Where he and his men went they left a wilderness behind them; but the amount of rubber they collected was most gratifying; and if Maranga stock stood high it was largely through their exertions. True, in twenty years there would be no people left in Maranga, even if there were rubber to collect. But after all that was not Monsieur Elbel's concern: in twenty years he would not be on the Congo; those who came after him must find their own collectors. He and the King took short views: sufficient unto the day--they were both men of business. Yes, as a man of affairs Guillaume Elbel was hard to beat. It was no wonder that the Comite had promoted him to the vacant post; if he had been pa.s.sed by, where would be the inducement to zeal, to loyal faithful service? Where indeed?

In the circ.u.mstances Monsieur Elbel was in good humour, a relaxation he rarely allowed himself. He drank the remains of his absinthe, tilted his chair back to the critical angle, and blowing a cloud of smoke skywards saw in the curling eddies visions of snug directorates in Brussels. Why not? He flattered himself there were none who knew more about the Congo than he; he could estimate to a few francs the possibilities of any district as expressed in rubber; and, what is more, he knew how to get it. With him the people always lasted as long as the rubber. There was no waste; he plumed himself on the point.

_He_ had never burnt a village before the rubber was exhausted, whatever might be said of other agents. For after all, his business was to promote commerce--that is, collect rubber--not mere destruction.

And if he did not know his business there was n.o.body who could teach him. Yes--his Majesty had an eye to men of his stamp. A directorate--a few directorates--a snug place at Court--who knows? ...

Monsieur Elbel again glanced at the official letter; and again smiled and blew a ring artistically true. Then his eye caught the word "expense," and his expression changed. This Ilola difficulty would not only reduce his rubber consignments; it would mean a considerable outlay--how much he did not like to think. And then there was the column of State troops now on its way. No doubt the Concession would have to pay for that, too. Peste! if only he could finish this business before Van Vorst came up! He did not desire the presence of Van Vorst or any other State officer, if it could be avoided. For there was gold in the stream, without a doubt; and those State officials were greedy rascals; they were capable of edging him out--they had no scruples--his moral claim would go for nothing, absolutely. Yes, the fort must be captured at once before Van Vorst came up. If only he could tap the water supply it would be easy enough. It could be done; the little fool had let out so much; but how?--that was what he had to find out, and his name was not Elbel if he couldn't do it.

He rose and went to the door of the tent. A few yards away, securely tied to the trunk of the slender palm, was a negro boy. Monsieur Elbel looked at him critically as if measuring his strength. Last night, although threatened with the chicotte, the boy had refused to speak.

Only once, when Elbel had offered him freedom and rewards if he would point out the source of the water in the camp above, did he open his lips, saying fiercely: "I will never tell you!"--betraying to the questioner that he had some knowledge of the secret. Now he had had twelve hours of hunger and thirst to help him to a more reasonable frame of mind. All night the cords had been eating into his wrists and ankles; he was weak from want of food, and consumed with an intolerable thirst. He stood there in the blazing sun, a listless, pitiable figure, held upright only by the thongs that bound his wrists; and Monsieur Elbel as he looked at him, felt not a little irritated. It was absurd that he should be inconvenienced; nay, more, that the development of the Concession should be delayed, and expense incurred--avoidable, unnecessary expense--expense without any return in rubber--all because this slip of a boy refused to tell what he knew.

Elbel beckoned to his servant and interpreter, standing close by, attentive and expectant.

"Tell him," he said, "that I will give him one more chance. If he will not speak he shall be thrashed with the chicotte until he does."

The man roughly grasped the boy by the shoulders and translated his master's words. The captive slowly shook his head.

"Fetch the chicotte," said Elbel sharply. "We'll see what that will do."

The man entered the tent, where the chicotte invariably lay ready to hand; and when he emerged the s.p.a.ce in front of Elbel's quarters was filling with Askari and their followers flocking like vultures to the feast. Samba, the son of Mboyo, chief of Banonga, was to be whipped.

Boloko had caught him last night: he was a clever man, Boloko. And Samba knew where the Inglesa got the water for his camp, the secret was to be cut from him by the chicotte. That was good; it would be a sight to see.

