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

of profit.

No one knows of my discovery. I intend no one to know. Paid labour is

not only expensive, but workmen would come and go at their pleasure, and

word of this would reach the Coast. That is precisely what I desire to

prevent. There would be talk of rights and royalties, and probably

international complications. At present it is not known that rubies can

be found in Africa. I cannot speak too highly of these gems. One of

these stones, weighing five carats, is worth at least twelve times as

much as a diamond of equal weight. I am prepared to receive your

congratulations."

 

It was some time before Max Harden spoke.

 

"Why is it," he asked, "that you tell me the secret you have kept for

years?"

 

Cæsar smiled again.

 

"Because," said he, "I number you among my slaves."

 

It was then that Max heard the jangling of a chain without the hut. The

Arab had returned.

 

Max was led forth into the moonlight. The storm was past, the water lay

inches deep upon the ground. There, shivering from fear, were five

slaves--men who had been born and bred in the Pambala village on the

mountain slope--fastened one to the other like so many dogs upon a

leash. At the end of the chain was an empty collar, which one of the

Arabs opened with a key. It closed with a snap around Max Harden’s

neck, and from that moment, according to the law of the slave trade, his

soul was not his own. The Arab cracked the whip he held in his hand,

and like a team of dumb, patient animals, the gang filed from the

stockade.

 

It wanted but an hour to daylight, but the misery of that hour stands

alone in the life of the young Englishman as the most terrible

experience that ever came his way. He found himself and his five

bond-companions confined in a narrow hut in which there was scarcely air

to breathe. They had to sleep upon straw mats spread upon the floor.

The long chain bound them one to another, so that if one man moved in

his sleep he disturbed the others.

 

There was no sleep for Max. Even had he desired to sleep he would not

have been able to do so. The place swarmed with mosquitoes, and, after

the rain, great pools of water lay upon the floor. For all that, the

majority of the natives lay down and slept like dogs, tired out by the

day’s work, and weary at heart at the implacable injustice of the world.

 

At daybreak the slaves were summoned to their toil. Gang after

gang--and there were six in all--filed out of the kraal, in charge of

the Arab drivers, and crossed the river by way of the suspension bridge.

 

At the quarry Max gained a more intimate knowledge of the workings of a

ruby mine than he had ever hoped to attain. He himself was set to work,

washing the dirt from the sifted rubies by the river bank.

 

The slaves remained at the workings from sunrise to sunset, during which

time they received two meals. Their food consisted of manioc and

plantains. They were given no meat. The gang which was employed in

washing, to which Max was attached, worked in chains.

 

These poor driven creatures took no interest in their task. They set

about their business mechanically, with never a smile upon their faces,

and though they were allowed to talk to one another, scarcely a word was

uttered. Whenever they found a ruby they expressed no satisfaction,

though it were worth a thousand times the price of their freedom. They

just handed it to Cæsar, who examined the quality of each stone under a

magnifying-glass.

 

That day there were two more cases of cholera; two more of these

unfortunate creatures were freed of their bonds to throw themselves down

upon the river bank to die.

 

Cæsar was utterly without pity. If a man fell ill he cursed him, and as

often as not, resorted to the whip. Max Harden felt that these things

sickened him. He had never dreamed that such barbarity could exist in

an age of enlightenment and toleration.

 

That night he slept--the sleep of those who are utterly exhausted. He

was over-burdened by the sights which he had seen. The unhappy lot of

these poor sufferers was like a mountain weight upon his heart. It was

a three-day nightmare, in which Cæsar stood for all that was terrible

and pitiless. None the less Max did not despair. His courage was

maintained by hope. He knew that as long as Crouch and Edward were in

the land of the living they would not rest until the slaves had been

avenged.

 

Cæsar knew now that Crouch had escaped from the jungle, and Max had been

saved as by a miracle from the rapids. But he had asked no questions.

He had gone back to his work at the quarry as if nothing unusual had

occurred. Perhaps he desired to fill his treasure-chest without delay,

and take his rubies to Europe. Perhaps he recognized already that the

game was up.

 

At daybreak Max was awakened by the Arab who had charge of his gang, and

once more he was marched out to the workings. That afternoon a strange

thing occurred: de Costa appeared at the quarry.

 

The Portuguese seemed genuinely glad to see the young Englishman. He

even grasped him by the hand.

 

It was now that Max saw how invaluable the half-caste was to Cæsar. The

man was a ruby expert. His business was to examine the gems, one by

one, and select those of the greatest value. His place was at the river

where the washing was in progress, whereas Cæsar himself superintended

the blasting of the rock.

 

De Costa drew near to Max.

 

"You saved my life," said he; "I have to thank you."

 

The Arab slave-driver was out of earshot, and even had he been able to

overhear them he could not have understood since they talked in English.

 

"If you wish to show your gratitude," said Max, "you can help me when

the time comes."

 

De Costa remained silent for a while, his weak, almost colourless eyes

staring at the water of the river.

 

"Yes," said he, "you saved my life. None the less I will die if I am

not taken to the sea. The fresh air, the sea breezes--these are better

than rubies, are they not?"

 

He was silent for some minutes, whilst Max continued with his work.

