceful forms almost bare of clothing, the foremost of them beingMwonga, the chief's young brother. Behind this group stood Baregahimself among his principal men, all dressed in their ceremonial arrayfor the occasion. Tom was quite unconscious of the gorgeousness of thefinery there displayed in his honour, for during the day he had patentlybecome worse, and Mbutu feared that he had reached the village only tofind a grave. As the procession reached the gates formal greetings wereexchanged between Mwonga the mutuma and the first spearman.
"Is it well?"
"It is well."
"Ah!"
"Ah!"
"Um!"
"Um!"
Such was the dialogue, a conversation in those regions never endingwithout a number of sighs and grunts. Then the group of boys parted,and the chief came forward. Over his woolly tufts of hair he wore a capof antelope-skin, adorned with a mighty crest of cock's feathers, andacross his breast was slung a broad shoulder-belt of leopard-skin, fromwhich depended a miscellaneous assortment of the tags and tassels offetish mysteries. He stepped forward with a splendid air of dignity.The katikiro then advanced to the head of the procession, and removedthe fillets from his hair as a sign of respect. Then ensued anotherbrief dialogue.
"Hast thou slept well?"
"I have slept well."
"Very well?"
"Very well."
"Very well indeed?"
"Very well indeed."
"I am thy servant."
"Thou art my servant."
"Ma!"
"Ma!"
"Mum!"
"Mum!"
And the grunting being finished, the chief went up to the litter, and,discarding his array, which seemed to irk him, he bent over to look athis sick visitor. He turned, and beckoned to the medicine-man, who allthe time had stood a little behind, scowling darkly, for he felt by nomeans tenderly towards the white youth who had saved Barega from theArabs, and thereby tumbled down the short-lived authority of Murasi. Hestepped forward at the chief's bidding, and pulled a preternaturallysolemn face as he scanned the unconscious Englishman. He shook hishead, causing his fantastic head-dress of skin and feathers to makestrange gyrations, and the wooden charms about his neck to clatter asthey knocked together. Fingering the tufts of fetish-grass danglingfrom a string across his shoulder, he gravely announced that the muzunguwould surely die. Mbutu had been anxiously watching the man of mystery,and he shuddered as he heard his master's doom. But the katikiroshrugged his shoulders behind Mabruki's back, and the chief himself, ina tone of petulant annoyance, bade the medicine-man retire. Then theprocession was re-formed, and, amid a crowd of nearly two thousand,mingled Bahima and Bairo, men, women, and children, the whole populationhaving turned out to see the wonderful white man who had given theirchief back to them, Tom was carried to the centre of the village, wherethe katikiro's hut, standing nearest to the chief's, had been assignedto him. The katikiro was the essence of good-nature; and when Baregaordered him, in conjunction with the mwobisi wamarwa (his cup-bearer),and the muchumbi wanyama (his chief cook), to provide everythingnecessary for the white man's comfort, he went smiling to do hismaster's behest.
A fortnight passed away, and during that time Tom hovered between lifeand death. As day followed day, and Mbutu, worn almost to a skeletonwith watching and anxiety, saw no change in his master's condition, hefelt the bitterness of despair. Mabruki offered to make medicine andemploy all the mysteries of his art. He produced one day a gourd filledwith mead, in which a kind of hay had been steeped for twenty-fourhours. Acting on the advice of the katikiro, who had become his bosomfriend, Mbutu accepted the offering with profuse thanks; but as soon asMabruki had turned his back, the katikiro advised the boy to throw theliquor away, though he refused to say plainly why. From that time Mbutumaintained a still more jealous guard over his master. He kept the hutspotlessly clean, renewing every day the grass that covered the floor,and doing all that he could, by changing the arrangement of the skinsand calico sheets upon the rough clay settle, to render Tom's positioneasy.
Thus the weary days went by. For a short period each day Tom wasconscious, alive to the presence and the attentions of Mbutu and hisfriend Msala the katikiro. At such times he would swallow a littlegoat-broth, or an egg beaten up in milk, relapsing into unconsciousnessagain. He was too ill to think; he was only conscious of terribleweakness and pain. He could not sit up, could scarcely move his arms,and when it was necessary to change his position, Mbutu had to lift him.One morning, realizing more clearly than before the dreadful prostrationof his body, he was possessed of a presentiment that he would die.
"I shan't bother you much longer," he said faintly to Mbutu. "When I amgone you'll find my uncle and tell him all about it, won't you?"
Mbutu could not speak for the lump in his throat. At this moment thekatikiro entered, bringing a fresh gourd of banana wine. Mbutu poured alittle between his master's lips, and watched him in an agony ofsuspense. Tom opened his eyes.
"I should like to thank the chief," he said. "Ask that good Msala tofetch him."
The katikiro soon returned with the chief, and they stood at the foot ofthe settle, their intelligent faces expressing a real sympathy with thesufferer. He tried to speak to them, but his voice failed. Baregaadvanced and clasped his hand. A strange drowsiness was stealing uponhim; with a strong effort he moved his lips again.
"Chief," he said, "I thank you for your kindness. If ever you--"
But the sentence remained unfinished, a dark cloud seemed to comebetween his face and the chief's; his eyes closed, and the silence wasonly broken by an irrepressible sob from Mbutu.
Tom Burnaby: A Story of Uganda and the Great Congo Forest Page 13