A Master of Fortune: Being Further Adventures of Captain Kettle Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  THE LITTLE WOODEN GOD WITH THE EYES.

  The colored Mrs. Nilssen, of Banana, gave the pink gin cocktails a finalbrisk up with the swizzle-stick, poured them out with accurate division,and handed the tray to Captain Kettle and her husband. The men drank offthe appetizer and put down the glasses. Kettle nodded a word of praisefor the mixture and thanks to its concoctor, and Mrs. Nilssen gave aflash of white teeth, and then shuffled away off the veranda, andvanished within the bamboo walls of the pilotage.

  Nilssen sank back into his long-sleeved Madeira chair, a perfect wreckof a man, and Kettle sat up and looked at him with a serious face. "Lookhere," he said, "you should go home, or at any rate run North for aspell in Grand Canary. If you fool with this health-palaver any longer,you'll peg out."

  The Dane stared wistfully out across the blue South Atlantic waters,which twinkled beyond the littered garden and the sand beach. "Yes," hesaid, "I'd like well enough to go back to my old woman in Boston again,and eat pork and beans, and hear her talk of culture, and the use ofmissionaries, and all that good old homey rot; but I guess I can't dothat yet. I've got to shake this sickness off me right here, first."

  "And I tell you you'll never be a sound man again so long as you libfor Congo. Take a trip home, Captain, and let the salt air blow thediseases out of you."

  "If I go to sea," said the pilot wearily, "I shall be stitched up withinthe week, and dropped over to make a hole in the water. I don't knowwhether I'm going to get well anywhere, but if I do, it's right here.Now just hear me. You're the only living soul in this blasted Congo FreeState that I can trust worth a cent, and I believe you've got gritenough to get me cured if only you'll take the trouble to do it. I'm tooweak to take on the job myself; and, even if I was sound, I reckon itwould be beyond my weight. I tell you it's a mighty big contract. Butthen, as I've seen for myself, you're a man that likes a scuffle."

  "You're speaking above my head. Pull yourself together, Captain, andthen, perhaps, I'll understand what you want."

  Nilssen drew the quinine bottle toward him, tapped out a little hill offeathery white powder into a cigarette paper, rolled it up, andswallowed the dose. "I'm not raving," he said, "or anywhere near it; butif you want the cold-drawn truth, listen here: I'm poisoned. I've gotfever on me, too, I'll grant, but that's nothing more than a fellow hasevery week or so in the ordinary way of business. I guess with quinine,whiskey, and pills, I can smile at any fever in Africa, and have donethis last eight years. But it's this poison that gets me."

  "Bosh," said Kettle. "If it was me that talked about getting poisoned,there'd be some sense in it. I know I'm not popular here. But you're aman that's liked. You hit it off with these Belgian brutes, and youmake the niggers laugh. Who wants to poison you?"

  "All right," said Nilssen; "you've been piloting on the Congo some sixmonths now, and so of course you know all about it. But let me know abit better. I've watched the tricks of the niggers here-away for a goodmany years now, and I've got a big respect for their powers when theymean mischief."

  "Have you been getting their backs up, then?"

  "Yes. You've seen that big ju-ju in my room?"

  "That foul-looking wooden god with the looking-glass eyes?"

  "Just that. I don't know where the preciousness comes in, but it's athing of great value."

  "How did you get hold of it?"

  "Well, I suppose if you want to be told flatly, I scoffed it. You see,it was in charge of a passenger boy, who brought it aboard the _M'poso_at Matadi. He landed across by canoe from Vivi, and wanted steamerpassage down to Boma by the _M'poso_. I was piloting her, and I got myeye on that ju-ju[1] from the very first. Captain Image and that thiefof a purser Balgarnie were after it, too, but as it was a bit of a racebetween us as to who should get it first, one couldn't wait to be tooparticular."

  [Footnote 1: A ju-ju in West African parlance may be a large carved idol, or merely a piece of rag, or skin, or anything else that the native is pleased to set up as a charm. Ju-ju also means witchcraft. If you poison a man, you put ju-ju on him. If you see anything you do not understand, you promptly set it down as ju-ju. Similarly chop is food, and also the act of feeding. "One-time" is immediately.]

