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  He was a ghost respected by all peoples – Akasava, Ochori, Isisi, N’gombi, and Bush folk. By the Bolengi, the Bomongo, and even the distant Upper Congo people feared him. Also all the chiefs for generations upon generations had sent tribute of corn and salt to the edge of the forest for his propitiation, and it is a legend that when the Isisi fought the Akasava in the great war, the envoy of the Isisi was admitted without molestation to the enemy’s lines in order to lay an offering at Bim-bi’s feet. Only one man in the world, so far as the People of the River know, has ever spoken slightingly of Bim-bi, and that man was Bosambo of the Ochori, who had no respect for any ghosts save of his own creation.

  It is the custom of the Akasava district to hold a ghost palaver to which the learned men of all tribes are invited, and the palaver takes place in the village of Ookos by the edge of the forest.

  On a certain day in the year of the floods and when Bosambo was gone a month from his land, there came messengers chance-found and walking in terror to all the principal cities and villages of the Akasava, of the Isisi, and of the N’gombi-Isisi carrying this message: Mimbimi, son of Simbo Sako, son of Ogi, has opened his house to his friends on the night when Bim-bi has swallowed the moon.

  A summons to such a palaver in the second name of Bim-bi was not one likely to be ignored, but a summons from Mimbimi was at least to be wondered at and to be speculated upon, for Mimbimi was an unknown quantity, though some gossips professed to know him as the chief of one of the Nomadic tribes which ranged the heart of the forest, preying on Akasava and Isisi with equal discrimination. But these gossips were of a mind not peculiar to any nationality or to any colour. They were those jealous souls who either could not or would not confess that they were ignorant on the topic of the moment.

  Be he robber chief, or established by law and government, this much was certain. Mimbimi had called for his secret palaver and the most noble and arrogant of chiefs must obey, even though the obedience spelt disaster for the daring man who had summoned them to conference.

  Tuligini, a victorious captain, not lightly to be summoned, might have ignored the invitation but for the seriousness of his elder men, who, versed in the conventions of Bim-bi and those who invoked his name, stood aghast at the mere suggestion that this palaver should be ignored. Tuligini demanded, and with reason: “Who was this who dare call the vanquished of Bosambo to a palaver? for am I not the great buffalo of the forest? and do not all men bow down to me in fear?”

  “Lord, you speak the truth,” said his trembling councillor, “yet this is a ghost palaver and all manner of evils come to those who do not obey.”

  Sanders, through his spies, heard of the summons in the name of Bim-bi, and was a little troubled. There was nothing too small to be serious in the land over which he ruled.

  As for instance: Some doubt existed in the Lesser N’gombi country as to whether teeth filed to a point were more becoming than teeth left as Nature placed them. Tombini, the chief of N’gombi, held the view that Nature’s way was best, whilst B’limbini, his cousin, was the chief exponent of the sharpened form.

  It took two battalions of King Coast Rifles, half a battery of artillery and Sanders to settle the question, which became a national one.

  “I wish Bosambo were to the devil before he left his country,” said Sanders, irritably. “I should feel safe if that oily villain was sitting in the Ochori.”

  “What is the trouble?” asked Hamilton, looking up from his task – he was making cigarettes with a new machine which somebody had sent him from home.

  “An infernal Bim-bi palaver,” said Sanders; “the last time that happened, if I remember rightly, I had to burn crops on the right bank of the river for twenty miles to bring the Isisi to a sense of their unimportance.”

  “You will be able to burn crops on the left side this time,” said Hamilton, cheerfully, his nimble fingers twiddling the silver rollers of his machine.

  “I thought I had the country quiet,” said Sanders, a little bitterly, “and at this moment I especially wanted it so.”

  “Why at this particular moment?” asked the other in surprise.

  Sanders took out of the breast pocket on his uniform jacket a folded paper, and passed it across the table.

  Hamilton read:

  Sir,

  I have the honour to inform you that the Rt Hon. Mr James Blowter, his Majesty’s Secretary of State for the Colonies, is expected to arrive at your station on the thirtieth inst. I trust you will give the Right Honourable gentleman every facility for studying on the spot the problems upon which he is such an authority. I have to request you to instruct all Sub-Commissioners, Inspectors, and Officers commanding troops in your division to make adequate arrangements for Mr Blowter’s comfort and protection.

  I have the honour to be, etc.

  Hamilton read the letter twice.

  “To study on the spot those questions upon which he is such an authority,” he repeated. He was a sarcastic devil when he liked.

  “The thirtieth is tomorrow,” Hamilton went on, “and I suppose I am one of the officers commanding troops who must school my ribald soldiery in the art of protecting the Rt Hon. gent.”

  “To be exact,” said Sanders, “you are the only officer commanding troops in the territory; do what you can. You wouldn’t believe it,” he smiled a little shamefacedly, “I had applied for six months’ leave when this came.”

  “Good Lord!” said Hamilton, for somehow he never associated Sanders with holidays.

  What Hamilton did was very simple, because Hamilton always did things in the manner which gave him the least trouble. A word to his orderly conveyed across the parade ground, roused the sleepy bugler of the guard, and the air was filled with the “Assembly.” Sixty men of the Houssas paraded in anticipation of a sudden call northwards.

