Samba: A Story of the Rubber Slaves of the Congo

  CHAPTER III

  Monsieur Elbel

  Samba made no resistance when Nando lifted him and carried him to thecentre of the clearing. He moaned once or twice as the Baenga pressedhis wounded arm, and almost fainted when he was laid on the groundbefore Mr. Martindale. But a sip from the traveller's flask revivedhim, and he smiled.

  "That's better," said Mr. Martindale. "Poor boy! He looks halfstarved. Have you any food about you, Nando?"

  "No, sah: get some one time."[1]

  He went off into the thicket, and soon returned with a couple ofscorched bananas. These Samba devoured ravenously.

  "Now I wonder if he could tell us all about it?" said Mr. Martindale."Ask him, Nando."

  Samba told his story. His dialect was different from Nando's, butthere is a freemasonry of speech among the tribes of the Congo, andNando understood. It was not so easy for the others to get at themeaning of Nando's strange jargon as he interpreted, but they listenedpatiently, and missed little of the narrative. Mr. Martindale sat onan upturned pot, Jack and Barney on charred logs. Nando squattedbeside Samba on the ground, and Pat thrust his muzzle contentedlybetween the boy's knees and seemed to sleep.

  The finding of Samba]

  One night, when the moon was at the full, a messenger had come intoBanonga village. The time was at hand when the agent of Bula Matadiwould attend to collect the tax--the weight of rubber exacted by theCongo State from every able-bodied man. The messenger reminded thechief that Banonga had several times been in default. Only a few menhad hitherto been punished, only a few women carried away as hostagesfor the diligence of their husbands. But the patience of Bula Matadiwas exhausted. If on this occasion the due measure of rubber was notforthcoming, the anger of Bula Matadi would blaze, the soldiers wouldcome, and the men of Banonga would have cause to rue their idleness.

  The chief listened in silence. He was old; his body was bowed, hisspirit broken. Life in Banonga was no longer the same since the whiteman came. All the joy of life was gone; the people spent their days inunremitting toil, endeavouring to satisfy the cry of their rulers forrubber, always rubber, more rubber. When the messenger arrived the menwere away hunting for rubber, but Mirambo knew that, were they doubledin number, they could not gather the quantity required. The vines intheir district were exhausted; the men had not been taught how to tapthem; they destroyed as they went, and now the whole district aroundBanonga would not yield half of what was demanded of them. The poorold chief trembled when he thought of the woe that was coming toBanonga, for he now knew from the fate of other villages on the riverwhat the messenger of Bula Matadi foreshadowed. Unless his men couldachieve the impossible, find rubber where there was none, the blowwould fall. And when it fell Banonga would be no more. The village alittle while ago so happy and prosperous would be destroyed, its peoplekilled or scattered. So it had happened to other villages: how couldhe hope that Banonga would be spared? The messenger indeed had spokenof the leniency of Bula Matadi, but the chief might have reminded himof the outrages the people had suffered; of the rapacity, the ruthlessbrutalities, of the forest guards. But he said no word of provocation;only, when the man had gone, Samba heard him mutter the terriblesentence now too often on his lips: "Botofe bo le iwa: rubber is death!"

  The day came: the agent of Bula Matadi appeared, with an armed escort.The men of Banonga had not returned. They came dropping in by ones andtwos and threes, worn out with their long quest. The rubber wasweighed: in many cases it was short; excuses were rejected, entreatiesscoffed at. The hapless victims suffered taunts, abuse, the terriblewhip. One, less enduring than the rest, resisted. This was thesignal. A dozen rifles were raised--a dozen shots rang out, strongforms lay writhing in the agony of death. A brief, sharp struggle;another fusillade; and the terrified survivors, men, women andchildren, fled helter-skelter to the forest, pursued by the shots ofthe soldiery, ruthless of age or sex. A raid was made upon theirdeserted huts: everything that had value for the native levies wasseized; then the match was applied, and soon what had once been aprosperous happy village was a heap of smouldering ruins.

  Samba saw it all. He remained dauntless by his grandfather's sideuntil a bullet put an end to the old chief's life; then he too fledinto the forest, to find his father and mother, his brothers andsisters. But he had delayed too long; one of the sentinels fired athim as he ran: his left arm was struck. He struggled on, but hisfriends were now out of reach: he could not find them. For severaldays he wandered about, supporting his life on roots and herbs in thevain search for his people. Then, growing hourly weaker, he crept backto his village, hoping that by and by the survivors would return totheir desolated homes, to rebuild their huts, and sow new crops. Butnone came. He was alone! And he had lain down among the trees--as hethought, to die.

  "Poor little fellow!" said Mr. Martindale. "How old is he, Nando?"

  "He say ten three years, sah," replied Nando after consulting the boy.

  "Thirteen. He looks older. This is a pretty kettle of fish. What canwe do with him?"

  "We must take him with us, uncle!" said Jack.

  "Take him with us, indeed! What can we do with him? We can't hunt forhis father and mother: he'd be of no use to us in our job. He wantsdoctoring: he might die on our hands."

  "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 thecanoe--gently, you know. Don't make him squeal."

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

  "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 Fridayrelationship."

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

  "A man of my girth!" said Mr. Martindale, chuckling. "But jokingapart, 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 aboys' home; and the little chap will be of no use to us in our properwork. For the life of me I don't see daylight through this."

