The Country of the Dwarfs

Poor Igala complained of great pain and great thirst. "I shall die, Chally," said he; "I shall never see my daughter again!"

"If God wills it, you shall not die, Igala," I said.

Let us get ready. The Ashangos are coming silently this time; we hear their footsteps; they are in sight. We hid at the extremity of the village, and I shouldered my long-range rifle. The Ashango leader advanced, and as he was adjusting his bow I fired. His right arm dropped down broken and powerless by his side, and the next man behind fell with a crash in the bush in the midst of fallen leaves and branches. Rebouka fired, and down came another man, and one by one my men kept up the fire. The Ashangos had now received a momentary check. The bravest among them had fallen in the dust, and my men shouted to the Ashangos that fell, "You will never return by the path you came." The panic was over; my Commi men were ashamed to have acted as they had done.

We jogged on now leisurely till we came to a rivulet. I could not stand; I lay flat, and drank, and drank as much as I could. How fervently I wished Mouitchi was with us! Poor Mouitchi! where was he killed? His body must have been hacked to pieces. Another dog was missing; two only were left. They had been killed for being our friends, and finding out our enemies behind the trees.

The Ashangos began to learn how to fight us. We had not gone far when suddenly they came again in great numbers without uttering a war-cry. The path was most difficult when we became aware of their appearance; steep hill lay beyond steep hill; stream after stream had to be crossed, and we increased our speed, for we were to be under a disadvantage; but it was fortunate that we knew the ground by having been over it before. Suddenly a paralyzing thud, accompanied by a sharp pain, told me that I had been struck from behind my back or in flank by an unknown enemy. This time it was in my side that I was wounded. We were just going up a steep hill, and I turned to see my assailant. Igalo, the poor good fellow, the unfortunate cause of our woe, was by my side, and turned round also to see who had launched the missile. Lo, what do we descry lying flat on the ground among the dry leaves, still as death? An Ashango, crouched as still as a snake in its coil, his bright eyes flashing vindictively at me. Igalo, in the twinkling of an eye, discharged his gun at him, and the too-skillful bowman lay low, never to rise again. I could not help it – I felt sorry; I deplored that fight with my whole heart from the beginning. This time I was wounded badly. The arrow was bearded, small, and slender, and had gone deeply into my stomach, and if the leather belt which held my revolvers, and through which it passed, had not weakened its force. I should have been mortally wounded; but a kind Providence watched over me, and, though another wound disabled that poor, tired, worn-out body of mine, I did not grumble. I had reached that state in which I did not care. The trouble was that I had to go with that arrow in my body, for there was no time to disengage it.

My men came around me, for they saw that the pain had turned me deadly pale, and, though not a cry of anguish was uttered by me (for I, their chief, must teach them how to suffer), they saw that my strength was gradually giving away.

How painful that little bit of bearded arrow was as part of it lay inside, and the other part in the leather!

We were now near Mobana, and the Mouaou warriors, and those that had been added to them, were still pursuing us. Happily, we knew every hill and every stream. We crossed the Bembo, a stream with which you were made acquainted on our way east, and the ascent of the steep hill on the other side was terrible. The Mouaou warriors were shouting all the time, "Men of Mobana, do not let the Oguizi pass! They have killed our people!"

Approaching Mobana, we could hear the war-drums beating in the village, but fortunately the path led us by the end of the street, and as we passed we saw the Mobanians in battle array, and heard them sending fierce war-cries at us.

The Mobanians made common cause with the Mouaou people, and they were like a body of fresh troops coming to the rescue – they were not tired. The situation was becoming grave, especially if the people ahead of us were also in sympathy with the Mouaou people.

We recognized the leading Mobana warrior, armed with his bow and several quivers of arrows. Happily they were at some distance from us, and I ordered my men not to fire at them, thinking that perhaps when they saw that we did not desire to make war they might remain quiet in their village, and not pursue us.

We had no time to lose, for I knew that Mobana was situated on the top of a very steep and high hill, and of course I did not want to be taken in the rear by those savages, and subjected to a plunging fire of spears and arrows from their high elevation, from which they could look down on us.