  "What did you want it for? Did you know it was valuable then?"

  "Oh, no! I thought it was merely a whitewashed carved wood god, and Iwanted it just to dash to some steamer skipper who had dashed me a caseof fizz or something. You know?"

  "Yes, I see. Go on. How did you get hold of it?"

  "Why, just went and tackled the passenger-boy and dashed him a case ofgin; and when he sobered up again, where was the ju-ju? I got it ashoreright enough to the pilotage here in Banana, and for the next two weeksthought it was my ju-ju without further palaver.

  "Then up comes a nigger to explain. The passenger-boy who had guzzledthe gin was no end of a big duke--witch-doctor, and all that, with arecord of about three hundred murders to his tally--and he had the cheekto send a blooming ambassador to say things, and threaten, to try andget the ju-ju back. Of course, if the original sportsman had comehimself to make his ugly remarks, I'd soon have stopped his fun. That'sthe best of the Congo Free State. If a nigger down here is awkward, youcan always get him shipped off as a slave--soldier, that is--to theupper river, and take darned good care he never comes back again. And,as a point of fact, I did tip a word to the commandant here and get thatparticular ambassador packed off out of harm's way. But that did nospecial good. Before a week was through up came another chap to tackleme. He spoke flatly about pains and penalties if I didn't give the thingup; and he offered money--or rather ivory, two fine tusks of it, worth amatter of twenty pounds, as a ransom--and then I began to open my eyes."

  "Twenty pounds for that ju-ju! Why, I've picked up many a one bettercarved for a shilling."

  "Well, this bally thing has value; there's no doubt about that. Butwhere the value comes in, I can't make out. I've overhauled it times andagain, but can't see it's anything beyond the ordinary. However, if anigger of his own free will offered two big tusks to get the thing back,it stands to reason it's worth a precious sight more than that. So whenthe second ambassador came, I put the price down at a quarter of a tonof ivory, and waited to get it."

  Kettle whistled. "You know how to put on the value," he said. "That'sgetting on for L400 with ivory at its present rates."

  "I was badly in want of money when I set the figure. My poor little wifein Bradford had sent me a letter by the last Antwerp mail saying howhard-up she was, and the way she wrote regularly touched me."

  "I don't like it," Kettle snapped.

  "What, my being keen about the money?"

  "No; your having such a deuce of a lot of wives."

  "But I am so very domesticated," said Nilssen. "You don't appreciate howdomesticated I am. I can't live as a bachelor anywhere. I always like tohave a dear little wife and a nice little home to go to in whatever townI may be quartered. But it's a great expense to keep them all providedfor. And besides, the law of most countries is so narrow-minded. One hasto be so careful."

  Kettle wished to state his views on bigamy with clearness and point, butwhen he cast his eyes over the frail wreck of a man in the Madeirachair, he forebore. It would not take very much of a jar to send CaptainNilssen away from this world to the Place of Reckoning which lay beyond.And so with a gulp he said instead: "You're sure it's deliberatepoisoning?"

  "Quite. The nigger who came here last about the business promised to setju-ju on me, and I told him to do it and be hanged to him. He was asgood as his word. I began to be bad the very next day."

  "How's it managed?"

  "Don't know. They have ways of doing these things in Africa which wewhite men can't follow."

  "Suspect any one?"

  "No. And if you're hinting at Mrs. Nilssen in the pilotage there, she'sas staunch as you are, bless her dusky skin. Besides, what little chopI've managed to swallow since I've been bad, I've always got out offres
h unopened tins myself."

  "Ah," said Kettle; "I fancied some one had been mixing up finelypowdered glass in your chop. It's an old trick, and you don't twig ittill the doctors cut you up after you're dead."

  "As if I wasn't up to a kid's game like that!" said the sick man withfeeble contempt. "No, this is regular ju-ju work, and it's beyond theBelgian doctor here, and it's beyond all other white men. There's onlyone cure, and that's to be got at the place where the poisoning palaverwas worked from."

  "And where's that?"

  Captain Nilssen nodded down the narrow slip of sand, and mangroves, andnut palms, on which the settlement of Banana is built, and gazed withhis sunken eyes at the smooth, green slopes of Africa beyond. "Demvillage he lib for bush," he said.