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

  "And we may not--we may not, Jack. Still, have your way; only rememberhe's your protege; I wash my hands of him. And mind you, I'm not goingto start a crusade. There's been terrible work in this village: nomistake about it; but I'm not convinced it's the doing of white men: infact, I refuse to believe it."

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

  "That's where it is, you see. You Britishers employed Red Indians inour 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, Idare say Leopold will put a stop to it if representations are made tohim. It's none of my business, but I'll mention the matter when I getback 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 rudecraft was soon under way. For a time Samba lay asleep, with his armabout Pat's neck; but by and by, when the paddlers paused in the songwith which they accompanied their strokes, the boy awoke, and began tosing himself, in a low musical voice that struck pleasantly upon theear after the rougher tones of the men.

  "Bauro lofundo! (he sang); bauro lofundo! Bompasu la Liwanga baolindela 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 NewYork, Jack. But what does it all mean, anyway?"

  "Berrah nice song, sah," said Nando. "Me tell all 'bout it. People ofB
auro, sah, plenty bad lot. Bompasu and Liwanga been and gone after'long 'long into de forest, not come back till parrots one two freetwenty all dah."

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

  But further inquiry brought out the story. It appeared that a rubbercollector, not satisfied with exacting from the people of Bauro theusual quantity of rubber, had required them to furnish him by a certainday with twenty young parrots which he wished to take with him toEurope. Being unable to obtain so large a number by the given date,the people were declared to be surpassingly obstinate and wicked, andthe sentries Bompasu and Liwanga were let loose upon them until thetwenty parrots were delivered.

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

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

  In the course of a few hours the stream they had hitherto beennavigating ran into a larger tributary of the Congo some hundred andfifty miles above the point where it joined the main river. The canoehad scarcely entered the broader river when the crew suddenly stoppedpaddling, 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, hadprevented the State officers hitherto from bringing steam launches intothis part of the river. Evidently the vessel now approaching must havebeen carried, as a whole or in sections, overland past these rapids--awork of great difficulty and labour, for the rapids were at least threemiles in length, and the shores were at some parts rocky, at otherscovered with dense scrub.

  Almost before Nando had finished his explanation the canoe had been putabout, and the men began to paddle hard up stream towards the mouth ofthe 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. Hewould 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 saysomething that would lead to a row with the Company."

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

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

  "Who are you?" shouted Jack in English.

  The foreigner in the bow of the launch was somewhat taken aback. Hehad thought to do the questioning, not to be questioned. But hereplied 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 wasa short thick-set man with reddish hair, and a thick red moustache thatstuck out rigidly a couple of inches on each side of his nose. He worea white topee and white trousers, but his coat was blue, with brassbuttons, and gold lace at the shoulders. All but himself on deck werenegroes.

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

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

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

  The Belgian looked in the direction pointed out, and the negro followedup his exclamation with a rapid excited sentence. Monsieur Elbel atonce sent the launch in pursuit of the canoe, ran her alongside, andcried:

  "Halt! I bid you halt. You are rude. I vill run you down if you havenot care. Dat boy I see in your canoe I know him; he belong to mysociete: I demand him to be given up."

  "Not so fast, Mr. Elbel. I treat men as they treat me. You have noright 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 theworld. Besides, I have a patent from your company. I propose tocontinue my journey."

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

  "Sorry I can't oblige you. The boy is in my service: he has beenwounded--perhaps you know how; nothing but an order from the Free Statecourts will compel me to give him up. And even then I won't, knowingwhat I know. That's flat, Mr. Elbel. You stop me at your risk. Goahead, Nando."

  The negroes dug their paddles into the water, and the canoe darted pastthe side of the launch. Monsieur Elbel bit his moustache and savagelytugged its ends; then, completely losing control of his temper, heshouted--

  "You hear; I varn you. You act illegal; you come to seek for gold; datis your business: it is not your business to meddle yourself viz denatif. I report you!"

  The launch snorted away up stream, the canoe continued its journey at amoderate pace, and each was soon out of sight of the other.

  For some minutes Mr. Martindale seemed preoccupied.

  "What is it, uncle?" asked Jack after a time.

  "I was thinking over what that fellow Elbel said. He knows more aboutour business here than I quite like. Of course they all know we'reafter minerals, but Barnard's find is not the dead secret he thought itwas. Or say, Jack, d'you think we are being watched?"

  "Perhaps he was fishing?"

  "I don't think so, for he didn't wait for an answer. However, weneedn't meet our difficulties half-way. Anyhow, 'twill do Mr. Elbel noharm to know that we don't care a red cent for him or any other Congoman. I suppose he's in charge of this section. But what on earth didthe fellow want with the boy?"

  Nando, without ceasing to ply his paddle, turned his head and spokeover his shoulder to Samba, now wide awake.

  "Samba say him uncle dah, sah: uncle Boloko, plenty bad man."

  "A wicked uncle, eh?"

  "He berrah angry, sah, 'cos Samba him fader hab got plenty more wives,sah; must be chief some day. Boloko he want to be chief: berrah well:Banonga men all say 'Lako! lako!'[3] plenty loud. Boloko berrah muchangry: go to white men: tell berrah bad fings 'bout Banonga men. Sambasay Banonga men lib for cut off Boloko his head if catch him."

  "Wigs on the green, Jack. Then I guess this Boloko fellow wanted toget in first. Well, it doesn't raise my opinion of Mr. Elbel; you knowa man by the company he keeps, eh?"

  "And the Company by him, uncle."

  [1] Immediately.

  [2] Exclamation of surprise.

  [3] Exclamation of refusal.