"Boys," said I, "let us go down this hill quickly, so that we may reach the bottom and ascend the other before they come; then we shall have a great advantage over our enemies. We descended the hill, the multitude of savages following us, shouting, "Ah! ah! you run away! You do not know this forest; you shall never leave it; we will kill you all; we will cut your bodies to pieces!"

My blood was getting up. At last we reached the bottom of the hill, and began to ascend the other by the path. "Boys," said I, "don't you remember that there is a big fallen tree near the path up this hill where the jungle is very thick? We are getting weak; let us lay in ambush there, and be as silent as if we were all dead, and wait for the Ashangos."

After a while we came to the place I had spoken of, and in the thick bushes just by the side of the path, not far from the big fallen tree, I ordered Igala, Rapelina, and Ngoma to lie down together. On the other side, in a position which I thought would be a good one, I put Igalo, Macondai, and Rebouka. I myself kept the centre, facing the path, and could see tolerably well what was going on around.

We lay almost flat on the ground, nearly hidden by the underbrush, with our bags of bullets hanging in front, our flasks of powder handy, and our cartridges ready. We kept as silent as the grave, moving not a muscle, and hardly daring to breathe, and waited for the slightest rustling of the leaves as a warning that the Ashangos were coming.

Hark! hark! we hear a very slight distant noise, which seems as if an antelope or gazelle was passing through the forest. We look at each other as if to say, "They are coming." As by instinct we look at our guns and our ammunition, and see that every thing is ready for the fray. We were indeed desperate, for now we knew it was a death-struggle – that we must either vanquish the Ashangos or be killed by them.

The rustling in the midst of the leaves becomes more distinct, and we glance rapidly in front of us, on the right of us, on the left of us, and behind us.

We see the sharp-shooters forming the Ashango vanguard advancing carefully, with their bows and arrows in readiness. They came in almost a sitting posture. Now and then the leaders would stop to wait for the men behind, their fierce, savage faces looking all around at the same time, and their ears erect to catch the slightest sound. Suddenly they stop, perhaps to listen and know where we are. They look at each other as if to say, "We don't hear any thing," or perhaps they mistrust the bush ahead. Then I get a glimpse of the great Mobana warrior, and also of one of the leading Mouaou warriors. All at once they gave a cluck, the meaning of which I could not tell. Perhaps it meant danger.

I had been looking intently for a minute at these savages, when I cast a glance in the direction where Igala, Rapelina, and Ngoma were. Igala was aiming with an unerring and steady hand at the great Mobana warrior, and Rapelina was aiming at the Mouaou warrior; whether Ngoma was aiming at any one I could not see. It took only one glance for me to see what was going on in that direction. Then, turning in the other direction, I saw that Macondai, Rebouka, and Igalo were getting ready; they had also caught sight of some sly and silent enemy. I shouldered my rifle also. Not twenty seconds had passed after I had looked at Igala when I heard in his direction, bang! bang! The great Mobana warrior was shot through the abdomen, and uttered a cry of anguish, while Rapelina had sent a bullet through the lower jaw of the Mouaou warrior, smashing it completely. Ngoma fired, but I could not see the man he fired at. All at once, bang! bang! bang! I hear from Igalo, Macondai, and Rebouka's side. Bang! bang! bang! three guns from the other side. Bang! from my own gun.

"Well done, boys!" I cried. "Forward, and charge, and let us show the Ashangos we are men." We rush through the jungle in the direction from which the warriors had come. They are surprised; their leading chiefs are killed. Bang! bang! bang! from revolvers and guns; we are fighting like lions at bay. We are victorious; our enemies fly in abject terror.

We shouted to the fleeing Ashangos cries of defiance: "Come here! Come again; not one of you shall go back to your villages. We are coming; we will kill you all before night. You made war; we did not make it. Come and look at your dead in the forest. Come and fetch them if you dare! Tonight we are coming to your villages, and will destroy them!"

The voices of the Ashangos became fainter and fainter, and there were no more answers to our cries of defiance.

