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

They may have thought him mad; but at all events he gained his object:

he drew them round him in a ring. They stood open-mouthed and

open-eyed, amazed at his contortions. They were children of the minute.

To all intents and purposes they had already forgotten the Portuguese

and his threats.

Crouch sang, and never was there such singing. His voice was cracked

and out of tune. It was all Max could do to prevent himself exploding

into laughter. The words of Crouch’s song had nothing to do with the

matter; in point of fact they were concerned with "Nuts and May." For

all that, he impressed the natives hugely. And when they had gathered

closer he took the boot from his foot, and thrust his toes into the

fire. And all the time he continued to sing of "Nuts and May," whilst

the atmosphere was tainted with the pungent smell of burning cork.

The silence was so great that Edward Harden could hear the ticking of

his watch. The villagers stood around, breathless and amazed. Then

Crouch spoke to them; and the following was the argument he used.

He admitted that the slave-dealer was master over fire; hence he was

called the "Fire-god." But he (Crouch) had proved to them that fire

could not affect him. Near-by a pitcher of water was standing outside a

hut, and into this he thrust his foot. There was a sizzling sound, and

steam was given off. He made the natives place their hands into the

water, to see for themselves that it was warm. He finished up by saying

that, if they would put themselves under his command, he would show them

how to face the Fire-god’s anger.

With reluctance they agreed. In the space of a few minutes it was

impossible for Crouch to efface the result of two long years of

persecution. The headman of the village, Crouch’s "blood-brother," and

one or two others, came forward on behalf of their relations, their

children and their wives. Crouch turned to Harden.

"Can we defend this place?" said he.

Edward had already thought of that.

"Yes," said he. "They can only advance by two paths. Elsewhere the

slope is too steep. There is an hour before sunset. If you make these

people build a wall of the small boulders which lie everywhere about, we

should be able to keep the rascals at bay."

"I’ll do my best," said Crouch. And thereupon he set to work.

It took the natives some time to understand his meaning; but when he had

shown them what he wanted done they worked with a will, the women

carrying enormous stones, and even the little children lending aid.

The parapet of stone grew like the walls of Rome, until, at last, it

formed a semi-circle around the village, joining the mountain-side at

either end. Then the women and children were placed under cover, and

ordered not to move. Edward posted himself at the head of the path

which led from the west, and Max on the other side of the village. At

the feet of each was a box of ammunition. As for Crouch, he hobbled

here and there on the charred stump of his foot, giving instructions up

to the last minute, when, in the dying light of day, Cæsar and his Arabs

were observed advancing up the valley.

As before, it was Cæsar who led the way; and the stone wall warned him

that danger was ahead. He guessed the truth in a flash. He knew well

enough that the natives themselves would never have dared to offer him

resistance.

He stopped dead upon the path, and pointed out the wall to the Arab who

accompanied him. The man shaded his eyes with the palm of his hand, for

the mists of evening were rising from the valley, and the light was bad.

After a while the Arab disappeared from view, and then returned with his

comrades. They came up the path as men stalk game, creeping from

boulder to boulder. It was impossible to see them from the village.

Flat upon the ground, they glided from place to place like snakes. And

every minute the light was getting worse.

One man, more daring than his comrades, had gained the cover of a large

rock about two hundred yards from the village.

His eyes were sharp as those of a vulture. He was descended from the

sons of the desert. Peering round the angle of the rock behind which he

was hiding, he caught sight of Edward Harden’s helmet, moving behind the

wall.

In a second, the butt of his rifle was at his shoulder, and his left eye

was closed. He took in a deep breath, and aimed. At that moment, there

was a sharp crack from the wall, whence nothing of the Arab was visible

but the upper part of his head. And Edward Harden’s bullet drilled a

hole in the centre of the man’s forehead; so that his head just dropped

like a broken toy, and he lay still and lifeless, with his loaded rifle

in his hand. Son of a warlike race, that for centuries had oppressed

the ignorant and the weak, he had gone to make his peace with God, the

Giver of Life and Death.

Cæsar, from some distance behind, with a pair of field-glasses to his

eyes, had watched this tragedy of seconds; and he knew at once with whom

he had to reckon. He drew a whistle from his pocket, and blew a long,

shrill note, which was the signal to retreat. His three remaining Arabs

came back to him, retiring even more cautiously than they had advanced.

Night fell, as a curtain is rung down upon a stage. The natives of the

village, the old men and women and children, who had sat huddled and

shivering under cover of the wall, came forth and marvelled that a

Fire-god had been turned back by a single shot. Crouch’s authority

increased by leaps and bounds. The villagers, like children, desired to

celebrate the occasion with inconsequent rejoicing. They set about

beating large, wooden drums, but Grouch cast these away. They lit

fires, but Crouch stamped them out.