  "Up country village, eh? They're a nice lot in at the back there,according to accounts. But can't you arrange it by your friend theambassador?"

  "He's not the kind of fool to come back. He's man enough to know he'dget pretty well dropped on if I could get him in my reach again."

  "Then tell the authorities here, and get some troops sent up."

  "What'd be the good of that? They might go, or they mightn't. If theydid, they'd do a lot of shooting, collect a lot of niggers' ears, stealwhat there was to pick up, and then come back. But would they get what Iwant out of the witch-doctor? Not much. They'd never so much as see thebeggar. He'd take far too big care of his mangy hide. He wouldn't stopfor fighting-palaver. He'd be off for bush, one-time. No, Kettle, if I'mto get well, some white man will have to go up by his lonesome for me,and square that witch-doctor by some trick of the tongue."

  "Which is another way of saying you want me to risk my skin to get youyour prescription?"

  "But, my lad, I won't ask you to go for nothing. I don't suppose you areout here on the Congo just for your health. You've said you've got awife at home, and I make no doubt you're as fond of her and as eager toprovide for her as I am for any of mine. Well and good. Here's an offer.Get me cured, and I'll dash you the ju-ju to make what you can outof it."

  Kettle stretched out his fingers. "Right," he said. "We'll trade onthat." And the pair of them shook hands over the bargain.

  It was obvious, if the thing was to be done at all, it must be set aboutquickly. Nilssen was an utter wreck. Prolonged residence in thispestilential Congo had sapped his constitution; the poison wasconstantly eating at him; and he must either get relief in a very shorttime, or give up the fight and die. So that same afternoon saw Kettlejourneying in a dug-out canoe over the beer-colored waters of the river,up stream, toward the witch-doctor's village.

  Two savages (one of them suffering from a bad attack of yaws) propelledthe craft from her forward part in erratic zig-zags; amidships satCaptain Kettle in a Madeira chair under a green-lined white umbrella;and behind him squatted his personal attendant, a Krooboy, bearing thefine old Coast name of Brass Pan. The crushed marigold smell from theriver closed them in, and the banks crept by in slow procession.

  The main channels of the Congo Kettle knew with a pilot's knowledge; butthe canoe-men soon left these, and crept off into winding backwaters,with wire-rooted mangroves sprawling over the mud on their banks, andstrange whispering beast-noises coming from behind the thickets oftropical greenery. The sun had slanted slow; ceibas and silk-cottonwoods threw a shade dark almost as twilight; but the air was full ofbreathless heat, and Kettle's white drill clothes hung upon him clammyand damp. Behind him, in the stern of the canoe, Brass Pan scratchedhimself plaintively.

  Dark fell and the dug-out was made fast to a mangrove root. The Africanscovered their heads to ward off ghosts, and snored on the damp floor ofthe canoe. Kettle took quinine and dozed in the Madeira chair. Mistsclosed round them, white with damp, earthy-smelling with malaria. Thengleams of morning stole over the trees and made the mists visible, andKettle woke with a seaman's promptitude. He roused Brass Pan, and BrassPan roused the canoe-men, and the voyage proceeded.

  Through more silent waterways the clumsy dug-out made her passage, wherealligators basked on the mudbanks and sometimes swam up from below andnuzzled the sides of the boat, and where velvety black butterfliesfluttered in dancing swarms across the shafts of sunlight; and at lasther nose was driven on to a bed of slime, and Kettle was invited to "libfor beach."

  Brass Pan stepped dutifully over the mud, and Captain Kettle mounted hisback and rode to dry ground without as much as splashing the pipeclay onhis dainty canvas shoes. A bush path opened out ahead of them, winding,narrow, uneven, and the man with the yaws went ahead and gave a lead.

  As a result of exposure to the night mists of the river, Captain Kettlehad an attack of fever on him which made him shake with cold and burnwith heat alternately. His head was splitting, and his skin felt asthough it had been made originally to suit a small boy, and had beenstretched to near bursting-point to serve its present wearer.