Some of us had been wounded again. As we came to a little stream, my exhaustion was such that every thing became dim before me; the trees of the forest seemed to be moving, and finally I fell almost unconscious to the ground. After a while I drank copiously of the refreshing water of the stream, for the poisoned arrows had given me an unquenchable thirst. The men drank also; none of us seemed ever to be satisfied. A few minutes after, and we drank again. Now we breathed more freely, and rested a little while, keeping a sharp lookout, however, at the same time. I examined the wounds of Igala and the others, and said, "Igala, don't be afraid; you are not going to die from the effects of the poisoned arrow. I am going to put in your wound something that will burn you, but do you good." It was ammonia. I applied it, and he gave a piercing shriek.

The slender, small, sharp-pointed, bearded arrow had remained in my body the whole of the day; two or three times I tried in vain to pull it out, but it seemed to stick fast in the flesh; so I took off the belt of my revolver, and said to Igala, "Pull that arrow out for me." He tried gently, but it would not come. I said, "Pull it with all your strength."

Oh how it pained! It was like a little fish-hook – a little bit of a thing, but it so tore the flesh that I felt like giving a cry of anguish. I became deadly pale, but did not utter a word; I wanted to set an example of fortitude to my men. Then I put ammonia in all my wounds and those of my men, for I always carried a little bottle of it to use in case of snake-bites. The blood had flowed freely from my finger, and I was sorry to see that my clothes were quite saturated, but the effusion of blood had carried off the poison.

I found that the effect of the poison was to bring on mortification of the flesh, and was not so dangerous as I had been led to believe, though I was very sick a few days after the fight.

After resting a while, and after equalizing our munitions of war, we shouldered our empty otaitais. Just as we were ready to start we heard again a rustling of leaves. Are the Ashangos coming back? We are silent, and look in the direction of the noise. We see a man – our guns are directed toward him. I make a sign not to fire, I do not know why – God directs me. Now and then he hides himself – stops – watches – he is advancing, not in the path, but a little way from it. The man comes nearer; we see a gun in his hand – it is Mouitchi! I am the first to recognize him. "Mouitchi!" I shouted. "I am Mouitchi," the answer was. He rushes toward us; he is safe; he is not even wounded, and with tremulous voice I said, "Boys, God is with us; I thank thee, Father." I could say no more, but this came from the inmost depths of my heart.

Mouitchi's story was this: He had mistaken the path in the panic, and finally had gone through the jungle and followed us by the halloing of the fierce Ashangos, but kept at a good distance from them. He heard them crying out that the great warriors of Mobana and of Mouaou were killed. They had fled in the utmost terror.

Poor Commi-Nagoumba was the only dog left; all the others had been killed. If I could have collected their bodies I would have dug a grave for them at the foot of a big tree, and written on it the words,

HERE ARE BURIEDTHE DOGSANDÈKO, ROVER, FIERCE, TURK, and NDJÈGOThey were faithful unto death

CHAPTER XXIX

TRAVELING WESTWARD. – A NIGHT IN THE FOREST. – PAUL'S SPEECH TO HIS MEN. – THEIR REPLY. – THE RETREAT RESUMED. – TAKING FOOD AND REST. – MEETING WITH FRIENDS

This meeting with Mouitchi revived for a while my failing strength. I saw in his safety the decree of a kind Providence. My warriors were by me; though wounded, none of us had been killed.

We continued our journey westward. The forest had resumed its accustomed stillness, undisturbed by the savage war-cries of the infuriated Ashangos. I felt so weak that it was with great difficulty I could walk. I had been obliged to get rid of my splendid formidable double-barreled breach-loading rifle by breaking the butt-end and throwing the barrel into the woods. I had tried as hard as I could to carry two guns, but at last I had to give up. Now I had only a smooth-bore to carry.

A little after we had resumed our march, as we walked silently in the forest, we met suddenly two Mobana women. Igala at once was going to shoot them; I forbid him doing it. Poor Igala said he did not like this way of making war; he said it was not the white man's country, and we ought not to fight in the white man's fashion. He was for shooting every Ashango he saw; and, pointing to our wounds, he said, "Don't you think they would have killed all of us if they had been able?" I answered, "Never mind, Igala; they will tell their people that, after all, we did not want to kill every body."

Poor women! they really thought they were going to be murdered, but they had no idea of what had taken place.