Only the babies were allowed to rest that night; the little sea-captain

kept the others working until long after midnight, when a new moon

arose. He improved the defences. He had all the provisions and the

water-jars carried to the hut which he had made his own headquarters,

whilst the two Hardens stood as sentries on either side of the village.

At about two o’clock in the morning, Max, on the eastern side of the

village, heard the noise of a loosened stone rolling down the

mountain-side. That put him on his guard. And a moment after, another

stone bounded into the valley.

At that, he sent back M’Wané to tell Crouch that some one was

approaching, and remained at his post alone.

There is nothing more majestic in the whole range of Nature than

moonlight in the mountains. The white mists drift in the valleys; and,

here and there, the great, ragged peaks blot out the stars. Midnight is

ever silent in the higher altitudes. The slightest sound--the hoot of

an owl or the bubbling of a spring--is magnified by echo, and carried

far upon the breeze.

Max, with his rifle at the ready, waited with his heart thumping against

his ribs. He heard a noise, quite near to him, but so faint that he

could never have heard it had not every sense been on the alert. He saw

something white, moving like a ghost in the moonlight. Then, a loud

shout was uplifted in the stillness. "Allah Akbar! Strike for God and

the Prophet!"

Three white figures rushed in upon him from the darkness. He fired, and

one went down. And then, reversing his rifle, he used it as a club,

swinging the butt around him in a kind of mad delight.

The two men who remained pressed him close. He saw knives flash in

their hands. And then a third figure appeared, and a revolver spat like

a cat. Cæsar himself was there.

The Portuguese called back the two Arabs, spoke a few words which Max

was not able to hear; and then all three abreast endeavoured to rush the

wall. Max fired, but missed. He was attacked from three sides at once,

and must have been overpowered had not Crouch hastened to his rescue.

It was no more than a scuffle at the best. Crouch emptied his revolver;

but it was too dark to shoot straight. Max used his fist, and sent one

of the men rolling backwards; whilst Crouch flew like a leopard at

Cæsar’s throat. It was all over in an instant. Cæsar and his men drew

off as suddenly and quickly as they came, taking with them the Arab whom

Max had wounded or killed.

Crouch took out his pipe and filled it.

"I wish I had had the luck to hit that rascal," said Max, "instead of

one of the Arabs."

Crouch grunted as he lit his pipe.

"When I shoot that man," said he, "I don’t want it to be due to luck.

Nothing’s too bad for a slave-dealer, if that’s what he is--which I

doubt."

It was then that they were joined by the Fan whom they had left with

Edward. He presented a note to Crouch, written in pencil on a leaf torn

from a note-book.

"_How goes it?_" was all it said.

Crouch scribbled a reply: "_He’s gone to bed. But remain at your post

till daybreak._"

Sunrise brought their vigil to an end. No sign of the Portuguese was to

be seen; and presently news was brought to the village by a man who had

been setting traps in the forest, and who had known nothing of the

alarm. This man stated that he had seen Cæsar returning to Makanda,

followed by two Arabs, who carried the body of a third.

The delight of the natives exceeded anything that Max Harden had ever

seen in his life. They beat their wooden drums, and sang and danced in

jubilation. They realized that, at last, after two years of oppression,

the yoke of the Fire-gods had been lifted from their shoulders. They

regarded Crouch and his companions as angels who had dropped from the

skies to deliver them from bondage.

That evening the three Englishmen held a council of war. They regretted

that Cæsar had learnt of their return to the valley. But that was

inevitable; they had been in duty bound to help the natives. Though the

mystery of Makanda was by no means solved, they had, at least, an

inkling of the truth. The explosion they had heard in the valley was

undoubtedly the blasting of rock; and there was no question that it was

for this purpose that Cæsar required the services of slaves. That

explained why he had been unwilling for either the Europeans or the Fans

to leave the stockade. The kraal, fenced around by high palisades, and

guarded by Arab slave-drivers, contained the slave gangs; and who can

say what cruelty was perpetrated therein? The slave trade had been

abolished; but at that time, in the heart of Africa, it still flourished

in all its blackest colours, with utter disregard for the equality of

all men, who--whatever the colour of their skin may be--are equal in the

sight of God. Edward Harden was a man in whose big heart a sense of

justice burned like a living flame. When he considered the innate

cruelty of the Portuguese, who was willing to enslave even women and

little children, his wrath rose within him and the blood flew to his

face. He felt that he could not rest until the fortress of Makanda had

been taken, the slaves set free, and Cæsar brought to his account.

Still, Edward was no fool. He knew well enough that it would be madness

for three of them to endeavour to attack a defensive position held by a

determined man and, at least, half a dozen Arabs. It was then that they

decided to arm M’Wané and his Fans. They had with them six