Samory's Stronghold

: The Great White Queen

THROUGH dense dark forests and over great open grass-lands, passing

several villages, we were carried forward many days, still bound and

never allowed to have our hands free except during our meals.



The face of Kouaga grew more brutal and fierce as we proceeded, and he

urged on the carriers until we found ourselves travelling at a pace that

for African natives was amazing.



Omar spoke little.
He was always pre-occupied and thoughtful. He had told

me that he now regretted having brought me with him from England, but I

assured him that our misfortunes were not of our own seeking, and urged

him to be of good cheer.



Truth to tell, my heart was full of dark forebodings. I saw in the ugly

countenance of Kouaga expressions of deadly hatred, and I knew that they

were of ill-portent. Yet to escape in that deadly bush, extending for

hundreds and hundreds of miles, dark, monotonous and impenetrable, meant

certain death even if we eluded the watchful vigilance of this muscular

negro.



One day, when passing through a forest village, a half-naked savage

rushed towards us brandishing his spear and uttering a loud yell, but

whether expressive of hatred or joy I knew not. Suddenly, as he

approached the hammock in which Omar was lying, my friend addressed him

in some tongue that was strange to me, but to which the native answered

readily.



"As I thought, Scars!" Omar shouted to me in English a moment later. "We

have travelled away from Mo, crossed Tieba's territory, and have now

entered the country of the great Mohammedan chief Samory, my nation's

bitterest enemy. It was he who seized my father by a ruse and sent his

head back to my mother as a hideous souvenir."



"But what object has Kouaga in bringing us here?" I asked.



"I cannot imagine," he answered. "Unless he travelled to England, for the

sole purpose of delivering me into the hands of our enemies. Three times

within the last five years has Samory attempted to invade our country,

but each time has been repulsed with a loss that has partially paralysed

his power. All along the right bank of the Upper Niger his bands of

hirelings and mercenaries, whom we call Sofas, are constantly raiding for

slaves. Indeed Samory's troops are the fiercest and most merciless in

this country. They are the riff-raff of the West Soudan and are a terror

to friend and foe, a bar to the peaceful settlement of all lands within

the range of their devastating expeditions."



"Do they make raids towards your country?" I inquired, for I had heard

long ago of this notorious slave-dealing chief.



"Yes, constantly. They are pitiless marauders who lay waste whole

kingdoms and transform populous districts into gloomy solitudes. While on

my way from Mo to England we passed through Sati, a large market town at

the convergence of several caravan routes, which was only three months

before a prosperous and wealthy place situated fifty miles south of our

border. We found everything had been raided by the Sofas, who had sacked,

burned or destroyed what they were unable to take away. Heaps of cinders

marked the sites of former homesteads, the ground was strewn with

potsherds, rice and other grain trodden under foot, while our horses

moved forward knee deep in ashes. The whole land, lately very rich,

prosperous and thickly peopled, was a melancholy picture of utter

desolation."



"Do you think we have actually fallen into Samory's hands?" I asked.



"I fear so."



"But is not Kouaga Grand Vizier of Mo? Surely he would not dare to take

us through the enemy's land," I said.



"Do you not remember that when he met us at Eastbourne he forbade us to

inform Makhana of our intended departure?" he answered. "He had some

object in securing our silence and getting us away from England secretly.

It now appears more than probable that my mother has dismissed and

banished him, and he has gone over to our enemy, Samory, who desires to

seize our country."



"In that case our position is indeed serious," I observed. "We must do

something to escape."



"No," he said. "We cannot escape. Let's put on a bold front, and if we

find ourselves prisoners of the slave-raiding chief, I, at least, will

show him that I am heir to the Emerald Throne of Mo."



As each day dawned we still held upon our way, until at length, under a

broiling noon-day sun, we crossed a wide stretch of fertile grass-land

where cattle were grazing, and there rose high before us the white

fortified walls of a large town of flat-roofed Moorish-looking houses. It

was, we afterwards learnt, called Koussan, one of Samory's principal

strongholds.



As we approached the open gate, flanked on either side by watch-towers

and guarded by soldiers wearing Arab fezes and loose white garments, a

great rabble came forth to meet us. We heard the din of tom-toms beaten

within the city, joyous shouts, and loud ear-piercing blasts upon those

great horns formed out of elephant tusks.



Thus, in triumph, amid the howls and execrations of the mob, Omar, son of

Sanom, and myself, were marched onward through the gate and up a steep

narrow winding street, where the solidly-built houses were set close

together to obtain the shade, to the market-place. Here, amid the

promiscuous firing of long flint-lock guns and quaint ancient pistols,

such as one sees in curiosity shops at home, a further demonstration was

held, our carriers themselves infected by the popular enthusiasm, seeming

also to lose their senses. They heaped upon Omar every indignity, scoffed

and spat at him, while my own pale face arousing the ire of the fanatical

Mohammedan populace, they denounced me as an infidel accursed of Allah,

and urged my captors to kill me and give my flesh to the dogs.