We went on, though I was becoming weaker and weaker. A high fever had set in, and my thirst continued to be intense; at the sight of a stream I thought I could drink the whole of the water. My men were pretty nearly in the same condition as myself.

Thus we traveled on till near sunset, when at last I said, "Boys, I can not go any farther; I can not walk, I am so weak, so weary, so ill. There is that big village of Niembouai-Olomba near us; we are all too tired to go through it and fight our way if the people want to fight us. It will soon be dark; let us leave the path, and go into the forest and rest. At midnight, when the people are asleep, we will go through the village, and continue our way toward the sea."

"You are right," said the men. "You are our chief; we will do as you say."

We left the path and plunged into the woods, and after a while we halted in one of the thickest parts of the forest, where no one could see us but that good and merciful God whose eye was upon us in that day of our great trials, and who had given us strength to contend with our enemies. We were hidden from the sight of man, and hundreds of miles away from the Commi country – I was thousands of miles away from my own. It was, indeed, a day of tribulation. The men were afraid to light a fire, for fear that it might betray our hiding-place. We did not even dare to speak aloud; we were almost startled at the rustling of the leaves, for we knew not but that it might be the enemy. Our pride had left us with our strength. We were helpless, wounded, weak, hungry; the future before us was dark and gloomy. What a picture of despondency we presented!

After a while we lay on the ground to sleep, muzzling our only dog, that he should not betray our hiding-place. Darkness came on, and the silence of the night was only broken by the mournful cry of a solitary owl that came to perch near us. In a little time my exhausted men thought not of leopards, or poisonous snakes, or hostile savages, in the deep slumber that enwrapped them. Igala alone now and then moaned from pain. The night air was misty and cold. As I lay awake on the damp ground, an intense feeling of sadness came over me. There was I, far from home. I thought of our northern climes, of spring, of summer, of autumn, of winter, of flakes of snow, of a happy home, of girls and boys, of friends, of schoolmates. I knew that if any of them could have been made aware of my forlorn condition they would have felt the tenderest sympathy with me in my misfortunes, and I thought if I could see them once more before dying I should die happy.

Hours passed by, and at last I thought it must be time to start. I took a match from my match-box, and lighted a wax candle (I always kept one in my bag), and looked at my watch. It was just midnight. We lay in a cluster, and I awoke my men in a moment. "Boys," said I, "it is time for us to start, for the hours of the night are passing away; the people of the village must have retired. Two of you must go as scouts, and see if the people of Niembouai-Olomba are asleep." Mouitchi and Igala at once started. "Be as cunning," said I, "as leopards, and noiseless as snakes."

After a while they came back, telling us that every body was asleep in the village of Niembouai-Olomba, and that we had better start immediately, "for," said they, "the first sleep is the deepest."

Then, calling my boys around me, I gave them what I thought might be my last words of admonition. With dead silence they waited for what I was going to say:

"Little did we know, boys, at sunrise this morning, what would happen to us to-day. Men can not look into the future. I was leading you carefully across that big country of the black man toward the land of the white man. I did not defeat the journey – one of you has done it. Poor Igalo is sorry for it, but no one is more sorry than I am, for I had set my heart on taking you by the okili mpolo. I was leading you on well to the white man's country. Now all hope of this is over. We are poor; every thing we had has been left behind, and we have nothing else to do but go back to the sea, following the road by which we came.

"In a little while we shall start. I have called you around me to give you advice, for I am ill and weary, and if there is much fighting to be done I am afraid I shall not have the strength to take part in it. If perchance you see me fall on the ground, do not try to raise me up; let me alone; don't be frightened. Stand close together; do not run, each man his own way. You have guns; you can reach the Commi country if you are wise as serpents, and then you will behold the beautiful blue sea and your Commi country once more.

"I have kept my word with your people. I have stood by you to the last. My boys, I have fought for you as resolutely as I could, but the time may be at hand when I shall be able to fight no more. I may be killed to-night, as I have said to you, or I may not be strong enough to raise my gun. Whatever happens, remain together; listen to Igala, your chief.