 

"There’s a ruby," said Max, selecting a small blood-red stone from the

handful of gravel he was washing.

 

De Costa looked at it and then threw it into a bag which lay at his

side.

 

"Yes," said he, "it is worth about five hundred pounds. But I was about

to ask you if you remember the night when you saved me from the whip?"

 

"I remember quite well," said Max.

 

"Do you know why he thrashed me? I was about to tell Crouch of the

rubies and the slaves, and Cæsar guessed it, and used the whip. Then

you came in, and Gyp flew at you. I am grateful for what you did."

 

De Costa sat cross-legged on the ground, with his eyes fixed upon the

river. The slaves saw nothing as they worked; long since their senses

had been numbed. Cæsar was engrossed in his business at the quarry; the

Arabs, with their loaded rifles in their hands, never moved their eyes

from the slaves. Max was the only one who looked about him.

 

His eyes were fixed upon the granite hills across the river, to the east

of the gorge. The sky-line was rugged, by reason of the great boulders

that lay upon the crest. Two of these were close together, and from

that position they bore a striking resemblance to two faces in

profile--that of an old man and a woman. As Max looked, the resemblance

became more lifelike. And then something dark passed from behind one

boulder to the next. It had been visible for no longer than an instant,

but in that instant Max recognized M’Wané.

 

He thought the matter out. If M’Wané was there, Crouch and Edward were

not far behind. He knew that they would see him through their glasses.

He continued with his work. It was above all necessary that Cæsar’s

suspicions should not be aroused.

 

In life things sometimes so happen that it is evident our fate is not

always in the hands of ourselves. There is a Divine Providence that

watches over us and is Master of the human will. Max had no sooner

decided to remain as servile and obedient as the most broken-hearted

negro in Makanda, when he was called upon to act.

 

The man next him, who early in the morning had complained of feeling

ill, now lay down upon the ground and uttered a groan. The Arab

approached and told him to get up. The poor fellow was not able to do

so, and though he tried his best he fell back again, saying that he

suffered the most violent pains.

 

At that, Cæsar drew near, whip in hand, and demanded to know what was

the matter. When he saw that here was another case of cholera, he flew

into a passion. He had no pity for the man. He merely regretted the

incident as a disaster, inasmuch as he had lost another workman. He

ordered the Arab to unlock the iron collar around the slave’s neck, and

then he raised his whip.

 

The long lash swung high into the air, and then came down upon the bare

back of the dying man. Two strokes fell, and the whip had been raised

for a third, when Max Harden flew like a wild beast at Cæsar’s throat.

 

So sudden was the onslaught that the Portuguese was taken by surprise.

Though Max was encumbered by the heavy chain which hung from his neck,

he had room enough in which to move. His fellow-bondsmen, unable to

believe the evidence of their eyes, ceased their work and stood together

in a crowd, their eyes dilated and their limbs trembling in fear.

 

Max paid no heed to them. He was like a mad dog on a leash that rushes

forth from its kennel and lays hold upon its victim. He took no heed of

the consequences. He neither thought what he was doing, nor asked

himself whether it were wise. He was just driven mad by the sight of

such inhuman cruelty.

 

He flung Cæsar to the ground, and before the man could rise, the whip

had been wrested from his hand. Max placed a foot upon his chest, and

the lash of the whip rose and fell, cracked, made circles in the air and

fell again, until Cæsar shrieked for mercy.

Never, since the Dark Continent had been traversed by Tippu Tib, and the

villages of the Upper Congo had been given over to plunder, had the

slave-driver’s whip been wielded with such remorseless energy. Cæsar

groaned and writhed upon the ground, and struggled blindly to rise. The

thong cut his cheek and hands, and the cruel knots which he himself had

tied tore the coat from his back, till his cries became fainter, and at

last he lay quite still. And at that, Max cast the whip in his teeth.

 

Throughout all this every one had remained motionless, rooted to the

spot. The whole thing had been so unexpected and so sudden. Nothing

like it had ever happened before.

 

De Costa stood by with chattering teeth. The very sight of Cæsar’s

punishment had set the ague shaking in his bones. The slaves were

petrified by fear. They looked on in breathless silence, with their

mouths opened wide and their heavy under-lips hanging so low as to show

their white teeth and gums. As for the Arabs, even they were too

surprised to act. They had known the Portuguese for two years, and they

knew that his word was law; not one of them would have dared for a

moment to defy him. On that account they could not believe what they

saw.

 

Cæsar rolled over on his face, and then struggled to his feet. He stood

for a moment swaying. Then he passed a hand across his eyes.

 

After that, he shot Max such a glance as it were impossible to describe.

Therein were passion, hatred and vengeance.

 

He felt in his pockets, as if he searched for something. It was his

revolver, which had fallen to the ground. Not seeing it, he staggered

to the Arab who was nearest, and held out his hand.

 

"Give me that," said he in Arabic.

 

The man, with the stoic indifference of all his race, handed over his

rifle, and Cæsar took it, though his hand was shaking like a leaf in the

wind. Step by step, he returned to Max. He walked like a drunken man.

There were great weals upon his face and hands, and there was blood upon

his