  “My children,” said Hamilton, whiffling his pliant cane, “soon there will come here a member of government who knows nothing. Also he may stray into the forest and lose himself as the bridegroom’s cow strays from the field of his father-in-law, not knowing his new surroundings. Now it is to you we look for his safety – I and the government. Also Sandi, our Lord. You shall not let this stranger out of your sight, nor shall you allow approach him any such evil men as the N’gombi iron sellers or the fishing men of N’gar or makers of wooden charms, for the government has said this man must not be robbed, but must be treated well, and you of the guard shall all salute him, also, when the time arrives.”

  Hamilton meant no disrespect in his graphic illustration. He was dealing with a simple people who required vivid word-pictures to convince them. And certainly they found nothing undignified in the right honourable gentleman when he arrived next morning.

  He was above the medium height, somewhat stout, very neat and orderly, and he twirled a waxed moustache, turning grey. He had heavy and bilious eyes, and a certain pompousness of manner distinguished him. Also an effervescent geniality which found expression in shaking hands with anybody who happened to be handy, in mechanically agreeing with all views that were put before him and immediately afterwards contradicting them; in a painful desire to be regarded as popular. In fact, in all the things which got immediately upon Sanders’ nerves, this man was a sealed pattern of a bore.

  He wanted to know things, but the things he wanted to know were of no importance, and the information he extracted could not be of any assistance to him. His mind was largely occupied in such vital problems as what happened to the brooms which the Houssas used to keep their quarters clean when they were worn out, and what would be the effect of an increased ration of lime juice upon the morals and discipline of the troops under Hamilton’s command. Had he been less of a trial Sanders would not have allowed him to go into the interior without a stronger protest. As it was, Sanders had turned out of his own bedroom, and had put all his slender resources at the disposal of the Cabinet Minister (taking his holiday, by the way, during the long recess), and had wearied himself in order to reach some subject o
f interest where he and his guest could meet on common ground.

  “I shall have to let him go,” he said to Hamilton, when the two had met one night after Mr Blowter had retired to bed, “I spent the whole of this afternoon discussing the comparative values of mosquito nets, and he is such a perfect ass that you cannot snub him. If he had only had the sense to bring a secretary or two he would have been easier to handle.”

  Hamilton laughed.

  “When a man like that travels,” he said, “he ought to bring somebody who knows the ways and habits of the animal. I had a bright morning with him going into the question of boots.”

  “But what of Mimbimi?”

  “Mimbimi is rather a worry to me. I do not know him at all,” said Sanders with a puzzled frown. “Ahmet, the spy, has seen one of the chiefs who attended the palaver, which apparently was very impressive. Up to now nothing has happened which would justify a movement against him; the man is possibly from the French Congo.”

  “Any news of Bosambo?” asked Hamilton.

  Sanders shook his head.

  “So far as I can learn,” he said grimly, “he has gone on Cape Coast Castle for a real aboriginal jag. There will be trouble for Bosambo when he comes back.”

  “What a blessing it would be now,” sighed Hamilton, “if we could turn old man Blowter into his tender keeping.” And the men laughed simultaneously.

  V

  There was a time, years and years ago, when the Ochori people set a great stake on the edge of the forest by the Mountain. This they smeared with a paint made by the admixture of camwood and copal gum.

  It was one of the few intelligent acts which may be credited to the Ochori in those dull days, for the stake stood for danger. It marked the boundary of the N’gombi lands beyond which it was undesirable that any man of the Ochori should go.

  It was not erected without consideration. A palaver which lasted from the full of one moon to the waning of the next, sacrifices of goats and sprinkling of blood, divinations, incantations, readings of devil marks on sandy foreshores; all right and proper ceremonies were gone through before there came a night of bright moonlight when the whole Ochori nation went forth and planted that post.

  Then, I believe, the people of the Ochori, having invested the post with qualities which it did not possess, went back to their homes and forgot all about it. Yet if they forgot there were nations who regarded the devil sign with some awe, and certainly Mimbimi, the newly-arisen ranger of the forest, who harried the Akasava and the Isisi, and even the N’gombi-Isisi, must have had full faith in its potency, for he never moved beyond that border. Once, so legend said, he brought his terrible warriors to the very edge of the land and paid homage to the innocent sign-post which Sanders had set up and which announced no more, in plain English, than trespassers would be prosecuted. Having done his devoir he retired to his forest lair. His operations were not to go without an attempted reprisal. Many parties went out against him, notably that which Tumbilimi the chief of Isisi led. He took a hundred picked men to avenge the outrage which this intruder had put upon him in daring to summon him to palaver.

  Now Sugini was an arrogant man, for had he not routed the army of Bosambo? That Bosambo was not in command made no difference and did not tarnish the prestige in Tumbilimi’s eyes, and though the raids upon his territory by Mimbimi had been mild, the truculent chief, disdaining the use of his full army, marched with his select column to bring in the head and feet of the man who had dared violate his territory.