"We have lost nearly every thing, but these books (my journal), in which I have written down all we have done, are yet safe. If I fall, take them with you to the sea, and when a vessel comes, give them to the captain, and tell him 'Chally, Chally, our friend, the great friend of the Commi, is dead. He died far away, calmly, without fear, and he told us to give these to the white man.'3 Take also the watch I carry on my person, and that little box, which contains four other watches, aneroids, and compass, and give them to the captain. All the other things and the guns I give you to remember me by. You will give a gun to Quengueza, and a gun to Ranpano."

My men crept close around me as I spoke. I had hardly spoken the last words when they stretched their arms toward me, and these lion-hearted negroes wept aloud, and, with voices full of love and kindness, said, "Chally, Chally, you are not to die. We will take you alive to our people. No, no; we will all go back to the sea-shore together. You shall see the deep blue ocean, and a vessel will come and carry you back home. Do you think that, even if you were killed, we would leave your body here? No; we would carry it with us, and tarry somewhere and bury you where nobody could find you, for we do not want the people to cut off your head for the alumba. Chally, Chally, you are not to die."

"Boys," I answered, in a laughing tone, in order to cheer them up, "I did not say I expected to die to-night, only that I might die. You know that Chally is not afraid of death, and many and many times he has told you that men could kill the body, but could not kill the spirit. Don't you know that Chally knows how to fight? We are men. If I have talked to you as I have, it is because I want to prepare you for the worst. Be of good cheer, and now let us get ready."

We got up and girded our loins for the fight, and swore, if necessary, to die like brave men. We examined our guns by the light of the candle, and refilled our flasks with powder, and replaced our cartridges and bullets. Ncommi-Nagoumba, our last dog, was looking at us. He seemed to understand the danger, and to say, "Don't kill me; I will not bark." I looked at him and said, "Ncommi-Nagoumba, don't bark. You have been our friend. You discovered many of our enemies behind the trees ready to spear us, and you have warned us of our danger. Our friends, the other dogs, have been killed; you alone now stand by us, but we are not ungrateful, and we shall not kill you, Ncommi-Nagoumba. Don't bark, don't bark," I said to the dog, looking earnestly at him.

Then, shouldering our bundles and guns, we struggled through the entangled thicket, tearing ourselves with thorns, into the path, and at last came to the village street. We here paused, and called to each other in a low tone of voice, to make sure that no one was left behind, for it was so intensely dark that we could not see a yard before us. It was necessary to guard against any possible ambush. We then stepped forward like desperate men, resolved to fight for our lives to the last, and, entering the village, took the middle of the street, our feet hardly touching the ground. Igala carried Ncommi-Nagoumba in his arms, for we were afraid that, if suffered to run loose, he might possibly bark. I shall never forget that night. We threaded the long street cautiously, with our guns cocked, and ready at the slightest warning to defend ourselves. Onward we went, our hearts beating loudly in our terrible suspense, for we feared a surprise at any moment. Now and then we could hear the people talking in their huts, and at such times we would carefully cross to the other side of the street. At one house we heard the people playing the wombi (native harp) indoors, and again we crossed lightly to the other side, and passed on without having alarmed the inmates. Then we came to an ouandja where three men were lying by the side of a fire stretched out on their mats, smoking their pipes, and talking aloud. I was afraid Ncommi-Nagoumba would bark at them, but we passed without being detected. It was no wonder that we were afraid of every body, for we were so weak and helpless. Thus we continued our march through that long street, and it seemed as if we should never reach the end of it.

At last we came to the farthest confine of the village, rejoicing that we had so successfully avoided creating an alarm, when all at once a bonfire blazed up before us! As we stood motionless, waiting for the next move, a kind voice spoke out from the darkness, "It is the Oguizi people. Go on; you will find the path smooth. There is no more war for you." It was the voice of the old king of Niembouai-Olomba. But, being not sure that some treachery was not intended, we passed on without saying a word in reply to the kind speech of the chief. As it proved, however, instead of a death-struggle we had found friends.

On we went in the darkness of the night, losing the path at times, and finding it again; in swamps and water-courses, over stony hills, and through thorny brakes. Finally, at three o'clock, we came to a field of cassava. Here we halted, made a fire, gathered some of the roots, and, having roasted them, ate of them plentifully. This food renewed our strength. We had been more than thirty-three hours without a particle of nourishment.