  In the forest, the path was a mere tunnel amongst solid blocks of woodand greenery; in the open beyond, it was a slim alley betweengrass-blades eight feet high; and the only air which nourished them asthey marched was hot enough to scorch the lungs as it was inhaled. Andif in addition to all this, it be remembered that the savages he wasgoing to visit were practising cannibals, were notoriously treacherous,were violently hostile to all whites (on account of many crueltiesbestowed by Belgians), and were especially exasperated against thestealer of their idol, it will be seen that from an ordinary point ofview Captain Kettle's mission was far from appetizing.

  The little sailor, however, carried himself as jauntily as though hewere stepping out along a mere pleasure parade, and hummed an air as hemarched. In ordinary moments I think his nature might be described asalmost melancholy; it took times of stress like these to thoroughlybrighten him.

  The path wound, as all native paths do wind, like some erratic snakeamongst the grasses, reaching its point with a vast disregard fordistance expended on the way. It led, with a scramble, down the sides ofravines; it drew its followers up steep rock-faces that were bakedalmost to cooking heat by the sun; and finally, it broke up intofan-shape amongst decrepit banana groves, and presently ended amongst asqualid collection of grass and wattle huts which formed the village.

  Dogs announced the arrival to the natives, and from out of the housesbolted men, women, and children, who dived out of sight in thesurrounding patches of bush.

  The man with the yaws explained: "Dem Belgians make war-palaver often.People plenty much frightened. People think we lib for here onwar-palaver."

  "Silly idiots!" said Captain Kettle. "Hullo, by James! here's a whiteman coming out of that chimbeque!"

  "He God-man. Lib for here on gin-palaver."

  "Trading missionary, is he? Bad breed that. And the worst of it is, ifthere's trouble, he'll hold up his cloth, and I can't hit him." Headvanced toward the white man, and touched his helmet. "_Bon jour,Monsieur_."

  "Howdy?" said the missionary. "I'm as English as yourself--or ratherAmurrican. Know you quite well by sight, Captain. Seen you on thesteamers when I was stationed at our headquarters in Boma. What mightyou be up here for?"

  "I've a bit of a job on hand for Captain Nilssen of Banana."

  "Old Cappie Nilssen? Know him quite well. Married him to that Bengalawife of his, the silly old fool. Well, captain, come right into mychimbeque, and chop."

  "I'll have some quinine with you, and a cocktail. Chop doesn't tempt mejust now. I've a dose of fever on hand."

  "Got to expect that here, anyway," said the missionary. "I haven't hadfever for three days now, but I'm due for another dose to-morrowafternoon. Fever's quite regular with me. It's a good thing that,because I can fit in my business accordingly."

  "I suppose the people at home think you carry the Glad Tidings only?"

  "The people at home are impracticable fools, and I guess when I was 'wayback in Boston I was no small piece of a fool too. I was sent out here'long with a lot more tenderfeet to plant beans for our own support, andto spread the gospel for the glory of America. Well, the othertend
erfeet are planted, and I'm the only one that's got any kick left.The beans wouldn't grow, and there was no sort of living to be got outof spreading a gospel which nobody seemed to want. So I had to start inand hoe a new row for myself."

  "Set up as a trader, that is?"

  "You bet. It's mostly grist that comes to me: palm-oil, rubber,kernels, and ivory. Timber I haven't got the capital to tackle, and Imust say the ivory's more to figure about than finger. But I've got thebest connection of any trader in gin and guns and cloth in this section,and in another year I'll have made enough of a pile to go home, and Iguess there are congregations in Boston that'll just jump at having areturned Congo missionary as their minister."

  "I should draw the line at that, myself," said Kettle stiffly.

  "Dare say. You're a Britisher, and therefore you're a bit narrow-minded.We're a vury adaptable nation, we Amurricans. Say, though, you haven'ttold me what you're up here for yet? I guess you haven't come just insearch of health?"

  Captain Kettle reflected. His gorge rose at this man, but the fellowseemed to have some sort of authority in the village, and probably hecould settle the question of Nilssen's ailment with a dozen words. So heswallowed his personal resentment, and, as civilly as he could, told thecomplete tale as Nilssen had given it to him.

  The trader missionary's face grew crafty as he listened. "Look here, youwant that old sinner Nilssen cured?"

  "That's what I came here for."

