The Fire-Gods A Tale of the Congo by Charles Gibson (classic books for 7th graders TXT) 📕

if a fire-arm was lost or broken, they could not buy a new one in the

heart of Africa. They had therefore equipped themselves with a battery

of several rifles, including Remingtons, Expresses and Winchester

repeaters, besides several shot-guns and revolvers.

On the evening of that day, when he was expecting Crouch’s return at any

moment, Max walked to the northern extremity of the island. When there,

his ears caught the sound of a shot in the forest, on the left bank of

the river.

Now, since Crouch had landed on the other side, there could be no

question as to whence came this shot; and in a few minutes Max had run

to the canoe, jumped in and paddled to the bank. There, he picked up

his rifle and fired twice into the air.

Almost immediately his two shots were answered, and there came a second

answer--from Crouch on the northern bank. A quarter of an hour later,

Max, who had hastened forward on the line of the portage, had grasped

the hand of his uncle, who was amazed to see him.

Crouch returned at nightfall. He had killed his buffalo, far in the

interior of the forest, and the following morning the boys set out to

cut it up. That night the three friends were seated around the

camp-fire on Date Palm Island. Edward’s journey had been uneventful,

except that one of his Fan attendants had been mauled badly by a wounded

leopard.

It was Max who related the story of all that had happened since his

uncle left Hippo Pool. The big man listened in silence; and when the

story was ended he said nothing, and never once did he look at Crouch.

He knew the captain far too well to thank him. With old friends who

have been through thick and thin together, who have stood side by side

throughout many a danger, words are at a discount--a kind of mutual

understanding exists between them that makes conversation a sheer waste

of time. Still, though Edward said nothing, Max knew well enough that

he thanked the little, wizened captain in his heart, and was conscious

of the debt he owed him.

They remained on the island for another week, and it took them all that

time to persuade a dozen of the boys to accompany them upon the portage

in the capacity of carriers. It was only on the understanding that they

would not be asked to embark upon the dreaded river of the "Fire-gods"

that, at last, they consented to go.

Indeed, this time, they had no intention of advancing as far as the

river. They proposed to follow the portage to Observation Creek, and

thence to strike up-stream, due south, until they found a suitable

camping-ground. Here they would establish their base, sending the boys

back to the island with orders to wait for their return.

The Loango boys could be trusted; most of them had faithfully served

either Crouch or Edward in the past. Besides, they were a thousand

miles from their home, and dared not make the passage of the Congo by

themselves, because of the hostile tribes that, in those days, abounded

to the east of Stanley Falls. When Crouch and Edward Harden were on the

river their reputation went before them; their friends came forth to

meet them--grinning cannibals with necklaces of monkeys’ teeth suspended

round their necks, and little else besides by way of clothing--and their

enemies, those who had broken their faith with Harden or fallen foul of

Crouch, deserted their villages and took to the jungle, to let the two

great white men pass, whose fame had reached to the very heart of the

continent, and who, it was said, were spoken of even by the pigmies who

lived in the dark, unknown country west of the Lakes.

When they set out with their carriers for Observation Creek, the three

Europeans were sanguine of success, and even the four Fans (the one who

had been injured by the leopard had been left behind on the island)

shared their expectations. The riddle of the valley was yet unsolved.

The Portuguese still guarded well his secret. In his fortress by the

river, encompassed upon every hand by the dark, inhospitable jungle, he

had every reason to think himself secure. Moreover, he had cause to

believe that both Max and Crouch were dead--the former drowned at the

cataract, the latter lost in the jungle. Half the victory is gained

when one can take one’s adversary by surprise. Cæsar had lost Gyp, his

most accomplished scout. He might patrol the river, but he would find

no trace of the Englishmen from Makanda to the rapids. He might search

their old camp at Hippo Pool, where he would find, perhaps, a box of

ammunition, cooking utensils and a few days’ provisions--to say nothing

of Crouch’s case of glass eyes--but he would gain no clue to the fact

that his enemies had returned to the valley.

From their base camp on Observation Creek they had decided to move

up-stream towards the mountain. They hoped to make friends with the

natives of the Pambala village that M’Wané had seen in the distance.

Thence they could approach Makanda from the east.

Each time they traversed the portage progress was more easy. It was no

longer necessary to cut a way through the thickets with bill-hooks and

axes, and to "blaze" the trees. Besides, they were now familiar with

the road, knew where to look for water and the bitter roots of wild

manioc, or cassava--from which tapioca is manufactured--and upon which,

to a large degree, they were obliged to subsist in the jungle. Also

they no longer carried a canoe.

In consequence, they reached the Creek in four and a half days. After

halting for an hour, they continued their journey to the south, turning

to the left from the route which led direct to Hippo Pool. They

followed the course of the stream till sunset, and then camped for the

night. Another day’s march brought them to an open place by the side of

the Creek, where the ground was too rocky for vegetation to flourish.

