Samba: A Story of the Rubber Slaves of the Congo Page 12

  CHAPTER IX

  Samba Meets the Little Men

  Samba had cheerfully accompanied Mr. Martindale's expedition, in theconfidence that one of its principal objects, if not indeed its mainone, was the discovery of his parents. Nando had told him, on theruins of Banonga, that the white man would help him in his search, andthe white man had treated him so kindly that he believed what Nandosaid. But as the days passed and the canoes went farther and fartherup stream, miles away from Banonga, the boy began to be uneasy. Morethan once he reminded Nando of his promise, only to be put off withexcuses: the white man was a very big chief, and such a trifling matteras the whereabouts of a black boy's father and mother could not beexpected to engage him until his own business was completed.

  Samba became more and more restless. He wished he could open thematter himself to the white men; but the few words of English he hadpicked up from Jack and Barney were as useless to him as anyschoolboy's French. Jack often wondered why there was so wistful alook upon the boy's face as he followed him about, much as Pat followedSamba. He spoke to Nando about it, but Nando only laughed. Sambabegan to distrust Nando. What if the man's assurances were false, andthere had never been any intention of seeking his father? The whitemen had been kind to him; they gave him good food; he was pleased withthe knife presented to him as a reward for his watchfulness; but allthese were small things beside the fact that his parents were lost tohim. Had the white men no fathers? he wondered.

  At length he came to a great resolution. If they would not help him,he must help himself. He would slip away one night and set off insearch. He well knew that in cutting himself adrift from theexpedition many days' journey from his old home he was exchanging easeand plenty for certain hardship and many dangers known and unknown.The forest in the neighbourhood of Banonga was as a playground to him;but he could not know what awaited him in a country so remote as this.He had never been more than half a day's journey from home, but he hadheard of unfriendly tribes who might kill him, or at best keep himenslaved. And the white men of Bula Matadi--did not they sometimesseize black boys, and make them soldiers or serfs? Yet all theseperils must be faced: Samba loved his parents, and in his case lovecast out fear.

  One morning, very early, when every one in the camp was occupied withthe first duties of the day, Samba stole away. His own treasured knifewas slung by a cord about his neck; he carried on his hip,negro-fashion, a discarded biscuit tin which he had filled with foodsaved from his meals of the previous day; and Mr. Martindale's knifedangled from his waist cord. It was easy to slip away unseen; the campwas surrounded by trees, and within a minute he was out of sight. Heguessed that an hour or two would pass before his absence wasdiscovered, and then pursuit would be vain.

  But he had not gone far when he heard a joyous bark behind him, and Patcame bounding along, leaping up at him, looking up in his face, as ifto say: "You are going a-hunting: I will come too, and we will enjoyourselves." Samba stopped, and knelt down and put his arms about thedog's neck. Should he take him? The temptation was great: Pat and hewere staunch friends; they understood each other, and the dog would beexcellent company in the forest. But Samba reflected. Pat did notbelong to him, and he had never stolen anything in his life. The dog'smaster had been good to him: it would be unkind to rob him. And Patwas a fighter: he was as brave as Samba himself, but a great deal morenoisy and much less discreet. Samba knew the ways of the forest; itwas wise to avoid the dangerous beasts, to match their stealth withstealth; Pat would attack them, and certainly come off worst. No, Patmust go back. So Samba patted him, rubbed his head on the dog's roughcoat, let Pat lick his face, and talked to him seriously. Then he gotup and pointed towards the camp and clapped his hands, and when Patshowed a disposition still to follow him, he waved his arms and spoketo him again. Pat understood; he halted and watched the boy till hedisappeared among the trees; then, giving one low whine, he trottedback with his tail sorrowfully lowered.

  Samba went on. He had come to the river, but he meant to avoid it now.The river wound this way and that: the journey overland would beshorter. He might be sought for along the bank; but in the forestwilds he would at least be safe from pursuit, whatever other dangers hemight encounter. At intervals along the bank, too, lay many villages:and Samba was less afraid of beasts than of men. So, choosing by theinstinct which every forest man seems to possess a direction that wouldlead towards his distant village, he went on with lithe and springygait, humming an old song his grandfather Mirambo had taught him.

  His path at first led through a grassy country, with trees and bush inplenty, yet not so thick but that the sunlight came freely through thefoliage, making many shining circles on the ground. But after abouttwo hours the forest thickened; the sunlit spaces became fewer, theundergrowth more and more tangled. At midday he sat down by the edgeof a trickling stream to eat his dinner of manioc, then set off again.The forest was now denser than anything to which he had been accustomednear Banonga, and he went more warily, his eyes keen to mark the tracksof animals, his ears alive to catch every sound. He noticed here thescratches of a leopard on a tree trunk, there the trampled undergrowthwhere an elephant had passed; but he saw no living creature save a fewsnakes and lizards, and once a hare that scurried across his path as heapproached. He knew that in the forest it is night that brings danger.