  "Well, then, give me the ju-ju, and I'll fix it up for you."

  "The ju-ju's to be my fee," said Kettle. "I suppose you know somethingabout it? You're not the kind of man to go in for collecting valuelesscuriosities."

  "Nop. I'm here on the make, and I guess you're about the same. But Iwouldn't be in your shoes if the people in the village get to know thatyou've a finger in looting their idol."

  "Why?"

  "Oh, you'll die rather painfully, that's all. Better give the thing up,Captain, and let me take over the contract for you. It's a bit aboveyour weight."

  Kettle's face grew grim. "Is it?" he said. "Think I'm going to back downfor a tribe of nasty, stinking, man-eating niggers? Not much."

  "Well," said the missionary, "don't get ruffled. I've got no use forquarrelling. Go your way, and if things turn out ugly don't say I didn'tgive you the straight cinch, as one white man to another in a savagecountry. And now, it's about my usual time for siesta."

  "Right," said Kettle. "I'll siesta too. My fever's gone now, and I'mfeeling pretty rocky and mean. Sleep's a grand pick-me-up."

  They took off their coats, and lay down then under filmy mosquito bars,and presently sleep came to them. Indeed, to Kettle came so dead anunconsciousness that he afterward had a suspicion (though it was beyondproof) that some drug had been mixed with his drink. He was a man who atall times was extraordinarily watchful and alert. Often and often duringhis professional life his bare existence had depended on the faculty forscenting danger from behind the curtain of sleep; and his senses in thisdirection were so abnormally developed as to verge at times on theuncanny. Cat-like is a poor-word to describe his powers of vigilance.

  But there is no doubt that in this case his alertness was dulled. Thefatigue of the march, his dose of fever, his previous night ofwakefulness in the canoe, all combined to undermine his guard; and,moreover, the attack of the savages was stealthy in the extreme. Likeghosts, they must have crept back from the bush to reconnoitre theirvillage; like daylight ghosts, they must have surrounded the tradermissionary's hut and peered at the sleeping man between the bamboos ofthe wall, and then made their entrance; and it must have been with thequickness of wild beasts that they made their spring.

  Kettle woke on the instant that he was touched, and started to strugglefor his life, as indeed he had struggled many a time before. But thenumbers of the blacks put effective resistance out of the question. Fourof them pressed down each arm on to the bed, four each leg, threepressed on his head. Their animal faces champed and gibbered at him; theanimal smell of them made him splutter and cough.

  Captain Kettle was not a man who often sought help from others; he wasused to playing a lone-handed fight against a mob; but the suddenness ofthe attack, the loneliness of his surroundings, and the dejection due tohis recent dose of fever, for the first instant almost unnerved him, andon the first alarm he sang out lustily for the missionary's help. Therewas no answer. With a jerk he turned his head, and saw that the otherbed was empty. The man had left the hut.

  For a time the captive did not actively resist further. In a climatelike that of the Congo one's store of physical strength is limited, andhe did not wish to earn unnecessarily severe bonds by wasting it. As itwas, he was tied up cruelly enough with grass rope, and then taken fromthe hut and flung down under the blazing sunshine outside.

  Presently a fantastic form danced up from behind one of the huts,daubed with colored clays, figged out with a thousand tawdry charms, andcinctured round the middle by a girdle of half-picked bones. He waftedan evil odor before him as he advanced, and he came up and stood withone foot on Kettle's breast in the attitude of a conqueror.

  This was the witch-doctor, a creature who held power of life and deathover all the village, whom the villagers suffered to test them withpoison, to put them to unnamable tortures, to rob them as hepleased,--to be, in fact, a kind of insane autocrat working any whimthat seized him freely in their midst. The witch-doctor's power of latehad suffered. The white man Nilssen had "put bigger ju-ju" on him, andunder its influence had despoiled him of valuable property. Now was hismoment of counter triumph. The witch-doctor stated that he brought thisother white man to the village by the power of his spells; and thevillagers believed him. There was the white man lying on the groundbefore them to prove it.

  Remained next to see what the witch-doctor would do with his captive.