They had been conscious throughout the day’s journey of going up-hill,

and this was doubtless the foot of one of the spurs of the mountain they

wished to gain. It was here they decided to camp.

They pitched their tent, and gathered a supply of firewood in the

forest. The water of the stream was clear and good to drink. They were

much pestered by insects of all descriptions, but this is inevitable in

the heart of an equatorial forest, and not even the smoke of Crouch’s

tobacco served to keep away the millions of flies, mosquitoes and ants,

to say nothing of less disagreeable companions, such as the most

gorgeous butterflies and gigantic dragon-flies and moths.

The following day the Loango boys departed upon their return journey to

the Kasai. As had been the case before, they showed great eagerness to

return. It seems that they could not rid their minds of the tales they

had heard of the Fire-gods, and neither Crouch nor Edward could persuade

them that the valley was not haunted by evil spirits.

During the days that followed the party suffered from want of meat. They

had deemed it advisable not to shoot. Though they were still some

distance from Makanda, there was always a chance that Cæsar and his

Arabs were somewhere abroad in the forest, and they did not wish the man

to suspect that they had returned. In the forest they found nothing to

eat but manioc, and a continual diet of the tubers of this peculiar

plant is somewhat monotonous and is apt to set up a kind of blood

poisoning, to which some people are more liable than others. Edward,

whose large carcass required a considerable amount of nourishment, began

to suffer from some kind of bilious fever.

After a day’s rest they set out upon their southward journey. Day by

day as they progressed, the nature of the vegetation changed. The

forest trees became thinner and not so large. The atmosphere became

cooler and more rarefied. The slope grew steeper and steeper, until at

last they were confronted by a sharp, rocky bluff which enclosed the

jungle like a wall. They followed this to the left, and came presently

to a gully, a dried-up watercourse, up which it was possible to climb.

At the top they found themselves upon a hillock--one of those bare,

flat-topped eminences which are scattered throughout the whole continent

of Africa. Hence it was possible to obtain a bird’s-eye view of the

country.

To the north, as far as the eye could reach, extended the forest through

which they had passed. About twenty miles to the eastward they could

see the Kasai above Date Palm Island. To the west there was no sign of

the Hidden River, which, being narrower and flowing in a direction

almost due south to north, was hidden among the trees. To the south a

magnificent panorama was extended to their view. The foreground fell

away in a valley which, to some extent, had been given over to

cultivation; and beyond, in rugged majesty, arose Solitude Peak. The

great mountain towered into the sky, its crest wrapped in clouds; and

over the valley hung a thin blue mist, above which some great bird of

prey hung like a gnat, with outstretched wings, in the very midst of

space.

It was Max who was the first to see the village, half-way up the

mountain slope, lying--as M’Wané had described it--like a bird’s nest in

the forked branches of a tree. He pointed it out to his companions, and

then the party began to descend into the valley, one behind the other in

single file, following a track which had been made by elephants. An

elephant trail can never be mistaken; however hard the ground, the

imprints of their great feet remain, and they have a habit of tearing

branches from the trees as they pass, not so much for food, as from pure

love of destruction.

It took them several hours to cross the valley, and then they began the

steep ascent of the mountain. Suddenly M’Wané, who was leading, came to

an abrupt standstill, and stood upon a sharp pinnacle of rock, pointing

to the east. There was something noble in his dark, savage figure,

standing upright, straight as a larch, in the midst of these wild

surroundings. A moment later he was joined by the two Hardens and

Crouch.

There, in the distance, they could discern the broad waters of the lake

before Makanda. They could see the granite hills, which were red in the

glow of the setting sun. They could see, also, the narrow gorge in the

south, and far in the distance was a great range of undiscovered

mountains. As they looked, a sound issued from the valley, which, like

a long peal of distant thunder, rolled away to the north upon the wind,

echoing through the forest.

"The Fire-gods’ thunder!" said M’Wané, in a kind of hushed whisper, with

his lips parted and his eyes staring in the direction of the Hidden

River.

It was obvious that the man was afraid. He belonged to a wild race that

for centuries has roamed the jungle, catching fish in baskets at the

waterfalls and setting traps in the forest. Until a few days before he

had never seen a firearm in his life. He had heard tales of white men

who were traders on the Coast, but he had never associated these with

the Fire-gods who inhabited the Hidden Valley, whom he regarded as

superhuman.

Crouch looked at Edward. "What do you make of it?" he asked.

Harden was frowning in the direction of the valley. His fingers tugged

at the end of his moustache. He was a man of few words, as we know.

"Dynamite," said he.

"I think so, too," said Crouch. "I wonder what his game is!"

In their immediate neighbourhood was a narrow stretch of grass--the

coarse, thin grass that is usually to be met with on the lower slopes of

mountains. It was at this moment that