CHAPTER XXXIII
Conclusion
Jack had turned sadly from the sight of this joyous entry, and made hisway towards the largest of the huts--the hut built for Mr. Martindale.There Samba lay--had lain since Barney, with a woman's tenderness, hadcarried him from Elbel's camp to the beloved Ilombekabasi which he hadthought never to see again. Little indeed he saw of the fort and ofwhat was passing there as he lay, day by day, on his simple bamboo bed;for though his wounds slowly healed, not all the loving care lavishedupon him by his parents and by Barney, who spent every spare hour athis bedside--not the constant companionship of Pat himself--broughtback strength to his slowly wasting form.
Still, he was always cheerful. The ready smile lit up his face asLokolobolo appeared in the narrow doorway. Barney rose as Jack enteredand made room for him at the head of the bed.
"How are you now, Samba?" asked Jack, taking his hand.
"Better, master, better," answered the boy, his voice scarcely audible.
"That's right. Getting a little appetite, eh? Must eat, you know, ifyou're to grow strong."
"See my _kwanga_," said the mother, coming forward. "He eats no morethan a bird."
"It is nice, mother; I will eat more by and by. I am so tired now."
"Poor little fellow! You are in no pain?"
"No, master, no pain; only tired."
"Cheer up! You will feel better in the morning."
He pressed the boy's hand and turned to leave with Barney. At the doorMboyo overtook him.
"He will not go yet to the Great Spirit, O Lokolobolo?" he whisperedanxiously.
"We cannot tell, Mboyo. All we can do is to tend him well. Hope forthe best."
"Poor bhoy!" said Barney as they went away; "'tis mighty little bettherhe is, sorr, I'm fearing. 'Twould tax the strength uv a horse to getover it, widout docthors an' all."
As they walked across the camp, here a man, there a woman, paused intheir work to ask Lokolobolo how Samba was. Children came up--Lofinda,for whom Samba had shaped a tiny gun; Lokilo, proud of his littlefishing-rod, Samba's gift; Isangila, wearing a necklace of dried maizehe had made for her--and asked shyly when Samba would come out and playwith them again. Some brought offerings of food specially prepared,delicate fish and rare fruits, the choicest spoil of forest and streamfor miles around. Everybody loved the boy; and Jack loved him with aparticular affection. Over and above his winning ways, Samba stood forso much to Jack, who, in thoughtful moods, seemed to see him as thespirit of the negro race, the embodiment of all that was best in theblack man, the representative of millions of his kind, helpless pawnsin a royal game of beggar my neighbour. It was Samba whose wofulplight had first brought home to his heart the terrible realities ofthe rubber slavery; it was Samba who had been the means of foundingIlombekabasi; to him was due the torch of freedom lit at last in thisstricken land--a torch that Jack, in his heart of hearts, dared to hopewould never be extinguished. Surely the conscience of Christendom wasawakening! Pray God the awakening came not too late!
A great silence lay upon Ilombekabasi. To a stranger beyond the wallsthe place might have seemed deserted, so still it was, with none of thecheerful bustle that marks the beginning of a new day. Men and womenwere gathered in little knots; they talked in whispers; some weresobbing; the eyes of most were dim with tears. Even the children weresubdued and quiet; they forgot their play, staring at their elders withpuzzled, solemn eyes. Why was the world so sad to-day? Was it becauseSamba was going away? Surely he would come back to them; he had comeback before.
Samba was leaving Ilombekabasi.
Four persons stood by the little bamboo bed. At the foot a dogcrouched, whimpering. Father and mother bent in mute agony over theirson; Lukela, the fountain of her tears dried through long weeping,hovering above her boy as though by sheer power of love to guard himfrom the dread visitant already at the threshold; Mboyo rocking himselfto and fro in the abandonment of sorrow. And the two white men bowedtheir heads in silent sympathy and grief. They knew that the end wasvery near.
Jack felt a great lump in his throat as he gazed at the still form,lying with outstretched arms, too weak to move. Poor little fellow!Was this the end of the bright young life, so full of promise? Hethought of the days of health, when the boy with happy face went hitherand thither, eager to do some service for his beloved master, no matterhow hard or how perilous. He thought of the dangers Samba had facedfor his parents' sake, and the brightness he had brought into theirlives and the lives of hundreds of his people. He thought with agonyof the terrible scene when Samba, rather than say a word to the undoingof those he loved, had endured the tortures inflicted by the inhumanagent of a detestable tyranny. And now the end was at hand! Theblithe spirit was departing, the poor body done to death by the greedof a Christian King. "Botofe bo le iwa! Rubber is death!" The wordsrang in Jack's ears; would they were the knell of this despotism, thismonstrous "system" that bought wealth with the price of blood!
The end came soon. Samba moved his hand, and turned his eyes, andmurmured "Pat!" The watchers barely caught the word, but the dogsprang up, and went to the bed, and nestled his head on the boy'sshoulder. Samba murmured his pleasure, a happy smile lit up the braveyoung eyes, and then the light faded, and went out. Samba had leftIlombekabasi.
They buried him next day in the forest he knew and loved so well, withthe ceremonies of his people, and as befitted the son of a chief.
All the people of Ilombekabasi, men, women, and little children,followed him to the grave. They laid by his side the few possessionsof the boy--his rifle, his knife, his tin, his wooden spear. And someof his comrades, Makoko and Lingombela and Lianza and Lepoko, fired asalute over him and left him there among the trees.
That night, sitting in Jack's hut, Barney talked of the past and thefuture.
"Poor ould master came here for gold, sorr. All the gold in all theworld is not worth little Samba's life. Whin the master looks down outuv Paradise and sees the people here, I know what he'll say, just as ifI heard 'm. He'll say: 'I was niver a philanthrophy, niver did houldwid that sort uv thing. But I'm rale glad that bhoy uv mine wint outwid me in time to make a few poor black people happy. Poor craturs!God bless 'em!' Sure, sorr, black people have got their feelings--sameas dogs."
THE END
_Butler and Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London_
Samba: A Story of the Rubber Slaves of the Congo Page 36