No time was lost. Elbel signed to the man as he approached, and stepping back left him a clear s.p.a.ce to swing the whip. The negro prided himself upon his skill; as Elbel's servant, indeed, he had more opportunities of perfecting himself with this typical instrument of Congo government than falls to most. He could deliver a stroke with great delicacy, raising only a long red weal upon the skin, or if the case called for real severity could cut the offender's flesh from his body almost as neatly as with a knife.

In this case his master desired information; it was not a mere question of punishing a sullen defaulter. He would begin gently lest the prisoner should lose the power of speech and shame the executioner before his master and the crowd.

A slight convulsive shiver shook the boy's frame as the whip fell, but he clenched his teeth and no sound escaped him. The man waited for a moment.

"Will you tell?"

There was no answer.

Again the whip rose and fell, this time with a more vicious sound; it was answered by a low groan; but still to the same question there was no reply.

By slow degrees the executioner increased the vigour of his stroke.

The Askari applauded, and surely he was meriting praise from his master, for after many strokes the prisoner was quite conscious, as his pallid face and staring eyes and clenched teeth clearly showed. And besides, did he not writhe and groan with every blow?

But there is no reckoning with the vagaries of the white man. The culprit's obstinate silence irritated Monsieur Elbel more and more as the punishment went on. It was intolerable that he should be defied in this way. It was a bad example to the natives. Where would the white man's authority be if this kind of thing were permitted? They would lose all respect: the collection of rubber would become a farce.

Suddenly he blazed out in anger, s.n.a.t.c.hed the whip from the hands of his servant, and, whirling it round his head, brought it down with all his force on the bruised and bleeding form. It cut a deep purple gash in the boy's back; but Monsieur Elbel's wrath had come too late; before the lash fell Samba had fainted.

Elbel hesitated for a moment; then, seeing that further punishment would be a mere waste of time, he gave a curt order. They cut Samba's cords and carried him away. He was to be whipped again to-morrow.

That afternoon Lepoko came to Jack with a broad grin on his face.

"Mbota come back, sah."

"That's the scout of Ma.s.sa Barney's who was captured, isn't it?"

"Yussah! He come back, sah. Oh! it make me laugh plenty much.

Elobela send Mbota back; he say, 'You go back, cut off Lokolobolo him head. Me gib you twenty, fousand, plenty, plenty bra.s.s rods!' Mbota say, 'All same, ma.s.sa. Anyfing what ma.s.sa like. Me get plenty men what help.' Den Mbota come back; he laugh, sah; Elobela plenty big fool fink him lib for hurt Lokolobolo."

"Bring Mbota to me at once."

When the man came, Jack got out of him a more lucid story than Lepoko had given. Elbel had promised freedom and large rewards if he would stir up a revolt against Jack, or a.s.sa.s.sinate him. The negro had readily promised, with no intention but to reveal the whole scheme to his beloved Lokolobolo.

Jack was still talking to the man when he heard loud cries. Running out of his hut, he found Barney clutching by the arm a strange negro, thronged about by a shouting crowd of the men of Ilombekabasi.

"Who is he?"

"'Tis wan uv Elbel's men, sorr. Lianza caught him in the forest, and brought him in. The men are simply mad to get at him, sorr, especially since they've heard uv what Elbel said to Mbota."

"Leave him to me. I will deal with him."

The men slowly dispersed. Jack took the trembling negro to his hut and questioned him.

"Do you know anything of Samba, the son of Mboyo and nephew of Boloko, one of your master's men?"

Yes, he knew.--Was there a man in Elobela's camp who did not know?--who had not exulted when the news spread that Samba, the best of Lokolobolo's scouts, had been captured and was to pay the penalty?

Surely not a man was absent when Samba suffered the torture. Had not many of them tried in vain to discover the secret which Samba would be forced to betray?

The scout described to Jack the whole pitiful scene, in the glowing language, with the telling dramatic gestures, which the negro has at command when he feels that his audience is interested. And while the man told his story Jack went hot and cold by turns--cold with sheer horror of the scene conjured up by the man's vivid words, hot with a great wrath, a burning pa.s.sionate desire to seek instant vengeance upon the evildoer.