  The forest became ever thicker, and as evening drew on it grew dark andchill. The ground was soft with layers of rotted foliage, the airheavy with the musty smell of vegetation in decay. Samba's teethchattered with the cold, and he could not help longing for Barney'scosy hut and the warm companionship of the terrier. It was time tosleep. Could he venture to build a fire? The smoke might attract men,but he had seen no signs of human habitation. It would at any raterepel insects and beasts. Yes--he would build a fire.

  First he sought for a tree with a broad overhanging branch on which hecould perch himself for the night. Then he made a wide circuit toassure himself that there were no enemies near at hand. In the courseof his round he came to a narrow clearing where an outcrop of rock hadprevented vegetation, and on the edges of this he found sufficient drybrushwood to make his fire. Collecting an armful, he carried itunerringly to his chosen tree, heaped it below the hospitable branch,and with his knife whittled a hard dry stick to a sharp point. Heselected then a square lump of wood, cut a little hollow in it, and,holding his pointed stick upright in the hollow, whirled it aboutrapidly between his hands until first smoke then a spark appeared.Having kindled his fire he banked it down with damp moss he found hardby, so as to prevent it from blazing too high and endangering his treeor attracting attention. Then he climbed up into the branch; there hewould be safest from prowling beasts. The acrid smoke rose from thefire beneath and enveloped him, but it gave him no discomfort, rather afeeling of "homeness" and well-being; such had been the accompanimentof sleep all his life long in his father's hut at Banonga. Curled upon that low bough he slept through the long hours--a dreamless sleep,undisturbed by the bark of hyenas, the squeal of monkeys, or the wailof tiger-cats.

  When he awoke he was stiff and cold. It was still dark, but even atmidday the sun can but feebly light the thickest parts of the CongoForest. The fire had gone out; but Samba did not venture to leave hisperch until the glimmer of dawn, pale though it was, gave him lightenough to see by. He was ravenously hungry, and did not spare the foodleft in his tin; many a time he had found food in the forest near hishome, and now that he felt well and strong, no fear of starvationtroubled him. Having finished his simple breakfast, he slung the emptycan over his hip and set off on his journey.

  For two days he tramped on and on, plucking here the red berries of thephrynia, there the long crimson fruit of the amoma, with mushrooms inplenty. Nothing untoward had happened. In this part of the forestbeasts appeared to be few. Now and again he heard the rapping noisemade by the soko, the gibber of monkeys, the squawk of parrots: once hestood behind a broad trunk and watched breathlessly as
a tiger-catstalked a heedless rabbit; each night he lighted his fire and found aserviceable branch on which to rest.

  But on the third day he was less happy. The farther he walked, thedenser became the forest, the more difficult his path. Edible berrieswere rarer; fewer trees had fungi growing about their roots; he had tocontent himself with forest beans in their brown tough rind. When theevening was drawing on he could find no dry fuel for a fire, and now,instead of seeking a branch for a sleeping place, he looked for ahollow tree which would give him some shelter from the cold damp air ofnight. Having found his tree he gathered a handful of moss, set fireto it from his stick and block, which he had carefully preserved, andthrew the smouldering heap into the hollow to smoke out noxiousinsects, or a snake, if perchance one had made his home there.

  The fourth day was a repetition of the third, with more discomforts.Sometimes the tangled vines and creepers were so thick that he had togo round about to find a path. The vegetation provided still lessfood, only a few jack fruit and the wild fruit of the motanga rewardinghis search. He was so hungry at midday that he was reduced tocollecting slugs from the trees, a fare he would fain have avoided.Fearless as he was, he was beginning to be anxious; for to make acertain course in this dense forest was well-nigh impossible.

  At dusk, when again he sought a hollow tree and dropped a heap ofsmouldering herbage into the hole, he started back with a low cry, forhe heard an ominous hiss in the depths, and was only just in time toavoid a python which had been roused from sleep by the burning mass.In a twinkling the huge coils spread themselves like a releasedwatch-spring beyond the mouth of the hole and along the lowermostbranch of the tree. With all his forest lore, Samba was surprised tofind that a python could move so quickly. The instant he heard theangry hiss he crouched low against the trunk, thankful that the reptilehad chosen a branch on the other side. Armed only with a knife, heknew himself no match for a twenty-foot python; had he not seen a younghippopotamus strangled by a python no larger than this? Like BrerRabbit, Samba lay low and said nothing: until the python, swingingitself on to the branch of an adjacent tree a few feet away,disappeared in the foliage. Then, allowing time for the reptile tosettle elsewhere, Samba sought safer quarters. The python's house wascomfortable, even commodious; but Samba would scarcely have slept assoundly as he was wont in uncertainty whether the disturbed owner mightnot after all return home.