  The man himself was evidently at a loss, and talked, and danced, andscreamed, and foamed, merely to gain time. He spoke nothing but Fiote,and of that tongue Kettle knew barely a single word. But presently thecanoe-man with the yaws was dragged up, and, in his own phrase, wasbidden to act as "linguister."

  "He say," translated the man with the yaws, "if dem big ju-ju lib backfor here, he let you go."

  "And if not?"

  HE CAME AND STOOD WITH ONE FOOT ON KETTLE'S BREAST IN THEATTITUDE OF A CONQUEROR.]

  The interpreter put a question, and the witch-doctor screamed out a longreply, and then stooped and felt the captive over with his fingers,as men feel cattle at a fair.

  "Well?" said Kettle impatiently; "if he doesn't get back the wooden god,let's hear what the game is next?"

  "Me no sabbey. He say you too small and thin for chop."

  Captain Kettle's pale cheeks flushed. Curiously enough it never occurredto him to be grateful for this escape from a cannibal dinner-table. Buthis smallness was a constant sore to him, and he bitterly resented anyallusion to it.

  "Tell that stinking scarecrow I'll wring his neck for him before I'mquit of this village."

  "Me no fit," said the linguister candidly. "He kill me now if I saythat, same's he kill you soon."

  "Oh, he's going to kill me, is he?"

  The interpreter nodded emphatically. "Or get dem big ju-ju," he added.

  "Ask him how Cappie Nilssen can be cured."

  The man with the yaws put the question timidly enough, and thewitch-doctor burst into a great guffaw of laughter. Then after apreliminary dance, he took off a little packet of leopard skin, whichhung amongst his other charms, and stuffed it deep insideKettle's shirt.

  The interpreter explained: "Him say he put ju-ju on Cappie Nilssen, andcan take it off all-e-same easy. Him say you give Cappie Nilssen dis newju-ju for chop, an' he live for well one-time."

  "He doesn't make much trouble about giving it me, anyway," Kettlecommented. "Looks as if he felt pretty sure he'd get that idol, or elsetake the change out of my skin." But, all the same, when the questionwas put to him again as to whether he would surrender the image, heflatly refus
ed. There was a certain pride about Kettle which forbade himto make concessionary treaties with an inferior race.

  So forthwith, having got this final refusal, the blacks took him upagain, and under the witch-doctor's lead carried him well beyond theoutskirts of the village. There was a cleared space here, and on thebare, baked earth they laid him down under the full glare of thetropical sunshine. For a minute or so they busied themselves withdriving four stout stakes into the ground, and then again they took himup, and made him fast by wrists and ankles, spread-eagle fashion, tothe stakes.

  At first he was free to turn his head, and with a chill of horror he sawhe was not the first to be stretched out in that clearing. There werethree other sets of stakes, and framed in each was a human skeleton,picked clean. With a shiver he remembered travellers' tales on thesteamers of how these things were done. But then the blacks put downother stakes so as to confine his head in one position, and wereproceeding to prop open his mouth with a piece of wood, when suddenlythere seemed to be a hitch in the proceedings.

  The witch-doctor asked for honey--Kettle recognized the native word--andnone was forthcoming. Without honey they could not go on, and thecaptive knew why. One man was going off to fetch it, but then news wasbrought that the Krooboy Brass Pan had been caught, and the whole gangof them went off helter-skelter toward the village--and again Kettleknew the reason for their haste.

  So there he was left alone for the time being with his thoughts, lashedup beyond all chance of escape, scorched by an intolerable sun, bittenand gnawed by countless swarms of insects, without chance of sweepingthem away. But this was ease compared with what was to follow. He knewthe fate for which he was apportioned, a common fate amongst the Congocannibals. His jaws would be propped open, a train of honey would be ledfrom his mouth to a hill of driver ants close by, and the savage insectswould come up and eat him piecemeal while he still lived.

  He had seen driver ants attack a house before, swamp fires lit in theirpath by sheer weight of numbers, put the inhabitants to flight, and eateverything that remained. And here, in this clearing, if he wantedfurther proof of their power, were the three picked skeletons lyingstretched out to their stakes.

  There are not many men who could have preserved their reason undermonstrous circumstances such as these, and I take it that there is noman living who dare up and say that he would not be abominablyfrightened were he to find himself in such a plight. In these papers Ihave endeavored to show Captain Owen Kettle as a brave man, indeed thebravest I ever knew; but I do not think even he would blame me if I saidhe was badly scared then.

