The Fire-Gods A Tale of the Congo, Charles Gibson [most life changing books .txt] 📗

have I heard

anything said that was good."

 

At that the half-caste caught his under-lip in his teeth, and shot

Crouch a glance in which was fear, mistrust and anger. The sea-captain

did not appear to notice it, for he went on in the easiest manner in the

world.

 

"And who’s your friend?" he asked, indicating the tall man with the

black beard, who was now approaching with Edward Harden and Max.

 

"My friend," said he, "is a countryman of mine, a Portuguese, who has

assumed the name of Cæsar." The half-caste had evidently not forgotten

the insult which Crouch had hurled in his teeth; for now his demeanour

changed, and he laughed. "If Captain Crouch finds it necessary to

meddle in our affairs," said he, "I think he will find his equal in

Mister Cæsar."

 

Crouch paid no more attention to him than he would have done to a

mosquito; and before the man had finished speaking, he had turned his

back upon him, and held out a hand to the Portuguese.

 

"I trust," said he, "you’ve expressed your gratitude to Ted Harden, who,

instead of taking your life, preferred to extinguish your cigarette."

 

"I have already done so," said Cæsar, with a smile. "I hope to explain

matters later. The mistake was natural enough."

 

Crouch, with his one eye, looked this man through and through. He had

been able to sum up the half-caste at a glance. Cæsar was a personality

that could not be fathomed in an instant.

 

The man was not unhandsome. His figure, in spite of its extreme height

and thinness, was exceedingly graceful. The hair of his moustache and

beard, and as much as was visible beneath the broad-brimmed sombrero

hat, was coal-black, and untouched with grey. His features were

aquiline and large. He bore some slight resemblance to the well-known

figure of Don Quixote, except that he was more robust. The most

remarkable thing about him was his jet-black, piercing eyes. If there

was ever such a thing as cruelty, it was there. When he smiled, as he

did now, his face was even pleasant: there was a wealth of wrinkles

round his eyes.

 

"It was a natural and unavoidable mistake," said he. "I have been

established here for two years. You and your friends are, perhaps,

sufficiently acquainted with the rivers to know that one must be always

on one’s guard."

 

Unlike de Costa, he spoke English with a strong accent, which it would

be extremely difficult to reproduce. For all that, he had a good

command of words.

 

"And now," he went on, "I must offer you such hospitality as I can. I

notice the men in your canoes are Fans. I must confess I have never

found the Fan a good worker. He is too independent. They are all

prodigal sons."

 

"I like the Fan," said Edward.

 

"Each man to his taste," said Cæsar. "In the kraal yonder," he

continued, pointing to the village, "I have about two hundred boys. For

the most part, they belong to the Pambala tribe. As you may know, the

Pambala are the sworn enemies of the Fans. You are welcome to stay with

me as long as you like, but I must request that your Fans be ordered to

remain within the stockade. Will you be so good as to tell them to

disembark?"

 

"As you wish," said Edward.

 

At Crouch’s request, Max went back to the canoe, and returned with

M’Wané and the four Fans. Not until they had been joined by the natives

did Cæsar lead the way into the stockade.

 

They found themselves in what, to all intents and purposes, was a fort.

Outside the walls of the stockade was a ditch, and within was a

banquette, or raised platform, from which it was possible for men to

fire standing. In the centre of the enclosure were three or four

huts--well-constructed buildings for the heart of Africa, and

considerably higher than the ordinary native dwelling-place. Before the

largest hut was a flag-staff, upon which a large yellow flag was

unfurled in the slight breeze that came from the north.

 

It was into this hut that they were conducted by the Portuguese. As the

Englishman entered, a large dog, which had been lying upon the floor,

got up and growled, but lay down again on a word from Cæsar. The

interior of the hut consisted of a single room, furnished with a bed, a

table and several chairs, all of which had been constructed of wood cut

in the forest. As there were only four chairs, the half-caste, de

Costa, seated himself on a large chest, with three heavy padlocks, which

stood against the wall farthest from the door.

 

Cæsar crossed to a kind of sideboard, made of packing-cases, whence he

produced glasses and a bottle of whisky. He then drew a jug of water

from a large filter. These he placed upon the table. He requested his

guests to smoke, and passed round his cigarette-case. His manner, and

the ease with which he played the host, suggested a man of breeding.

Both Edward Harden and his nephew accepted cigarettes, but Crouch filled

his pipe, and presently the hut was reeking, like an ill-trimmed lamp,

of his atrocious "Bull’s Eye Shag."

 

"I owe you an apology," said Cæsar; "an apology and an explanation. You

shall have both. But, in the first place, I would like to hear how it

was that you came to discover this river?"

 

It was Edward Harden who answered.

 

"We were shooting big game on the Kasai," said he, "when we heard

mention of the ’Hidden River.’"

 

"Who spoke of it?" said Cæsar. His dark eyes were seen to flash in the

half-light in the hut.

 

"A party of Fans," said Edward, "with whom we came in contact. We

persuaded them to carry our canoe across country. We embarked upon the

river three days ago, and paddled up-stream until this afternoon, when

we sighted your camp, and nearly came to blows. That’s all."

 

Cæsar leaned forward, with his arms folded on the table, bringing his

dark face to within a few inches of the cigarette which Edward held in

his lips.