Truly we were in pitiable plight.



I looked at Omar, but heedless of all their threats and jeers, he walked

with princely gait. His hands were tied behind his back, his head erect,

and his eyes flashed with scorn upon those who sought his death.

Presently, turning sharply to the left, we found ourselves in another

square which we crossed, entering a great gateway guarded by soldiers,

and as soon as we were inside the heavy iron-studded doors closed with an

ominous clang. I glanced round at the thick impregnable walls and knew

that we were in the Kasbah, or citadel. Gaily-dressed soldiers were

leaning or squatting everywhere as we crossed the several court-yards,

one after the other, until, by the direction of one of the officials who

had joined us on entering, we were led through a low arched door, and

thence a dozen soldiers who had come forward hurried us down a flight of

dark damp steps into a foul noisome chamber below.



Struggles and protestations were useless. We were pushed forward into a

deep narrow cell lit only by a tiny crack in the paving of the court

above and the door quickly bolted upon us.



"Well, this is certainly a dire misfortune," I said, when we had both

walked round inspecting the black dank walls of our prison. "I wonder

what fate is in store for us?"



"Though they destroyed my jujus, they cannot invoke the curses of Zomara

upon me," he said. "The Crocodile-god will not hear any enemies of the

Naya."



"But have you no idea whatever of the motive Kouaga has had in bringing

you hither?" I asked.



"Not the slightest," he answered, seating himself at last on the stone

bench to rest. "It is evident, however, that he is a traitor in the pay

of Samory. On each occasion when the Moslem chief endeavoured to conquer

our country, it was Kouaga who assumed the generalship of our troops; it

was Kouaga who fought valiantly for his queen with his own keen sword; it

was Kouaga who drove back the enemy and urged our hosts to slaughter them

without mercy; and it was Kouaga who, with fiendish hatred, put the

prisoners to the torture. In him my mother had a most trusted servant."



"He doesn't seem very trustworthy now," I observed. "It seems to me we

are caught like rats in a trap."



"True," he said. "We are beset by dangers, but may the blessings of their

Allah turn to curses upon their heads. It may be that our ignominious

situation will not satisfy the malice that Samory has conceived against

me, but if a single hair of the head of either of us is injured, Zomara,

the Crocodile-god, will punish those who seek our discomfiture."



It occurred to me that it was all very well to speak in this strain, but

as no man is a prince except in his own country, it seemed idle to expect

mercy or pity. Omar was in prison for some unknown offence, and I was

held captive with a well-remembered threat from Kouaga that my life

should be sacrificed.



For six hours we remained without food, but when the light above had

quite faded, three soldiers with clanging swords unbarred the door and

pushed through some water in an earthen vessel and some fufu, a kind of

dumpling made of mashed African potato. During the night, disturbed by

vermin of all sorts, including some horrible little snakes, we slept

little, and at dawn we were again visited by our captors. The next day

and the next passed uneventfully. For exercise we paced our cell times

without number, and when tired would seat ourselves on the rough stone

bench and calmly discuss the situation.



The Naya, the mysterious Great White Queen, had ordered Omar to return

with all haste, yet already two moons had run their course since we had

landed in Africa. This troubled my companion even more than the fact of

being betrayed into the hands of his enemies.



The tiny streak of light that showed high above our heads grew brighter

towards noon, then began slowly to decline. Before the shadows had

lengthened in the court above, however, the sound of our door being

unbarred aroused us from our lethargy, and a moment later, three soldiers

entered and told us to prepare to go before the great ruler Samory. Omar,

attired only in a small garment of bark-cloth, took no heed of his

toilet, therefore we at once announced our readiness to leave the

loathsome place with its myriad creeping things, and it was with a

feeling of intense relief that a few minutes later we ascended to the

blessed light of day.



Marched between a small posse of soldiers, we crossed the court to a

larger and more handsome square, decorated in Arab style with horseshoe

arches and wide colonnades, until at the further end a great curtain of

crimson velvet was drawn aside and we found ourselves in a spacious hall,

wherein many gorgeously attired persons had assembled and in the centre

of which was erected a great canopy of amaranth-coloured silk supported

by pillars of gold surmounted by the crescent. Beneath, reclining on a

divan, slowly fanned by a dozen gaudily-attired negroes, was a

dark-faced, full-bearded man of middle age, whose black eyes regarded us

keenly as we entered. He was dressed in a robe of bright yellow silk, and

in his turban there glittered a single diamond that sparkled and gleamed

with a thousand iridescent rays. His fat brown hand was loaded with

rings, and jewels glittered everywhere upon his belt, his sword, and his

slippers of bright green.



It was the notorious and dreaded chieftain, Samory.



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