  He felt very cramped and miserable when he rose next day to resume hisjourney. This morning he had to start without breakfast, for neitherfruits nor berries were to be had: a search among fallen trees failedeven to discover ants of which to make a scanty meal. Constant walkingand privation were telling on his frame; his eyes were less bright, hisstep was less elastic. But there was a great heart within him; heplodded on; he had set out to find his father and mother; he would notturn back. The dangers ahead could be no worse than those he hadalready met, and no experienced general of army could have known betterthan Samba that to retreat is often more perilous than to advance.

  In the afternoon, when, having found a few berries, he had eaten theonly meal of the day and was about to seek, earlier than usual, hisquarters for the night, he heard, from a short distance to the left ofhis track, a great noise of growling and snarling. The sounds were notlike those of any animals he knew. With cautious steps he made his waythrough the matted undergrowth towards the noise. Almost unawares hecame upon an extraordinary sight. In the centre of an open space,scarcely twenty feet across, a small man, lighter in hue than themajority of Congolese natives, was struggling to free himself from thegrip of a serval which had buried its claws deep in his body and thigh.Two other small men, less even than Samba in height, were leaping andyelling around their comrade, apparently instructing him how to act,though neither made use of the light spears they carried to attack thefurious beast. The serval, its greenish eyes brilliant with rage, wasan unusually powerful specimen of its kind, resembling indeed a leopardrather than a tiger-cat. It was bent, as it seemed, upon working itsway upward to the man's throat, and its reddish spotted coat was solike his skin in hue that, as they writhed and twisted this way andthat, an onlooker might well have hesitated to launch a spear at thebeast for fear of hitting the man.

  One of the little man's hands had a grip of the serval's throat; but hewas not strong enough to strangle it, and the lightning quickness ofthe animal's movements prevented him from gripping it with the otherhand. Even a sturdily-built European might well have failed to gainthe mastery in a fight with such a foe, and the little man had neitherthe strength nor the staying power to hold out much longer. Yet hiscompanions continued to yell and dance round, keeping well out of reachof the terrible claws; while blood was streaming from a dozen deepgashes in the little man's body.

  Samba stood but a few moments gazing at the scene. The instinct of theborn hunter was awake in him, and that higher instinct which moves aman to help his kind. Clutching his broad knife he bounded into theopen, reached the fainting man in two leaps, and plunged the blade deepinto the creature's side behind the shoulder. With a convulsivewriggle the serval made a last attempt to bury its fangs in itsvictim's neck. Then its muscles suddenly relaxed, and it fell dead tothe ground.

  Samba's intervention had come too late. The man had been so terriblymauled that his life was ebbing fast. His comrades looked at him andbegan to make strange little moaning cries; then they laid him on a bedof leaves and turned their attention to Samba. He knew that he was inthe presence of Bambute, the dreaded pigmies of the forest. Neverbefore had he seen them; but he had heard of them as fearless huntersand daring fighters, who moved about from place to place in the forest,and levied toll upon the plantations of larger men. The two little mencame to him and patted his arms and jabbered together; but heunderstood nothing of what they said. By signs he explained to themthat he was hungry. Then, leaving their wounded comrade to his fate,they took Samba by the hands and led him rapidly into the forest,following a path which could scarcely have been detected by any exceptthemselves. In some twenty minutes they arrived at a clearing wherestood a group of two score small huts, like beehives, no more than fourfeet high, with an opening eighteen inches square, just large enough toallow a pigmy to creep through. Pigmies, men and women, were squattingaround--ugly little people, but well-made and muscular, with leaves andgrass aprons for all clothing, and devoid of such ornaments as anordinary negro loves.

  They sprang up as Samba approached between his guides, and a greatbabel of question and answer arose, like the chattering of monkeys.The story was told; none showed any concern for the man left to die;the Bambute acknowledge no ties, and seem to have little familyaffection. A plentiful dinner of antelope flesh and bananas was soonplaced before Samba, and it was clear that the pigmies were ready tomake much of the stranger who had so boldly attacked the serval.

  One of them knew a little of a Congolese dialect, and he succeeded inmaking Samba understand that the chief was pleased with him, and wishedto adopt him as his son. Samba shook his head and smiled: his ownparents were alive, he said; he wished for no others. This made thechief angry. The chiefs of some of the big men had often adopted pigmyboys and made slaves of them; it was now his turn. The whole communityscowled and snarled so fiercely that Samba thought the safest coursewas to feign acquiescence for the moment, and seize the firstopportunity afterwards of slipping away.