  He heard noises from the village which he could not see beyond thegrass. He heard poor Brass Pan's death-shriek; he heard all the noisesthat followed, and knew their meaning, and knew that he was earning arespite thereby; he even heard from over the low hills the hoot of asteamer's siren as she did her business on the yellow waters of theCongo, in crow flight perhaps not a good rifle-shot from where he laystretched.

  It seemed like a fantastic dream to be assured in this way that therewere white men, civilized white men, men who could read books and enjoypoetry, sitting about swearing and drinking cocktails under a decentsteamer's awnings close by this barbaric scene of savagery. And yet itwas no dream. The flies that crept into his nose and his mouth and hiseye-sockets, and bit him through his clothing, and the hateful soundsfrom the village assured him of all its reality.

  The blazing day burnt itself to a close, and night came hard upon itsheels, still baking and breathless. The insects bit worse than ever, andonce or twice Kettle fancied he felt the jaws of a driver ant in hisflesh, and wondered if news would be carried to the horde in theant-hill, which would bring them out to devour their prey without thetrain of honey being laid to lure them. Moreover, fever had come on himagain, and with one thing and another it was only by a constant effortof will that he prevented himself from giving way and raving aloudin delirium.

  It was under these circumstances, then, that the missionary came to himagain, and once more put in a bid for the ju-ju which lay at thepilotage. Kettle roundly accused the man of having betrayed him, and thefellow did not deny it with any hope of being believed. He had got toget his pile somehow, so he said: the ju-ju had value, and if he couldnot get hold of it one way, he had to work it another. And finally,would Kettle surrender it then, or did he want any more discomfort.

  Now I think it is not to the little sailor's discredit to confess thathe surrendered without terms forthwith. "The thing's yours for when youlike to fetch it," he snapped out ungraciously enough, and themissionary at once stooped and cut the grass ropes, and set to chafinghis wrists and ankles. "And now," he said, "clear out for your canoe atthe river-side for all you're worth, Captain. There's a big full moon,and you can't miss the way."

  "Wait a bit," said Kettle. "I'm remembering that I had an errand here.Can you give me the right physic to pull Captain Nilssen round?"

  "You have it in that leopard-skin parcel inside your shirt. I saw thewitch-doctor give it you."

  "Oh! you were looking on, were you?"

  "Yes."

  "By James! I've a big mind to leave my marks on you, you swine!"

  The trader missionary whipped out a revolver. "Guess I'm heeled, sonny.You'd better go slow. You'd--"

  There was a rush, a dodge, a scuffle, a bullet whistling harmlessly upinto the purple night, and that revolver was Captain Kettle's.

  "The cartridges you have in your pocket."

  "I've only three. Here they are, confound you! Now, what are you goingto do next? You've waked the village. You'll have them down on you inanother moment. Run, you fool, or they'll have you yet."

  "Will they?" said Kettle. "Well, if you want to know, I've got poor oldBrass Pan to square up for yet. I liked that boy." And with that, he setoff running down a path between the walls of grasses.

  A negro met him in the narrow cut, yelled with surprise, and turned. Hedropped a spear as he turned, and Kettle picked it up and drove theblade between his shoulder-blades as he ran. Then on through thevillage he raged like a man demented. With what weapons he fought henever afterward remembered. He slew with whatever came to his hand. Thevillagers, wakened up from their torpid sleep, rushed from the grass andwattle houses on every hand. Kettle in his Berserk rage charged themwhenever they made a stand, till at last all fled from him as though hewere more than human.

  Bodies lay upon the ground staring up at the moon; but there were noliving creatures left, though the little sailor, with bared teeth andpanting breath, stood there waiting for them. No; he had cleared theplace, and only one other piece of retribution lay in his power. Theembers of a great fire smouldered in the middle of the clearing, andwith a shudder (as he remembered its purpose) he shovelled up greathandfuls of the glowing charcoal and sowed it broadcast on the dry grassroofs of the chimbeques. The little crackling flames leaped up at once;they spread with the quickness of a gunpowder train; and in less than aminute a great cataract of fire was roaring high into the night.