  Exactly what happened to Tumbilimi’s party is not known; all the men who escaped from the ambush in which Mimbimi lay give a different account, and each account creditable to themselves, though the only thing which stands in their favour is that they did certainly save their lives. Certainly Tumbilimi, he of the conquering spears, came back no more, and those parts which he had threatened to detach from his enemy were in fact detached from him and were discovered one morning at the very gates of his city for his horrified subjects to marvel at. When warlike discussions arose, as they did at infrequent intervals, it was the practice of the people to send complaints to Sanders and leave him to deal with the matter. You cannot, however, lead an army against a dozen guerrilla chiefs with any profit to the army as we once discovered in a country somewhat south of Sanders’ domains. Had Mimbimi’s sphere of operations been confined to the river, Sanders would have laid him by the heels quickly enough, because the river brigand is easy to catch since he would starve in the forest, and if he took to the bush would certainly come back to the gleaming water for very life.

  But here was a forest man obviously, who needed no river for himself, but was content to wait watchfully in the dim recesses of the woods.

  Sanders sent three spies to locate him, and gave his attention to the more immediate problem of his Right Honourable guest. Mr Joseph Blowter had decided to make a trip into the interior and the Zaire had been placed at his disposal. A heaven-sent riot in the bushland, sixty miles west of the Residency, had relieved both Sanders and Hamilton from the necessity of accompanying the visitor, and he departed by steamer with a bodyguard of twenty armed Houssas; more than sufficient in these peaceful times.

  “What about Mimbimi?” asked Hamilton under his breath as they stood on a little concrete quay, and watched the Zaire beating out to mid-stream.

  “Mimbimi is evidently a bushman,” said Sanders briefly. “He will not come to the river. Besides, he is giving the Ochori a wide berth, and it is to the Ochori that our friend is going. I cannot see how he can possibly dump himself into mischief.”

  Nevertheless, as a matter of precaution, Sanders telegraphed to the Administration not only the departure, but the precautions he had taken for the safety of the Minister, and the fact that neither he nor Hamilton were accompanying him on his tour of inspection “to study on the spot those problems with which he was so well acquainted.”

  “OK” flashed Bob across the wires, and that was sufficient for Sanders. Of Mr Blowter’s adventures it is unnecessary to tell in detail. How he mistook every village for a city, and every city for a nation, of how he landed wherever he could and spoke long and eloquently on the blessing of civilisation, and the glories of the British flag – all this through an interpreter – of how he went into the question of basket-making and fly-fishing, and of how he demonstrated to the fishermen of the little river a method of catching fish by fly, and how he did not catch anything. All these matters might be told in great detail with no particular credit to the subject of the monograph.

  In course of time he came to the Ochori land and was welcomed by Notiki, who had taken upon himself, on the strength of his rout, the position of chieftainship. This he did with one eye on the river, ready to bolt the moment Bosambo’s canoe came sweeping round the bend.

  Now Sanders had particularly warned Mr Blowter that under no circumstances should he sleep ashore. He gave a variety of reasons, such as the prevalence of Beri-Beri, the insidious spread of sleeping sickness, the irritation of malaria-bearing mosquitoes, and of other insects which it would be impolite to mention in the pages of a family journal.

  But Notiki had built a new hut as he said especially for his guest, and Mr Blowter, no doubt, honoured by the attention which was shown to him, broke the restricting rule that Sanders had laid down, quitted the comfortable cabin which had been his home on the river journey, and slept in the novel surroundings of a native hut.

  How long he slept cannot be told; he was awakened by a tight hand grasping his throat and a fierce voice whispering into his ear something which he rightly understood to be an admonition, a warning and a threat.

  At any rate, he interpreted it as a request on the part of his captor that he should remain silent, and to this Mr Blowter in a blue funk passively agreed. Three men caught him and bound him deftly with native rope, a gag was put into his mouth, and he was dragged cautiously through a hole which the intruders had cut in the walls of Notiki’s dwelling of honour. Outside the hut door was a Houssa sentr
y and it must be confessed that he was not aware at the moment of Mr Blowter’s departure.

  His captors spirited him by back ways to the river, dumped him into a canoe and paddled with frantic haste to the other shore.

  They grounded their canoe, pulled him – inwardly quaking – to land, and hurried him to the forest. On their way they met a huntsman who had been out overnight after a leopard, and in the dark of the dawn the chief of those who had captured Mr Blowter addressed the startled man.

  “Go you to the city of Ochori,” he said, “and say ‘Mimbimi, the high chief who is lord of the forest of Bim-bi, sends word that he has taken the fat white lord to his keeping, and he shall hold him for his pleasure.’”

  VI

  It would appear from all the correspondence which was subsequently published that Sanders had particularly warned Mr Blowter against visiting the interior, that Sir Robert, that amiable man, had also expressed a warning, and that the august Government itself had sent a long and expensive telegram from Downing Street suggesting that a trip to the Ochori country was inadvisable in the present state of public feeling.

  The hasty disposition on the part of certain journals to blame Mr Commissioner Sanders and his immediate superior for the kidnapping of so important a person as a Cabinet Minister was obviously founded upon an ignorance of the circumstances.