  But nearly three weeks passed before a chance presented itself. Thepigmies kept him with them, never letting him go out of their sight.They fed him well--almost too well, expecting his powers of consumptionto be equal to their own. Never before had he seen such extraordinaryeaters. One little man would squat before a stalk bearing fifty orsixty bananas, and eat them all. True, he lay moaning and groaning allnight, but next morning would be quite ready to gorge an equal meal.Since they did not cultivate the ground themselves, Samba wonderedwhere they obtained their plentiful supply of bananas and manioc. Helearnt by and by that they appropriated what they pleased fr
om theplantations of a neighbouring tribe of big men, who had too great arespect for the pigmies' poisoned arrows and spears to protest. Sambahoped that he might one day escape to this tribe, but a shifting of thevillage rendered this impossible, though it afforded the boy theopportunity for which he had so long been waiting.

  On the night when the pigmy tribe settled down in its new home, fourdays' journey from the old, Samba took advantage of the fatigue of hiscaptors to steal away. He had chosen the darkest hour before the dawn,and knowing that he would very soon be missed and followed up, hestruck off through the forest as rapidly as he could. With plentifulfood he had recovered his old strength and vigour, and he strode alongfleetly, finding his way chiefly by the nature of the ground beneathhis feet; for there was no true path, and the forest was almostcompletely dark, even when dawn had broken elsewhere. As the morningdrew on the leafy arcades became faintly illuminated, and he could thensee sufficiently well to choose the easiest way through the obstaclesthat beset his course.

  Despite all his exertions his progress was very slow. Well he knewthat, expert though he was in forest travel, he could not move throughthese tangled mazes with anything like the speed of the active littlemen who by this time were almost certainly on his track. At the besthe could hardly have got more than two miles' start. As he threadedhis way through the brushwood, hacking with his knife at obstructivecreepers, and receiving many a scratch from briar and thorn, he triedto think of some way of throwing the pursuers off the scent; but everyyard of progress demanded so much exertion that he was unequal to theeffort of devising any likely ruse.

  Suddenly coming upon a shallow stream about two yards wide that ranacross his line of march, he saw in a flash a chance of covering histrail. He stepped into the stream, pausing for a moment to drink, thenwaded a few paces against the current, narrowly scanning the borderingtrees. They showed a close network of interlacing branches, one treeencroaching on another. Choosing a bough overhanging the brook, justabove his head, Samba drew himself up into the tree, taking care thatno spots of water were left on the branch to betray him. Then,clambering nimbly like a monkey from bough to bough, he made a path forhimself through the trees at an angle half-way between the directionsof the stream and of his march through the forest. He hoped that,losing his track in the stream, the Bambute would jump to theconclusion that he was making his way up or down its bed, and wouldcontinue their chase accordingly.

  Among the trees his progress was even slower than on the ground. Everynow and again he had to return on his tracks, encountering a branchthat, serviceable as it might look, proved either too high or too low,or not strong enough to bear his weight. And he was making more noisethan he liked. There was not only the rustle and creak of partingleaves and bending twigs, and the crack of small branches that snappedunder his hand; but his intrusion scared the natural denizens of theforest, and they clattered away with loud cries of alarm--grey parrotsin hundreds, green pigeons, occasionally a hawk or the great blueplantain-eater. The screeches of the birds smothered, indeed, anysound that he himself might make; but such long-continued evidence ofdisturbance might awaken the suspicion of the little men and guide themto his whereabouts.

  By and by he came to a gap in the forest. The clear sunlight waswelcome as a guide to his course; but he saw that to follow thedirection which he believed would bring him towards Banonga he must nowleave the trees. He stopped for a few minutes to recover breath, andto consider what he had best do. As he lay stretched along a bough,his eye travelled back over the path he had come. The vagaries oflightning that had struck down two forest giants in close proximitydisclosed to his view a stretch of some twenty yards of the streamwhich he had just crossed on his primeval suspension bridge. Whatcaused him to start and draw himself together, shrinking behind a leafyscreen thick enough to hide him even from the practised eyes of thelittle forest men? There, in the bed of the stream, glancing this wayand that, at the water, the banks, the trees on every side, were a fileof Bambute, carrying their little bows and arrows and their short lightspears. They moved swiftly, silently, some bending towards the ground,others peering to right and left with a keenness that nothing couldescape. Samba's heart thumped against his ribs as he watched them. Hecounted them as they passed one after another across the gap; theynumbered twenty, and he was not sure that he had seen the first.

  The last disappeared. Samba waited. Had his ruse succeeded? Therewas absolute silence; he heard neither footstep nor voice. But thelittle men must soon find out their mistake. They would then cast backto the point where they had lost the scent. Could they pick it upagain--trace him to the tree and follow him up? He could not tell.They must have been close upon him when he climbed into the tree;evidently he had left the path only in the nick of time. This much hehad gained. But he dared not wait longer; there was no safety for himwhile they were so near; he must on.