 

"Were you told anything," said he, in a slow, deliberate voice; "were

you told anything--of us?"

 

Edward Harden, being a man of six foot several inches, was one who was

guileless in his nature. He was about to say that the Fans had spoken

of the "Fire-gods," when an extraordinary occurrence came to pass.

 

Crouch sprang to his feet with a yell, and placing one foot upon the

seat of the chair upon which he had been sitting, pulled up his trousers

to the knee. In his hand he held a knife. All sprang to their feet.

 

"What is it?" they demanded, in one and the same breath.

 

"A snake," said Crouch. "I’m bitten in the leg."

 

 

THE FIRE-GODS - CHAPTER VI--CROUCH ON THE WAR-PATH

 

Both Cæsar and Edward hastened to the captain’s side. Sure enough, upon

the calf of his leg, were two small drops of blood, about a quarter of

an inch apart, where the fangs of the reptile had entered.

 

Crouch looked up at Cæsar. His voice was perfectly calm.

 

"Where’s the kitchen?" he demanded.

 

The tall Portuguese appeared suspicious.

 

"The kitchen is quite near at hand," said he. "Do you want to go

there?"

 

"Yes," said Crouch. "Lead the way. There’s no time to lose."

 

They passed out and entered a smaller hut, from which a column of smoke

was rising through a hole in the roof. In the centre of the floor was a

large charcoal brazier, at which a man was squatting in the

characteristic attitude of the East. Crouch lifted his eyebrows in

surprise when he saw that this man was an Arab.

 

"Tongs," said he in Arabic. "Lend me a pair of tongs."

 

The man, expressionless, produced the article in question.

 

Crouch took a piece of charcoal from the brazier, that was white-hot,

and, without a moment’s hesitation, he thrust this upon the place where

the poison had entered his flesh. As he underwent that agony, his

sallow face turned a trifle paler, his lips grew thinner, and his only

eye more bright; but never a groan, or even a sigh, escaped him.

 

At last he threw the charcoal back into the fire.

 

"That’s all right," said he. "It isn’t a pleasant remedy, but it’s

sure." Then he turned to Cæsar. "I should like a little whisky," said

"I feel a trifle faint."

 

He asked for Edward’s arm to assist him on his way, and no sooner were

they clear of the kitchen than he whispered in Harden’s ear--

 

"There’s nothing to worry about," said he. "I’m as right as rain. I

was never bitten at all. But I had to stop you somehow, or you would

have told that fellow what we heard of the Fire-gods. Mind, he must

know nothing."

 

When they got back to the hut, Cæsar gave Crouch half a tumblerful of

neat whisky, which the captain drained at a gulp. Needless to say,

their efforts to find the snake proved fruitless. Then Crouch again

complained of faintness, and asked permission to lie down upon the bed.

No sooner was he there than he closed his eyes, and soon afterwards was

sound asleep--if one was entitled to judge by his heavy breathing. Once

or twice he snored.

 

But, already, we have seen enough of Captain Crouch to know that, in his

case, it would not be wise to go by appearances. He was no more asleep

than he had been throughout those long hours when he had kept watch in

the bows of the canoe.

 

Cæsar motioned to Edward to be seated at the table, and Max took the

chair which had been formerly occupied by Crouch. De Costa remained

seated upon the chest.

 

"Let me see," said Cæsar; "of what were we speaking? Ah, yes, I

remember. I was asking if the natives had made any mention of us."

 

"We asked many questions," said Harden, "but they knew little or nothing

of the Hidden River. For some reason or other, they seemed to fear it."

 

Cæsar regarded Edward intently for a few seconds; and then, seeming

satisfied, he shrugged his shoulders.

 

"Their minds are filled with superstitions," said he. "And now it

remains for me to explain myself. I came to this valley two years ago.

I had already journeyed some distance up the Congo, in search of ivory.

I discovered that in the jungle in this valley elephants abound;

moreover, these elephants are finer than any others I have ever seen in

any part of Africa, even those of the East Coast, whose tusks are stored

at Zanzibar. I made this place my headquarters. I regard the whole

country as my own happy hunting-ground. I naturally resent all

new-comers, especially Europeans. I look upon them as trespassers. Of

course, I have no right to do so; I know that quite well. But you must

understand that here, in the heart of Africa, the laws of civilized

nations hardly apply. To all intents and purposes this country is my

own. In the kraal yonder I have two hundred of the finest elephant

hunters between the Zambesi and the Congo. I pay them well. I have

already a great store of ivory. In another two years I hope to retire

to Portugal, a wealthy man. That is all my story."

 

"How do you kill your elephants?" asked Edward. The hunting of big game

was the foremost interest of his life.

 

Cæsar smiled.

 

"You will not approve of my methods," said he. "You are a sportsman; I

am only a trader. I send my natives into the jungle, in the direction

in which a herd of elephants has been located. These fellows creep on

all-fours amid the undergrowth. They are as invisible as snakes. They

are armed with long knives, with which they cut the tendons of the

elephants’ hind-legs, just below the knee. If an elephant tries to walk

after that tendon has been severed, it falls to the ground and breaks

its leg. The great beasts seem to know this, for they remain motionless

as statues. When all the finest tuskers have been thus disposed of, I

come with my rifle and shoot them, one