The Fire-Gods A Tale of the Congo by Charles Gibson (e book reader pc TXT) 📖

lift it. It’s as heavy as if it were filled

with lead. That’s why I’m sorry we’ve got to clear out. I mean to

discover what that chest contains."

 

"We’ve got to go," said Max. "I wouldn’t stay here another hour for all

the secrets in the universe."

 

"You’re quite right," said Crouch. "As the natives say on the Ogowe, ’a

bad man’s bread is poison.’ We’ll sheer off at once."

 

Edward went out, and returned in a few minutes with M’Wané and the four

Fans.

 

"M’Wané," said Crouch, still seated on the ground, "we’re going back to

Hippo Pool."

 

M’Wané smiled as though he were glad to hear it.

 

"That is good news," said he. "I do not like this place."

 

"Why?" asked Crouch, looking up.

 

"We have been told," said M’Wané, "that if we try to leave the camp, we

shall be shot by the Arab men."

 

"Have you found out anything?" asked Crouch.

 

M’Wané shook his head.

 

"I have seen no one," said he. "I know nothing. To speak the truth, I

am afraid."

 

In the half-light of morning, the party left the stockade. Their canoe

was moored to the bank of the river, in the place where they had left it

on the afternoon of the day before. They clambered into their places:

Max and his uncle to the stern seat, and Crouch to his old place in the

bows. Then the canoe shot out into mid-stream, and it was not until a

month later that any one of them looked again upon the mysterious

settlement of Makanda.

 

THE FIRE-GODS -CHAPTER IX--A THIEF BY NIGHT

 

It will be remembered that it had taken two and a half days to make the

journey to Makanda from Hippo Pool. They returned in seven and a half

hours, and even then the natives did little work with their paddles.

 

The fact was that, from the granite hills that almost surrounded the

station of the Portuguese, a number of small tributaries joined the

Hidden River. In consequence, a great volume of water flowed down to

Hippo Pool. The current became stronger every mile, since the banks

grew nearer together, and several jungle streams joined forces with the

river. The largest of these was the tributary which flowed into Hippo

Pool, along which had lain the latter part of the portage they had made

from Date Palm Island on the Kasai. Harden named this stream

Observation Creek, for a reason which we are just about to explain.

 

They camped on the east bank of Hippo Pool, at a place selected by

Crouch. Two courses lay open to them: they had either to remain here

indefinitely, or, leaving their canoe on the Hidden River, to return to

Date Palm Island by the route of their former portage. Never for a

moment had they had any intention of returning to the Kasai until they

had discovered something more definite concerning the mystery of

Makanda. That night, seated around their camp-fire, by the waters of

Hippo Pool, they held a council of war.

 

With this place as their base, they were resolved to operate against

Cæsar’s position farther up the river. That afternoon, M’Wané had

climbed to the top of a gigantic cocoanut-tree, some little distance

from the right bank of Observation Creek. Thence he had surveyed the

surrounding country, and it was largely on the information supplied by

M’Wané that Edward Harden drew up the sketch-map which proved so useful

to them throughout the eventful days that followed.

 

[Illustration: EDWARD HARDEN’S MAP OF THE COUNTRY OF THE FIRE-GODS.]

 

From that tree-top the broad course of the Kasai had been visible, its

gleaming waters showing here and there, white in the sunlight, to the

north and to the east. To the north-west, the course of the Hidden

River lay comparatively straight to the mangrove swamp where it joined

the larger stream. The rapids began three miles or so below Hippo Pool,

and there, according to M’Wané, the river was foaming white. Lower

still, it entered the Long Ravine, where great bare cliffs rose upright

on either side, and at the end of which was the waterfall of which the

Fans had spoken. On some days, when the wind was from the north, they

could hear the dull roar of the cataract, like thunder in the distance.

 

To the south-west, above the tree-tops of the forest, M’Wané had been

able to observe the crest-line of the red granite hills which enclosed

the station of Makanda. Almost due south, from out of the midst of the

forest, like a giant in a stubble-field, a great mountain towered into

the sky. On the northern slopes of this mountain the Fan chief had been

able to discern a little village, lying like a bird’s nest in a

declivity, thousands of feet above the dark, inhospitable forest. One

night, by firelight, on the banks of Hippo Pool, Edward Harden drew the

map on a piece of cartridge paper, though many of the features thus

shown were not filled in until further facts had come to light.

 

Their plan of campaign was evolved in the fertile mind of Crouch, though

Max, and even Edward, made several suggestions which the little

sea-captain was only too glad to accept. They named the mountain

Solitude Peak, and it seemed probable that it was in this direction that

the creek found its source.

 

They desired, if possible, to reach Makanda without the knowledge of

Cæsar and his Arabs. They did not doubt that they would be able to

overlook the stockade from some eminence in the eastern granite hill.

Now, since it was two and a half days’ journey up the river, it would

take them months to force their way through the jungle to the south.

They decided, therefore, to follow Observation Creek to its source,

which, they hoped, would be somewhere in the vicinity of the mountain.