  Then, and not till then, did Captain Kettle think of his own retreat. Heput the three remaining cartridges into the empty chambers of hisrevolver, and set off at a jog-trot down the winding path by which hehad come up from the river.

  His head was throbbing then, and the stars and the grasses swam beforehis eyes. The excitement of the fight had died away--the ills of theplace gripped every fibre of his body. Had the natives ambushed himalong the path, I do not think he could possibly have avoided them. Butthose natives had had their lesson, and they did not care to tamperwith Kettle's _ju-ju_ again. And so he was allowed to go on undisturbed,and somehow or other he got down to the river-bank and the canoe.

  He did not do the land journey at any astonishing pace. Indeed, it is awonder he ever got over it at all. More than once he sank down halfunconscious in the path, and up all the steeper slopes he had to crawlanimal fashion on all-fours. But by daybreak he got to the canoe, andpushed her off, and by a marvellous streak of luck lost his way in theinner chan
nels, and wandered out on to the broad Congo beyond.

  I say this was a streak of luck, because by this time consciousness hadentirely left him, and on the inner channels he would merely have died,and been eaten by alligators, whereas, as it was, he got picked up by aState launch, and taken down to the pilotage at Banana.

  It was Mrs. Nilssen who tediously nursed him back to health. Kettle hadalways been courteous to Mrs. Nilssen, even though she was as black andpolished as a patent leather boot; and Mrs. Nilssen appreciated CaptainOwen Kettle accordingly.

  With Captain Nilssen, pilot of the lower Congo, Kettle had oneespecially interesting talk during his convalescence. "You may as welltake that troublesome wooden god for yourself now," said Nilssen. "But,if I were you, I'd ship it home out of harm's way by the next steamer."

  "Hasn't that missionary brute sent for it yet?"

  Captain Nilssen evaded the question. "I'll never forget what you've donefor me, my lad. When you were brought in here after they picked you up,you looked fit to peg out one-time, but the only sane thing you coulddo was to waggle out a little leopard-skin parcel, and bid me swallowthe stuff that was inside. You'd started out to get me that physic, and,by gum, you weren't happy till I got it down my neck."

  "Well, you look fit enough now."

  "Never better."

  "But about the missionary brute?"

  "Well, my lad, I suppose you're well enough to be told now. He's got histrading cut short for good. That nigger with the yaws who paddled you upbrought down the news. The beggars up there chopped him, and I'm sure Ihope he didn't give them indigestion."

  "My holy James!"

  "Solid. His missionary friends here have written home a letter to Bostonwhich would have done you good to see. According to them, the man's ablessed martyr, nothing more or less. The gin and the guns are leftclean out of the tale; and will Boston please send out some moresubscriptions, one-time? You'll see they'll stick up a stained-glasswindow to that joker in Boston, and he'll stand up there with a haloround his head as big as a frying-pan. And, oh! won't his friends outhere be resigned to his loss when the subscriptions begin to hop in fromover the water."

  "Well, there's been a lot of trouble over a trumpery wooden idol. Ifancy we'd better burn it out of harm's way."

  "Not much," said Nilssen with a sigh. "I've found out where the valuecomes in, and as you've earned them fairly and squarely, the dividendsare yours to stick to. One of those looking-glass eyes was loose, and Ipicked it out. There was a bit of green glass behind. I picked out theother eye, and there was a bit of green glass at the back of that too."

  "Oh, the niggers'll use anything for ju-ju."

  "Wait a bit. I'd got my notions as to what that green glass was, and soI toted them in my pocket up and down the river and asked every man whowas likely to know a jewel what he thought. They aren't green glass atall. They're emeralds. They're come from the Lord knows where, but thatdoesn't matter. They're worth fifty pounds apiece at the very lowest,and they're yours, my lad, to do what you like with."

  Captain Kettle lay back on his pillow and smiled complacently. "Thatmoney'll just set up my Missis nicely in a lodging-house. Now I can goon with my work here, and know that whatever happens she and the kidsare provided for."

  "Eh, well," said Nilssen with a sigh, "she'll be nicely fixed up now. Iwish I could make provision like that for my old women."