Bidding Barney keep the negro carefully under guard, he went back to his hut, at the entrance to which Mr. Arlington had been anxiously watching the scene.

"It is devilish, sir," he burst out. "Elbel not only offers rewards for a.s.sa.s.sinating me, but he uses his brutal whip on a boy, to force him to reveal the secret of our water supply. Samba is probably half-dead--he fainted under the lash but would not betray us--brave little fellow! Think of the agony he must have suffered! And he is only one; thousands have suffered in the same way before him, and are suffering to-day in one part or another of this State. Do you blame me now, sir?"

"No, I don't blame you. I am deeply sorry for the poor boy. The whole thing is an outrage upon human nature, so revolting that any action that can be taken against it is fully justified. I have been thinking over what we said the other day. It is not for me to advise; indeed, my friends at home would open their eyes at the idea of my abetting resistance to authority; but I will give you my opinion. You must hold your fort. While the banner of revolt is kept flying there is always a prospect of forcing the hand of the officials in the direction of effective reform. They have an enormous area to control--a disaffected area seething with indignation against bitter wrong. A successful revolt will encourage outbreaks elsewhere. If you can only hold out; if you can make yourself strong enough here in this remote corner to defy the authorities, it will be an opportunity of forcing the government to terms--to the granting of elementary rights of justice and liberty to its own subjects, and the throwing open of this sorely-afflicted country to free intercourse with the outside world."

"Ah! If only I can do it, sir! But I can only hold the fort now by striking a blow at Elbel before his reinforcements join him. If the forces unite, they will be strong enough to carry on a strict siege.

Our food is giving out; the people have been for some time on half rations; they don't grumble, but it will have to be quarter rations soon, and then the end is not far off. We must either surrender or trek."

"If you have to trek, it would be better to do so at once, while you have food to take your party on your way."

"Yes, we must either do that or thoroughly beat Elbel. That would ease the pressure; the others would think twice before attacking us; they might even draw off until an overwhelming force could be brought against us. That would give time for us to grow more crops, and for you to go back to England, sir, and raise your voice against this atrocious government."

"I shall certainly do that. But you talk of fighting Elbel; have you thought of the risk?"

"Till my head aches with thinking. I know that failure will mean ruin.

It must be a smashing blow; pin-p.r.i.c.ks are no good; and I can't smash him without taking a large force out of the fort. If we were obliged to retreat we should be followed up; they might rush the fort, and there would be an end of everything."

"It is a difficult position. I can't help you; I am not a soldier--it seems to me you ought to be one, Mr. Challoner. I could take no active part; I should in any case be little good. I feel that you have landed me in a very awkward position," he added with a smile. "But it can't be helped now; I can only wait and see you go through with it."

At the back of Jack's mind there was another consideration which he did not mention. He could not have said how far he allowed it to count.

It was the bare chance of rescuing Samba--if Samba was still alive. If it had been put to him, he would probably not have admitted it. The good of the community could not be jeopardized by any action on behalf of an individual, whatever his claim; the circ.u.mstances were too critical. But that the fate of Samba was an additional argument in favour of the course he was on other grounds inclined to adopt there can be no doubt.

Next day the urgency of the situation was brought home to him. Two fires were seen at the appointed spot; Makoko had done his work. Five or six hours later, just after nightfall, Makoko himself came in. He reported that one white man with twenty soldiers in two canoes, with many paddlers, had started up river in advance of the bulk of the force, which had now reached camp at the head of the rapids. Jack guessed that the white man was the officer in command, probably the Captain Van Vorst of whom Elbel had spoken, coming ahead to view the position and select an encampment for his followers.

About noon on the next day there was a great sound of jubilation from the camp below. Van Vorst, if it was he, had arrived. He must have travelled night and day, the river route being so much longer than the forest one that otherwise he could hardly have reached the camp in another twelve hours. But his paddlers were no doubt pressed men from the riverine villages, costing nothing and having no rights, and a Congo State commandant in a hurry would not hesitate to drive them.