There they might be able to glean some knowledge at the native village

which M’Wané had seen in the distance. At any rate, they would be able

to survey the surrounding country, and take the most accessible route in

the direction of Makanda.

 

However, neither Crouch nor Harden was the man to undertake anything

rashly. Each knew that in Cæsar they had an adversary who was not to be

despised. Before they set forth upon their expedition, they decided to

secure more ammunition and supplies from Date Palm Island, and for this

purpose it was decided that Edward Harden should return to the Kasai

with M’Wané and the Fans.

 

Accordingly, the next day the explorer set out, following the route of

their old portage along Observation Creek, and thence through the jungle

to the left bank of the great river opposite Date Palm Island. Edward

thought that he would be able to persuade the Loango boys to carry the

"loads" back to the base-camp at Hippo Pool. Then, if they still feared

to remain in the valley of the Hidden River, they could return to the

Kasai. That night, Crouch and Max were the only two who remained at the

little camp at Hippo Pool.

 

The next three days were by no means idle. Game had to be shot in the

forest; there was cooking to be done; they even carried the canoe ashore

and repaired a small leak which had been sprung in her bows. Moreover,

Crouch insisted that one or other of them should always be on watch.

With a good fire burning throughout the night, they had little to fear

from wild beasts. Even the leopard, which is a far more courageous

animal than the lion, must be well-nigh starving before it dares to

approach a camp-fire. What Crouch feared most was a raid on the part of

Cæsar. He knew enough of the tall Portuguese to suspect that the man

would not stay idle whilst the three Englishmen remained in the valley

of the Hidden River. In one of the many canoes they had seen tied up to

the river bank at Makanda, Cæsar could shoot down-stream in the space of

a few hours. There was therefore not an hour of the day or night that

one or the other of them was not seated on the river-bank, rifle in

hand, with his eyes turned towards the southern extremity of Hippo Pool.

 

Three days passed, and nothing of importance occurred. It was on the

third night that something happened which was so much in the nature of a

mystery as to be fully in keeping with the character of the whole valley

and the rumours they had heard. Though Captain Crouch had only one eye,

that eye was as the eye of a lynx; and the matter in question is all the

more worthy to relate, since the event first occurred by night, when

Crouch himself was on guard.

 

That day Max had shot his first buffalo, about half a mile from camp, on

the southern side of Observation Creek. The meat had been cut into

steaks, and one of these was cooked that night for breakfast in the

morning. Crouch relieved Max on sentry at twelve o’clock, with the

intention of keeping watch till daybreak. As Max turned over to go to

sleep, he distinctly remembered having seen the buffalo-steak on a tin

plate, a few inches from the fire. In the morning this steak was gone.

 

Crouch had seen nothing. He was prepared to swear that he had never

been to sleep. Throughout the morning the matter seemed to worry him a

good deal.

 

"I can’t make it out," he said, talking to himself, as was his wont. "I

don’t believe any leopard would do it. The beasts are terrified of

fire. A starving leopard might; but no leopard could very well starve

in a valley like this, which positively abounds in game." At various

intervals throughout the day he gave expression to the same opinion.

 

That night Max took the first watch, from seven o’clock to twelve.

During that period never once did he relax his vigilance. He sat, hour

by hour, with the fire at his elbow, and his face turned towards the

river. He was thinking that it was nearly time to awaken Crouch, and

had pulled out his watch, when he heard the sound of a breaking twig a

few feet behind him.

 

He turned sharply, and was just in time to discern the shadow of some

great beast disappearing into the jungle. His eyes shot back to the

fire, and there he beheld to his amazement that once again their

breakfast had disappeared. He immediately awoke the little sea-captain,

and told him what had happened.

 

"Did it look like a leopard?" asked Crouch.

 

"No," said Max, "I think it was a lion."

 

Crouch got to his feet.

 

"I don’t believe it," said he. "The king of beasts is the greatest

coward I know. The most courageous animal in the world is the African

buffalo, and after him come the peccary and the wild boar. All the cats

are cowards, and the lion the biggest of all. Once I was shooting

buzzard on the Zambesi, when I came face to face with a lion, not

fifteen paces from me. I had no one with me, and was armed only with a

shot-gun. What do you think I did?"

 

Max laughed. "Ran for it?" he suggested.

 

"Not a bit!" said Crouch. "That would have been sheer folly; it would

have showed the brute I feared him. I just dropped down on all-fours,

and walked slowly towards him."

 

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Max, unable to restrain his admiration.

 

"That lion," said Crouch, "looked straight at me for about three

seconds, and then quietly turned round and walked away, swishing the

flies from his body with his tail. As soon as he thought he was out of

sight, he broke into a gallop. It was beneath his dignity, I suppose,

to let me see he was frightened. He had got to live up to his

reputation."

 

"Is that actually true?" asked Max.

 

"As true as I’m standing here. All lions are naturally frightened of

anything they can’t understand. That particular animal couldn’t make me

out, didn’t like the look of me; so he just walked away. The lions in

this valley can have